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Updated: May 17, 2025
And the confident duke had no wish to disclaim the subtle flattery of the implied comparison between him and the subject of the words of the prophet. The traveller had slept at Périgny, about a league from the capital of Burgundy, so as to make the last stage of his journey thither in leisurely state.
He swung dizzily toward the candles on the mantel. He struck them. "Away with the lights, fools." The candles rolled and sputtered en the floor. "Away with them, I say!" Toward the table he lurched, avoiding the Chevalier's arms. From the table he dashed the candles. "Away with the lights! The Marquis de Périgny shall die as he lived . . . in the dark!"
It was a tonic to his superb courage to think that one day or another he must fight and kill these three men or be killed himself. Occasionally the vicomte would stare at the Chevalier, long and profoundly. Only Victor was aware of this peculiar scrutiny. It often recalled to him that wild night at the Hôtel de Périgny in Rochelle. But the scrutiny was untranslatable.
"What a man he must have been in his youth! A fatalist, for I have seen him walk into the enemy's fire, laughing. Handsome? Too handsome. Courage? He was always fighting; he was a lion. How we youngsters applauded him! He told Richelieu to his face that he would be delighted to have him visit Périgny and dance the saraband before his peasant girls.
It was so long that the marquis was compelled finally to look up. In his cabinet at Périgny he had a small bronze statue of the goddess Ate: the scowling eyes, the bent brows, the widened nostrils, the half-visible row of teeth, all these he saw in the face towering above him. "So that is all you have to say? How easily and complacently you say it!
It was to seek Monsieur le Chevalier. And together they would all go back to France, beautiful France. He burst into hysterical tears, regardless of the wonder which he created. And there was the kindly Jehan, who had dandled him on his knee, long years ago before trouble had cast its blighting shadow over the House of Périgny. Blessed day!
Stories concerning the marquis had come from Paris and Périgny, and travel, the good gossip, had distorted acts of mere eccentricity into deeds of violence and wickedness. The nobility, however, did not share the popular belief.
Jehan searched and found a letter under a book. "What does it say?" "'To Monsieur le Marquis de Périgny, to be delivered into his hands at my death'," Jehan read. "From . . . from my son?" "I do not know, Monsieur." "Open it and read it." "It is in Latin, Monsieur, a language unknown to me," Jehan carefully explained.
"Take these, lad; they will carry you through till you find a new master. You have been a good and faithful servant." Breton made a negative gesture. "Monsieur," timidly, "I do not want money, and I could never grow accustomed to a new master. I was born at the château in Périgny. My mother was your nurse and she loved you. I know your ways so well, Monsieur Paul.
"What is the matter?" "I was thinking how the snow has left the hills of Périgny. I can see my uncle puttering in the gardens at the château. Do you remember the lilacs which grew by the western gates? They will soon be filling the park with fragrance. Monsieur will forgive me for recalling?" "Yes; for I was there in my dreams, lad.
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