VI

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!'