CHAPTER IV
THE ARMS OF PIERRE PEUQUOY, THE ROPES OF JEAN PEUQUOY,
AND THE TEARS OF BABETTE PEUQUOY
Nearly a month elapsed at Calais without bringing about any change in the situation of those whom we left there to their great regret. Pierre Peuquoy was always working away diligently at his armor; Jean Peuquoy had begun to weave again, and in his leisure moments finished some ropes of extraordinary length; Babette Peuquoy was always weeping.
Gabriel's waiting had gone through the various phases sketched by Arnauld du Thill to the constable. He had waited patiently the first fortnight, but had begun then to grow impatient.
He now visited Lord Wentworth only on very rare occasions; and his calls were always very brief. There had been coolness between them ever since Gabriel had rashly interfered in the fictitious family affairs of the governor.
The latter too, we take great pleasure in saying, grew more and more gloomy from day to day; but the cause of his uneasiness was not the three messages which had been sent at short intervals since Arnauld's departure, from the King of France. All three made, as may well be imagined, the same demand,—the first politely, the second sharply, and the third with threats: they demanded the liberty of Madame de Castro for such ransom as the governor of Calais chose to name. But to all three he had made the same reply,—that he proposed to keep Madame de Castro as an hostage to be exchanged in case of need during the war for some prisoner of importance, or to be returned to the king without ransom when peace should be concluded. He was strictly within his rights; and intrenched behind his strong walls, he defied Henri's anger.
So it was not the royal anger which worried him, although he could but ask himself how the king had learned of Diane's captivity; the real source of his anxiety was the indifference, every day more contemptuous, of his fair prisoner. Neither humility nor assiduous attention had availed to lower the proud and disdainful spirit of Madame de Castro. She was always the same—calm and sad and dignified—before the passionate governor; and whenever he ventured to utter a word of his love (although it must in justice be said that he never violated the bounds which his title as a gentleman imposed upon him), an expression, at once mournful and haughty, broke poor Lord Wentworth's heart and wounded his pride. He did not dare to speak to Diane either of the letter she had written to Gabriel or of the attempts made by the king to procure his daughter's liberty, so much did he dread a bitter word or a satirical reproof from those lovely but cruel lips.
Diane had noticed that the servant who had dared to undertake to deliver her billet was no longer to be seen about the house, and fully understood that desperate chance had failed her. However, she did not lose her courage, the pure and noble girl waited and prayed. She trusted in God, and in death, in case of need.
On the last day of October, which Gabriel had fixed on in his own mind as the limit to his term of waiting for Martin-Guerre's return, he determined to call upon Lord Wentworth and ask, as a favor, his leave to send another messenger to Paris.
About two o'clock he left the Peuquoy house, where Pierre was polishing a sword, Jean weaving one of his enormous ropes, and w here for several days past, Babette, with eyes red from weeping, had been wandering from room to room, unable to speak, and betook himself straight to the governor's mansion.
Lord Wentworth was busy about something or other at the moment, and sent word to Gabriel begging him to wait five minutes, when he would be entirely at his service.
The hall to which Gabriel had been shown looked out upon an interior courtyard. Gabriel drew near the window to look out into the court, and mechanically ran his fingers back and forth over the panes. Suddenly, beneath his very fingers, his attention was attracted by letters drawn upon the glass with a diamond ring. He looked at them more closely, and was able to make out with perfect distinctness these words: Diane de Castro.
It was the signature which was missing at the end of the mysterious letter he had received the month before.
A film came over Gabriel's eyes, and he had to lean against the wall to avoid falling. His presentiments had not lied, then! Diane! It was indeed Diane, his fiancée or his sister, whom this dissolute Wentworth actually had in his power! It was to her, the pure and lovely creature, that he dared to speak of his passion.
With an involuntary gesture Gabriel carried his hand to the hilt of his missing sword.
At that moment Lord Wentworth came in.
As he had done on the first occasion, Gabriel, without uttering a word, led him to the window, and pointed out to him the accusing signature.
At first Lord Wentworth turned pale; then asserting that mastery over himself which he possessed in an eminent degree,—
"Well," said he, "what is it?"
"Is that not the name of the mad kinswoman whom you are obliged to hold under restraint here, my Lord?" said Gabriel.
"It may be so; what then?" retorted Lord Wentworth, haughtily.
"If it be the case, my Lord, I know this kinswoman of yours,—a very distant relative, no doubt. I have seen her very often at the Louvre. I am her devoted slave, as every French gentleman should be of a daughter of the house of France."
"And then?" said Lord Wentworth.
"Then, my Lord, I demand of you an explanation of your reason for retaining and treating as you do a prisoner of her station?"
"And suppose I refuse, Monsieur, to oblige you with an explanation, as I have already refused the King of France?"
"Refused the King of France!" echoed Gabriel, in amazement.
"To be sure," replied Lord Wentworth, with unfailing self-possession. "An Englishman, it seems to me, owes no explanation of his actions to a foreign monarch, especially when his own nation is at war with that monarch. So, Monsieur d'Exmès, what if I decline to be called to account by you as well?"
"I should demand that you give me satisfaction, my Lord," cried Gabriel.
"And you would hope to kill me, no doubt," replied the governor, "with the sword which you only wear by my leave, and which I have the right to demand of you at this moment."
"Oh, my Lord! my Lord!" cried Gabriel, in a fury of passion, "you shall pay me for this too."
"So be it, Monsieur," replied Lord Wentworth; "and I will not deny my debt when you have settled yours."
"Powerless!" fairly shrieked Gabriel, wringing his hands,—"powerless at the very moment when I should like the strength of ten thousand men!"
"It is really pretty hard for you," Lord Wentworth continued, "that propriety and law alike bind your hands; but you must confess that it would be altogether too convenient a way for a prisoner of war and a debtor to obtain his freedom and discharge his debt simply by cutting the throat of his creditor and his foe."
"My Lord," said Gabriel, struggling to recover his self-control, "you know that I sent my squire to Paris a month since to procure the sum of money which causes you so much anxiety. Can Martin-Guerre have been wounded or slain on the road, in spite of your safe-conduct? Has he been robbed of the money he was bringing me? That is what I cannot say. The sad fact is that he does not return; and I had just come to beg you to let me send another messenger to Paris, since you have no faith in the word of a gentleman, and have never offered to let me go myself to procure my ransom. Now, my Lord, you no longer have the right to refuse me what I ask, or rather I have the right now to say that you fear to have me at liberty and that you don't dare to give me back my sword."
"To whom would you say that, pray," said Lord Wentworth, "in an English city under my immediate authority, and where you should be looked upon in no other light than as a prisoner and an enemy?"
"I would cry it aloud, my Lord, to every man who has sense and feeling; to every man who has a noble heart or a noble name; to your officers, who understand affairs in which honor is involved; to your workmen even, whom their instinct would enlighten. And all would agree with me against you, my Lord, that in not granting me the means of leaving this place, you have shown your unfitness to be the commander of gallant soldiers."
"But you don't reflect, Monsieur," was Lord Wentworth's cold response, "that rather than let you spread the spirit of mutiny among my men, I have only to say the word, only to raise my hand, to have you cast into a dungeon where you could accuse me only to the deaf and speechless walls."
"Alas! that is too true, ten thousand tempests!" muttered Gabriel, with compressed lips and clinched fists.
The man of sensibility and emotion was being shattered against the impassibility of the man of iron and brass.
But a single word changed the whole face of affairs, and at once put Gabriel and Wentworth on an equal footing again.
"Dear Diane! dear Diane!" said the younger man, in his anguish; "to be able to do nothing for you in your hour of need!"
"What did you say, Monsieur?" asked Lord Wentworth, trembling. "You said, I think, 'dear Diane!' Did you say it, or did I misunderstand you? Can it be that you too love Madame de Castro?"
"Well, then, if I must say it, I do indeed love her!" cried Gabriel. "You love her too, you say! But my love is as pure and devoted as yours is base and cruel. Yes, before God and His angels I love her to adoration."
"What was all that you said, then, about the daughter of France, and the protection that every French gentleman owed to such an one in misfortune?" rejoined Lord Wentworth, quite beside himself. "Ah! you love her, do you? And you are the man whom she loves, no doubt; and whose memory she invokes when she wishes to torment me. You are the man for love of whom she despises mine! the man without whom she might love me perhaps! Ah! are you the man whom she loves?"
Lord Wentworth, but a short time before so mocking and disdainful, now regarded the man who was honored by Diane's affection with a sort of respectful terror; while Gabriel, on hearing his rival's words, raised his glad and triumphant face ever higher and higher.
"Ah, indeed she does love me, then!" cried he; "she still thinks of me! She calls for me, you say? Oh, well, if she calls for me, why, I will go to her,—yes, help her and rescue her. Come, my Lord, take my sword, gag me, bind me, imprison me, and I shall still find a way to help her and save her, since she still loves me, my saintly Diane! Since she still loves me, I dare you and defy you; and though you have arms in your hands and I am unarmed, I am sure of overcoming you, with Diane's love for my buckler."
"True, true; I can well believe it," muttered Lord Wentworth, overwhelmed.
"Thus it would no longer be generous in me to challenge you to single combat," said Gabriel; "so call your guards and tell them to confine me, if you choose. To be in prison near her and at the same time would be of itself a sort of happiness."
A long silence ensued.
At last Lord Wentworth said, with much apparent hesitation, "You asked me, I believe, to allow a second messenger to set out for Paris to procure your ransom?"
"Such was my purpose, my Lord, when I called upon you."
"In your discourse you seem to have reproached me," continued the governor, "for not having had faith in your honor as a gentleman, and for refusing to allow you to go yourself to procure your money, with your word for my security?"
"Very true, my Lord."
"Well, Monsieur," said Wentworth, "you may set out to-day; the gates of Calais will be opened to you; your request is granted."
"I understand," said Gabriel, bitterly,—"you wish to separate me from her. But suppose I refuse to leave Calais now?"
"I am master here, Monsieur," was Lord Wentworth's reply; "and it is not for you to refuse or to accept my commands, but to submit to them."
"Very well, then," said Gabriel, "I will go, my Lord, but without any especial gratitude for your generosity, I warn you."
"Nor have I any need of your thanks, Monsieur."
"I will go," said Gabriel; "but be sure that I shall not long remain your debtor, and that I shall soon come back, my Lord, to pay all my debts at once. Then I shall no longer be your prisoner, nor will you be my creditor, and there will no longer be any reason why the sword which I wear should not cross with yours."
"I might refuse this combat, Monsieur," said Lord Wentworth, rather gloomily; "for the chances between us would not be equal. If I should kill you, she would hate me all the more bitterly; whereas if you should kill me, the result would be to make her love you the more dearly. But no matter, I must and do accept. But are you not afraid," he added sombrely, "of driving me to extremities? When almost all the advantage is with you, might I not be justified in making an unfair use of those which I can still call my own?"
"God on high and the nobility of every country on earth would be your judges, my Lord," said Gabriel, shuddering, "if you should be such a coward as to wreak your vengeance upon those whom you are unable to vanquish, by oppressing those who are unable to defend themselves."
After a pause, Lord Wentworth said,—
"It is three o'clock, Monsieur, and you have until seven—the hour when the inner gates are closed—to make your preparations and leave the town. I will meanwhile give my orders that you be allowed to pass free."
"At seven o'clock, my Lord, I shall have left Calais."
"And be sure," resumed Wentworth, "that you shall never re-enter it again alive, and that even if you should succeed in slaying me in single combat without the walls, my precautions will be taken, and well taken (you may trust my jealousy for that), so that you shall never possess—nay, you shall never even see Madame de Castro again."
Gabriel had already taken some steps on his way from the room; he stopped at the door on hearing these last words.
"What you say is quite impossible, my Lord," he rejoined; "for it is very necessary that I should see Diane again, sooner or later."
"However, it shall not be, Monsieur, I swear to you, if the will of the governor of a city or the last words of a dying man are to be respected."
"It shall be, my Lord,—I know not how, but I am sure of it."
"In that case, Monsieur," said Wentworth, with a scornful smile, "you will have to take Calais by assault."
Gabriel reflected a moment.
"I will take Calais by assault, my Lord," said he. "Au revoir!"
He saluted and left the room, leaving Lord Wentworth as if turned to stone, and in doubt as to whether he ought to smile or be alarmed.
Gabriel returned at once to the house of Pierre Peuquoy.
He found Pierre polishing the hilt of his sword, Jean making knots in his rope, and Babette sighing.
He repeated to his friends the conversation he had had with the governor, and announced his approaching departure. Not even did he conceal from them the possibly reckless remark with which he had taken leave of Lord Wentworth.
Then he said,—
"Now I am going to my room to make my preparations, and I leave you to your swords, Pierre; you, Jean, to your ropes; and you to your sighs, Babette."
He went, as he had said, to put everything in order for his departure in all haste. Now that he was free, time seemed to creep along until he could get to Paris to rescue his father, and return to Calais to rescue Diane.
When he left his room half an hour later, he found Babette on the landing.
"Are you going, Monsieur le Vicomte?" she asked. "Shall you no more ask me why I weep so much?"
"No, my child; for I hope that when I come back you will have ceased to weep."
"I hope so too, Monseigneur," said Babette, "You expect to come back, then, do you, in spite of the governor's threats?"
"I promise you that I will, Babette."
"And your squire, Martin-Guerre, too, I suppose?"
"Yes, to be sure."
"Are you sure that you will find Martin-Guerre at Paris, however, Monsieur d'Exmès?" rejoined the young girl. "He is not a dishonest man, is he? Of course he hasn't appropriated your ransom? He is not capable of an act of—infidelity?"
"I would be willing to take my oath to his loyalty," said Gabriel, rather surprised at these questions. "Martin has an uncertain disposition, especially since a short time ago; and it is as if there were two different men in his body,—one simple-minded, and very quiet in his ways; the other crafty and noisy. But aside from this variable character, he is a trusty and faithful servant."
"And no more likely to betray a woman than to deceive his master, is he?"
"Oh, that is another matter," said Gabriel; "and I confess that I would not answer for him there."
"Well, then, Monseigneur," said poor Babette, turning pale, "will you be kind enough to hand him this ring? He will know from whom it comes and what it means."
"I will give it to him, Babette," said Gabriel, recalling the last evening before his squire's departure,—"I will give it to him; but the person who sends it knows, I presume, that Martin-Guerre is married."
"Married!" shrieked Babette. "Then, Monseigneur, keep the ring,—throw it away, do anything with it, rather than give it to him."
"But, Babette—"
"Thanks, Monseigneur, and adieu!" whispered the poor child.
She made her escape to the second floor, and had hardly got to her chamber and fallen upon a chair when she fainted.
Gabriel, grieved and anxious over the suspicion which then first crossed his mind, descended the staircase of the old house, deep in thought.
At the foot of the stairs he met Jean Peuquoy, who came up to him with a very mysterious air.
"Monsieur le Vicomte," said the burgher, in a low voice, "you are continually asking me why I am making ropes of such length. I cannot allow you to depart, after your admirably worded farewell to Lord Wentworth, without imparting to you the key to the riddle. By joining together with small transverse cords two long, strong ropes, as the one I am making, Monseigneur, one obtains a ladder of great length and strength. This ladder, when one is a member of the civic guard, as Pierre has been for twenty years, and I for three days, can easily be conveyed in sections and placed under the sentry-box on the platform of the Octagonal Tower. Then, some dark morning in December or January, just for curiosity's sake, we might when on sentry duty attach an end of each rope firmly to these pieces of iron when they are cemented into the battlements, and let the other ends drop into the sea, some three hundred feet below, where some hardy boatman might chance to find himself at that moment."
"But, my dear Jean—" interrupted Gabriel.
"Never mind that, Monsieur le Vicomte," rejoined the weaver. "But if you will excuse me, I should like before you leave to give you something as a souvenir of your devoted servant, Jean Peuquoy. Here is a sort of plan of the walls and fortifications of Calais. I have made it for my own amusement, during those everlasting walks that have surprised you so. Hide it under your doublet, and when you are at Paris look at it now and then for my sake, I beg you."
Gabriel tried to interrupt again, but Jean gave him no time; pressing the hand which the young man held out to him, he took his leave with these words:—
"Au revoir, Monsieur d'Exmès. You will find Pierre waiting at the door to pay his respects to you; they will supplement mine."
Pierre was standing in front of his house, holding Gabriel's horse by the bridle.
"Thanks for your kind hospitality, Master," said the viscount. "I shall very soon send you, even if I do not bring it myself, the money which you have been polite enough to advance me. I will add to it, if you please, a slight gratuity for your people. Meanwhile, be good enough to offer your dear sister this little brilliant on my behalf."
"I accept it for her," said the armorer, "on the condition that you will accept in return something in my line,—this horn which I have hung to your saddle-bow. I made it with my own hands; and I should recognize its blast even over the roaring of the stormy ocean,—for instance, on any of the mornings of the 5th of each month, when I am on guard from four o'clock to six, on the Octagonal Tower, which faces the sea."
"Thanks!" said Gabriel, pressing Pierre's hand in a way which showed that he understood him.
"As to these arms, which you have wondered to see me making in such great quantities," continued Pierre, "I am inclined to be sorry that I have such a large stock on hand; for if Calais should be besieged some day, the faction among us which still sympathizes with France might get possession of these arms, and make a dangerous diversion in the very heart of the city."
"Very true!" cried Gabriel, pressing the brave citizen's hand with still greater warmth.
"With this I wish you a pleasant journey and good luck, Monsieur d'Exmès," said Pierre. "Adieu, and to our speedy meeting!"
"To our speedy meeting!" said Gabriel.
He turned and waved a last farewell to Pierre as he stood upon his threshold; to Jean, who had his head out of a window on the first floor; and to Babette too, who was watching his departure from behind a curtain on the second floor.
Then he put spurs to his horse, and was off at a gallop.
Orders had been sent to the city gate by Lord Wentworth, and no objection was made to the departure of the prisoner, who soon found himself well on the road to Paris, alone with his anxiety and his hopes.
Would he be able to effect his father's deliverance on his arrival at Paris; or Diane de Castro's on his return to Calais?