CHAPTER X.
MORE THAN MERE PITY
What I stayed to do was something the Countess herself could do, and probably would do one way or another, if indeed mere circumstances would not do it of themselves: though I felt that none could as I could. But to tell the truth, even if I could not have brought myself to turn my back on that place while she was in such unhappy plight there.
After I had sat awhile in the hall, I went to my room, lighted a candle, and cleansed myself and my weapons, and my clothes as well as I could, of blood. Having put myself to rights, though the rents in my doublet were still gaping, I went back to the bench in the hall, and passed the rest of the night there, sleeping and awake by turns.
At dawn I heard steps and voices in the court-yard as of early risen dependents starting the day. Silence returned for a few minutes, and then came the noise of hurrying feet, and of shouts. There was rapid talk between somebody in the court-yard and somebody at an upper window. I knew it meant that the bodies of the two guards had been discovered, doubtless by the men who had gone to relieve them. In a short time, down the stairs came the Count de Lavardin, his doublet still unfastened, followed by two body-servants. He came in haste toward the front door, but I rose and stood in his path.
"A moment, Monsieur Count. There's no need of haste. You'll find your prisoner safe enough."
"What do you mean?" he asked, having stopped in sheer wonder at my audacity.
"Madame the Countess has not flown, though it is true her guards are slain—I slew them. And Madame the Countess will not fly, though it is true her prison door is unlocked—I unlocked it—with this key, which I borrowed from you last night."
He took the key I handed him, and stared at it in amazement. He then thrust his hand into his doublet pocket and drew out another key, which he held up beside the first, looking from one to the other.