CHAPTER X
HOW THE QUARREL BEGAN
Monsieur le Baron D'Inchy took his seat at the head of the principal table; beside him sat his ward, Madame Jacqueline de Broyart, who had M. le Comte de Lalain on her left. Gilles sat some little way down one of the side tables. Outwardly, he was a person of no importance—a stranger, travelling incognito and enjoying for the time being the hospitality of Monseigneur the governor. Maître Jehan, watchful and silent, stood behind his master's chair. The tables had been lavishly and sumptuously laden with good things: a perpetual stream of butlers, pages and varlets had walked in and out of the hall, bringing in dish after dish and placing them upon the boards.
The company sat down amidst much laughter and facetious conversation, and, we take it, every intention of enjoying their host's good cheer. And, of a truth, it was a brilliant assembly, a veritable kaleidoscope of colours, an almost dazzling sparkle of jewels. The dark doublets worn by the men acted as foils to the vivid satins worn by the ladies. The host and his principal guests had high-backed chairs to sit on, but every one else sat on low stools, set very far apart so as to give plenty of room for the display of the ladies' dresses and their monstrous farthingales. Indeed, the men almost disappeared between the billows of satin-covered hoops and the huge lace collars, the points of which would tickle their nose or scratch their ear or even get into their eye.
While the serving-men and wenches went the round of the tables with serviettes over their shoulders and silver ewers and basins in their hands, offering to the guests tepid water perfumed with orange flower, with myrtle, lavender and rosemary, for washing their hands, Gilles de Crohin was watching Jacqueline de Broyart. From where he sat, he could see her dainty head above a forest of silver dish-covers. She had not removed her mask; none of the ladies would do that till, mayhap, after the banquet was over, when conviviality and good cheer would breed closer intimacy. To Gilles' senses, rendered supersensitive by his strangely adventurous position, it seemed as if that piece of black satin, through which he could only perceive from time to time the flash of glowing eyes, rendered Jacqueline's personality both mysterious and desirable. He was conscious of an acute tingling of all his nerves; his own mask felt as if it were weighted with lead; the fumes of rich soups and sauces, mingled with those of wine and heady Flemish ale, appeared to be addling his brain. He felt as if he were in a dream—a dream such as he had never experienced before save once, when, sick, footsore and grievously wounded, he had gone on a brief excursion to Paradise.
Gilles did not know, could not explain it satisfactorily to himself, why the remembrance of a far-off, half-forgotten dream-voice came, with sweet persistency, between him and reality, a voice tender and compassionate, even whilst a pair of eyes, blue as the firmament on an April morning, seemed to be gazing on him through the slits in the mask.
It would have been difficult for any stranger who happened to have landed in Cambray, unacquainted with the political circumstances of its province, to have realized, at sight of Monsieur le gouverneur's table, that the Spanish armies were even then ravaging the Cambrésis, and that provisions in the city were becoming scarce owing to the difficulties which market-gardeners and farmers had of bringing in their produce. Gilles, who had been in the service of a Royal prince of France and who had oft risen from the latter's table with his stomach only half filled, was left to marvel at the prodigality and the sumptuousness of the repast. Indeed, one of the most interesting documents preserved until recently in the archives of the city of Cambray, is the account of this banquet which M. le Baron d'Inchy, governor of the Cambrésis, gave ostensibly in honour of the notabilities of the province, but which, I doubt not, was really in honour of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, brother of the King of France, who we know was present on the occasion, under a well-preserved incognito.
And the menu! Ye gods who preside over the arts of gastronomy, what a menu! Eighty-two persons sat down to it, and of a truth their appetite and their digestion must have been of the staunchest, else they could never have grappled successfully with half the contents of the dishes which were set before them. Three separate services, an' it please you! and each service consisting of at least forty different dishes all placed upon the three tables at once, with the covers on; then, at a given signal, the covers removed, and the guests ready to help themselves as they felt inclined, using their knives for the purpose, or else those curiously shaped pronged tools which Monseigneur d'Inchy had lately imported out of England, so the town gossips said.
Ye gods, the menu! For the first service there were no fewer than eight centre dishes, on each an oille—that most esteemed feat of gastronomic art, in which several succulent meats, ducks, partridges, pigeons, quails, capons, all had their part and swam in a rich sauce flavoured with sundry aromatic substances, pepper and muscat, thyme, ginger, basil and many sweet herbs. Oh, the oille, properly cooked, was in itself a feast! But, grouped around these noble dishes were tureens of partridges, stewed with cabbage; tureens of fillets of duckling; several pigeon pies and capons in galantine; fillets of beef with cucumbers and fricandeaus of lard; and such like insignificant side dishes as quails in casserole and chickens baked under hot cinders—excellent I believe!
After the platters and dishes had become empty, the first service was removed, clean cloths spread upon the tables—for by this time the first ones had become well spattered with grease—and perfumed water once more handed round for the washing of hands. Knives were washed too, as well as the forks—the few of them that were used. Then came the second service. Breasts of veal this time, larded and braised, formed the centre dishes and the minor adjuncts were fowls garnished with spring chickens and hard-boiled eggs, capons, leverets, and pheasants garnished with quails: there were sixteen different kinds of salads and an equal number of different sauces.
Again the service was removed and clean cloths laid for the third service. A kind of dessert—little things to pick at, for those who had not been satisfied. Such little things as boars' heads—twelve of them—which must have looked magnificent towering along the centre of the table; omelettes à la Noailles—the recipe of which, given in a cookery book which was printed in the beginning of the sixteenth century, does suggest something very succulent—dishes of baked custards, fritters of peaches, stewed truffles, artichokes and green peas, and even lobsters, sweetbreads and tongues!
Such abundance is almost unbelievable, and where all the delicacies came from I, for one, do not pretend to say. They were there, so much we know, and eighty-two ladies and gentlemen must have consumed them all. No wonder that, after the first few moments of formal ceremonies—of bowings and scrapings and polite speeches—tongues quickly became loosened and moods became hilarious; wine too and heady Flemish ales were copiously drunk—not a little of both was spilled over the fine linen cloths and the rich dresses of the ladies. But these little accidents were not much thought of these days; fastidiousness at meals had not yet come to be regarded as a sign of good breeding, and a high-born gentleman was not thought any the worse of for vulgar and riotous gorging.
A very little while ago, M. d'Inchy himself—a man of vast wealth and great importance—would have been quite content to help himself with his fingers out of his well-filled platters and to see his guests around his board doing the same. But ever since the alliance with France had been discussed by his Council, he had desired to bring French manners and customs, French fashions in dress, French modes of deportment, into this remote Belgian province. Indeed, he was even now warmly congratulating himself that he had quite recently imported from England for his own use some of those pronged tools which served to convey food to the mouth in a manner which still appeared strange to some of his guests. The civic dignitaries of Cambray and more than one of the Flemish nobles assembled here this night looked with grave puzzlement, even with disapproval, at those awkward tools which had so ostentatiously, they thought, been placed beside their platter: French innovations, some of them murmured contemptuously, of which they certainly did not approve; whereupon they scrambled unabashed with their fingers in the dishes for their favourite morsels.
Jacqueline, silent at first, began after awhile to chatter merrily. Monsieur de Landas, who sat opposite to her, having lately come from Paris, she begged earnestly for all the latest gossip from the Court. Madame la Reyne de Navarre? What was she like? Jacqueline had heard such marvels of her grace and of her intellect. And the Duc d'Anjou? Was he as handsome as women averred? And was he—was he really such a rogue as irate husbands and brothers would have every one believe? Then she wanted to know about the fashions. Were hoops really growing in size or had a revulsion of feeling set in against them, and what was the latest mode for dressing the hair? Was it true that the new green dye specially invented by Monsieur Duc d'Anjou was so unhealthy to the wearer that many mysterious deaths had already followed its introduction?
And all the while that she talked she affected to eat heartily; but Gilles, who was watching her, saw that she scarce touched a morsel, only played with her fork, the use of which was evidently still unfamiliar to her. From time to time she seemed to pause in her chatter in order to gaze across the table in the direction where he sat silent and absorbed, somewhat isolated, as if shunned by the rest of the company; and whenever she did so it seemed to him as if her eyes called to him through the slits of that mysterious mask. After awhile, that call seemed so insistent that Gilles had the greatest difficulty in the world to force himself to sit still. He wanted to jump up and to go and sit near her, force her to remove that forbidding mask and let him see just what kind of a face was concealed behind it.
By now, you see, his imagination had once more veered right round and he had quite made up his mind that she was fair to look upon. The length of the table which separated him from her obsessed his mood, till he felt a perfect fever of desire and impotence coursing through his veins. And with this tingling of the nerves came a sense of jealousy. He could not see the man with whom Jacqueline was conversing so animatedly, had only given passing attention to Monsieur de Landas when the latter had spoken with him. But gossip had already reached his indifferent ear that M. le Marquis de Landas had—at any rate at one time—been an approved suitor for the hand of the rich heiress, whereupon Messire Gilles became satisfied within himself that that unpleasant feeling of dislike, which he was feeling toward the other man, was solely on account of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, his master, over whose interests vis-à-vis that same heiress, he—Gilles—was set here to watch.
Still Jacqueline chattered away, and quite ten minutes had gone by since she had cast a glance in Gilles' direction. So he felt curious as well as angered and leaned forward in order to get a better view of Monsieur de Landas. He let his eyes travel along the line of faces which he saw for the most part only in profile: men and women, some old, some young, some grave and sober, others frivolous, rowdy, not a little vulgar, thought the fastidious Sire de Froidmont, who had Valois blood in his veins and had seen a good deal of the super-civilization of Paris. All of them appeared intent on devouring huge slabs of meat, and licking their fingers for the last drops of sauce. All, that is, except one—the man with whom Jacqueline was conversing so gaily; a young man, with masses of wavy black hair, a blue chin and an oval face, which he kept resolutely turned toward Madame Jacqueline.
'The favoured lover,' mused Gilles. 'The possibly dangerous enemy of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, and spoiler of Madame la Reyne's best laid schemes.'
The young man ate very little, but he drank copiously. When he was not looking at Jacqueline he appeared to be staring moodily before him and bit furiously at his nails.
'Attention, friend Gilles!' Messire said to himself. 'There's the rock against which you may well bruise your head presently if you are not careful. Madame Jacqueline may, for aught I know, have a fancy for that amorous, olive-complexioned swain, who, as soon as I begin to take the centre of the stage—as take it I must—will become, a fierce and cunning enemy. I shall have to see to it that Madame's fancy for him turns to indifference. After that, beware, friend Gilles! Satan hath no finer henchman than a rejected lover.’
As the banquet drew to its close there was little gravity or decorum left around the festive board. Even the oldest and the gravest had yielded to the delights of untrammelled gorging. The food was excellent, the wines beyond praise; every one knew every one else; they were all friends, companions together, allied by political or business interests—in many cases by blood. The veneer of civilization as shown by sober manners had not yet come to be thought more necessary than good cheer and conviviality.
The heat in the room had become oppressive. The smoke from innumerable wax candles made a blue haze overhead, a veil of mist which hid the high, vaulted ceiling and caused the lights to flicker dimly. The men had cast aside their mantles and loosened their sword-belts; the ladies used their plumed fans vigorously. There was little left on the table even of the elaborate dishes pertaining to the third service: platters and silver épergnes were for the most part empty; only now and again some one would lean over and desultorily pick at a piece of lobster or a truffle—an excuse, mayhap, for washing down the highly-spiced food with another bumper of wine.
Conversation, loud jests—some of them both ribald and coarse—flew over and across the tables, loud calls were made to friends who sat far away. The time had come for casting off the last shred of ceremonial decorum which stood in the way of unbridled hilarity. The ladies, at the instance of their respective cavaliers, had cast aside their masks one by one, and their comely faces appeared, crimson and steaming even beneath the thick layers of cosmetics.
Jacqueline was one of the few who remained quite calm and cool. She plied her fan with lazy grace and kept on her mask—despite the earnest, whispered entreaties of M. de Landas and of a group of young gallants who had gathered round her.
Gilles had already made up his mind to go. He felt stifled under his mask and the heat of the room, the heady fumes of wine and food rendered him stupid and dizzy. There appeared to be no chance of his being able to approach Jacqueline again, short of provoking a quarrel with her Spanish watch-dog, which Gilles would have thought impolitic to do. On the whole, he thought that it would be best to retire for the nonce from the scene. His day had not been altogether unsuccessful: it was the fifth since his arrival in Cambray, and surely Madame la Reyne de Navarre would by now be on the track of her truant brother. Gilles' probation could not last many days longer, and in the meanwhile he had definitely made up his mind that Monsieur's future bride was adorable, and that she already evinced a more than passing interest in the masked stranger who had serenaded her so boldly from beneath her casement-window.
Not a bad beginning, thought Messire, as he gave a wink to Jehan to follow him and rose from his seat. The moment which he chose appeared a favourable one: the etiquette of the supper table was considerably relaxed; those of Monseigneur's guests who wished to do so had taken to moving about from place to place, according as they desired to speak with friends; whilst some who wished to hold private converse together, or who were on the point of leaving, actually walked out of the room.
This was Gilles' opportunity. Just then Monseigneur d'Inchy rose also. Monsieur le Prince d'Eremberghe and his lady were about to take their leave. They were personages of vast importance and the host desired to do them special honour. Accompanied by de Lalain, he escorted his departing guests to the door, and thence, having the Princess on his arm, he went out into the antechamber, followed by de Lalain and the Prince. He had not noticed Gilles, and the latter stood for a moment or two in the centre of the room, alone with Jehan, and momentarily undecided. He surveyed the group at the head of the table with a critical frown: the young gallants—there were six of them—were crowding round Madame, some leaning across the table, others pressing close to her chair. She may have been amused at the platitudes wherewith they were regaling her; she may have enjoyed their conversation and M. de Landas' ardent glances—she may have done all that, I say, and thought no more of the man standing there alone in the middle of the room than if he had been one of her lacqueys. But, as chance would have it—or was it indeed Gilles' compelling look which drew her own?—certain it is that she turned her head in his direction and that he felt that she was regarding him quizzically, searchingly, through the eye-slits of her mask.
Quickly he gave a few whispered instructions to his faithful Jehan; then he calmly strode across the room.
Monseigneur the governor was still absent: his seat beside Madame Jacqueline was empty. Gilles walked up the length of the table—no one heeded him—and before any one—least of all M. de Landas—was aware of his intention, sat down quite coolly on M. d'Inchy's vacant chair, immediately next to Jacqueline.
If you can imagine a cannon ball exploding in the very centre of that festive board, you will have some dim idea of the effect produced upon M. d'Inchy's guests by this manoeuvre. Every head was at once turned in that direction, for M. de Landas and his friends had uttered an exclamation that was almost ludicrous in its bewildered wrath.
The ladies round the supper tables could not do more than utter shrill little screams of disapproval, and many of the men were, alas! too deep in their cups to do aught save mutter bibulous imprecations against the malapert. A few rose and ran to give the weight of their moral and social support to de Landas, who had already jumped to his feet and appeared ready to make of this incident a quarrel—and that quarrel, his own. Of a truth, it was de Landas who had been most grievously insulted. The vacant chair beside Madame Jacqueline could only be taken by an intimate friend such as he. Already his hand was on his sword-hilt; his eyes, somewhat dimmed by the effect of copious libations, were rolling with unbridled fury; beneath his mask a hot flush had risen to his forehead, whilst below the curly masses of his dark hair his ears appeared white and shiny like wax. Unfortunately, he, like several other gentlemen present here this night, had drunk a vast quantity of Burgundy and Rhenish wine, not to mention several bumpers of excellent Flemish ale, and when choler came to mingle with the fumes of so much heady liquor, M. de Landas on rising, turned very giddy and had to steady himself for a moment or two against the table.
Just at that moment a veritable pandemonium reigned in the stately banqueting hall.
'The insolence!' said some of the ladies to the accompaniment of piercing little shrieks.
'A stranger!'
'A prince from Nowhere at all!'
'Bah! A Prince!'
'A mere fortune hunter!'
'Probably a Spanish spy!'
'Only a Spaniard would have such insolence!'
'Such impudence passes belief!'
The men—those who could speak coherently—sent encouraging calls to de Landas:
'Seize him by the collar, M. le Marquis!'
'Throw him out!'
'Have him kicked out by the varlets!'
Enough noise, in fact, to break the drum of a sensitive ear. But Gilles appeared superbly unconscious of the storm which was brewing round him. He had his back to M. de Landas, leaned an elbow on the table and faced Madame Jacqueline as coolly as if he had been invited by every one here to pay her his respects.
Jacqueline, demure and silent, was smiling beneath her mask. To look at her, you would have sworn that she was stone-deaf and heard nothing of the tumult around her.
It soon raged furiously. M. de Landas had quickly recovered himself. His towering rage helped to dissipate the fumes of wine and ale which had somewhat addled his brain, and backed by all his friends he made preparation to throw the malapert to the tender mercies of M. d'Inchy's varlets, and as a preface to the more forcible proceeding, he turned in order to smite the impudent stranger in the face—turned, and found himself confronted by a short, square-shouldered man, with a round head and fists held clenched on a level with a singularly broad chest.
The man stood between Gilles and M. de Landas; he had the table on his right and the monumental mantelpiece on his left, and behind him was the tall carved oak back of the chair on which Gilles was sitting—all equally strong barriers to the young Marquis' bellicose intentions.
'Out of the way, lout!' shouted de Landas furiously, and would have seized Maître Jehan by the collar but for the fact that it was a very difficult thing indeed to seize Maître Jehan by any portion of his squat person unless he chose to allow so unceremonious a proceeding, and just now he was standing guard between a number of enraged gentlemen and the back of his master's chair—a trying position, forsooth, for any man of Maître Jehan's prowess, for ... well! he would not have dared to lay hands on such a great gentleman as was M. le Marquis; but, against that, M. le Marquis had no chance of laying hands on Maître Jehan either.
And all the while, Gilles sat so near to Jacqueline that his knees touched the hoops of her skirt. Instinctively she drew her own chair back with that same little demure air which was apparent in every one of her movements, even though her face was concealed by the mask.
'An' you move an inch further, fair one,' he said boldly, 'I vow that I shall be ready to commit a crime.'
'You are committing one now, Messire,' retorted Jacqueline. 'A crime against decorum, by sitting in my guardian's place.'
'Then I'll no longer sit—I'll kneel at your feet,' he riposted, and made a movement as if to push away his chair.
'Heaven forbid!' she exclaimed lightly. 'M. de Landas would kill you!'
'I am not so easily killed,' he rejoined. 'And M. de Landas is, for the moment, engaged with my man.'
'Who is getting sorely pressed, Messire!' cried Jacqueline with sudden, eager excitement. 'Will you not go to his aid?'
She had caught sight of Jehan, standing with his back to his master's chair, fists levelled, shoulders squared, defying not only M. de Landas but a crowd of other gentlemen, who had rushed forward to support their friend.
'Not before you have promised to unmask, fair one,' Gilles said calmly.
'I?' she exclaimed, now really staggered by his cool impudence. 'You are dreaming, Messire!'
'I think I am, Madame,' he replied; 'therefore I must have your promise ere I wake.'
'You are presumptuous!'
'Just now you said that I was dreaming. A man who dreams is a man asleep—and a man asleep is too helpless to be presumptuous.'
'That is sophistry, Messire,' she retorted. 'And while you parley thus idly, your man is in serious danger through the wrath of these gentlemen.'
'My good Jehan's danger is not so pressing as mine. He hath my orders to hold these gentlemen at arm's length until I give the word, whilst Monseigneur d'Inchy may be back any moment before I wake up from my dream.'
'Oh!' she urged now with well-feigned alarm. 'But your poor man cannot stand long before these gentlemen, and you, Messire, will surely not allow him to receive all those knocks which are intended for you!’
'I have received many a score which were intended for him,' retorted Gilles with a laugh. 'Jehan and I have long ceased to reckon up accounts. Your promise, fair one,' he pleaded; 'ere Monseigneur return to place a spoke in my wheel!'
She felt now as if she were trapped, no longer combated his desire, but merely appeared anxious to gain time until her guardian came to release her from the strange, compelling power of this man, who was arrogating unto himself rights which could only be claimed by a friend or lover.
'Oh, mon Dieu!' she exclaimed agitatedly, half rising from her chair in her eagerness to catch sight of Jehan. 'He cannot long parry the attack——'
'Your promise, fair one,' he insisted quietly, 'to let me see your sweet face to-night! I swore it to myself just now, when you threw me a glance across the room, that I would look into your eyes untrammelled. Your promise!—or I vow that I'll do something desperate!'
'Heavens above!' she exclaimed, keeping her attention deliberately fixed on Maître Jehan. 'If he should strike one of these gentlemen—he—a mere servant!...'
'If he does,' riposted Gilles lightly, 'I will take up his quarrel, with this token tied to my sword-hilt.' And from the inner pocket of his doublet he drew a tiny, perfumed rag, held it in his hand and waved it with an ostentatious flourish for her to see.
She gave a quick, involuntary little cry of alarm: 'My handkerchief!'
'Undoubtedly, fair one!' he said coolly. 'It hath your initials and crown embroidered in the corner! Think you Messire de Landas' choler will cool at sight of it?'
Her forehead, her tiny ears, her neck and chin, everything that he could see of her dainty face, had become suffused with a warm blush.
'Messire!' she said firmly, 'I command you to give me back that handkerchief, which you stole unawares.'
'It was flung at me with a sheaf of lilies, which, alas! have withered. 'Tis my right hand which shall wither ere I part from the handkerchief.'
'My handkerchief!' she reiterated impatiently.
'Only with my life! But it shall lie for ever hidden against my heart if you will promise...'
'Messire, you are committing a base and unworthy act!'
'I know it,' he said with a smile. 'But I must have that promise.'
'Promise of what?' she asked breathlessly, driven into a corner by his obstinacy.
'To let me look straight into your eyes to-night,' he said, 'unfettered by that hideous mask.'
He leaned forward so that his face now was quite close to hers, and he could feel her quick breath against his cheek.
'No, no!' she said with a little gasp. 'My guardian—and—and M. de Landas——'
'Very well!' he said dryly, and began quietly winding the little rag around his sword-hilt.
'Messire!' she said in a peremptory tone, through which a note of appeal, if not of genuine alarm this time, could be distinctly perceived.
'Promise!' he reiterated relentlessly.
Just then she caught sight of de Landas, who, flushed with choler, was thrusting somewhat wildly at Maître Jehan. She thought that his eyes were constantly wandering in her direction and that he was vainly trying to get near her, past his sturdy opponent, who was guarding the approach to his master's chair with all the fierceness of a Cerberus. Somehow, at sight of de Landas thus fighting with almost savage violence, she lost her head for the moment. Of a truth, the matter of the handkerchief might lead to a very bitter quarrel between her lover and this stranger. A very bitter quarrel—and worse! De Landas was wont to lose all self-control when jealous rage had hold of him, was as quick with his dagger as with his rapier! And here was this tantalizing troubadour calmly preparing to flaunt upon his sword-hilt the handkerchief which bore her name and coronet. He looked up and caught the sparkle of her eyes.
'Promise!' he insisted quite coolly.
And she—very reluctantly—murmured: 'Very well; I promise!'
'To-night!' he insisted.
'No!—no!' she protested. 'Not to-night!'
'To-night!' he reiterated firmly, smiled at her too beneath his mask as if in triumph—Oh, the insolence of him!—and continued to toy with the compromising bit of white rag.
If only Monseigneur would return! There was nothing for it but to acquiesce. De Landas even then looked the very image of wild and unreasoning fury. Jacqueline shuddered and murmured a quick: 'Very well! To-night! I promise!'
Gilles gave an equally quick sigh of satisfaction.
'When?' he asked.
But before she could reply, there came a loud curse from Jehan. He had been seized round the legs by two varlets, even while he was engaged in warding off the blows which were aimed at his head by half a dozen gallants. It was when he came down with a dull thud upon his knees and felt that he could no longer stand between his master and these evil-intentioned gentlemen that he gave forth a prolonged and uproarious stutter:
'The d-d-d-d-d——'
Gilles jumped to his feet. In less than three completed seconds he was round by the side of Jehan, had kicked the two varlets out of the way and interposed his massive person between his faithful henchman and the seething group of bellicose gallants.
'Silence, chatterbox!' he said coolly to Jehan. 'These seigneurs are not here to listen to your perorations. Anything that must be said can be referred to me.'
He had one hand on the elegant hilt of his Spanish rapier; the other rested on the shoulder of Maître Jehan, who had struggled very quickly to his feet. His mocking glance, veiled by the black satin mask, swept coolly over de Landas and his friends.
'Insolent!' exclaimed one of the men.
'Unmask the spy!' cried out another.
'Leave the rogue to me!' quoth de Landas, who was getting beside himself with rage.
Already half a dozen swords were drawn. Every one who had been drunk before became sobered in the instant; those who had remained sober felt suddenly drunk with choler. Some of the ladies thought it best to scream or to feign a swoon, others made a rush for the door. No one dared to come nigh, for de Landas was a man who was not good to trifle with when his ire was aroused. But those who were not taking part in the quarrel were certainly not eyeing the stranger with any degree of benevolence, and Jacqueline felt more than she actually heard the adverse comments made upon this Prince de Froidmont—so he was styled, it appeared—who had come no one knew whence and who seemed to arrogate unto himself privileges which only pertained to favoured friends.
Thus a wide circle was formed at one end of the room, leaving at the other, in splendid isolation, the group which was made up of half a dozen young gallants standing in threatening attitudes in front of the masked stranger, who now had his henchman on one side of him and on the other the monumental mantelpiece, in which the fire had been allowed to die down.
'Out of the way, malapert!' cried de Landas savagely to Gilles, as he advanced towards him with sword clutched and eyes that glowed with a fierce flame of unbridled wrath. His desire was to reach Jacqueline, who stood a little way behind Gilles, near the table, watching in an attitude of tense excitement the progress of this quarrel, and with an eye on the door through which she hoped every moment to see her guardian reappear.
But, quick as lightning, Gilles had barred the way. He appeared highly amused and perfectly at his ease, laughed boldly in M. de Landas' heated face; but would not let him pass.
It was easy to perceive that he was enjoying this quarrel, loved to see the glint of those swords which threatened him even while they promised to vary the monotony of this sentimental adventure. He had not drawn his own. In France, fighting in the presence of ladies was thought highly unseemly. These Flemings were different, very uncouth, not a little brutal and abominably hot-headed. Well! the quarrel once begun would of a surety not end here and now, even though M. d'Inchy were to return and peremptorily order it to stop. There was something in M. de Landas' sullen and defiant attitude which delighted Gilles: and when half a dozen irate gentlemen shouted hoarsely, 'Out of the way!' he laughed and said:
'Impossible, Messeigneurs! 'Tis for you to retire. Our gracious hostess will grant me the favour of unmasking. An' I am much mistaken, she will not do the same for you.'
'Madame Jacqueline,' retorted de Landas hotly, 'will not unmask before the first jackanapes who dares to approach her unbidden.'
'Ah! but I am not unbidden,' riposted Gilles gaily. 'Have I not told you that Madame will deign to unmask ere I bid her good-night?'
'Insolent coxcomb!' shouted the other excitedly.
'A spy!' cried one of the others.
'Tear off his mask, de Landas! Let us see the colour of his skin!'
'An impudent rogue!' added a third.
'M. le Marquis de Landas,' here interposed Jacqueline peremptorily, 'you forget that M. le Prince de Froidmont is our guest.'
'Oh!' retorted de Landas with a sneer, 'if he is under the protection of the ladies...'
'Under no protection save that of my sword, Messire!' broke in Gilles carelessly. 'And that will be entirely at your service as soon as I have taken leave of our fair hostess.'
'Nay! that you shall not do!' riposted de Landas. 'Your impudent assertion of awhile ago has put you outside the pale. You shall not take your leave! 'Tis we who'll throw you out; unless you relieve us of your company now—at once!'
'Well said, de Landas!' came in an approving chorus from the irate group of de Landas' friends.
'We'll throw him out!' cried some of them. 'Leave him to us.'
'A spy!' came from others.
'Now, Messire—whoever you may be,' concluded de Landas with ironic emphasis, 'will you go willingly or shall my friends and I——'
'For shame, Messire!' broke in Jacqueline loudly and firmly. 'You are six against one——'
'So much the better!' riposted de Landas with a harsh laugh. 'At him, friends!'
'Madame,' said Gilles, turning to Jacqueline with perfect calm, 'your promise will remain for ever unredeemed if these gentlemen succeed in throwing me out of the room; for this, I vow, they cannot do while I am alive.'
'Jacqueline,' interposed de Landas impulsively, 'I forbid you to unmask before this man.'
He had guessed her purpose, for already her hand was raised towards her mask; and so enraged was he that she should thus yield to this stranger whom already he had come to hate, that he forgot himself, lost all self-control, and said just the one word which decided Jacqueline. At the word 'forbid,' she drew herself up to her full height and faced her lover with calm and hauteur.
'There is nothing,' she said coolly, 'that any one here has the right to command or forbid.' Then she turned to Gilles: 'I'll bid you good-night now, Messire, and can but offer to you—a stranger—my humble apologies in mine and my guardian's name for the uncouth behaviour of my countrymen.'
'Jacqueline!' exclaimed de Landas with a hoarse cry of rage.
But even before this final protest had reached her ear, she had extended one hand to Gilles and with the other slowly detached the mask from her face. He had stooped very low in order to kiss her finger-tips; when he straightened out his tall figure once more he was face to face with her.
He never spoke a word or made a sign. He did not look into her eyes at first, though these were as blue as the skies in Southern France; he did not gaze at the delicate mouth with the deep corners and the roguish smile, or at the chiselled, slightly tip-tilted nose with the sensitive nostrils that were quivering with excitement. No! all that Messire Gilles gazed on at the moment was a tiny brown mole which nestled tantalizingly on the velvety cheek, just below the left eye. And for that moment he forgot where he was, forgot the storm of enmity which was raging around him, the unworthy rôle which he had set out to play for the deception of a confiding girl. He lost count of time and of space and found himself once more lying on cool, sweet-smelling straw, with a broken wrist and an aching head, and with a vision as of an angel in white bending over his fevered brow and murmuring in tones of exquisite compassion, 'Think you it will heal?'
And as he gazed on that little mole, that veritable kissing-trap which had tantalized him long ago, his lips murmured vaguely:
'My dream!’
Of course the little interlude had all occurred within a very few seconds: the kiss upon the soft, warm hand, the look upon that roguish face, the swift and sudden rush of memory—it had all happened whilst poor M. de Landas was recovering from the shock of Jacqueline's cold rebuke. Her stern taunt had come down on him like a hammer-blow upon the head; he felt dazed for a moment; speechless, too, with a white rage which was too great at first for words. But that kind of speechless fierceness seldom lasts more than a few seconds. Even as Gilles de Crohin was quietly collecting his scattered senses and Jacqueline, vaguely puzzled, was readjusting her mask in order to be able to gaze on him unobserved, marvelling why he should have murmured 'My dream!' and looked so strangely at her, de Landas had recovered some measure of self-control. The anger which he felt against the stranger was no longer impetuous and ebullient; it had become cold and calculating, doubly dangerous and more certain to abide.
He put up his sword, motioned to his friends to do likewise—which they did, murmuring protestations. They were itching to get at the stranger who had triumphed so signally over them all. But de Landas was waiting with apparent calm whilst Gilles took leave of Jacqueline. This Gilles did with all the ceremony which etiquette demanded. He still felt dazed with the strange discovery which he had just made, the knowledge that the dream which he had only cherished as a vague memory was a living, breathing, exquisite reality. Ye gods! how exquisite she was!
But he had no excuse for lingering—had, on the other hand, a wild desire to be alone, in order to think, to remember and to dream. So, having bowed his last farewell, he turned to go, and found de Landas barring his way.
'You will pay for this outrage, Messire,' said the latter in a quick whisper through his set teeth.
'Whenever you please,' replied Gilles imperturbably.
'To-night——'
'Surely not while ladies are present,' broke in Gilles quietly.
''Tis in Madame's presence,' retorted de Landas roughly, 'whom you have insulted, that I and my friends——'
'Messire!' protested Jacqueline firmly.
'Ah! a valorous half-dozen then?' rejoined Gilles lightly. 'I see that you—and your friends, Messire—have no intention of taking any risks.'
'Our intention is to tear that mask off your impudent face and make you lick the dust at Madame Jacqueline's feet.'
'And mine,' riposted Gilles gaily, 'is to collect a trophy of half a dozen masks—yours, Messire, and those of your friends—on the point of my sword and to place these with my homage at Madame Jacqueline's feet.'
'Insolent!'
'I therefore am completely at your service, gentlemen,' concluded Gilles, with an ironical bow directed at his opponents. 'Whenever, wherever you please.'
'Here and now!' broke in de Landas, whose self-control—never of long duration—had already given way. 'At him, friends! And, by Satan, we'll teach this malapert a lesson!'
It was in vain that Jacqueline tried to interpose; in vain that the ladies about the room screamed and swooned, that the men even began loudly to protest. Neither de Landas nor his friends were in a state to hear either commands or protests. All decorum, chivalry, breeding, was thrown to the winds. Hatred had descended like an ugly night-hawk upon these young gallants, and with her frowzy, sable wings had enveloped their brain and hearts till they were deaf to the most elementary dictates of honour. With de Landas, a wild, insensate jealousy had fanned that hatred to a glowing brazier of unreason and of madness. He saw—or thought he saw—that Jacqueline displayed unwonted interest in this stranger, that her eyes followed his movements with anxiety not unmixed with admiration. And de Landas became conscious of a red veil before his eyes and of a furious desire to humiliate that man first and to kill him after.
'At him, friends!' he called again hoarsely. 'We'll teach him a lesson!'
It was most fortunately at this very moment, and when the tumult was at its height, that Monseigneur d'Inchy re-entered the room. Just for a second or two he did not pay much heed to the noise. In these days, when political and religious controversies oft raged with bitter acrimony, it was not very unusual that a hot quarrel marred the close of a convivial gathering. D'Inchy at first did not do more than glance round the room, to see if his interference was really necessary. Then, to his horror, he realized what was happening, saw Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, own brother to the King of France and future Sovereign Lord of the Netherlands, standing in the midst of a group of young hotheads, who were actually threatening Monseigneur the governor's exalted guest!
And de Landas, that impetuous quarrelsome young coxcomb, was talking of giving Monsieur a lesson! It was unbelievable! Appalling! D'Inchy was a middle-aged man, but it was with a degree of vigour which many young men might have envied that he pushed his way through the jabbering and gesticulating throng of men and women, right across the room to the top of the table, where he arrived just in time to avert what would indeed have been a terrible calamity.
'By Heaven, M. de Landas,' he interposed stoutly, ''tis I will teach you and these gentlemen a lesson which you are not like to forget!'
And, regardless of de Landas' and his friends' glowering looks, he pushed his way to Gilles' side and stood facing that angry little crowd who, suddenly abashed, drew back a step or two, muttering wrathful expletives. Monseigneur, of course, was their host and an old man; but why should he interfere and spoil what promised to be really fine sport?
'M. le Prince de Froidmont is my guest,' M. d'Inchy went on calmly. 'Who quarrels with him, insults me and my house.'
A real sigh of relief came from Madame Jacqueline. Already, at sight of her guardian, she had felt reassured, and now he had voiced just what she had wished to say all along. She felt grateful to him for this and for his dignified attitude, and with a pretty, clinging gesture, sidled up to him and took hold of his arm.
What could the young gallants do? They were helpless for the moment, even though still raging with choler. De Landas tried to look as if nothing of importance had happened, even though from beneath his mask he shot a last glance of hatred and menace at his unperturbed enemy. The others quickly followed suit and for the moment the incident was at an end. Fortunately it was not likely to have unpleasant consequences, for already Gilles had interposed with his habitual good-humour.
'Your pardon, Monseigneur,' he said. 'These—these gentlemen and I had no intention of insulting one another. We were only having a little argument, and as your hospitality hath been over-lavish, we became somewhat heated; that is all!'
'Somewhat heated!' riposted d'Inchy gruffly. 'With mine own ears I heard M. le Marquis Landas here...'
'Yes, that's just it!' broke in Gilles imperturbably. 'M. de Landas and I were indulging in a friendly argument, which your presence, Monseigneur, at once rendered futile.'
M. d'Inchy sighed with relief. Gilles' coolness was contagious; even de Landas ceased to growl and the others to mutter. Thank Heaven! the quarrel was fizzling out like an unfanned flame, and in any case Monsieur was taking the situation with perfect good-humour. D'Inchy, bent, as always, on conciliation, smiled with impartial blandness on every one, whilst Jacqueline, silent and demure now as if nothing had happened, was once more looking straight down her nose. D'Inchy took hold of her hand, which still rested upon his arm, and patted it gently with an indulgent, fatherly caress.
'Then all is for the best, Messeigneurs,' he said, 'and with your leave my ward will now take her leave of you. I fear me that your friendly argument has somewhat fatigued her. By the way,' he added lightly, 'you have not yet told me what that argument was about.'
'Oh!' rejoined Gilles with a quiet smile, 'we only argued as to whose should be the privilege of placing a trophy at the feet of our fair hostess.'
'A trophy? What trophy?'
'Oh, something quite insignificant. A—a mask—or half a dozen——'
'Just like so many 'prentices a-quarrelling,' said d'Inchy with gruff good-humour. 'A mask or half a dozen, forsooth! You'd far better all be going to bed now. Madame cares nothing for your masks or your trophies. She is too tired for any such nonsense. Eh, Jacqueline?'
'Not too tired, Monseigneur,' replied Jacqueline demurely, 'to forgo the pleasure of bidding you good-night ere you go to rest.'
'There, you see, gentlemen,' rejoined d'Inchy gaily, 'that age has certain privileges which youth seeks for in vain. Whilst you go moodily, unsatisfied, to bed, the fairest of the fair will be sitting with her old guardian in his living-room, prattling away on the events of this night, quizzing you all, I'll warrant; laughing at your quarrels and your trophies. Is that not so, my dear? ... One mask or half a dozen! ... Are they not like children, these gallants, with their senseless quarrels? But there, while women are beautiful, men will quarrel for their favours—what?'
And he looked down with fatherly pride on the golden head which was kept so resolutely bent.
'C'est entendu, Monseigneur,' replied Jacqueline softly. 'I'll come to your living-room as usual and bid you good-night after all our guests have departed.'
Far be it from me even to hint that, as she said this, Jacqueline threw more than a cursory glance on Gilles or on M. de Landas, for nothing could have looked more demure, more dignified and aloof than she did at this moment, when, having spoken, she bowed with stiff grace to the group of gentlemen before her. And even Maître Calviac would have felt that he was a mere bungler in the matter of bowings and scrapings if he could have seen these gallants responding to Madame's salute; the right leg outstretched, the left foot kept back, the hand almost touching the floor with a wide sweep of the arm, then brought back to the lips as for an imaginary kiss.
The next moment Jacqueline had turned and presently could be seen, still with that same stiff grace, receiving the adieux of her guardian's guests. She held her small head very erect and with one hand plied her fan with lazy nonchalance, whilst the other was perpetually being extended to those whose privilege it was to kiss it.
As for the group of young gallants—well! they had the immediate future to look forward to. True, that for the nonce they were forbidden to continue the quarrel for fear of incurring their host's displeasure; but it was only a matter of putting off the happy hour when one could be even with that insolent stranger. De Landas turned with a significant gesture and a knowing wink to his friends. After that, the small group dispersed and ostentatiously mingled with the rest of the departing crowd.
D'Inchy, before he left Gilles' side, managed to murmur fulsome apologies.
'I do assure Monseigneur,' he whispered earnestly in Gilles' ear, 'that these young jackanapes will not be tempted to repeat their impudence, and that I...'
'And that you, Messire,' broke in Gilles a little impatiently, 'are entirely innocent of any intention of offending me. That is, of course, understood. Believe me,' he added gaily, 'that the little incident was more than welcome as far as I am concerned. Your lavish hospitality had made us all drowsy. M. de Landas' aggressive temper brought life and animation into the entertainment. I, for one, am grateful to him for the episode.'
Five minutes later he too had taken leave of his host. Jacqueline he did not see again. She was entirely surrounded by friends. Nevertheless, he left the banqueting hall in a state of exhilaration, and as he passed through the doors between the rows of Monseigneur's obsequious serving-men, they all remarked that Monsieur le Prince de Froidmont was humming a lively tune, the words of which appeared to be:
'Les plis de sa robe pourprée
Et son teint au vostre pareil!'