An Enemy to the King / From the Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de la Tournoire

by Robert Neilson Stephens

I had little apprehension of seeing De Berquin or his men again that night. Not that he would probably remember his promise to give me my life and liberty in return for my bringing La Tournoire before him. Even that promise, if still respected by him, did not affect him in regard to mademoiselle. But he would consider that, though I was not accompanied by any of my own men except Blaise, mademoiselle's boy, Hugo, would wield a stout arm on our side. Unless he knew something of Pierre's disappearance, he would count that active youth also with our forces. He had doubtless taken in at a glance the group composed of Godeau, the gypsies, and Marianne; and he would suppose that I could reckon on assistance of one kind or another from some or all of these. Thus, having no odds in his favor, and knowing that we would be on the alert, he would be little likely to make any kind of demonstration against us. Moreover, two of his men finding themselves without their weapons, and all of them angry at the manner of their awakening, they would probably receive very badly the curses that he would heap on them for their failure to come up to his support. Their attitude would, for the rest of that night, be one of mutiny. It was likely that he would retreat and meditate a new plan. He would not feel safe in the immediate vicinity of the inn, for it would occur to him that I might send one of my allies to my men with orders to take him. So he would withdraw and either give up the enterprise entirely or form a new design.

Now that he knew that I was La Tournoire, what would he do? Abandon his mission, since my knowledge of him would put me on my guard against him, and forbid his winning my confidence and betraying me in the way which, I supposed, Montignac had dictated to him? It was not likely that such a man, having found only one road by which he might regain the good things he had lost, would be turned aside from that road. He would follow it to success or death. Such men are too indolent to go about seeking opportunities. Having found one, they will pursue it wherever it may lead. Their fortunes are so desperate that they have only their lives to lose, and they are so brave that they do not fear death. If they can gain the stakes, so much the better. If not, little the worse. Meanwhile, they are occupied in a way congenial to a man who loves adventure, who has inherited the taste for danger, and finds a pleasurable excitement in risking his life. Therefore I felt that De Berquin was not yet through with me, but he would have to change his plan, and, until he should have time to compose new measures, he would not trouble us.

As I lay in the silence, my thoughts turned from De Berquin to Mlle. de Varion. Her demonstration on learning that I was La Tournoire was in harmony with the manner in which she had previously questioned me concerning my friendship for the bearer of that name. Grieved at the thought that I was his friend, relieved at my assertion that I did not so highly esteem him, she had shown the utmost horror on learning that I was the man himself. Could this be due entirely to the impression conveyed by a name to which the Catholics in Berry had attached so much dread? It was natural that one should regard with some terror a man whose deeds had been so exaggerated by vulgar report; but this fact did not explain the intensity of mademoiselle's emotion at the moment of my disclosure. Yet she had attributed that emotion entirely to surprise. Perhaps the extraordinary manifestation of that surprise was due to her fatigued and dejected condition. Or it might be, and I felt a delicious thrill at the thought, that it was her concern for me, her fear that my life might be the more imperilled by my relations with this proscribed man, that had caused the distress accompanying her first inquiries. If this was true, the discovery that I was no other than the man proscribed, and all the more in danger, would naturally have profoundly affected her.

In the morning she came down from her loft, pale and showing a calmness that seemed forced. To my greeting and my announcement that Pierre had not returned, she replied, quietly:

"He is a faithful and honest boy, and I have prayed that no harm might befall him. His disappearance must not be allowed to alter your plans, M. de la Tournoire."

"I shall leave orders with Marianne and Godeau to conduct him to Maury, should he return to this place, as he very probably will. If you do not wish otherwise, we shall ride on to Maury this morning."

"I do not wish otherwise," she replied. After a moment's pause, she added, "Alas, monsieur, your friend, M. de Launay, when he promised me your guidance across the border, engaged you to a more tedious task than you might have wished to undertake. I fear that I must ask for a delay at Maury. You see what trouble your friend has brought you into,—waiting until a poor woman, who has been overcome by fatigue, recovers her energies."

"Ah, mademoiselle," I said, with delight, "you will then hold me to the promise made for me by my friend?"

"What else can a helpless woman do?" she asked, with a pretty smile, although there was a tremor in the voice.

I was overjoyed to be assured that she had accepted the situation. I had promised that, on her becoming acquainted with La Tournoire, she should have no other protector. This had meant to her, at the time when it was spoken, that I should go from her. To me it had meant, of course, that I should continue with her. I had feared that, on learning the truth, she would banish me. She had said that we must part. But now, despite the fact that the same barrier existed between me and her, whether I was La Tournoire or De Launay, despite her horror on learning that I was the former, she had abandoned her intention of parting from me. What had caused this change of mind? Had she, now that I was known to her as La Tournoire, ceased to entertain for me those feelings which she had, on account of our difference in religion, sought by an immediate separation to destroy? This was unlikely. La Tournoire or De Launay, I was the same man. I chose a happier explanation,—none other than that, considering by night, she had come to the conclusion that a religious difference was not too great a barrier to be removed, and that La Tournoire was not a person to be regarded with any horror. Though modesty might plead against her continuing in the company of a man with whom she exchanged such feelings as had so rapidly grown up between us, yet circumstance, most imperative of all dictators, showed her no other course than to remain under my guidance and protection. So I accounted for the decision which was to keep us together for a few more days.