"Holy Mother of God, defend me from all devils!" said he, surveying the motionless priest with some curiosity; and then, in quick correction, he added:
"Thy blessing, my father!"
The Jesuit turned upon him a swift, searching glance.
"What do you want with me?" he asked in a hard, cold, rarely used voice.
"No other service than one of charity, most reverend sir. I am a man of peace, as you may observe, carrying no other weapon than that which may rob men of their feet to—wit, may set them to the dance, the ballad, the pasquil and those light enjoyments of the flesh which our master Horace has even deigned to commend on occasion. And now for my sins, for which I pray the intercession of my holy patron, whose honourable name I happen to have forgotten, I—who know the forest better than the Mass book—am lost in this tangle at a moment when the natural humour of man leads him to meat and even to a cup of wine. Take me to these, my father, and I will jingle so many silver pieces in your hand that a whole legion of souls shall to-morrow go dancing out of purgatory."
The man stopped for want of breath. The priest was about to plunge again into the thicket, leaving him unanswered, when the others of the cavalcade rode up, and the leader, who was dressed in the uniform of the king's musketeers, reined in his horse and doffed his plumed hat to the ecclesiastic.
"Sir," said he, "I am a lieutenant of the guard bound upon a mission from his Majesty to the Château aux Loups, which, as you may be aware, is the residence of Madame La Comtesse de Vernet. If you can set us on the way thither——"
"Or to any decent inn where we may find food and drink," chimed in the first fellow.
"Pepin, keep your tongue still."
"Nay, my captain, there is no hand in France strong enough to hold it."
"If you can set us, I say, on the road thither," continued the other, ignoring his servant, and addressing the Jesuit, "I will see that we do not forget the service."
The priest had looked up quickly at the mention of the Château aux Loups. For a moment he seemed to be occupied counting the number of the escort, and this the leader of it observed.
"Fear nothing from these men, sir," said he, "my mission is an honourable one, and will be welcome to the countess. By the Mass, she should be glad of a little company in such a wilderness as this."
"Your mission is an honourable one—and yet you come from the king, sir?" said the priest now looking the lieutenant full in the face.
"Aye, honourable, indeed," interrupted the buffoon, Pepin; "and hark ye, my father, another word such as that and I will even lay my cudgel on your back. The devil take you for a loutish brawler. I would as soon talk with a throaty Spaniard."
"Pepin, if you do not keep your tongue still, I will cut it out," said the Lieutenant de Guyon, turning round lazily in his saddle.
"Aye, my master, that would be a service, for on my life it is as dry as a peppercorn."
The priest had seemed to be thinking deeply while servant and master thus disputed. In truth, a hundred questions were troubling him. Why had de Guyon, a notorious tool of du Barry, come with an escort of six musketeers and this clown to the retreat of Gabrielle de Vernet? What evil did the visit portend? Of what meaning was it to him personally—or to his Order, which had found in the girlish mistress of the château one of its sincerest friends? Before he could answer any single suggestion, the captain of the band spoke again.
"I am awaiting your answer, my father. You have heard of madame?"
The priest answered slowly.
"So surely have I heard of her, and of the holy way she walks, that if I thought you had come here meaning any ill to her, I would strike you down with my own hand. Paul de Guyon, look where you go, lest you lose the path and your eyes be blinded. You talk to me of an honourable mission, but what of honour hath the king with Gabrielle de Vernet? Speak no lies lest the Almighty God blast them on your lips."
He stood with arm outstretched and fire in his eyes, and for a moment the other quailed before him; but de Guyon recovered himself quickly, and cloaking his anger as he might, he gave rein to his horse.
"Did our time not press, master priest," said he, "I would pause awhile to knock sense into your head with the flat of my sword. A curse on you and your warnings, too. We will even find the château for ourselves."
He turned away making a sign to his men; but the buffoon bent down from his saddle and placed a hand upon the priest's shoulder.
"Benedicite! holy father," said he, "but you are free with your warnings. And hark ye, I, Pepin the fool, have a word of warning also. Get to your hut, François Cavaignac, for I recognise you, and by the blessed Host I will have you hanged as high as yonder elm."
The priest's hand trembled for a moment upon the hilt of the dagger which his cassock concealed. But it was only for a moment. Conquering his temper, and disdaining other weapon than his fist, he suddenly dealt the jester a rousing box on the ear, and then plunged into the thicket.
CHAPTER II
AT THE GATE OF THE CHÂTEAU.
Pepin rubbed his ear ruefully, and sat looking at the bushes wherein the priest had disappeared.
"Dog of a Jesuit," he muttered, "if you had stayed——"
He made an ugly grimace with the words, and finished what wine there was in the skin. Then, remembering that the others had now ridden out of hearing, he set spurs to his mule and galloped after them.
"So the priest boxed your ears?" said de Guyon, surveying him with some amusement.
"Parbleu! Excellency, he did but give me his benediction."
"I wish he had knocked some sense into your head."
"Would you cry 'A miracle!' mon maître?"
"I would cry anything you please if it would set me on the road again. I thought you knew every path in the forest. You told me so when I engaged you at the Barrière d'Enfer. "
"Aye, and that is so, sir. Every path I know, and yet which path is which, the devil take me if I can say. Look yonder now; there is a grove of yoke-elms with a wood of pines beyond it, and a brook hollow betwixt and between. I could name a hundred such within ten leagues from the Table du Roi. Oh, truly, mon maître, I know the forest as a horse knows the stable."
De Guyon, whose beast stumbled often upon the sandy track, and whose patience was fast ebbing, answered him with a fresh objurgation—long and lasting. It was now near to being full dark, and but for the light of the moonbeams, which fell soft upon copse and thicket and seemed to cast a snowy mantle—so white it was—upon every leaf and bush, the way would have been impossible. Yet the scene was one of exceeding beauty. The shiver of the aspen, the ripple of brook or stream, the long-drawn note of a night bird intensified the dreamy silence of the forest. Here and there when a horse forced his way through the bramble with a snap of twigs and a rustle of boughs, a wolf sprang out of his cover and raced across the sward. The shimmer of the light in many a glade showed stags browsing, or wild ponies herding. But of habitation there was no sign, nor of man.
The little troop must have left the priest twenty