It flashed across my mind that he might be the officer charged with my arrest, and that he had arrived sooner than had been expected. If so, it was likely to go ill with him, for I was not minded to be taken until St. Auban's soul sped hellwards.
He hailed me as I advanced, and indeed rode forward to meet me.
“You are come at last, M. de Luynes,” was his greeting. “I have waited for you this hour past.”
“How knew you I should ride this way?”
“I learnt that you would visit Canaples before noon. Be good enough to quit the road, and pass under those trees with me. I have something to say to you, but it were not well that we should be seen together.”
“For the sake of your character or mine, M. Malappris?”
“Malpertuis!” he snapped.
“Malpertuis,” I corrected. “You were saying that we should not be seen together.”
“St. Auban might hear of it.”
“Ah! And therefore?”
“You shall learn.” We were now under the trees, which albeit leafless yet screened us partly from the road. He drew rein, and I followed his example.
“M. de Luynes,” he began, “I am or was a member of the cabal formed against Mazarin's aims in the matter of the marriage of Mademoiselle de Canaples to his nephew. I joined hands with St. Auban, lured by his protestations that it is not meet that such an heiress as Yvonne de Canaples should be forced to marry a foreigner of no birth and less distinction, whilst France holds so many noble suitors to her hand. This motive, by which I know that even Eugène de Canaples was actuated, was, St. Auban gave me to understand, his only one for embarking upon this business, as it was also Vilmorin's. Now, M. de Luynes, I have today discovered that I had been duped by St. Auban and his dupe, Vilmorin. St. Auban lied to me; another motive brings him into the affair. He seeks himself, by any means that may present themselves, to marry Yvonne—and her estates; whilst the girl, I am told, loathes him beyond expression. Vilmorin again is actuated by no less a purpose. And so, what think you these two knaves—this master knave and his dupe—have determined? To carry off Mademoiselle by force!”
“Sangdieu!” I burst out, and would have added more, but his gesture silenced me, and he continued:
“Vilmorin believes that St. Auban is helping him in this, whereas St. Auban is but fooling him with ambiguous speeches until they have the lady safe. Then might will assert itself, and St. Auban need but show his fangs to drive the sneaking coward away from the prize he fondly dreams is to be his.”
“When do these gentlemen propose to carry out their plan? Have they determined that?” I inquired breathlessly.
“Aye, they have. They hope to accomplish it this very day. Mademoiselle de Canaples has received a letter wherein she is asked to meet her anonymous writer in the coppice yonder, at the Angelus this evening, if she would learn news of great importance to her touching a conspiracy against her father.”
“Faugh!” I sneered. “'T is too poor a bait to lure her with.”
“Say you so? Believe me that unless she be dissuaded she will comply with the invitation, so cunningly was the letter couched. A closed carriage will be waiting at this very spot. Into this St. Auban, Vilmorin, and their bravos will thrust the girl, then away through Blois and beyond it, for a mile or so, in the direction of Meung, thereby misleading any chance pursuers. There they will quit the coach and take a boat that is to be in waiting for them and which will bear them back with the stream to Chambord. Thereafter, God pity the poor lady if they get thus far without mishap.”
“Mort de ma vie!” I cried, slapping my thigh, “I understand!” And to myself I thought of the assignation at St. Sulpice des Reaux, and the reason for this, as also St. Auban's resolution to so suddenly quit Blois, grew of a sudden clear to me. Also did I recall the riddle touching Vilmorin's conduct which a few moments ago I had puzzled over, and of which methought that I now held the solution.
“What do you understand?” asked Malpertuis.
“Something that was told me this morning,” I made answer, then spoke of gratitude, wherein he cut me short.
“I ask no thanks,” he said curtly. “You owe me none. What I have done is not for love of you or Mancini—for I love neither of you. It is done because noblesse m'oblige. I told St. Auban that I would have no part in this outrage. But that is not enough; I owe it to my honour to attempt the frustration of so dastardly a plan. You, M. de Luynes, appear to be the most likely person to encompass this, in the interests of your friend Mancini; I leave the matter, therefore, in your hands. Goodday!”
And with this abrupt leave-taking, the little fellow doffed his hat to me, and wheeling his horse he set spurs in its flanks, and was gone before a word of mine could have stayed him.
CHAPTER XI.
OF A WOMAN'S OBSTINACY
“M. de Luynes is a wizard,” quoth Andrea, laughing, in answer to something that had been said.
It was afternoon. We had dined, and the bright sunshine and spring-like mildness of the weather had lured us out upon the terrace. Yvonne and Geneviève occupied the stone seat. Andrea had perched himself upon the granite balustrade, and facing them he sat, swinging his shapely legs to and fro as he chatted merrily, whilst on either side of him stood the Chevalier de Canaples and I.
“If M. de Luynes be as great a wizard in other things as with the sword, then, pardieu, he is a fearful magician,” said Canaples.
I bowed, yet not so low but that I detected a sneer on Yvonne's lips.
“So, pretty lady,” said I to myself, “we shall see if presently your lip will curl when I show you something of my wizard's art.”
And presently my chance came. M. de Canaples found reason to leave us, and no sooner was he gone than Geneviève remembered that she had that day discovered a budding leaf upon one of the rose bushes in the garden below. Andrea naturally caused an argument by asserting that she was the victim of her fancy, as it was by far too early in the year. By that means these two found the plea they sought for quitting us, since neither could rest until the other was convinced.
So down they went into that rose garden which methought was like to prove their fool's paradise, and Yvonne and I were left alone. Then she also rose, but as she was on the point of quitting me:
“Mademoiselle,” I ventured, “will you honour me by remaining for a moment? There is something that I would say to you.”
With raised eyebrows she gave me a glance mingled with that superciliousness which she was for ever bestowing upon me, and which, from the monotony of it alone, grew irksome.
“What can you have to say to me, M. de Luynes?”
“Will you not be seated? I shall not long detain you, nevertheless—”
“If I stand, perchance you will be more brief. I am waiting, Monsieur.”
I shrugged my shoulders rudely. Why, indeed, be courteous where so little courtesy was met with?
“A