PASCAL was agreeably surprised when the officer to whom he was conducted, a man of some thirty years of age with a frank face, commenced with a quasi apology.
“This is not a very pleasant duty of mine, monsieur, but you’ll understand it is a duty. I am here in place of Captain Boutelle, and my instructions are not to allow any one to pass the gate who is not known. But as I know scarcely any one while he knows many, it is rather a hardship for the citizens. Your name, please?”
“Pascal Tourelle.” The officer wrote it down, saying the while—
“I am sorry I do not recognize you, M. Tourelle. Your occupation?”
“Merchant—chiefly in steel wares.”
“You are not of Morvaix; your accent tells me that.”
“I am of Paris; my master’s affairs have brought me to this district.”
“Ah, Paris!” exclaimed the officer. “I envy you, monsieur. Married?”
“My wife rides with me,” said Pascal.
“Her name?”
“Lucette.” The officer looked up with a quick smile.
“Pardon the smile,” he said, “but the name is unusual and recalls associations for me.”
“The devil it does! Can she have been flirting here as well!” was Pascal’s thought, but he looked stolidly at the questioner as he replied, producing Dauban’s pass—
“I can save your time, monsieur, I think. I have a pass.”
“The date is yesterday’s,” and the officer shook his head. “Did you mean to start yesterday? I am afraid it is no use to me. But I need not trouble you further except in one very simple thing. There will be plenty of citizens who know you, and I will send a man with you to any one who will identify you. I don’t distrust your word, of course, but I am compelled to do this work. And the Governor of Morvaix, as you may have heard, is somewhat exacting. I am really sorry,” he said, rising. “Perhaps Madame Tourelle will await you here.”
It was most courteously suggested, but none the less embarrassing on that account.
“I think not, monsieur. She has some matters to see to, I believe, which our earlier departure caused her to put off until our return this evening, and will no doubt prefer to see to them now while I fetch a citizen to vouch for me. For the present, monsieur, good morning. Accept my thanks for your courteous discharge of an unpleasant duty.”
But the officer was not to be shaken off.
“I should have been glad to speak with her of Paris. It is some years since I was there. Ah, Paris!” and he sighed as if in pity for himself.
“When I return, monsieur, it will give me pleasure to see you again. I will not trouble you to send a man with me, but will bring back some one who will satisfy you as to me.”
“Nay, monsieur, it is no more than a form. I will send a man,” and while he turned away to give the necessary instructions, Pascal hurried out to Lucette.
“Go back to Gerard, and tell him the way is blocked. I’ll find you at Babillon’s. Go at once, for God’s sake. The officer here pricked up his ears at your name and may know you.”
Lucette drew the end of the shawl which wrapped her neck and shoulders across the lower part of her face as the officer came out and looked curiously at her.
“I know him, indeed,” she said.
“Ah, these flirtings of yours, Lucette!” whispered Pascal, as she wheeled the horse around. “Yes, in an hour, here,” he added aloud, “and don’t keep me waiting. It is as I thought, monsieur, my wife will return to meet me here,” he said lightly, turning to the officer, who was looking very intently indeed after Lucette.
“Umph! Curious! A strange resemblance!” The words were muttered in a low whisper, but not so low as to escape Pascal’s sharp ears, and the officer gave him a quick suspicious glance. Pascal’s easy indifference appeared to reassure him, however. “Here’s the man, monsieur,” he said.
And again Pascal cursed his luck. It was the soldier with whom he had made friends in going to the Castle the preceding day. But he put his usual bold face on the matter and with a salutation to the officer went off, leaving the man to follow him.
The officer looked after him thoughtfully, re-entered the guard-house, read over the replies to his question, and pondered them.
“I must be wrong,” he mused. “But if so no harm can be done in having her followed. ‘Pascal Tourelle of Paris—and Lucette!’ I’ll send the names to Boutelle at the Castle too, and be prepared against their returning—if they do return. No, there might be trouble that I didn’t detain them. But I’ll have the wife followed.” He gave directions for this at once, and thus laid a train that was to lead to serious consequences.
Meanwhile Pascal was cudgelling his wits how to get rid of his companion, and felt none too easy under the sharp glances which the man kept casting at him, as they walked side by side.
“Did I hear your name was Pascal Tourelle, monsieur?” asked the soldier suspiciously.
“I don’t know what you heard, my man, but it is my name. Pascal the First, that is.”
“You’ve been a soldier, monsieur, haven’t you? I judge by your bearing.”
“In the Paris train bands. But one twin was as much as my father could spare to the army.”
“Twin?” questioned the man doubtingly.
“Yes, twin. Pascal the Second,” laughed Pascal. “A good soldier he is too; and, like a good soldier, with a palate for good wine and an eye for a pretty face. Lately come to Morvaix. His presence brought me here. He’s at the Castle.”
“I know him,” was the reply, with a smile and a nod and a knowing wink.
“What! You know Pascal the Second!” and he stopped and held out his hand. “Any comrade of his is my friend, and I can do what he very frequently can’t, pledge the friendship in a flask of good wine.”
“You’re wonderfully like him, and to bear the same name is curious too.” He spoke as if still suspicious.
“Ah, if you knew the devils of messes he’s got me into in Paris with this same name which my father’s whim gave us, and this strange likeness! But come, where shall we have the wine?”
The soldier soon found a wine shop, and Pascal plied him freely with liquor, a second flask quickly following the first. When the second was still half full he rose and said—
“We’ve no time to finish it, I fear. We must find M. Grimaud, the leather merchant, who will vouch for me at the gate.” He coined the name at a venture.
“’Tis a pity to leave it,” said the soldier, eyeing the flask wistfully. “I don’t get such liquor every day.”
“It’s a good reason for your staying to finish it, while I fetch M. Grimaud.”
“You’ll come back?”
“Nay, if you wish it, I’ll stay,” and he threw himself back on to his seat with an air of impatience. “Be quick, my good friend.”
“You’d better go. It’s too good stuff to swallow in gulps,” and the soldier winked appreciatively, as he emptied his glass leisurely in sips and re-filled it.
“Well, we’ll have a third reason in, then. Luck waits on odd numbers,” and he ordered the third flask, paid the reckoning, and took half a glassful.
The “third reason” carried conviction, and when Pascal next rose to leave, the soldier no longer raised any objection.
What step to take next was a question of some difficulty. The experience at the city gate had shown that Pascal could only hope to leave if some burgher of importance could be found to vouch for him, and the first thought was to try and find some one who would do this. But where to go? He could not tell who were for the Castle and who for Malincourt, and to look for Babillon was pretty much like looking for a bullet that had missed its mark and buried itself somewhere in the ground.
He was standing in the market place gazing about him vaguely and debating the thing when a stroke of fortune came his way. He caught sight of Dubois and hurried after him.
The old soldier was in a gruff mood.
“These burghers are fools: you know the sort, Pascal. Babblers, gabblers, brawlers, windbags, with never an ounce of resolution in the lot,” he said in reply to Pascal’s question as to how he had fared with them. “A cataract of talk and nothing else.”
“Well, I want one of them to come and talk now,” and Pascal told him what had occurred and what was needed.
“They’ll come and make you a speech, a round hundred of ’em,” said Dubois, with a gesture of contempt. “But I would not trust to one of them to act like a sensible man.”
“But can you find one to identify Gerard and get him away?”
“No. They’d think I had some underhand plan and waste half the day in talking about it, and another half in making up their minds and——”
“Stay, man, don’t take example by them or you’ll split my ear drums with your growling. Can it be done?”
“Babillon might do it.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere out of the reach of their cackling. They’re going to meet again at mid-day for some more babble—babble. Why did you all leave Malincourt?”
“The Governor surrounded it and made two attempts to get it in the night.”
“These wise men say they waited on him after the firing and he assured them there was to be nothing more done, and that he intended simply to sit down before the maison and wait for you all to come out. To starve you out, that meant. He’s recalled all the search parties; you can see that for yourself.”
“Well, we’re out now, and want to leave the city.”
“Where are you to be found?”
“At Babillon’s house. You know that?”
“You’d have been safer in the maison. I’ll do this. I’ll try and find Babillon, and if I succeed in getting some one to vouch for you, will come to this house. You had better go there and explain things, and what mouthing numskulls these precious burghers are.”
“You’d better arrange some place of safety in case we have to leave Babillon’s and can’t get from the city.”
“You’ll be safe enough where you are, if what they say is true, that the Governor thinks you are all still in the maison and means to keep you there.”
“You’ll lose no time?”
“Am I a burgher?” and with this last growl he went away, while Pascal, with a laugh, hurried to Babillon’s, and reported how matters had gone, and that there was nothing to do but to wait.
When a chance offered he spoke to Lucette alone.
“I have said nothing yet, but I am not quite easy about that officer, Lucette. He was very curious about—Madame Burgher; do you think he can have recognized you? Does he know you well?”
“Is it M. Burgher questioning now?” she asked, with a glance.
“No. We’ve dropped that; and we’re waiting to see what next. Just now it’s some one a good deal in earnest.”
“Yes, he used to know me very well.”
“Is he another of them?” He could not resist the jest, and she laughed back with a toss of the head.
“I don’t of course understand that. I won’t, I mean.”
“Do you think he can have sent any one after you to make sure you were Madame Burgher?”
“Do you think so?” She was serious now. “I don’t know.”
“How did you get rid of the horses?”
“M. Gerard did that.”
“I must speak to him then. A very little slip may have very big results to-day.” He called Gerard aside and told him his doubts.
“I took the horses back to where you hired them. I dared not leave them standing here. I passed a couple of soldiers, but they took no notice of me; and of course I made sure that no one followed me here.”
“It may be nothing, but when that soldier gets back and this tale gets carried to the Castle about the two Pascals and the one Lucette, it may be something—especially if de Proballe’s cunning ears get wind of it. I wish you were away.”
They were very soon to have proof that Pascal’s uneasiness had only too solid grounds. They waited with much impatience for Dubois’ coming, and when he came, about an hour after noon, he brought a grave face and very serious news.
The city gates had been shut again and the Governor’s troops were once more searching the city; this time systematically from house to house, and the efforts of the search parties were being in the first place concentrated on that part of the city in which Babillon’s house stood.
“I passed them at their work,” he said, “and only wonder I was not stopped. You cannot stay here, or you will be trapped.”
“There is but one course then,” decided Gerard. “We must get back to Malincourt.”
“There is a better plan,” said Gabrielle. “Do you go alone, Gerard, in your monk’s gabardine. He has passed the soldiers, and you will do so. I will wait for their coming. We know from what Babillon told us yesterday and what Captain Dubois has heard from the burghers, that no harm can come to me. Please.”
“No,” answered Gerard firmly. “One thing I will not do. I will not leave you within that madman’s reach.”
“But it is you he seeks. Would it not be safer, Captain Dubois, for him to go alone? And you, M. Pascal, what say you?”
“It would be safer,” agreed the captain.
“Dubois!” exclaimed Gerard.
“I speak but my opinion, my lord. I should take miladi’s advice. I will answer for her safety.”
“It will be too late to do anything if we dally in talking,” said Dubois.
“We will go together, but I will change my burgher’s dress for a monk’s,” and he hurried from the room.
“I am only a monk outwardly, and it may be well to have an officer among the party,” said Dubois, slipping off his gabardine and revealing his uniform under it.
“It’s too late,” said Pascal, who was at the window as Gerard re-entered. “The soldiers are already in the street. The chance is gone.”
Gerard looked very grave and Dubois smothered an oath in his moustache.
“We are going to pay a heavy price for our mistake in leaving Malincourt,” exclaimed Gerard. “Still, we can but make the attempt. Come, Gabrielle.”
“Monsieur, may I suggest?” put in Lucette hurriedly. “There is a chance that these searchers may not know Gabrielle. Let M. Pascal and me remain here to wait for them, playing your parts, while you hide somewhere in the house. When they find us, they may be satisfied to search no further than this room, and you will be free to leave when they have gone. If M. Pascal will?”
“It is well suggested,” declared Pascal. “If they will not know you, mademoiselle,” he added, with a quizzing glance.
“I do not know all the officers, monsieur,” she retorted.
Gerard and Gabrielle both protested against the plan on the ground of its danger to Lucette; but this was overborne, and the two were left alone, while Gerard, Gabrielle and Dubois went with Madame Babillon to an upper part of the house.
“Rather reversing the due order, this, Lucette,” said Pascal lightly.
“Due order?”
“Man and wife an hour or two back, and now we’re only betrothed, you see.”
“M. Pascal!” she cried, laughing and blushing.
“By your leave, not Pascal, but Gerard—Gabrielle.”
“I wonder what we ought to be doing when they come. I fear my heart is beating rather wildly.”
“Fitting its beats to the occasion, that’s all. As to what we should do, can’t you find a suggestion out of your experience?”
“Cannot you?”
“I think we ought to be making love—Gabrielle. That’s what Gerard would be doing, I expect.”
“We’re doing one thing that’s right, at any rate. We’re talking nonsense—Gerard.”
“Well, I think we ought to play our parts thoroughly.”
“Do you treat everything as a jest?”
“Not when I’m Gerard to your Gabrielle. It’s a part I could play in real earnest.”
“I think Gerard is an extremely ridiculous person.”
“And I think Gabrielle a very charming—coquette.”
“I wish they would come, and get it over. I’m a sad coward, and am getting more frightened every minute.”
“Ah, you’re anxious to break the engagement. You’ll break your Gerard’s heart.” He was listening intently for the coming of the soldiers, and jested merely that he might distract her thoughts and keep up her spirits. “It will be awkward, by the way, if the officer in charge happens to be—another of them.”
“You seem to think the list a long one,” she retorted with a shrug.
“Let me see. To begin with”—and he made as if to tell them off on his fingers.
“Never mind, thank you. I can count for myself.”
“Your eyes make me almost wish I could count myself,” he laughed.
“If my eyes were speaking my thoughts——”
“Well?” he asked, for she stopped.
“They would be asking how many hands would be needed to count—my Gerard’s.”
“Oh, my hands have long been full. Wait. I hear them,” he broke off, in the midst of a laugh. “You had better be in my arms and, when the door opens, break away and utter my name—I mean Gerard; and then act as though it was what it will be—a mistake.”
The tramp of men entering the house was heard, and he put his arm round her.
“Look sad,” he whispered hurriedly. “For God’s sake, don’t smile like that.”
“Oughtn’t I to like to have your arm round me? You are very clumsy about it, you know—Gerard. One might think you had had no practice.”
“You seem to know how things should be done,” he laughed.
“My heart is beating like a wild thing.”
At this moment a heavy hand was thrust against the door, which was flung open, and the soldiers entered.
“Gerard!” cried Lucette, “look, look, the soldiers,” and then staring wildly at the men, she clapped her hand to her lips and with a cry of fear fell into a seat.
“Courage, Gabrielle, it is nothing,” he whispered, in a tone loud enough to be heard, and bent for a moment over her as if in deep concern. Then he turned to the men. “What does this mean?” he demanded angrily. With intense satisfaction he recognized two of his own men among the five who were in charge of a sergeant, and he shot at them a warning look.
“It means that we’re in luck, monsieur, I think. You must come with us.”
“Come with you? Why? Cannot an honest merchant be about his business without you soldiers hunting him?”
“Tourelle. Leave me in peace.”
“Christian name, please?”
“Pascal. You are an insolent fellow.”
“And mademoiselle’s name?”
“It is no concern of yours.”
“I heard it, monsieur, and yours too. Gerard the one and Gabrielle the other. That is enough for me. You must come with me.”
“I will not. Don’t you dare to lay a finger on me,” and he made as if to offer a resistance.
“You can explain to those at the Castle, monsieur. I can only obey orders.”
“You touch me at your peril. I am an honest burgher.”
“It’s no use, monsieur. You can see that,” and at a sign from him two of the men stepped forward.
“You shall pay dearly for this outrage, and if I had a weapon——”
“Ah, but you haven’t,” was the blunt reply; and the two soldiers laid their hands on him.
“And you also, mademoiselle, please.”
The little comedy was well acted to the end, and Pascal, full of protests, and Lucette in tears, were led away; the sergeant unable to repress a smile of intense satisfaction at the capture.
They had not been gone long before the others came back to the room.
“The ruse has answered, then,” said Gerard.
“How brave of Lucette,” exclaimed Gabrielle. “I trust no harm will come to her for this.”
“It cannot. It is but a few hours now before we shall be in command of the town and the Castle itself. And those hours will be consumed by this search. Can we go, Dubois?”
“I should wait a while.”
“I am in a fever to reach Malincourt,” replied Gerard anxiously.
“I should not counsel our going so far. Could you not find shelter in some house already searched? Indeed, why not remain here?”
“I could find shelter anywhere in Morvaix,” declared Gabrielle.
“Then think of some place, mademoiselle. They have been working from east to west, so that all east of this is safe. There were two of our men in the party just now,” said Dubois, turning to Gerard. “They must be using them to make up the number necessary.”
“Good. I decide for Malincourt and should like an escort of them to take us there,” he answered, and then asked again whether they could start.
Dubois went to the window.
“A thousand hells!” he exclaimed. “They are coming back here. They must have found out the mistake. Quick, my lord, to your hiding place again! No, no, by Heaven! what fortune. Four out of five of the men are ours. I see a way. Hide, but close at hand.”
He threw himself into a chair while Gerard and Gabrielle left the room.
The soldiers came hurrying in.
“Well, what is it?” he asked coolly.
“Who are you?”
“I think that’s a question I should put to you.”
“I am the officer in charge of the search party. We are looking for the escaped prisoners, and my sergeant has just been fooled in this house. Now, monsieur, who are you? And do you know of this?”
“I am Captain Dubois, comrade of Captain Bassot, in charge of the recently arrived troops. These are some of my men, I see.”
The men saluted.
“Do you know anything of this trick?”
“Monsieur!” exclaimed Dubois angrily. “Of what do you accuse me?”
“I make no accusation, captain. But I have to search the house.”
“Well, send your men to search it,” and Dubois got up and stood by the door, thus barring the way out of the house. If the officer sent the Bourbon men they would find nothing, he knew; if he went himself, he would find more than he would be allowed to take away.
The officer hesitated a moment and then decided—
“I’ll search for myself and trust my own eyes this time.”
“It’s all one to me,” answered Dubois with a shrug.
Three men were called on to accompany the officer, and all four were leaving the room, when Gerard, who had heard what had passed, met him at the door.
“Ah!” was the officer’s significant exclamation at sight of him, “as I thought,” and he turned with a smile of triumph to Dubois.
But the smile died away instantly.
Dubois was standing before the door with his drawn sword in his hand.
It was he who smiled now, and a grim, significant, dangerous smile it was.