“What! Have you been keeping a vigil, or has the bashful stranger proved good company at last?”
“Yes, and no, Marcilly; but something has happened, while you and Badehorn slept like the dead, and we must act.” And, sitting on the bed beside him, I told him briefly, but clearly, what had occurred. When I had done, he remained silent for a moment, and then exclaimed:
“We can do nothing now!”
“But, Ponthieu——”
“Mon ami! Ponthieu, and you, and I are playing for our lives. If we lose the game, we pay the stake. I understand how you feel in the matter; but—and you know why—we cannot risk anything now.”
“I know, and yet——”
“Listen! As I said, I know what you feel, and were things otherwise, would have made a dash to free him. But consider for a moment. We are now in the small hours. We know not our way about this rambling house. We know not where Ponthieu is lodged, and it would be simply courting disaster to do what is in your heart. I think, too, we can serve him best now by doing nothing here, but using our influence at Orleans. Our Gascon is too insignificant for much fuss to be made about him, and a thousand écus of the sun would free him—be tranquil!”
“I see you are right, but I have so much on my soul already. I would give the lands of Vibrac to free Ponthieu.”
Marcilly laughed as he rose from the bed. “Your nerves are unstrung, Gaspard. This comes of not sleeping; as for your trouble of conscience, I would give much to change the weight on my soul, friend, for that which lies on yours—you will look back in ten years, and smile at your burden of to-day.”
I turned my head aside, but he went on: “There is one thing that troubles me, and that is your promise to Achon. Edict or no edict, we can laugh at his threats, and for these we will burn his Abbey of St. Savin over his head the next ride we take with Rambures’ Horse—but your promise——”