A room from under the door of which, as he peered through the darkness, there stole now a gleam of light.
[CHAPTER XXII.]
MARION WYATT
As calmly as he had ever gone into battle, or--as he had told Laurent--had fought his way through the Duke of Holstein-Pleon's men at Entzheim, he prepared to find out who was the occupant of the room from under the door of which that ray of light emerged.
He began by doing what he had before thought of in the garret above, and would have done but for the fear of rusty nails or other things which might wound his feet. He took off his boots. Then, carrying them in his hands, creeping as softly as a mouse in spite of his great size, and holding the scabbard of his sword tightly, so that no clank of it should arouse the sleepers below, he made his way towards where the light streamed forth from under the door. Yet, as he went, he cast ever an eye over the balustrade towards those sleepers, and observed that none stirred.
Soon he was close by that light; it shone upon his stocking feet--the moment had come for him to discover, if possible, what was beyond that door. Whether the inhabitant was the woman he sought--or--? Was it De Bois-Vallée himself?
That supposition had already arisen in his mind. It might be--probably it was!--he. What then? What next to do? He thought he knew--nay, he did know! His determination was already taken. His soul revolted against the necessity for creeping as he had done into another man's house, although that man was his enemy and a scoundrel: if it was De Bois-Vallée, another five moments should see him on the inside of that door, or the owner of the house outside it, and their swords crossed. And then--and then! Well then the servitors below might rush up to their master's assistance, plunge their daggers and knives into his body--only, first, he would make sure of the man who had broken Philip's life and sent him to his grave. He would make sure of him! Ere the men could mount those stairs the last owner of this gruesome fortress should be dead. But was it he behind the door? He must know that! Possibly his task was not yet near its accomplishment.
He bent down to the keyhole, as he had done three nights before when outside the great main door, but this one offered him no opportunity of seeing through it. The key stood in the hole and blocked all chance of his peering into the room--he must find some other way.
So, next, still as soft as a mouse, he brought his great form level with the floor and endeavoured to see under the door; but again he was foiled. The gap was not large enough; he could observe nothing. Then, suddenly, as he pondered what to do next, there arose voices from below. Had they discovered his presence above? In a moment he was able to give himself the answer. Not yet. Though it seemed likely that ere long they must do so. They were going to their beds--would they mount to where he was?
"He will not come to-night," he heard Beaujos say, recognizing at once the voice that had roared at the sleeping servitors three nights back; "no need to watch longer. Get you all to bed, all, that is, except Brach. As for you," doubtless he was now addressing the one so called, "sleep you here, yet sleep light. If he comes, best be wide awake on the instant, or beware the Vicomte's anger."