“Is this also secure, monsieur?” she asked, in a tone of propitiation. “’Tis well to fasten the bolts, for we two women need a little undisturbed rest.”
As she spoke she laid her hand on the bolt, and Péron, deceived by her manner, turned to examine that shutter with no unusual haste. So it happened that before he suspected her intention, she had flung open the blind, and in an instant tossed the burning taper out into the darkness of the night. He sprang forward and fastened the shutter in a moment, but he fancied that the mischief was already done, for she stood laughing and looking at him with shining eyes, the same look of triumph on her face that it had worn on the day when she burned the papers. What manner of signal it was, though, he was at loss to divine, but he saw that he must watch her as closely as a cat watches a mouse, or she would defeat every plan of the cardinal’s as easily as she routed him at every point. But he had no wish to subject himself to the sharp cuts of her tongue, nor did he wish to intrude on the little privacy she had. Fortunately, he was relieved of either necessity by seeing a hammer and some nails in the corner by the door. He called one of the men and briefly directed him to nail up the shutters as quickly as possible. This was an easy task, and when it was done, he sent the man away.
“Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “I regret to take this extreme measure, but there is no alternative.”
She was again sitting by the fire, and she looked up with a roguish face.
“I thank you for the greater security, monsieur,” she replied with a smile. “There is a proverb about fastening the door of a house after the thieves have gone.”
Péron bowed gravely. “I understand you, mademoiselle,” he replied; “’tis evident that—in spite of Ruel—I was born a fool.”
With this, he went out and closed the door that the two might be undisturbed, and resumed his place at the grille, angry and mortified, but determined to make amends for past blunders by redoubled vigilance.
CHAPTER XVI
THE CARDINAL’S SNARE
MORE than an hour had passed in this tedious watch; the stillness without was scarcely greater than the stillness within. Mademoiselle and her woman remained in their quarters, and the soldiers waited indifferently for the outcome. From his post by the front door, Péron again and again looked out at the grille and tried to search the darkness with his anxious eyes, but without result; he was becoming more and more convinced that Mademoiselle de Nançay had in some manner defeated the cardinal’s plans. But his labor was not to be as fruitless as he supposed, and Renée was, in one point, to meet with less success than usual. Just when the situation seemed least promising, Péron heard Choin coming on tiptoe toward him. The hall was lighted dimly by a rushlight sitting on the floor, and he could not see the face of the maître d’armes well enough to discern his expression. The Italian came close to him before speaking.
“There is some one in the garden,” he whispered; “I heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the road, and now I hear the brush crackling by the wall on the east side.”