“You know me, M. Felix,” he said to the host, “and therefore you can understand how much I lament my poor, afflicted son’s vagaries.”
“Surely I know you, M. de Vesson,” the inn-keeper replied obsequiously, “but had I not best send for a doctor for the unhappy young gentleman?”
“I thank you, no,” replied the other, gravely; “but I pray your aid to bind this poor boy in a litter that we may convey him safely home. In these frenzies, he sometimes breaks out and commits murder: he has slain five of his keepers.”
At this, the spectators fell back yet farther, and there seemed little hope of a rescue. Péron knew now his peril; this was a Vesson, not the painted fop of the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre, but doubtless one of the same family. He saw, too, that his captors were believed and that he was already an object of pity and disgust. He made one more appeal: struggles were useless, it was four to one, and Guerin Neff had already stripped off his weapons.
“I appeal to any honest man in this room,” Péron said, as calmly as he could. “I am a sane man; my name is Jehan de Calvisson; I have never seen any of these men before. They are conspirators, and they determined to seize me for some reason,—what I know not. A hundred crowns to any man who will go to a magistrate and get me assistance. A hundred crowns, I say, and more, for these rogues mean to murder me!”
His words were met with open incredulity: the very liberality of his offer laid it open to suspicion. Madness—how they feared it. Mon Dieu! let loose a madman? Never! M. de Vesson saw that he had won; he bowed his head gravely, looking mournfully at Péron, while his companions pinioned the young man’s arms behind his back and bound his ankles together, in spite of his renewed struggles and shouts for help.
“Alas!” M. de Vesson said, with evident grief, “he is at his worst, my poor, poor boy! Gentlemen, this scene wrings a father’s heart.”
The hall was crowded now, and the courtyard without, and men climbed on each other’s shoulders for the morbid pleasure of beholding the lunatic; but no one stirred a finger to aid Péron. He was indeed almost mad over the hopelessness of his situation. At first, he had not dreamed that such a ruse could succeed, but, to his amazement, it worked like a charm. In the crowded hostelry it furnished a much needed excitement; it was more interesting than M. de Bouillon or Cinq Mars. Once convinced of the captive’s insanity, they began to recollect how strangely he had acted; one horseboy recounted his morbid visit to the stable, another had heard him say the Pater Noster backwards over his horse’s head. One of the servants, too, declared that he ate like a crazy man and stared wildly at his knife. Stories flew from mouth to mouth, and that indifference to a stranger’s fate, so common and so cruel, kept the doubtful from giving the prisoner the benefit of their doubts. No one offered either aid or comfort; and to his surprise and indignation Péron found himself bound between two of M. de Vesson’s retainers and thrust into a litter, while the whole party of cardplayers mounted their horses. In half an hour after the first warning, when the knave of clubs was thrown, they were all riding down the streets of Amiens with the supposed lunatic in their litter and a curious throng at their heels. Péron hoped that they would be compelled to stay in town until sunrise, but he was mistaken. At the guardhouse, where the party halted, Péron again raised an outcry for help, and again he was defeated by M. de Vesson’s plausible explanation of his son’s incurable malady; and after some parley the gates were opened, and they rode out into the night, leaving the curious rabble from the Rose Couronnée behind, and with it their captive’s last hope of deliverance.
CHAPTER XXII
A GREENWOOD TRIBUNAL
PÉRON’S captors rode about three leagues beyond Amiens, on the road to Beauvais, before they halted and loosed his bonds a trifle, that he might lie more easily in the litter, while his two guards rode at the sides of it, watching it too closely for any chance of rescue or escape. Meanwhile, he lay quite still, endeavoring to collect his thoughts and prepare himself to meet his possible fate. The thought that a mistake might have been made did not enter his mind; he was positive that these men had either followed him from Brussels or lain in wait for his return. What they intended to do with him he could only conjecture; what they wanted of him was sufficiently clear. That they did not purpose to treat him with cruelty seemed apparent by the loosening of his most uncomfortable bonds, which were relaxed more than they intended, for after some industrious efforts, Péron succeeded in freeing his left hand, and immediately took the silver ball, containing the cardinal’s message, from his bosom and held it ready to put into his mouth. He had no hope of being able to defend himself or his charge, but he could at least follow Père Matthieu’s directions. He knew that they had not searched him because that was impracticable in the darkness, and they had not dared to do it at the inn at Amiens; but he had no doubt that the search would be thorough when daylight came. Meanwhile they believed him secure and were content to let that operation await their leisure. He now devoted himself to endeavoring to liberate his other hand or his feet, but here he was destined to disappointment; they had done their work well, and even with one arm partially free he could not succeed in breaking another bond or reaching another knot, and he was without a knife to cut the thongs. Weary at last with his exertions, he resigned himself to his fate, and waited quietly but watchfully for the moment when he must hold the cardinal’s pellet in his mouth. His reflections during the hours that ensued were of the gloomiest, yet he had no reason to blame himself, for no man could have foreseen the strange artifice which had ensnared him. Nevertheless he cursed the advice of Paschal Luce which had led him to the Rose Couronnée, however innocently it had been given. The more he dwelt upon his situation, the less possibility there seemed of escape, and he could only hope to defeat their purpose and keep the secret missive from them.