For the time all were forgotten: prisoners, accusers, false and true; to the old man striding forwards with outstretched arms, the world, for the moment, contained nothing but that haggard, dishevelled figure, and the blue eyes of his long-lost, long-mourned son.
"Father," cried Yvon with a sob, as he staggered forward to meet him. "Father, at last!"
De Coray had sprung to his feet with an oath, half fury, half dismay, as Yvon de Mereac sent down his challenge through the hall.
Little as he had dreamt that his blow had not been fatal in that dark wood of St Aubin du Cormier, he was sufficiently keen-witted to vaguely guess the sequel, his conclusion being more easily drawn from the fact of the unexplained presence of his old comrade and late enemy, François Kerden. Without giving himself time or trouble to fit into its place every piece of the puzzle, he grasped the meaning of the whole, and realized that it was indeed Yvon de Mereac who stood before him, and also that his own position was one of imminent danger.
These calculations passed like lightning through his ready mind as he looked eagerly round for means of escape. None noticed him or his movements, all attention being fixed on the two central figures of the little drama. All indeed but one, for, as he turned, he encountered the sympathetic and comprehensive gaze of Pierre the fool. That the strange, dwarfed jester had evinced an unaccountable devotion for him had puzzled de Coray more than once, little used as he had ever been to be loved for his own sake, and he was more than half inclined to treat the little fellow's overtures with suspicion. But in the present crisis it would be well to have even a fool for a friend rather than an enemy, and de Coray, obeying Pierre's obvious signs, crept unseen behind the tapestry.
"Quick, monsieur!" whispered the boy in his ear. "You are as yet unperceived, but we must not delay. To your right, monsieur, so—there is a passage there which leadeth to the chapel. Methinks few know it but I myself. The outer postern is unguarded; we can escape to the forest."
Not unwilling to be guided by so ready an ally, de Coray followed, his hand, however, on his sword, ready to draw it should he have cause to suspect treachery. But Pierre had apparently no such intention, and ere many minutes had elapsed they had both reached the shelter of the forest.
Scarcely knowing whither he went, de Coray hurried along by the boy's side, black rage in his heart as he recalled how swiftly the tables had been turned upon him by the girl whom he had intended to force into marriage with him, and how complete had been her triumph. Only five minutes more, and at least one witness against him would have been removed from his path, the only witness indeed that he need have feared, trusting to his ready wit to weave some fresh fiction to account for his error in supposing Yvon de Mereac dead. Now, he felt, even in the moment of flight, that by so escaping he was severing the last possibility of deceiving his uncle into disbelief of the Frenchman's word, coupled as it was by Yvon's reappearance. Yet he dared not stay, for behind all lay the risk of Kerden's discovery and subsequent confession, which might well damn him beyond hope of redress, and perchance bring him within reach of the noose which he had hoped to see tightening round the neck of an innocent man.
Well might de Coray feel blank despair clutching him as he began the more clearly to realize the hopelessness of his position were he captured—and yet such capture was imminent. Once persuaded of his treachery, he was assured that de Mereac would leave no stone unturned to find and bring him to justice, and that such persuasion would be easy he doubted not, seeing that his own flight sealed his guilt.
"Fool," he cried angrily, as he suddenly halted on the forest path which they were treading, "where dost thou lead me? I tell thee that there will be pursuit, and I, wandering on foot here, alone, must needs be captured without hope of escape." And in his fury he turned on the dwarfed lad, who stood looking up at him with a face on which cunning and fear were mingled with a strange, half-comic expression of dog-like devotion.