Thereupon each went his way.
CHAPTER IV
THE ARMS OF PIERRE PEUQUOY, THE ROPES OF JEAN PEUQUOY,
AND THE TEARS OF BABETTE PEUQUOY
Nearly a month elapsed at Calais without bringing about any change in the situation of those whom we left there to their great regret. Pierre Peuquoy was always working away diligently at his armor; Jean Peuquoy had begun to weave again, and in his leisure moments finished some ropes of extraordinary length; Babette Peuquoy was always weeping.
Gabriel's waiting had gone through the various phases sketched by Arnauld du Thill to the constable. He had waited patiently the first fortnight, but had begun then to grow impatient.
He now visited Lord Wentworth only on very rare occasions; and his calls were always very brief. There had been coolness between them ever since Gabriel had rashly interfered in the fictitious family affairs of the governor.
The latter too, we take great pleasure in saying, grew more and more gloomy from day to day; but the cause of his uneasiness was not the three messages which had been sent at short intervals since Arnauld's departure, from the King of France. All three made, as may well be imagined, the same demand,—the first politely, the second sharply, and the third with threats: they demanded the liberty of Madame de Castro for such ransom as the governor of Calais chose to name. But to all three he had made the same reply,—that he proposed to keep Madame de Castro as an hostage to be exchanged in case of need during the war for some prisoner of importance, or to be returned to the king without ransom when peace should be concluded. He was strictly within his rights; and intrenched behind his strong walls, he defied Henri's anger.
So it was not the royal anger which worried him, although he could but ask himself how the king had learned of Diane's captivity; the real source of his anxiety was the indifference, every day more contemptuous, of his fair prisoner. Neither humility nor assiduous attention had availed to lower the proud and disdainful spirit of Madame de Castro. She was always the same—calm and sad and dignified—before the passionate governor; and whenever he ventured to utter a word of his love (although it must in justice be said that he never violated the bounds which his title as a gentleman imposed upon him), an expression, at once mournful and haughty, broke poor Lord Wentworth's heart and wounded his pride. He did not dare to speak to Diane either of the letter she had written to Gabriel or of the attempts made by the king to procure his daughter's liberty, so much did he dread a bitter word or a satirical reproof from those lovely but cruel lips.
Diane had noticed that the servant who had dared to undertake to deliver her billet was no longer to be seen about the house, and fully understood that desperate chance had failed her. However, she did not lose her courage, the pure and noble girl waited and prayed. She trusted in God, and in death, in case of need.
On the last day of October, which Gabriel had fixed on in his own mind as the limit to his term of waiting for Martin-Guerre's return, he determined to call upon Lord Wentworth and ask, as a favor, his leave to send another messenger to Paris.