Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

Suddenly she turned round and came to my side. "You do not eat," she said.

I threw down my knife, and sprang up in a frenzy of passion. "Mon Dieu! Madame!" I cried. "Do you think I have no heart?"

And then in a moment I knew what I had done. In a moment she was on her knees on the floor, clasping my knees, pressing her wet cheeks to my rough clothes, crying to me for mercy--for life! life! life! his life! Oh, it was horrible! It was horrible to see her fair hair falling over my mud-stained boots, to see her slender little form convulsed with sobs, to feel that this was a woman, a gentlewoman, who thus abased herself at my feet.

"Oh, Madame! Madame!" I cried, in my agony. "I beg you to rise. Rise, or I must go! You will drive me out!"

"Grant me his life!" she moaned passionately. "Only his life! What had he done to you, that you should hunt him down? What had we done to you, that you should slay us? Ah, Sir, have mercy! Let him go, and we will pray for you; I and my sister will pray for you every morning and night of our lives."

I was in terror lest some one should come and see her lying there, and I stooped and tried to raise her. But she would not rise; she only sank the lower until her tender hands clasped my spurs, and I dared not move. Then I took a sudden resolution. "Listen then, Madame," I said, almost sternly, "if you will not rise. When you ask what you do, you forget how I stand, and how small my power is! You forget that were I to release your husband to-day, he would be seized within the hour by those who are still in the village, and who are watching every road--who have not ceased to suspect my movements and my intentions. You forget, I say, my circumstances--"

She cut me short on that word. She sprang abruptly to her feet and faced me. One moment, and I should have said something to the purpose. But at that word she was before me, white, breathless, dishevelled, struggling for speech. "Oh yes, yes," she panted eagerly, "I know! I understand!" And she thrust her hand into her bosom and plucked something out and gave it to me--forced it upon me into my hands. "I know! I know!" she said again. "Take it, and God reward you, Monsieur! We give it freely--freely and thankfully! And may God bless you!"

I stood and looked at her, and looked at it, and slowly froze. She had given me the packet--the packet I had restored to Mademoiselle, the parcel of jewels. I weighed it in my hands, and my heart grew hard again, for I knew that this was Mademoiselle's doing; that it was she who, mistrusting the effect of Madame's tears and prayers, had armed her with this last weapon--this dirty bribe, I flung it down on the table among the plates, all my pity changed to anger. "Madame," I cried ruthlessly, "you mistake me altogether. I have heard hard words enough in the last twenty-four hours, and I know what you think of me! But you have yet to learn that I have never turned traitor to the hand that employed me, nor sold my own side! When I do so for a treasure ten times the worth of that, may my hand rot off!"

She sank into a seat, with a moan of despair, and at that moment the door opened, and M. de Cocheforêt came in. Over his shoulder I had a glimpse of Mademoiselle's proud face, a little whiter to-day, with dark marks under the eyes, but still firm and cold. "What is this?" he said, frowning and stopping short as his eyes lighted on Madame.

"It is--that we start at eleven o'clock, Monsieur," I answered, bowing curtly. "Those, I fancy, are your property." And pointing to the jewels, I went out by the other door.