CHAPTER XVIII
IN THE “TIGER’S DEN”
WHILE all these plans were being hurried forward for his release, Gerard took his imprisonment very philosophically. There was but one circumstance which caused him uneasiness—the doubt whether Dubois could have had time before he was placed under arrest to pass on the instructions he had given him.
But he had no serious fear. If Dubois had been able to set things in motion there would soon be some effort on foot to secure his liberty; while if not, the worst could only be that he himself would be driven to announce his real rank to the Governor.
He was indeed more than half disposed to regret having maintained silence at the moment of arrest. He had measured the lengths to which the Governor was prepared to go; and the brutal command to cut him down if he resisted was one not to be forgotten. That and the indignity to which he, Bourbon’s son, had been subjected by this tyrant should be paid for heavily.
He had a recompense, however. Gabrielle had answered nobly to the test he had made. She loved him. He was sure of her now; and with that as a consolation to sustain him, the hours of his retirement passed lightly.
When his gaolers entered and led him from the cell in which he had first been placed to one in which stood the instruments of torture, he regretted no longer that he had not avowed his identity.
Rumours of the Governor’s savage treatment of his prisoners had reached him, garnished with many a horrible story of torture and violence. He had now the evidence of this before his own eyes; perhaps to be threatened even against himself; and these things he might never have been able to prove had he declared himself earlier.
That they were there to intimidate him he was soon to know, for a warder entered and began to make them ready for use.
Gerard watched him curiously from the spot where he sat bound, and at length broke silence.
“You ply a strange trade, my friend,” he said.
“Prisoners must be silent,” answered the man. It was Pauline’s father, Pierre, who had received orders from de Proballe in the Duke’s name to have the ghastly instruments in readiness, and to do the work before the prisoner’s eyes.
“Silence, too, eh? Is this another of your Governor’s pleasant methods of hospitality?”
“I tell you to be silent,” replied Pierre gruffly. He had been both troubled and alarmed at the command which his daughter had brought from the Duchess. Fully prepared to do her bidding, he was nevertheless anxious so to do it as to prevent suspicion falling on himself. To him the event might mean life or death; and however strong the Duchess’s intentions might be to shield him in the event of discovery, she might lack the power, should the Governor get proof of his treachery.
“So you are the Governor’s torturer,” said Gerard next. “I don’t envy you your trade.”
“A man must live,” returned Pierre.
“A pretext for villainy and cruelty as long as the world has been a world, I suppose. Yet were I a lusty fellow like you, I’d find some honester use for my muscles than to maim my fellow-men and drag their joints asunder, Master Torturer.”
“I am no torturer,” said Pierre. “I am the warder.”
“Warder only, eh? You get the torture ready and stand aside for some one with a tougher stomach to do the mangling. Yet by the look of your face, I think I’m wronging you. Those eyes of yours have a light in them that speaks of a better nature than your words imply.”
“I have to obey my orders. You are a soldier they say, and should know that. Why are you placed here?”
“That’s a question I could better put to you. To watch you set those instruments running smoothly for my poor bones, maybe.”
“’Tis a sight many a brave man has quailed at seeing. But I mean, what is your crime; what have you done?”
“As much as many of the Governor’s prisoners probably; that is, nothing.”
“Then these are to find the offence.”
Gerard laughed lightly.
“You’ve a pleasant wit, warder. What’s your name?”
“Pierre Delmont.”
“And so you think, Pierre, that I am to be put in the embrace of some one of those pretty toys of yours in order to induce me to confess to something I haven’t done? And I suppose you speak after some experience.”
“I have counselled many a man to confess to some light crime rather than face these; and more than one has scoffed at my words to his after sorrow.”
“Then you are here to frighten me with thoughts of the torture.”
“You are a brave man, I am told; yet many a man brave enough on the field of battle has made his first acquaintance with fear in this cell. God forgive the cruelty of it!”
“I am in no danger, Pierre.”
“Yet not for any reasons you know of.”
“Surely that sentence has a double sound.”
Pierre left his work, crossed toward Gerard, and answered in a low tone.
“It means what I did not purpose to tell you yet—that I am your friend at the bidding of others. We shall set you free, you and the other prisoner, the monk. My work here I must do; otherwise I might be suspected; and I meant to hold my tongue until it profited to speak.”
“Who are those others?”
“Some one is coming. Silence,” said Pierre hastily, as he withdrew to the other end of the cell and busied himself again with his gruesome task.
Presently a knock sounded on the door, and Pierre let drop the irons he held with a clanking sound. The knock was repeated; and he opened the door.
The Governor and de Proballe entered.
“Why did you keep me waiting?” demanded the former angrily.
“I was working yonder, my lord, and did not hear you.”
“I heard the clanking of irons,” said de Proballe. “I ordered him to have all in readiness.”
Pierre went back to his work, and the two stood looking down at Gerard.
“You can see now what comes of defying the Governor and playing me false, M. Gerard de Cobalt,” said de Proballe, with an evil smile. “And this is only the beginning; unless you are in another mood.”
“It is worthy of the Baron de Proballe to gloat over a helpless man,” answered Gerard contemptuously.
“Exactly, helpless is just the right word, prisoner.”
“The Duke of Rochelle has surely some other motive in coming here than to allow this carrion to insult me,” said Gerard, turning to the Governor.
The Governor smiled at de Proballe’s start of anger.
“I have come to you with a merciful object.”
“I seek no mercy at your hands, monsieur. If you have come to do tardy justice it will suffice for me, for you will order the gaoler there to unbind my hands and set me free.”
“Not so fast, prisoner, not so fast,” cried de Proballe.
“I addressed you, monsieur,” said Gerard to the Governor.
“What would it be but mercy that should impel me to pardon the murderer, Gerard de Cobalt?”
“I am no murderer, neither am I M. de Cobalt.”
“Admit that you are he and no harm shall come to you. I will keep my word and pardon you for the affair at Cambrai.”
Gerard paused. The turn in things surprised him; and he could not see the motive of it. The Governor mistook his silence for hesitation.
“Write the admission that you are Gerard de Cobalt and guilty of that crime, and on my oath you shall go from Morvaix a free man.”
“Why?”
“It is not for you to question. But I gave my word before you came and I will keep it even now.”
“Why should I confess to a crime I never committed and blacken—ah, I think I see. You would show the confession to Mademoiselle de Malincourt. Is that the motive for this unexpected mercy, as you term it? I might have guessed it.”
“Your answer?”
“I would sooner cut my hand off than write the lie.”
“It is well that I told Pierre to be prepared,” said de Proballe. “We know that you are Gerard de Cobalt, and that you devised the scheme of that letter to make us doubt you when you saw the danger in which you stood. But we have means at hand that will make you speak.”
“Who, then, do you say you are?” asked the Governor.
“For what crime am I made a prisoner and threatened with the torture?”
“Prisoners are to answer, not question.”
“Is it your custom here in Morvaix to imprison men first and ascertain their crimes afterwards? And to use the rack and the boot to drive them to make a false confession? This is not the law of France, my lord Duke, and you will beware how you threaten me with such iniquity.”
“Will you speak and say who you are?”
“I bear a name, my lord, which, were I to mention it, would make even you pause in the contemplation of this outrage. It is enough that I say I am a soldier and a man of honour and standing, with full right to be in your city. If I withhold my name now, it is only that I may see how far report has belied the evil reputation of your rule, and to what lengths you will go in wronging an innocent man.”
“Brave words, brave words,” sneered de Proballe.
“As for you, monsieur,” said Gerard, turning upon him. “Your notorious life in Paris prepared me to find you playing the part I see you filling in Morvaix. Having wormed your way with lies into your niece’s confidence, you were ready to betray her in the vile scheme your own lips confessed to me. Coward, bully, cheat, liar, and scoundrel, the part of procurer was still open to you in baseness; and you filled it with a treachery worthy even of you. Have no fear: you shall have your reward.”
“’Fore God, this is too much,” cried de Proballe, rushing forward to strike Gerard in the face. But the Governor prevented him; he was none too sorry to hear de Proballe abused.
“Stay, monsieur,” he said with cold contempt. “You take the truth badly. If you are minded to strike that blow, I will have the prisoner set free for your benefit.”
“I have not deserved this at your hands, my lord,” said de Proballe; but the Governor let the protest pass with a sneer.
“Your name, prisoner?” he said, sternly.
“You shall hear it, my lord, never fear; and hearing it, shall understand all that this means to you.”
“I hold you for the man you have already declared yourself. As Gerard de Cobalt you came here; you yourself gave that name, and in it you won your way into Malincourt; and as Gerard de Cobalt I will treat you. I give you two hours to decide whether you will admit this to be the truth, or compel me to have it dragged from you.”
“Stay, my lord Duke,” cried Gerard sternly, as he was turning to the door; “let me have this in plainer terms. If I do not admit that I am Gerard de Cobalt, you propose to put me to the torture to drag such a confession from me?”
“I will have the truth one way or the other. Use the time of grace well and be thankful that I concede it;” said the Governor with a heavy threatening frown, and motioned to Pierre to open the cell door.
“As there is a God, I had not believed that any man, even you, could be capable of such infamy,” exclaimed Gerard, as the two went out. The Governor whispered a word or two of instruction to Pierre who came back and resumed his work, making much noise over it.
Presently he crossed to Gerard, holding a set of heavy irons which he clanked loudly.
“In his present mood he is a fiend, monsieur. He ordered me to seek to break your nerve with the full view of these things, and then to leave you in solitude that your fears should gather.”
Gerard smiled.
“Clank them as much as you will, I heed them not. My nerves are tough enough to withstand a greater strain than that.”
“He would keep his word, monsieur. In this mood he is iron.”
“Are you in truth an honest man? The breed seems rare in the Castle.”
“I hope so—as men go, monsieur.”
“And you heard what passed?—my last question and his reply.”
“I could not help it.”
“I am not this Gerard de Cobalt, and he knows it; yet you heard him declare that if I would not confess to this lie he would torture me until I did confess. If all else slips from your memory, at least remember that; for the time may come when I may need your testimony. Now do what you will; I am tired and would sleep;” and Gerard lay back on the pallet.
“Not there where you lie, monsieur, safer here;” and to Gerard’s surprise Pierre made him shift his position.
Presently Pierre left the cell, and Gerard fell asleep, to be wakened by a sound at the door. He sat up thinking the two hours had passed and that the Governor had returned; then started with an exclamation of delight and surprise, as he saw Gabrielle enter, dressed in a loose black cloak.
“Gabrielle! You!”
“I have come to set you free,” she said, pausing with blanched cheeks as her eyes ran round the cell. “What a fearful place.”
“You have run this risk for me!” and he smiled.
“I run no risk; but if risk there were, you must be free.”
“Shall I go, mademoiselle? The door must be locked,” said Pierre.
“Yes, go, good Pierre. Keep watch and warn us of any danger.”
“There is a full half-hour and more, mademoiselle. But I will watch;” and he went out and locked the door behind him.
“How you trust me, Gabrielle,” said Gerard.
“We must not speak save in whispers; and there is much to do and to tell you.” As she spoke she slipped off the cloak and disclosed a somewhat bulky roll fastened cunningly about her. Then she took a knife from a sheath, and with it cut the bonds which bound Gerard’s arms and legs.
He tried to rise, but fell back helpless.
“You are ill!” she cried in quick alarm; and glancing at the torture implements, which showed gaunt and gruesome in the slanting rays of the moonlight, she caught her breath and added—“They have not dared——”
“No, no. It is but the rush of blood through my numbed veins. It will pass in a moment.”
She sighed in relief and then cut loose the roll.
“A ladder of fine silk rope that will reach to the courtyard below,” she exclaimed, as she laid it on the pallet, while Gerard was chafing his arms and legs. He glanced at the window bars. “They can be moved,” she added, catching the look; and gave him rapidly a description of the place.
“Another devil’s trick, indeed,” he muttered, with a frown; and watched her while she sought for the spring to release the bars. Before she found it he had regained the use of legs and arms, and went to her help.
“I have it,” she said at length, and pressed upon it with all her strength while he tugged at the bars. Success soon crowned their efforts, and then a place was found where the grappling hooks of the ladder could be fastened.
“Now the way is clear,” said Gerard.
“Not yet. There is a guard below. But we have done our part so far. Your friend, whom you call Pascal, will be here soon—should be here now indeed, to surprise the man and clear the path for you below. He will come in by the breach made for the repair of the walls, and he has friends posted there. Look if you can see anything of him. Cautiously, or the moonlight on your face may betray you.”
Gerard peeped from the casement.
“There is no sign of Pascal. There is a guard below; he is leaning on his musket just underneath this spot. Listen!”
Listening almost breathlessly, the sounds from below came up. They heard the soldier stamping his feet as if chilled with the night air; then his musket was grounded; and a moment later the stillness was broken as he began to sing in a sweet tenor voice the ballad which Lucette was fond of carolling—
“There was a maiden in Arcady
Whose lover both feal and true,
Came riding forth from the sullen north
Her sweet white hand to woo.”
As the simple words were borne to their ears they both smiled.
“Apt words,” whispered Gerard gently, as he captured Gabrielle’s hand and carried it to his lips.
“How shall I thank you, Gabrielle?”
“You are not yet free, monsieur,” she answered, withdrawing her hand.
“Monsieur?” he whispered. “Was it not you who once reproved me for calling you mademoiselle?”
“If I think of you as Gerard, yet do I not know how to call you now.”
“I am Gerard, in truth.”
“Oh, I am so glad,” and she sighed.
“And sigh for gladness?”
“Sigh partly for gladness—that is a woman’s way, Gerard; yet not all for gladness, but partly in fear lest even now this plan of ours should in some way miscarry. Your Pascal lingers, and yet I urged him so. Pray look again.”
“He will come surely. Never yet has he failed me. But if he were prevented, it would be no grave matter.”
“No grave matter?” she repeated anxiously.
“I have learnt all and more than all I came to learn, and there is no longer need for concealment. Parlous as my plight seems, yet I am not in such peril as you deem, Gabrielle.”
“I do not understand. What came you to learn?”
“You do not ask me who I am.”
“You will tell me in your own time, I know.”
“What a trusting heart is yours, Gabrielle! What proof you have given me of your love! Yet I know how I must have tried you. Have you not even guessed why I came?”
“I have tried, but failed hopelessly,” she said with a smile. “For me it is enough that you did come.”
“You sent certain messages to the Duke of Bourbon. Have you not wondered that no answer came?”
“Are you from great Bourbon? And this Pascal? And the monk who is a prisoner? And the others of whom Pascal spoke? You are to go to Malincourt, where he has gathered a force of men—monks they were, Lucette told me. Is this all a part of it?”
“All,” he replied. “We came to gather for ourselves the truth as to this Tiger’s doings.”
“And you are the leader, then. Oh——” she paused and looked in his eyes.
“I am Bourbon’s son.”
At this she fell back from him in great concern.
“My lord——”
“Nay, Gerard to you, Gabrielle, my dearest; always Gerard to you, as you will always be Gabrielle to me. My Gabrielle;” and he stretched out his arms and folded them about her.
“I am frightened, my lord,” she cried, burying her face on his shoulder.
“My lord cannot hear that, Gabrielle,” he whispered tenderly.
“Gerard,” she murmured, and lifted her face and gazed upon him with eyes of love.
“Thus then I break my pledge. I said I would not seek a betrothal kiss till I came for it having freed Morvaix from the claws of its Tiger; but—” and stooping he kissed her on the lips. “My Gabrielle.”
“My Gerard, my knight, my love,” she whispered, and of herself with love’s sweet rapturous abandonment sought his lips in return.
They stood thus in silent happiness too deep for words, when the stillness without was broken.
“Who goes there?” It was the voice of the guard.
“Pascal has come,” said Gerard.
“And we shall have to part. I could almost grudge his coming. But look down, Gerard, and see what passes.”
“There are several soldiers,” he reported, his head at the casement. “Ah, it is a ruse. Good Pascal.”
The sound of a moment’s struggle came up; a weapon fell with a clang upon the courtyard stones; the press of heavy footsteps; and then again silence.
“Done without bloodshed,” said Gerard; “and well done, Pascal. He sees me and motions. Give me the rope, dearest;” and he flung it out far into the night.
“Go, Gerard, go,” cried Gabrielle, excitedly.
“And you, Gabrielle? Where do you go?”
“Back to the Duchess. She has planned this and is our staunch friend. To-morrow I shall return to Malincourt.”
“I would rather you went with me. You would be safe at Malincourt. This rope would bear us.”
“I shall be safe with my friend. Go, Gerard, for the love of God, go. Every moment is precious.”
“I do not like to leave you.”
“No harm can touch me with her.”
“But first I must know that you are safely out from this cell. Call Pierre. I cannot leave you here. The rack would be a gentler punishment than the suspense till I knew you were safe.”
“I will go then.”
“God keep you, dearest, till we meet at Malincourt.”
He threw his arms round her and they kissed again; and then both started back in alarm.
Some one tried the door of the cell, and a voice harsh and stern called loudly—
“Pierre, Pierre, come here at once and open the door.”
“God have mercy upon us both, it is the Duke’s voice,” whispered Gabrielle, clinging to Gerard. Then with intense agitation in her voice she added—“Fly, Gerard, if you love me; fly, or it will be too late.”
“Nay, it is too late. I cannot leave you now,” he answered, in a tone of calm strength.
“Then let us go together.”
“That also were useless. He would be in before ever we could reach the courtyard; and he would either cut the rope and we should go to our death, or summon his soldiers and we should be caught. I will await him here.”
The Governor’s voice was heard again then, oathing and cursing at Pierre’s delay and calling to him in strident tones to hasten.