The Chevalier d'Auriac

by S. Levett Yeats

'Um!' said the notary, scratching his chin, 'that is another matter. I had for the moment forgotten I was a married man. Very well, monsieur, I will take the money—not that I need it, but for the sake of peace; and now there is little time to lose. I go to do all you have asked me to, and rest assured, messieurs, it will be faithfully done.'

'I have no doubt of that, Pantin.'

'We had better make a start, too,' I said, and Belin shouted for the horses. We stayed for a moment or so after the notary's departure, during which time Belin urged me to take Vallon and a couple of men with me to my tryst, but, fearing no complications, I refused, saying that this was a matter that were best done with one hand. Belin would have come himself but that, his friendship with me being known, it was necessary for him to avoid all suspicion of his being in the affair.

'I shall go to the Louvre,' he said, 'and engage d'Ayen at play. Pimental and others will be there, and, if I mistake not M. le Baron will have a sore head for his wedding,' and he chuckled here.

Then I settled the score with mine host, and, mounting our horses, we rode back the way we came. It was at the Magasins that we wished each other good-bye, and, with a last grip of the hand and a last warning to hasten to Mourmeton, Belin turned towards the Louvre, whilst I went on towards the Tuileries, keeping the northern road, and not the more frequented street along the river face. I chose this way because, although it was a little longer, yet there was still a half-hour for my appointment, and it would not do for me to arrive too early, as by hanging about at the trysting-place I might attract attention, and, perhaps, ruin the game. As I rode on I caught myself wondering if I could play the same hand that Sully, Villeroi, and de Belin were throwing to. I knew they were honest men—their positions removed them from such temptations as might assail even a great noble, and that they were loyally trying to serve their country and their King. If such service, however good its object, meant, as it clearly did, that one must be up to the elbows in intrigue, then I thanked God that I belonged to no party, and inwardly resolved that, whether I won or lost my hazard, the court would see me no more; and as for the King! Pardieu! It is not good to know a hero too well.

There was a strong moon, and the night was as clear as crystal. One side of the street was in shadow, illumined here and there by the dim light of a few lanterns set high up in niches in the old and moss-grown walls of the buildings. The houses here were old even for this part of Paris, and, with their sloping roofs and many gables, rose in irregular outlines on either side—outlines, however, so softened by the moonlight, in which they seemed to quiver, that it was as if some fantastic creation of fairyland had been set down here—a phantom city that would melt into nothingness with the warm rays of the morning sun.

Away in the distance it still seemed as if I could hear the hum of the city behind me, but here all was quiet and still and the iron-shod hoofs of Couronne rang out with a strange clearness into the night. Occasionally I met a passer on the road, but he or she, whoever they were, took care to give me a wide berth, and once a woman who had opened her door to look out, for some reason or other, hurried in and shut it with a little cry of alarm as I passed.

I had now come to the gardens of the Tuileries, and, putting Couronne at the wall which was just being raised around them, found myself within a quarter-mile of our place of meeting. The turf was soft and level here, and I let Couronne go at a half-gallop, keeping in the chequered shade of the huge trees, which whispered strange things to each other in the breeze. At this moment it seemed as if I heard the smothered neigh of a horse. I knew the sound well, for often had my old Norman tried to serve me in this way through the scarf by which his jaws were bound together when we lay in ambuscade. With a touch of my hand I stayed my beast and stopped to listen. Beyond me stretched the avenue, at the end of which stood the great lime trees. I could see nothing but the ghostly line of trunks, lit up here by the moon, there standing out black against the night, or fading away into a lacework of leaves and branches. There was no sound except the tinkle of the leaves and the sullen creaking of the boughs overhead. 'It must be her horse or Palings,' I said aloud to myself; and then the compline came to me clear and sweet from the spire of St. Germain.

I lifted my hat for an instant with a silent prayer to God for help, and then shook up Couronne. Ere the last notes of the bells had gone I was under the limes. At first I could see nothing; there was no one there; and my heart grew cold at the thought that some danger had overtaken my dear one.

'Madame!' I called out. 'It is I—-d'Auriac'