The cardinal's musketeer

by Mary Imlay Taylor

“What do you want?” she demanded, in a sour tone, placing herself squarely in the opening.

“I am the bearer of a letter for Mademoiselle de Nançay,” Péron replied sternly, “and I must present it to her at once.”

“You take a high tone, monsieur,” exclaimed the woman, with a toss of her head; “but you shall not see mademoiselle unless she wishes it,” and she slammed the door in his face.

Péron drew back half angry and half amused, but seeing the covert smile on the face of the soldier, he struck his sword peremptorily on the door, determined to gain admittance in spite of the women. He had not long to wait, however, and this time the young woman opened the door wide enough for him to pass through. She was sullen and silent, and only signed to him to follow up the stairs to the same salon where mademoiselle had burned the papers. Here Péron found Renée. She was standing by the window which overlooked the garden, and he saw that she had been observing Choin and his party at the gate, for she commanded a view of the lane. She was dressed in gray with a wide white linen collar, and her golden hair was knotted back more closely than usual. She was very pale, and looked as simple as a little nun; she evidently felt the day and night of suspense, but she bore herself with perfect composure. Her quick glance swept over her visitor, noting every detail of his changed appearance, and there was a little surprise in her eyes. He saluted her gravely, and without a word handed her the cardinal’s letter. She inclined her head as she took it, her manner as grave as his, but he observed that her hand trembled a little as she opened it. She read it through, and Péron saw her anger rising as she read; her eyes sparkled and a little spot of color came into each cheek, and once she stamped her foot on the floor. When she had finished—and she read it twice—she tore it in fragments and flung them on the ground. Péron expected an outburst; thought that she would refuse to go, and began to wonder what arguments he would use to persuade her. But he had no conception of what was really passing in mademoiselle’s quick mind. She had just read the king’s imperative orders for her to go to Poissy; her refusal would—so the letter said—imperil her father’s life. She knew well enough why she was to go to the house of the Image of Notre Dame, and she was cudgelling her brains for a device to defeat monsignor. She knew her adversary and she set all her woman’s wits to work. She had no thought of refusing to go; the risk was too great while her father was in the toils, but she intended to thwart his enemies. She stood for a while looking out of the window, while Péron expected her refusal to comply with the cardinal’s orders. To his surprise, she turned at last to consent.

“I will go, monsieur,” she said haughtily; “a prisoner must obey her jailor, but I will not go without my woman.”

“That is as you desire, mademoiselle,” Péron replied, much relieved; “you will choose your own maid, and you will be treated with all due consideration.”

She made him a mocking curtsey.

“I thank you humbly, monsieur,” she said, with a contemptuous curl of her lip; “if you will permit me a half-hour, I will wait on you at the garden gate, where I see you have already four cut-throats to attend me.”

She walked past him, without waiting for a reply, and left Péron standing alone in the great salon. He did not remain; his face was scarlet with anger, and he went into the garden and sat down in the rustic seat, under the lime-tree, to wait her pleasure. From his reception, he could easily conjecture what the journey was likely to be, and he set his teeth hard at the thought. After all, had he not been foolish not to leave her to the mercy of some other soldier of the cardinal? Manifestly, she was the same as she had been when a child in the Château de Nançay, though it seemed that now she had lost the softness which had made her run out to the terrace to tell him she was sorry. He regretted his errand bitterly, and reproached himself for a fool to have thrust himself into her way again. He was still occupied with these unpleasant reflections, when the door at the rear of the house opened and she came out with the insolent woman who had admitted him. Both wore cloaks and hoods, and mademoiselle’s face was hidden by a black mask which gave her a mysterious look. Neither spoke, and Péron rose as they advanced, and preceding them to the gate, unfastened it. Choin was there with the horses, and in silence he and Péron assisted the two women to mount. When they were falling into position to begin their journey, mademoiselle spoke for the first time.

“Ninon rides with me,” she said, as Péron would have assigned the maid to a place behind her mistress.