"Run to the chapel," said the boy. "Run to the chapel by the back staircase and the little corridor behind the Duke's room. There will be no one in the chapel in this time of confusion, and there is a way from the chapel into the gardens. The postern may be left unguarded."
"Excellently bethought," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "Speed on, Ignati; speed on before us, and see that there is no one on the watch. If you find Gondrin, send him to the chapel without a moment's delay. We must fly, sweet Marie; we must fly, as your uncle has ordered. It is clear--though it is terrible to say--it is clear that he is dead. They would not have dared to arrest his son and mother had he been living. But we must find you some cloak or covering, sweet girl. You cannot go forth in all this bridal array."
Marie bent down her head and wept, for though she had suffered much within the last few months, it had not been with that withering kind of suffering which dries up the fountain of our tears. She hurried on with her lover, however, and in his apartments a mantle was speedily found to cover the bright and happy attire which she had that morning put on with feelings of hope and joy. In few but distinct words Charles of Montsoreau told the two servants, whom he found there, to get out, if possible, by any means into the town, and to bring round the rest of his train and his horses to the farther side of the gardens; and then hurrying on by the way which the boy had suggested, he led Marie de Clairvaut towards the chapel, where they were to have been united.
The little corridor which they followed entered at once into a small room, called the revestry, by the side of the chapel itself, and as Charles of Montsoreau approached, he heard voices and paused to listen. He then plainly distinguished the tones of Gondrin and the page; and though another deep voice was also heard, he hurried on, feeling certain that they would have come to give him warning had there been danger.
The door was partly open, and throwing it back, the Count beheld a scene which made all his blood run cold, while the fair girl whom he was leading forward recoiled in terror and dismay.
Stretched upon the floor, with his sword half drawn from the sheath, and a deep wound in his left breast, lay Gaspar de Montsoreau. A pool of blood surrounded him, and the expression of his whole countenance showed in a moment that the spirit had departed some time. Scattered--some upon the ground, some upon the table in the midst of the room, some even in the midst of the blood itself--were a number of pieces of gold; and two leathern bags, one open and half empty of its contents, were seen upon the ground.
At the further side of the room, near the door leading into the chapel, was standing Gondrin, with his sword naked, and his foot upon the chest of the Italian Orbi; while the boy Ignati knelt beside the assassin, and with his drawn dagger held over him, seemed putting to him some quick and eager questions.
"I tell you true," answered the man, as Charles of Montsoreau entered; "I tell you true. It was he who set me on and paid me: the Abbé de Boisguerin, and no one else."
The boy sprang up and moved away on the young Count's appearance; and a few words from Gondrin explained to him, that coming from the gardens--where he had found all solitary, the key in the lock of the postern gate, and the way clear--he had heard a low cry from the side of the chapel, and on entering that room had discovered the unhappy Marquis de Montsoreau weltering in his blood, and the Italian Orbi gathering up some of the gold pieces, which seemed to have fallen to the ground in a brief struggle between him and the Marquis.
During this account, Marie de Clairvaut, pale as death and terribly agitated, supported herself by one of the high-backed chairs, and turned her eyes from the horrible sight which that room exhibited; and Charles of Montsoreau gazed for a moment on the dead form of his brother, with those feelings of fraternal love which no unkindness or ill treatment had been able to banish.