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Updated: June 14, 2025
The host looked up from the act of drawing the cork of the flagon he had taken from his wife, and his eyes grew big as in his mind he prepared a judicious blend of apology and remonstrance wherewith to soothe this very impatient gentleman. But before he could speak, Garnache's voice cut sharply into the silence. An interruption at such a moment vexed him sorely. "Monsieur says?" quoth he.
Angered in his turn, Fortunio inclined his head to his companion's ear, issuing an order. In obedience to it, it was the bravo now who advanced and engaged Garnache. Suddenly he dropped on to his knees, and over his head Garnache found his blade suddenly opposed by Fortunio's. It was a clever trick, and it all but did Garnache's business then.
"But certainly, mademoiselle, assure yourself that this gentleman is no other than I have told you." Thus enjoined, she took the letter; for a second her eyes met Garnache's glittering gaze, and she shivered. Then she bent her glance to the writing, and studied it a moment, what time the man from Paris watched her closely. Presently she handed it back to him.
Its round expanse had expressed interrogation until now; but at the Parisian's announcement that he was an emissary of the Queen's, Tressan insinuated into it just that look of surprise and of increased deference which would have been natural had he not already been forewarned of Monsieur de Garnache's mission and identity.
The six tapers in the candle-branch she held aloft afforded the only light for that stormy scene, and that light was in the eyes of Garnache's assailants, showing him their faces yet leaving his own in shadow. He fell back steadily towards that door. He could not see it; but there was not the need.
"Good," said Garnache, reassured. "I hear their steps upon the stairs. They must not find me with you." A moment later the door opened, and Marius, very bravely arrayed, entered the room, followed closely by Fortunio. Neither showed much ill effects of last night's happenings, save for a long dark-brown scar that ran athwart the captain's cheek, where Garnache's sword had ploughed it.
None shall stay you," she promised him. He smiled. "I'll need some security for that. I do not choose to take your word for it, Madame de Condillac." "What security can I give you?" she cried, wringing her hands, her eyes on the boy's ashen face ashen from mingling fear and rage where it showed beyond Garnache's heavy boot. "Bid one of your knaves summon my servant.
There was a faint movement on the dark, oily surface for all that no wind stirred. Not more than four or five minutes could have elapsed since Garnache's leap, and it would seem as if the last ripple from the disturbance of his plunge had not yet rolled itself out. But otherwise there was nothing here, nor did Fortunio expect aught.
But no sooner did he show his nose inside the doorpost than Garnache's sword flashed before his eyes, driving him back with a bloody furrow in his cheek. "Have a care, Monsieur le Capitaine," Garnache mocked him. "Had you come an inch farther it might have been the death of you."
She stood there as if Garnache's words had turned her into marble, bereft of speech through very rage. And then the door opened, and Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye entered, followed closely by Fortunio. At sight of Garnache she stood still, set her hand on her heart, and uttered a low cry. Was it indeed Garnache she saw Garnache, her brave knight-errant?
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