What she heard, however, gave her no clue to that. Something she did hear flung down on a table which, by the rattle and clash it made, gave her, who well knew the sound of such things, the impression of a rapier being thrown on the table after having been unlooped from the wearer's body. And she heard also a man's voice giving orders, and a call from one woman to another in rooms still farther off; but little more than this. Nothing more than the ordinary sounds which, in all times, travellers staying in inns and hotels have heard on the arrival of new-comers in the same house.
[CHAPTER VIII]
Meanwhile, the sounds that Emérance had heard in that next set of rooms shut off by the wall from those which she occupied (while being served outside by the same corridor running at right angles from the main passage) had been made by Humphrey West in the room appropriated to him.
For the Duchesse de Castellucchio besides being a timorous woman in some things, although one bold enough in others, was by no means sure whether--even now that she was in a free Swiss Canton and in a city that claimed to be one of the most free and independent in Europe--some steps might not be taken to seize upon her and drag her back to France and into the clutches of her awe-inspiring husband. She knew that, but a league or so off was the frontier of France, while she did not know what the myrmidons of that powerful country might not be able to do against a woman of her position who had fled from a husband possessing the influence which her husband undoubtedly possessed, maniac though he might be. And, not knowing what she feared, she feared doubly. Italian-like, she was naturally superstitious, while, at the same time, her mind was filled with wild romances dealing with beautiful and unfortunate heroines shut up in gloomy castles, or beset in strange inns and out-of-the-way places at night and hidden in dungeons, or thrown into torrents and rivers not unlike the rapid swirling river now rushing beneath, or almost beneath, her windows.
Therefore, out of this large suite of rooms to which the landlord had led her and her party, or some members of it--and it is certain it was the largest and most expensive one now unoccupied!--she had selected for herself the most interior of these rooms. For Jacquette she had chosen the one next to hers on the right, with, right of that, a room for La Truaumont, and, on the left of her room, the one at the other end for Humphrey. Thus, when the outer main door was securely fastened and her door fastened on the left side and Jacquette's on the right--yet both easily to be opened if the assistance of either of her attendant cavaliers was required--she felt secure. A cry would bring Humphrey from the left or the captain from the right. Little harm could come to her.
On this night of their arrival all sought their beds, or rather their rooms, as soon as they had refreshed themselves after a journey that had been a long one, they having set out earlier from Remiremont than the Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville had done from Luxeuil and, as has been seen, had arrived later. All sought their rooms, that is to say except La Truaumont, who, on bidding the Duchess and Jacquette "good-night," had descended to the great general room with a view to seeing that not only were Fleur de Mai and Boisfleury well disposed of, but also that the soldiers of the Duc de Lorraine had been properly housed.
That this was so he had little cause to doubt on reaching the general room. The former worthy was busily engaged in making a hearty supper well washed down with wine, his comrade was keeping him good company, and the soldiers were eating and drinking with a Teutonic attention to what was set before them which plainly showed that they had no intention of going to bed hungry.
"O-hé! noble captain and leader of all the band," cried Fleur de Mai, as he espied La Truaumont coming down the room; "here you find us doing justice to the fare of these worthy Switzers. Me confound! if t'were not composed so much of veal--for 'tis veal in the ragoût, veal for the grosse-pièce, veal in the potage, and, I do think, veal it will be in the next dish--there would be nought to complain of. Then, too, the wine never grew on any slope of sunny France. Yet it, also, will pass. 'Tis red, 'tis strong and----"
"It will make you drowsy. That is enough for you. Besides, it costs you nothing. You should be content. Now listen. We rest here for some days----"
"A month if need be!" cried Fleur de Mai, plunging his knife into a fillet of veal. "By which time the calves may have turned into beef and the wine have become more mellow."