"And for whose sake, Madame?" he added, with a jeer; "mine or M. de Tignonville's?" And with a glance between jest and earnest, he tried to read her thoughts.
She winced as if he had indeed struck her, and the hot colour fled her cheeks.
"For his sake!" she said, with a shiver of pain. "That his life may be spared!" And she stood back humbly, like a beaten dog. Though, indeed, it was for the sake of Angers, in thankfulness for the past rather than in any desperate hope of propitiating her husband, that she had done it!
Perhaps he would have withdrawn his words. But before he could answer, the host, bowing to the floor, came to announce that all was ready, and that the Provost of the City, for whom M. le Comte had sent, was in waiting below.
"Let him come up!" Tavannes answered, grave and frowning. "And see you, close the room, sirrah! My people will wait on us. Ah!" as the Provost, a burly man, with a face framed for jollity, but now pale and long, entered and approached him with many salutations. "How comes it, M. le Prevot--you are the Prevot, are you not?"
"Yes, M. le Comte."
"How comes it that so great a crowd is permitted to meet in the streets? And that at my entrance, though I come unannounced, I find half of the city gathered together?"
The Provost stared. "Respect, M. le Comte," he said, "for His Majesty's letters, of which you are the bearer, no doubt induced some to come together."
"Who said I brought letters?"
"Who--?"
"Who said I brought letters?" Count Hannibal repeated in a strenuous voice. And he ground his chair half about and faced the astonished magistrate. "Who said I brought letters?"
"Why, my lord," the Provost stammered, "it was everywhere yesterday--"
"Yesterday?"
"Last night, at latest--that letters were coming from the King."
"By my hand?"
"By your lordship's hand--whose name is so well known here," the magistrate added, in the hope of clearing the great man's brow.
Count Hannibal laughed darkly. "My hand will be better known by-and-by," he said. "See you, sirrah, there is some practice here. What is this cry of Montsoreau that I hear?"
"Your lordship knows that he is His Grace's lieutenant-governor in Saumur."
"I know that, man. But is he here?"
"He was at Saumur yesterday, and 'twas rumoured three days back that he was coming here to extirpate the Huguenots. Then word came of your lordship and of His Majesty's letters, and 'twas thought that M. de Montsoreau would not come, his authority being superseded."
"I see. And now your rabble think that they would prefer M. Montsoreau. That is it, is it?"
The magistrate shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands.
"Pigs!" he said. And having spat on the floor, he looked apologetically at the lady. "True pigs!"
"What connections has he here?" Tavannes asked.
"He is a brother of my lord the Bishop's vicar, who arrived yesterday."
"With a rout of shaven heads who have been preaching and stirring up the town!" Count Hannibal cried, his face growing red. "Speak, man; is it so? But I'll be sworn it is!"
"There has been preaching," the Provost answered reluctantly.
"Montsoreau may count his brother, then, for one. He is a fool, but with a knave behind him, and a knave who has no cause to love us! And the Castle? 'Tis held by one of M. de Montsoreau's creatures, I take it?"
"Yes, my lord."
"With what force?"
The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, and looked doubtfully at Badelon, who was keeping the door. Tavannes followed the glance with his usual impatience. "Mon Dieu, you need not look at him!" he cried. "He has sacked St. Peter's and singed the Pope's beard with a holy candle! He has been served on the knee by Cardinals; and is Turk or Jew, or monk or Huguenot as I please. And Madame"--for the Provost's astonished eyes, after resting awhile on the old soldier's iron visage, had passed to her--"is Huguenot, so you need have no fear of her! There, speak, man," with impatience, "and cease to think of your own skin!"
The Provost drew a deep breath, and fixed his small eyes on Count Hannibal.
"If I knew, my lord, what you--why, my own sister's son"--he paused, his face began to work, his voice shook--"is a Huguenot! Ay, my lord, a Huguenot! And they know it!" he continued, a flush of rage augmenting the emotion which his countenance betrayed. "Ay, they know it! And they push me on at the Council, and grin behind my back; Lescot, who was Provost two years back, and would match his son with my daughter; and Thuriot, who prints for the University! They nudge one another, and egg me on, till half the city thinks it is I who would kill the Huguenots! I!" Again his voice broke. "And my own sister's son a Huguenot! And my girl at home white-faced for--for his sake."
Tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "Perhaps she is of the same way of thinking?" he said.
The Provost started, and lost one half of his colour. "God forbid!" he cried, "saving Madame's presence! Who says so, my lord, lies!"
"Ay, lies not far from the truth."
"My lord!"
"Pish, man, Lescot has said it, and will act on it. And Thuriot, who prints for the University! Would you 'scape them? You would? Then listen to me. I want but two things. First, how many men has Montsoreau's fellow in the Castle? Few, I know, for he is a niggard, and if he spends, he spends the Duke's pay."
"Twelve. But five can hold it."
"Ay, but twelve dare not leave it! Let them stew in their own broth! And now for the other matter. See, man, that before daybreak three gibbets, with a ladder and two ropes apiece, are set up in the square. And let one be before this door. You understand? Then let it be done! The rest," he added with a ferocious smile, "you may leave to me."
The magistrate nodded rather feebly. "Doubtless," he said, his eye wandering here and there, "there are rogues in Angers. And for rogues the gibbet! But saving your presence, my lord, it is a question whether--"
But M. de Tavannes' patience was exhausted. "Will you do it?" he roared. "That is the question. And the only question."
The Provost jumped, he was so startled. "Certainly, my lord, certainly!" he muttered humbly. "Certainly, I will!" And bowing frequently, but saying no more, he backed himself out of the room.
Count Hannibal laughed grimly after his fashion, and doubtless thought that he had seen the last of the magistrate for that night. Great was his wrath, therefore, when, less than a minute later--and before Bigot had carved for him--the door opened, and the Provost appeared again. He slid in, and without giving the courage he had gained on the stairs time to cool, plunged into his trouble.
"It stands this way, M. le Comte," he bleated. "If I put up the gibbets and a man is hanged, and you have letters from the King, 'tis a rogue the less, and no harm done. But if you have no letters from His Majesty, then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill be odd if they do not find a way to hang me to right him."
Count Hannibal smiled grimly. "And your sister's son?" he sneered. "And your girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the same bonfire with him? And--"
"Mercy! Mercy!" the wretched Provost cried. And he wrung his hands. "Lescot and Thuriot--"
"Perhaps we may hang Lescot and Thuriot--"
"But I see no way out," the Provost