“How have I offended, madame?” he continued. “Is it a fault to admire? Is my tribute a sin? Is my service a crime? Have I not the right of any other of your poor prisoners – to do you honor from afar?”
“From afar?” she asked, coldly satirical.
Mornay shrugged his shoulders with a pretty gesture.
“Ma foi, madame. My mind cannot imagine a greater distance between us – ”
“Monsieur’s imagination is not without limits,” she interrupted; and then, after a pause, “In England a lady is allowed the privilege of choosing her own following.”
“In France,” he replied, with an inclination of the head – “in France the following confers an honor by choosing the lady.”
“Yes, in France, monsieur.”
There was a hidden meaning to her words.
He thought a moment before replying.
“But madame is of a house of France. The English Mistress Clerke is also the French Vicomtesse de Bresac.”
She turned fully towards him and met his gaze steadily.
“But, thank God! the part of me that is English is the part of me which scorns such attentions as yours. To be the object of such gallantries is to be placed in a class” – she paused to measure out the depth of her scorn – “in a class with your Shrewsburys and Middletons. It is an insult to breathe the air with you alone. My cavaliers are gentlemen, monsieur, and in England – ”
She broke off abruptly, as if conveying too full an honor by conversing with him; and then, woman-like, “Why did you save the Spanish coach?” she cried, passionately.
Monsieur Mornay smiled blithely.
“Madame would not look half so handsome dead as she does alive.” He took a step as though to go nearer, and she rose to her feet, turning towards the house.
“Come nearer, monsieur, and I – I leave at once.”
Mornay’s brows contracted dangerously as he said:
“The hour is mine”; and then, with an angry irony, “You need not fear me, madame. I am no viper or toad that you should loathe me so.”
She looked defiantly up at him.
“There are things even less agreeable than toads and vipers.” The words dropped with cold and cruel meaning from her lips. In a moment she would have given her fortune to withdraw them. Monsieur Mornay stepped back a pace and put the back of his hand to his head where a patch still hid the scar upon his temple. He stammered painfully, and lowered his head as though bowing to some power over which he had no control.
“You – you mean the misfortune of my birth?”
Mistress Clerke had turned her face away again; she put her hand to her brow, her look steadily averted. Deep down in the heart she so carefully hid, she knew that what she had done was malignant, inhuman. Whatever his sins of birth or education, was he not built in the semblance of a gentleman? And had he not jeopardized his life and good repute in her service? It was true. Whatever his origin, his frank attachment deserved a better return than the shame she had put upon it. If he had not stood there directly before her she would have said something to have taken the bitter sting from her insult. But as she felt his eyes burn into her, she could not frame her words, and her pride made her dumb.
“Madame has heard that?” he stammered; and then, without waiting for a reply, he said, with a quiet dignity, “It is true, I think. If madame will permit, I will conduct her to the gallery.”
Mistress Clerke did not move. Her eyes were fixed upon the swinging lanterns at the end of the terrace.
“Come, madame, I give you back your hour,” he said. “Nick Rawlings and I will take our liberty together. If you will but allow me – ”
There was a sound of rapid footsteps upon the walk, and three figures came into the glare of the shifting lanterns. In the colored light Mornay could dimly make out Ferrers, Heywood, and Wynne. Heywood peered forward into their faces.
“Enough of this,” he said, sternly. “Mistress Clerke, be so kind as to give your arm to Captain Ferrers. If you will but take her to the Duchess, Ferrers – ”
Mistress Clerke had arisen to her feet and looked from her guardian to Monsieur Mornay, who stood at his ease, awaiting their pleasure. She opened her lips as though to speak, but the Frenchman, with an air of finality which could not be mistaken, bowed low, and then, turning coldly away, stood facing the darkness of the garden.
CHAPTER III
MONSIEUR MORNAY BECOMES UNPOPULAR
The footsteps of Mistress Barbara and Captain Ferrers vanished into the night. Sir Henry Heywood moved a step nearer Mornay, and the Frenchman turned. His face shone with an unwonted pallor, and an air of distraction had settled in the repose of his features which the dim light of the swinging lanterns could not conceal. His eyes, dark and lustrous, looked at Sir Henry from under half-closed lids, a little ennuyé, but with a perfect composure and studied politeness.
“It is unfortunate that we cannot seem to meet,” said Sir Henry, struggling to control himself.
“I am bereaved, Monsieur de Heywood. Perhaps to-morrow.”
“To-morrow?” broke in Heywood, violently. “There may be no to-morrow. I will meet you to-night, monsieur, here – now – at this very spot!” He nervously fingered the laces at his throat.
Mornay paused a moment. “Monsieur de Heywood would violate the hospitality – ”
“Yes,” interrupted Heywood, “we shall have no constables here – ”
“But, monsieur – ”
“Enough! Will you fight, or shall I – ” He made a movement towards Mornay. There came so dangerous a flash in the Frenchman’s eyes that Heywood stopped. Mornay drew back a step and put his hand upon his sword.
“At last,” sneered Heywood – “at last you understand.”
Mornay shrugged his shoulders as though absolving himself from all responsibility.
“Eh bien,” he said. “It shall be as you wish.”
There had been so many duels with fatal results in London during the last few months that it was as much as a man’s life was worth to engage in one, either as principal or second. But this affair admitted of no delay, and Ferrers and Wynne had so deep a dislike for Mornay that they would have risked much to see him killed. Wynne found Captain Cornbury, who hailed with joy the opportunity of returning Mornay a service the Frenchman had twice rendered him. The gentlemen removed their periwigs, coats, and laces, and when Captain Ferrers returned, the game began.
It was soon discovered that Monsieur Mornay had a great superiority in the reach, and he disarmed his elderly opponent immediately. It was child’s play. Almost before the Baronet had taken his weapon in hand it flew to the ground again. With this he lost his temper, and, throwing his seconds aside, sprang upon the Frenchman furiously. A very myriad of lunges and thrusts flashed about Monsieur Mornay, and before the seconds knew what had happened the Baronet seemed to rush upon the point of the Frenchman’s sword, which passed into his body.
Ferrers and Cornbury ran forward and caught the wounded man in their arms, while Wynne, seeing that he still breathed, ran without further ado to the house in search of aid. Monsieur Mornay alone stood erect. As Cornbury rose to his feet the Frenchman asked:
“Well?”
“Clear through. There’s a hole on both sides. Ye must be off. They will be here presently.”
“And you?”
“I’ll stay. I can serve ye better here”; and as Mornay paused, “Come, there’s no time to be lost.” He caught up the Frenchman’s coat, hat, and periwig,