But if there was no more to be said, there was more to be done—there was the saving her from herself in spite of herself. To this end I sounded Brother Paul when presently he joined me, his mouth full of excuses for the sharpness of her rebuff.
"Do not be vexed with her, my son, she is nerve-weary, over-wrought, and fretted by care. For three nights she has not slept, for two days she has laboured and planned that no harm may come to Morsigny in our absence, and all that time she has not eaten as much as would keep a bird alive. Her spirit alone keeps her up."
"And yet you send her to Plessis?"
"Let us not speak of that, but rather how good may come out of evil."
"Tell me your plan."
"It is Suzanne's, not mine, and nothing could be simpler. We will ride together, all four of us, till we come to Poictiers, following the King's stages day by day. No doubt from each stage he will be warned that Gaspard de Helville is keeping faith, and so the woman will be safe. At Poictiers we part. You and Martin remain behind, while Suzanne and I ride on to gain the ear of Monsieur de Commines. He is pledged to you and to her, and through him there will be a respite. That will give us time, and with time——" He stopped short, rubbing his chin. Even to his guilelessness it was plain there was a strained link in the chain. "With time," he went on lamely,—"oh! all the world knows that with time anything can be done."
"Ay!" I answered, "and much more, I pray God, with Eternity! for once you reach Plessis there'll be little time left to any one of us. How is it that so many men who are wise for the next world are fools for this? Do you think that already Louis has not been warned how a priest and a woman met Gaspard Hellewyl at Orthez? Do you think that henceforth that priest and that woman will not be traced step by step, wherever they go? Do you think that when Mademoiselle knocks on Plessis gate the first to hear of it will not be Louis himself? What, then, will follow? She is Suzanne D'Orfeuil, a kind of serving-wench at Morsigny, and the purpose of this serving-wench is to come between the King of France and his vengeance. Will the King believe her account of herself? Not for an instant. Serving-wenches do not mix themselves up in State affairs. You he will hang, and I do not think the knowledge will hold you back for an hour. But what of Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" Leaning forward, I caught him by the shoulder, shaking him. "Father Paul, have you ever seen a woman racked? The white limbs stretched naked on the frame, and strained and strained until the joints crack, until the muscles tear from the ribs and the writhing mouth screams, frothing?"
"God forbid!" he said, stammering. "God forbid!"
"God forbid!" I retorted hotly, "Do your own work in the world, Father Paul, and do not ask God to do it for you. Is the Lord God a lackey to do that for a man which he should do himself? God forbid? No! but do you forbid!"
"How?" he answered, swaying as I shook him in my passion. "I forbade it at Morsigny, and she put me aside. How can I forbid it?"