The Light That Lures

by Percy James Brebner

"I did not ask. It was difficult to get a moment to whisper to each other. And I will not stay with you. It would not be wise to take too much interest in a peasant woman," and he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

Jeanne St. Clair continued to stare at the door after he had gone. Her thoughts followed him as he went down the stairs to join his companions and take his share of the wine. Lucien had chosen a strange messenger, a friend Monsieur Mercier had called himself, yet Jeanne had never known him nor heard of him before. He puzzled her. Loneliness, and the circumstances in which she was placed, naturally made her thoughtful, and it was easy to be suspicious. Truly, Monsieur Mercier had proved himself a friend, full of ideas, full of resource, for danger had threatened them more than once upon the long and tedious journey from Beauvais. They had been obliged to halt at strange taverns, and there had been many delays. Now they were within a few miles of Paris—of Lucien. Yes, Monsieur Mercier had proved himself a friend, and yet, had it been possible, she would sooner have called another man friend, a man who was her enemy. How, easily she had believed him! Richard Barrington. She spoke the name aloud, but not easily, trying to say it exactly as he had done, and the deliberation which she gave to each syllable made the name sound pleasant. She had not thought him a scoundrel when he fastened her mask for her. She had been most easily deceived, taken in by an absurd story.

The truth had come quickly. Richard Barrington could hardly have left the château when a man whispered Lucien's name in Jeanne's ear. She did not trouble to take this man into the chamber in the round tower, but she led him aside where he could talk without fear of being overheard. This was some trick, but she must hear what he had to say, her safety to-morrow might depend upon it.

Monsieur Mercier introduced himself as a friend of Lucien's, and quickly told his story. Lucien was in danger, grave danger, and mademoiselle ought to know. For her Paris did not hold such danger as it did for most aristocrats; it was well known that she had been good to the poor; she would certainly be able to help Lucien. Mademoiselle knew Rouzet, Lucien's servant; he had started for Beauvais taking with him a little gold star which mademoiselle had given to Lucien. Not an hour afterwards it was discovered that there were others, enemies, anxious to get mademoiselle to Paris. Rouzet had been followed. Mercier, with a friend, had immediately ridden after him, only, alas! to find him dead upon the roadside and the star gone. They continued their journey toward Beauvais, with only one clew to the scoundrel who had murdered and robbed the faithful Rouzet. He was not a Frenchman. Even now Mercier did not know his name, but he and his friend had distanced the foreigner and his companion on the road and arrived first in Beauvais. Lodgings were scarce owing to the ball, and Mercier had waited for the villains, had taken them to a lodging next his own, nothing more than adjoining cocklofts, but with this advantage, that part of the woodwork dividing them could be easily removed. An invitation to wine (carefully drugged) had followed, and during the night the golden star was retrieved from the lining of the thief's coat; and lest he should discover the loss too soon, and so hamper any plan which it was advisable to make, a rough-cut iron star was left in its place. Here was the gold trinket, and glancing round to make certain no one was watching, Mercier had put it into her open hand.

This tale must be the truth. She had made no mention of Barrington, how could this man know of the iron cross unless his tale were true? Richard Barrington had declared he knew nothing of Lucien, but Mercier knew everything about him and much about her, too. She would not believe him until she had questioned him closely. As Mercier frankly answered her, she understood with how improbable a tale Barrington had deceived her. Mercier was quick with advice. He knew that Madame la Marquise had no great affection for his friend Lucien. This other man might discover the trick played upon him and frustrate them. A hundred things might prevent mademoiselle from leaving the château if she delayed. To-night Beauvais was crowded, it would be easy for her to go, and Jeanne had consented to start in an hour.

She was proud, a daughter of a proud race. The nobility were suffering many things at the hands of the people. This fellow Barrington should be punished. Retaliation was justifiable. There was not a man in the château of Beauvais who would not stand her champion. She sought out the Vicomte de Montbard, told him that this foreigner had come to her with a lying message from friends of hers in Paris. She had met deceit with deceit, and at dawn he was to wait for her at the wood end.

"Mademoiselle, lackeys shall beat the life out of him," was the answer.

"No, not that way. Go to him yourself, challenge him. If underneath his villainy there are concealed the instincts of a gentleman, let him have the chance of dying like one. But go with one or two others, prepared for treachery. He may be a scoundrel to the very core of his heart."

"Believe me, mademoiselle, you treat him far too courteously."

"Monsieur le Vicomte, he has touched me as an equal. I believed him to be a man of honor. Let him so far profit by my mistake, and be punished as I suggest."