“Sieur de Calvisson,” she said haughtily, “yonder are weapons and a mask: assume them and prepare to follow Ninon, who will let you out of the château. I would have you know, monsieur, that it was no petty spirit of revenge which made me send you to this comfortless den. I chose it because, forsooth, I could the more easily release you.”
“Mademoiselle, you but increase my gratitude,” Péron replied, in a low voice. “Your trinket saved me, as I believe, upon the road, and now you are my liberator; your justice to the messenger will doubtless have its weight with monsignor.”
She turned upon him with sparkling eyes.
“Monsieur,” she said proudly, “I do not care a jot for M. le Cardinal; I would not move my finger to serve him or his cause, but no man shall suffer wrong in the Château de Nançay while Renée is mistress here. I pray you take your weapons and begone, for I cannot promise protection should my relatives overtake you in your flight.”
“Mademoiselle, I thank you for the warning; but with my sword and pistol in the open I trust to shift for myself,” he replied, not without feeling; but he obeyed her, knowing himself to be an unwelcome guest.
She watched him in silence while he assumed the weapons and his cloak and mask, and something in the expression of his face softened her mood. When he was ready she signed to Ninon to open the door, and then she turned for her last words to him.
“Ninon will guide you, monsieur,” she said, not unkindly, “and you will find your own horse, saddled and bridled, by the wall on the highroad. They brought it from Amiens, the better to carry out the farce they acted at the Rose Couronnée. One of my own trusted grooms holds the horse now against your coming. Mount him and make good speed to Paris, for at morning they will be looking for you. That is all—except, monsieur, beware of the Golden Pigeon at Poissy; some of the party may be there to-night.”
She lighted her taper at Ninon’s and started as if to leave them; but, before she could prevent it, Péron knelt on one knee at her feet and kissed her hand.
“Mademoiselle de Nançay,” he said softly, “believe that I am not ungrateful—or ignorant of the risk you take to aid me.”
“Monsieur,” she replied, and for the first time her voice faltered, “I have done nothing but that which my father’s honor demanded.”