"The older the husband, the merrier the laugh at his expense," said the Captain.
The Count ground his teeth, and muttered to himself.
"It is always their boasting that betrays them," went on the Count. "When I was young, they used to tell of a famous love affair between the Bussy d'Amboise of that day and the Countess de Montsoreau, wife of the Grand-huntsman. It came out through Bussy's writing to the King's brother that he had stolen the hind of the Grand-huntsman. That is how these young cocks always speak of their conquests.
"Ah, I remember that. He did the right thing, that Montsoreau! He forced his false wife to make an appointment with Bussy, and when Bussy came, it was a dozen armed men who kept the appointment, and the gay lover died hanging from a window. Yes, that Montsoreau!—but he should have killed the woman too! The perfidious creatures! Mon dieu!—when I married her—when she took the vows—she was the picture of fidelity—I could have staked my soul that she was true; that from duty alone she was mine always, only mine!"
He lamented not as one hurt in his love, but as one outraged in his right of possession and in his dignity and pride. And curiously enough, his last words caused a look of jealousy to pass across the face of the Captain. This look, unnoticed by the Count, and speedily repressed, came to me as a revelation. It seemed to betray a bitter envy of the Count's mere loveless and unloved right of possession; and it bespoke the resolve that, if the Captain might not have her smiles, not even her husband might be content in his rights. Such men will give a woman to death rather than to any other man. As in a flash, then, I saw his motive in working upon the Count's insane jealousy. Better the Count should kill her than that even the Count should possess her. I shuddered to think how near to murder the Count had been wrought up but a moment since. At any time his impulse might pass the bounds. I now understood Mathilde's apprehensions, and saw the need for haste in removing the Countess far from the power of this madman and his malign instigator.
The Count, exhausted by his rush of feelings, drained his glass, and almost immediately gave way to the sudden drowsiness which befalls drinkers at a certain stage. He staggered to his seat, and fell back in a kind of daze, the Captain watching him with cold patience. Thinking they would soon be going to bed, I slipped back to my room.
A little after eleven, I went forth again. The hall was now dark, and its silence betokened desertion. I groped my way to the door. The key turned more noisily than I should have wished, and there was a bolt to undo, which grated; but I heard no sound of alarm in the house. I stepped out to the court-yard, closing the door after me. The court-yard was bathed in moonlight. Keeping close to the house, so as not to be visible from any upper window, I gained the shadow of the wall separating the two court-yards. As noiselessly as a cat, I followed that wall to its gateway; entered the second court-yard, and saw that the door to the tower was open, a faint light coming from it. The tower itself, obstructing the moon's rays, threw its shadow across the paving-stones. I stepped into that shadow, which was only partial; drew my sword and dagger, and darted straight for the tower entrance, stopping just inside the doorway. By the light of a lantern hanging against the wall, I saw a kind of small vestibule, beyond which was an inner wall, and at one side of which was the beginning of a narrow spiral staircase, that ran up between walls until it wound out of sight. On a bench against the inner wall I have mentioned, sat a man, who rose at sight of me, with one hand grasping a sword, and with the other a pike that was leaning against the bench.
He was a heavy, squat fellow, with short, thick legs and short, thick arms.
"I give you one chance for your life," said I quickly. "Help me to escape with your prisoner, and leave the Count's service for mine."
After a moment's astonishment, the man grunted derisively, and made a lunge at my breast with his pike. I caught the pike with my left hand, still holding my dagger therein, and forced it downward. At the same time I thrust with my rapier, but he parried with his own sword. I thrust instantly again, and would have pinned him to the wall if he had not sprung aside. He was now with his back to the stairs, and neither of us had let go the pike. His sword-point darted at me a second time, but I avoided, and thrust in return. Not quite ready to parry, he escaped by falling back upon the narrow stone steps. Before I could attack, he was on his feet again, and on the second step. We still held to the pike, which troubled me much, both as an impediment to free sword-play and as depriving me of the use of my dagger. I suddenly fell back, trying to jerk it from his grasp; but his grip was too firm. He jerked the pike in turn, and I let go, thinking the unexpected release might cause him a fall.