THE ROPE LADDER
The night was starlit, though the moon would come later. We hoped to be away from the chateau before it rose. There was a gentle breeze, which we rather welcomed as likely to cover what little noise we might make.
Leaving our horses tied in the forest, and taking the cross-bow and other things, we stole along the moat skirting the Western wall, till we were opposite the great tower. It rose toward the sky, sheer from the black water that separated us from it by so few yards. We gazed upward, and I pointed out the window which I thought, from its situation, must be that of the Countess, if she still occupied her former prison.
Our first plan depended upon her still occupying that prison, or some other with an unbarred window in that side of the tower; and upon her being still accompanied by Mathilde.
If the man on top of the tower were to look down now, thought I! We had considered that chance. It was not likely he would come to the edge of the tower and look straight down. His business apparently was to watch the road at a distance and in both directions. He could do this best from the Northeastern part of the tower. From what I knew now, I could guess why the Count had stationed him there: a conspirator never knows when he is safe from belated detection and a visit of royal guards. This accounted also, perhaps as much as the Count's jealousy, for his inhospitality to strangers, and for the half-military character of his household.
Hugues uttered a bird-call, which had been one of his signals to Mathilde in their meetings. We waited, looking up and wishing the night were blacker. He repeated the cry.
Something faintly whitish appeared in the dark slit which I had taken to be the Countess's window. It was a face.
"Mathilde," whispered Hugues to me.
Keeping his gaze upon her, he held up the cross-bow for her notice; then the bolt, to which we had attached the slender cord. Next, before adjusting the bolt, he aimed the unbent bow at her window: this was to indicate what he was about to do. Then he lowered the bow, and looked at her without further motion, awaiting some sign of understanding from her. She nodded her head emphatically, and drew it in.
Hugues fitted the string and the bolt, raised the bow, and stood motionless for I know not how many seconds; at last the string twanged; the bolt sang through the air. It did not fall, nor strike stone, and the cord remained suspended from above: the bolt had gone through the window.
"Good!" I whispered in elation; and truly Hugues deserved praise, for he had had to allow both for the wind and for the cord fastened to the bolt.
The cord was soon pulled upward. Our end of it was tied to the rope ladder, which Hugues unfolded as it continued to be drawn up by Mathilde. At the junction of cord and ladder was fixed the paper with instructions. Mathilde could not overlook this nor mistake its purpose. When the ladder was nearly all in the air, its movement ceased. We knew then that Mathilde had the other end of it. Presently the window became faintly alight.
"They have lighted a candle, to read the note," I whispered.
Hugues kept a careful hold upon our end of the ladder, to which there was fastened another cord, shorter and stronger than the first. My note gave instructions to attach the ladder securely to a bed, or some other suitable object, which, if movable, should then be placed close to the window, but not so as to impede my entrance. It announced my intention of visiting the Countess for a purpose of supreme importance to us both. When the ladder was adjusted, a handkerchief should be waved up and down in the window.
"The Countess surely will not refuse to let me come and say what I have to," I whispered, to reassure myself after we had waited some time.
"Surely not, Monsieur. She does not know yet what it is," replied Hugues.
At that moment the handkerchief waved in the window.
Hugues drew the ladder taut and braced himself. I grasped one of the rounds, found a lower one with my foot, and began to mount. The ladder formed, of course, an incline over the moat. When I had ascended some way, Hugues, as we had agreed, allowed the ladder to swing gradually across the moat and hang against the tower, he retaining hold of the cord by which to draw the lower end back at the fit time. I now climbed perpendicularly, close to the tower. It was a laborious business, requiring great patience. Once I ran my eyes up along the tall tower and saw the stars in the sky; once I looked down and saw them reflected in the moat: but as these diversions made my task appear the longer, and had a qualmish effect upon me, I thereafter studied only each immediate round of the ladder as I came to it. As I got higher, I felt the wind more; but it only refreshed me. Toward the end I had some misgiving lest the ladder should lie too tight against the bottom of the window for me to grasp the last rounds. But this fear proved groundless. Mathilde had placed a pillow at the outer edge of the sill, for the ladder to run over; and I had no sooner thrust my hand into the window than it was caught in a firm grasp and guided to the proper round. Another step brought my head above the sill: at the next, I had two arms inside the long, shaft-like opening; my body followed, as Mathilde's receded. I crawled through; lowered myself, hands and knees, to the couch beneath; leaped to the floor, and kneeling before the Countess, kissed her hand.
She was standing, and her dress was the same blue robe in which I had seen her in the same room two nights before. The candle was on a small table, which held also an illuminated book and an image of the Virgin, and above which a crucifix hung against the wall. Besides the bed at the window, there were another bed, a trunk, a chair, and a three-legged stool.
The Countess's face was all anxiety and question.
"Thank God you are still safe!" said I.
"And you!" she replied. "Brigitte told us you had escaped. I had prayed your life might be saved. But now you put yourself in peril again. I had hoped you were far away. Oh, Monsieur, what is it brings you back to this house of danger?"
"My going has surely made it a house of greater danger to you. It is a marvel the Count has not already taken revenge upon you for my escape. I thank God I am here while you still live."
"My life is in God's hands. Was it to say this that you have risked yours again, Monsieur? Oh, your coming here but adds to my sorrow."
"Hear what sorrow you will cause, Madame, if you refuse to be saved while there is yet time. I ask you to consider others. Below, waiting for us, is Hugues, who has enabled me to come here to-night. You know how that good brave fellow loves Mathilde. And you know that if you die, Mathilde will share your fate, for the Count will wish to give his own story of your death."
"But Mathilde must not stay to share my fate. She must go away with you now, while there is opportunity."
"I will not stir from your side, Madame,—they will have to tear me away when they come to kill you," said Mathilde, and then to me, "They have not sent Madame any food to-day. I think the plan is to starve us."
"Horrible!" I said. "That, no doubt, is because of my escape. But who knows when the Count, in one of the rages caused by his fancies, may turn to some method still more fearful. Madame, how can you endure this? Why, it is to encourage his crime, when you might escape!"
"Monsieur, you cannot tempt me with sophistries. What God permits—"
"Has not God permitted me to come here, with the means of escape? Avail yourself of them—see if God will not permit that."
"We know that God permits sin, Monsieur, for his own good reasons. It is for us to see that we are not they to whom it is permitted."
"But can you think it a sin to save yourself?"
"It is always a sin to break vows, Monsieur. And now—to go with you, of all men—would be doubly a sin." She had lowered her voice, and she lowered her eyes, too, and drew slightly back from me.
"Then go with Hugues, Madame," said I, my own voice softened almost to a whisper. "Only let me follow at a little distance to see that you are safe. And when you are safe, finally and surely, I will go away, and we shall be as strangers."
Tears were in her eyes. But she answered:
"No, Monsieur; I should still be a truant wife—still a breaker of vows made to the Church and heaven."
"Then you would rather die, and have poor Mathilde die after you—Mathilde, who has no such scruples?"
"Mathilde must go away with you to-night. I command her—she will not disobey what may be the last orders I shall ever give her."
"Madame, I have never disobeyed yet, but I will disobey this time. I will not leave you." So said Mathilde, with quiet firmness.
"Ah, Mathilde, it is unkind, unfair! You will save yourself for Hugues's sake."
"I will save myself when you save yourself, Madame; not before."
The Countess sank upon the chair, and turning to the Virgin's image, said despairingly:
"Oh, Mother of heaven, save this child from her own fidelity!"
"It is not Mathilde alone that you doom," I now said, thinking it time to try my last means. "It is not only that you will darken the life of poor Hugues. There is another who will not leave Lavardin if you will not: one who will stay near, sharing your danger; and who, if you die, will seek his own death in avenging you."
"Oh, no, Monsieur!" she entreated. "I was so glad to learn you had escaped. Do not rob me of that consolation. Do not stay at Lavardin. Live!—live and be happy, for my sake. So brave—so tender—the world needs you; and you must not die for me—I forbid you!"
"You will find me as immovable as Mathilde," said I.
She looked from one to the other of us, and put forth her hands pleadingly; then broke down into weeping.
"Oh, will you make my duty the harder?" she said. "God knows I would gladly die to save you."
"It is not dying that will save us. The only way is to save yourself."
"Monsieur, you shall not drive me to sin by your temptations! Heaven will save you both in spite of yourselves. That will be my reward for putting this sin from me."
"You persist in calling it a sin, Madame: very well. But is it not selfish to go free from sin at the expense of others? If one can save others by a sin of one's own, is it not nobler to take that sin upon one's soul? Nay, is it not the greater sin to let others suffer, that one's own hands may be clean?"
"Oh, you tempt me with worldly reasoning, Monsieur. Kind mother of Christ," she said, fixing her eyes upon the image of Mary, "what shall I do? Be thou my guide—speak to my soul—tell me what to do!"
After a moment, the Countess again turned to me, still perplexed, agitated, unpersuaded.
"Madame," said I, "when one considers how soon the Count de Lavardin must surely suffer for crimes of which you know nothing, your death at his hands seems the more grievous a fate. Do you know that he is a traitor?—that his treason will soon be known to the King's ministers? If his jealousy had only waited a short while, or if my discovery had occurred a little earlier, his death would have spared you all this. But now, if you are not starved or slain before he is arrested, he will surely kill you when he finds himself about to be taken.—My God, I had not thought of that when I resolved to go to Paris at once! Oh, Madame, fly now while there is chance! I assure you that doom is hovering over the Count's head; if you stay here, I cannot go to Paris; but Hugues shall go with this paper in my stead."
"What is the paper, Monsieur? What do you mean by this talk of the Count and treason?" she asked in sheer wonder.
"It is a proof of the Count's participation in the late conspiracy. I found it in the room where I was imprisoned. And come what may, I will see that it goes to Paris for the inspection of the Duke de Sully. And then there will be a short shrift for the Count de Lavardin, I promise you."
"But in that case, it would be you that caused his death, Monsieur!" she exclaimed.
"The executioner would cause his death—and the law. I should be but the humble instrument of heaven to bring it to pass."
"But you would be the instrument of my husband's death, Monsieur! That must not be. You, of all men! No, no. Why, it would be an eternal barrier between us—in thought and kind feeling, I mean,—in the next world too. Oh, no; you must not use that paper, nor cause it to be used."
"But, Madame, he is a traitor. What matters it whether I or another—it is only justice—my duty to the King."
"But you do not understand. I should not dare even pray for you! And I must not let you denounce him—I must prevent your using that paper. I am his wife, Monsieur,—I must prevent. Otherwise, I should be consenting to my husband's death!"
"He has no scruples about consenting to yours, Madame."
"The sin is on his part, then, not on mine. Come, Monsieur, you must let me destroy that paper." She advanced toward me.
"No, Madame; not I. Nay, I will use force to keep it, if need be! It is my one weapon, my one means of vengeance." I tore my wrist from her hand, and put the paper back into my inner pocket.
"Then, Monsieur, I have said my last to you. I must put you out of my thoughts, out of my prayers even. And if I find means, I must warn my husband."
"Listen, Madame. There is one condition upon which I will destroy this paper and keep silence."
She uttered a joyful cry. I knew that what she thought of was not her husband's fate, but the barrier she had mentioned.
"It is that you will escape with me at once," I said.
The joy passed out of her face; but she was silent.
"Consider," I went on. "Not merely your own life, not merely mine, not merely Mathilde's, and the happiness of Hugues: it is in your power to save your husband's life also, and to save his soul from the crime of your murder, if there be any degree between act and intent. Is it not a sin and a folly to refuse? Think of the blood already shed by reason of this matter. Why should there be more?"
At last she wavered. I turned to Mathilde, to speak of the order in which we should descend the ladder.
At that instant I heard the key begin to grate in the lock.
"Some one is coming in!" whispered the Countess in alarm.
Instantly I pushed Mathilde upon the couch beneath the window, in a sitting posture, so that her body would conceal the end of the rope ladder. The next moment I had pulled the other bed a little way out from the wall, and was crouching behind it.
The door opened, and I heard the noise of men entering with heavy tread. Then the door closed. There was a sound of swift movement, then a scream from Mathilde and a terrified cry from the Countess, both voices being suddenly silenced at their height. I raised my head, and saw two powerful men in black masks, one of whom was grasping the Countess by the throat with his left hand while, with his right assisted by his teeth, he was endeavouring to pass a looped cord around her neck. The other man had both hands about the neck of Mathilde, that he might sufficiently overpower her to apply a similar cord.
I leaped over the bed, and upon the man who was trying to strangle the Countess. Mad to save and avenge her, I sank my dagger into the back of his shoulder, and he fell without having seen who had attacked him. The murderer who was struggling with Mathilde immediately turned from her and drew sword to attack me, at the same time crying out, "Garoche, to the rescue!"
