II
But faithful Jehan le Bègue did not go to sleep that night. Not until the late hours of the morning did he do that, and by then he was half a league away out of Cambray. As soon as he had seen his master lying in comparative comfort, he picked up the guttering candle and, walking cautiously on the tips of his toes, he went downstairs. Immediately under the stairs there was a narrow cupboard, and here upon the bare boards, rolled up In a blanket, Maître Julien was wont to sleep—of late with one eye open and one ear ready prepared to catch the slightest sound, since his liege-lady, the exquisite Queen of Navarre, had constituted him the guardian of Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont.
Even now, at the first sound of those cautious footsteps, Julien was awake, and when, a minute or two later, Jehan peered into the narrow cupboard, he met the youth's eyes staring at him, glowing with that look of alertness and wariness which is peculiar to small animals at bay. He had raised himself on his elbow, but Jehan could see that underneath the ragged coverlet Julien's hand was grasping a pistol.
'F-f-f-friend,' he stuttered in a gruff whisper, 'g-g-get up. M-m-monseigneur's service,' he added significantly.
In a trice Julien was up.
'What is it?'
Jehan made several animated gestures, indicative of writing.
'Follow me,' rejoined Julien briefly.
He took the candle from Jehan and together the two men went into the room opposite, which served as taproom for the few guests who honoured 'Les Trois Rois' with their custom.
There was a long, narrow table at one end of the room. On this Julien placed the candle; then from a small cupboard in the wall he took paper, pen, sand and inkhorn, and placed these also upon the table.
There ensued then a long, whispered consultation between these two men. Julien with infinite patience gradually drew from Maître Jehan, bit by bit, almost word for word what he required. Ah! if Maître Jehan could only have put his wishes down on paper, matters would have been quite easy; but calligraphy was one of the arts which that worthy had never mastered in his youth, and which he certainly had not practised for the past twenty years. But what knowledge could not accomplish, that a boundless devotion on both sides contrived to do this night. Perspiration stood out in great beads upon Jehan's forehead, there was a deep frown of perplexity upon his brow as he stammered out laborious instructions to Julien. There was a strong vein of dogged obstinacy in his composition and a certain sound was still ringing in his ear, which spurred him to desperate efforts to make himself understood. It was the sound of Messire's weird laugh—harsh and uncontrolled—when Madame had taunted him with having a number of paid ruffians round him to help him in the fight against all those noble assassins. Paid ruffians, forsooth! Madame should know the truth, even if Maître Jehan's brain gave way under the terrible strain of making that cheesy-faced Julien understand what he wanted.
And Julien, intent, ghastly pale in his eagerness, listened with ear and mind and eyes and every sense strained to breaking point, to find sense and coherence in Jehan's stammering. For two hours these two men sat face to face with the guttering candle between them, glaring into one another's face, as if each would tear out the other's innermost brain and knead it to his will.
But at last Julien understood. By dint of broken monosyllables and emphatic gestures, Jehan had made it clear to him what had happened, and Julien, suddenly motioning the other to be silent, was at last able to put pen to paper.
'Most noble and gracious Seigneur,' he wrote, 'the writer is only a poor servant and you are a great and Puissant Lord; but I will tell you the Truth about what happened this night. Messire was set upon by six Noblemen, and the Writer was set upon by six Knaves. Messire was taken unawares and so was I. I feigned dead dog because I wanted to go and fetch help. Then the knaves were called away to help in the Murder of Messire, and I went to call Madame. Twelve against two, Monseigneur! Was that right? And Messire fought them all single-handed. This is the truth so help me God and I am Monseigneur's
'Most humble and obedient Servant,
'Jehan: servant to Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont.'
When Julien had finished writing the letter he read it through aloud to Jehan three times; then, when the latter expressed himself completely satisfied with it, he folded it and Jehan slipped it inside his doublet, beside the one which Messire had given him.
After which, he took up the candle again and bade Maître Julien 'good-night.' He did not thank Julien, because he knew quite well that what the latter had done had given him infinite happiness to do. Every gesture, every look in the young man's face had proclaimed that happiness. In serving Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont, he had indirectly served the goddess whom he worshipped from afar. His pale face still irradiated with joy, he went back to his poor, hard bed, to dream that She was smiling on him for his devotion to Her wishes.
And Jehan went straightway to his master's room.