Marguerite De Roberval: A Romance of the Days of Jacques Cartier Read online

  CHAPTER III

  Had the two combatants not been so deeply absorbed in their own affairsat this juncture, they could not have failed to discover the presence ofthe three women; for at the sight of her master at the mercy of hisopponent, as she supposed, Bastienne forgot her caution, and could notsuppress a scream. Further demonstrations on her part, however, wereinstantly nipped in the bud--if one can use the expression withreference to Bastienne's good Picard mouth--by a prompt and determinedapplication of her mistress's hand. Marguerite's quick eye had seen thather uncle was still uninjured; and at all hazards the secret of theirhiding-place must not be revealed. She held Bastienne firmly till shefelt the old servant's lips tighten under her hand, in sign ofsubmission to the inevitable; and then, with a whispered warning, andwithout releasing her grip on the woman's arm, she turned her wholeattention once more to the scene before them. Marie, in the meantime,had never taken her eyes from La Pommeraye, and was following his everymovement with breathless interest.

  The two men stood foot to foot, eye to eye, watching each other as onlytrained swordsmen can watch. Back and forth they swayed in the clearlight of the moon, their swords clashing and singing as they parried orthrust. De Roberval's face, wrinkled and hard at any time, had now anexpression of diabolical hate. He was as pale as the walls of the housesin the moonlight, and his eyes glowed with a murderous fire. He seemedreckless of his life, and savagely thrust at his opponent every time anypart of his body was left unguarded.

  It was otherwise with La Pommeraye. Confident of victory, he smiledcalmly at the other's rage, occasionally darting in a straight thrust atsome part of his antagonist's body, that told Roberval how entirely hewas in the good-natured giant's power. The moonlight, that made the oldman's face cold and stony, seemed to illuminate with warmth the handsomefeatures of the younger.

  Roberval noted the smile as the moonlight shone full upon La Pommeraye,and his fury increased. Fiercely he flew at him, and thrust with thedexterity which had made him the most distinguished swordsman among thenobles of France. La Pommeraye had to move with lightning swiftness toavoid a wound; and once, indeed, he felt a stinging sensation near hisheart, and knew by the warmth at his side that blood was flowing.

  It would not do to trifle longer. As if a whirlwind had entered his arm,his weapon flashed hither and thither with such rapidity that Robervalforgot his hate, and thought only of keeping off the attack. But it wasuseless. Once, twice, thrice, he was touched, touched so lightly that noblood was drawn, and just as he was about to lower his sword to hisgenerous opponent, who was evidently playing with him, he caught a lookin La Pommeraye's eye that told him he was once more about to attemptdisarming him.

  Such a disgrace and humiliation must be averted. He braced himself forthe struggle. He determined if possible to bind his antagonist's blade.But to no avail. The trick was an old one, and ordinarily an easy one tooutwit; but the arm that now practised it was a giant's. De Robervalvainly tried to hold his sword. His wrist seemed suddenly to burn andcrack, and a circle of light flashed before his eyes. It was his sword,torn from his grasp, and hurled over the wall into the water. Aquivering silver arc marked the spot where it had gone down. LaPommeraye stood with the same imperturbable air as before. He wassmiling as only a victor can, but there was neither scorn nor pity inthe smile.

  "It shall never be told me that I was beaten," said Robervalimpetuously, as he snatched a jewel-hilted dagger from his girdle.

  "Hold your hand," said La Pommeraye, sternly, as he saw the frenzied mandirect the weapon towards his own breast. "Put up that toy, and be aman. You have been fairly beaten, as has every one who has crossedswords with me. It is no disgrace; but no one shall know what has passedhere to-night unless from your own lips."

  But his words came too late. The dagger, flashing downwards, struck thebreast of the infatuated man, who fell apparently lifeless.

  A wild scream rang out from behind the wall. It was Bastienne, nolonger to be restrained. But neither Marguerite nor Marie heeded hernow, for both had rushed to the side of the prostrate swordsman.

  He had fallen forward on his face, and Marguerite flung herself upon hisbody. La Pommeraye had seen men die before; he had killed a few in hisday, both on the field of battle and in single combat; but never beforehad he had the same stirring of conscience that he now experienced atthe spectacle of this beautiful girl overcome by the sorrow he hadbrought upon her. But his weakness was only for a moment.

  "Mademoiselle," he said, approaching, "perhaps we may still be able todo something for your uncle. His wound may not be fatal."

  He bent over to assist her to rise, but she was on her feet unaided, anddrew back from him with the one scornful word she had flung at him thenight before, "Coward!"

  La Pommeraye stooped over the lifeless figure at his feet. As he turnedit reverently over he noticed that there was no mark of a death-struggleon the limbs or face. Death seemed to have taken sudden hold. But no! hefelt the heart, it still beat! The dagger had never pierced the breast!His eye suddenly caught the jewel-hilted weapon lying on the ground.

  "Mademoiselle," he exclaimed, seizing it joyfully, "your uncle has onlyfainted. Here is his dagger untarnished with his blood."

  He held it out to where she had been standing a moment before, but shehad disappeared, and in her place stood De Pontbriand.

  "I am glad to hear you say that," remarked the latter. "It would havebeen a severe blow to his niece had he fallen by your sword."

  A groan told that De Roberval was recovering. If La Pommeraye was a goodswordsman, he was an equally cheerful liar. He realised fully how deeplyRoberval was stung by the disgrace of his defeat.

  "There was little danger of his falling before my sword," he said; "hiscloak, which had been cast on the ground, became entangled with hisfeet, and he fell; and rather than give an opponent the satisfaction ofsaying he had spared his life, he drew his dagger, as I should have doneunder similar circumstances, and would have ended his own existence, butthe hand of Providence has in some strange manner intervened."

  He was still kneeling beside the fallen man, and somewhat to hissurprise he felt his hand clutched and pressed, showing that hisexplanation had been understood and accepted.

  De Roberval was soon completely restored to consciousness. He attemptedto rise, but when he put his right hand on the ground he fell back witha groan. La Pommeraye saw in an instant what was wrong. The strength ofhis effort to disarm De Roberval had broken one of his wrist bones.

  "Sieur," he said, "you must have fallen heavily, your wrist is broken."

  Such was the case, and it was a fortunate mishap for the House ofRoberval. It was this that saved his life. He had drawn his dagger,raised it for the blow, but in the process of bringing it down he hadtwisted the broken wrist so severely that the sudden pain had caused himto lose consciousness, and the dagger, barely touching his breast, fellbeneath him in the dust.

  "Monsieur, let me help you to your feet," said La Pommeraye, and, as hespoke, placed his strong arm under the reclining nobleman, and raisedhim as if he had been a babe.

  De Roberval was as one in a dream. He seemed hardly to realise what hadhappened until he saw Cartier and Pontbriand standing by.

  "What brings you here?" he almost shouted.

  "We heard a woman's scream," replied Cartier, "and fearing that someunfortunate fair one had met with a mishap, we rushed to the rescue."

  "A woman's scream! What woman?" and De Roberval looked hastily round;but the three women had discreetly disappeared.

  Before he could say aught further he was interrupted by La Pommeraye,who gallantly came up, and, holding out an unsheathed sword, said: "Letme, Monsieur, present you with your weapon, which you lost when you sounfortunately slipped on your cloak."

  It was a lie, and De Roberval's look showed that he was aware of it.Possibly he was dimly conscious of having already committed himself byhis silence to his generous opponent's explanation, or his woundedvanity may have been too strong to allow h
im to confess his humiliationbefore the other two men; at all events he replied, with an attempt atdignity: "I thank you, Monsieur, but you must sheathe it for me, as myright hand is helpless."

  Without a word La Pommeraye raised the sheath, and drove the blade home.

  "You are generous," said De Roberval, "and I hope you may learn to beas honourable as you are generous. I am wounded, and will soon recover;but the kiss that burns on my niece's cheek is a wound from which shewill never recover."

  At the words a sword flashed from its scabbard, and De Pontbriand stoodfierce and defiant before his friend.

  "So!" he shouted, "it was Marguerite de Roberval you dared to kiss--you,whose lips are polluted with the kisses of a thousand light-o'-loves!Draw, and defend yourself!"

  "Draw, Claude! Never!" and he drew his cloak more closely about him, soas not to let it be seen that he was unarmed. "Never, Claude. Friend inlove, friend in war, friend in death, even if that friend give the blow.Strike if you will; I have done dishonourably, and no hand is so worthyto punish dishonour as the hand of Claude de Pontbriand."

  "Enough of this," interrupted De Roberval. "Put up your sword, DePontbriand. He has apologised, and I accept his explanation. The wholeaffair arose from a mistake. It would be well, however," he added,turning to Charles, "if this would teach you a lesson on the unmanlinessof assaulting every unprotected woman you may happen to meet. Butwhere," and he checked himself suddenly, and threw a piercing glanceround him, "is the woman whose scream you heard? Has there been any oneelse here?"

  "We were some little distance away, Sieur," said De Pontbriand, "when weheard the scream, and when we came out into the open there certainlyseemed to be a number of figures here, three of whom disappeared on ourapproach into the shadow of yonder wall; and when I turned to look forthem, there was no one to be seen."

  The fact was that Marie's quick eye had caught sight of the two men asthey emerged into the moonlight and came towards them, and, like aflash, she had drawn the other two women into the shadow of the wall.The instant they recognised the voices, knowing that all was safe, andin terror of being discovered, the two girls seized each an arm of oldBastienne, and taking advantage of the momentary surprise caused byClaude's discovery of the identity of Charles' opponent, had made theirway back to the nearest street, with a speed to which the oldserving-woman's legs were totally unaccustomed, and never rested tillthey had landed her, breathless and panting, at the door of their ownhouse.

  Charles, in the meantime, discreetly held his peace. He might haveimagined that he had dreamt the whole scene had not De Pontbriand beenable to vouch for the scream. At all events there was now no trace ofthe three women to be seen, and after a thorough examination of everypossible spot where so much as a mouse might have been concealed, theygave up the search. De Roberval looked a little perturbed.

  "You must have been mistaken," he said to Claude. "There certainlycannot have been anyone here. At all events," he went on, "the affairmust now be considered at an end. De Pontbriand, you must get into noquarrels. We shall have need of all our good men if we embark upon thisCanadian expedition, which I have now in mind."

  "Good, good!" cried Cartier, tossing his cap in the air like aschoolboy. "Up with your sword, Claude, and let us get our old friend tojoin us; we shall have need of him. And, La Pommeraye, beware ofbringing down on you the wrath of your friends. It is easy to fightenemies, but he who makes an enemy of his friend loses something he cannever regain. To-morrow, then, let us meet and talk over our plans."

  In a few minutes the group had separated. Cartier and De Pontbriandescorted Roberval to his home, while La Pommeraye turned his footstepsaway from the city, and towards the broad, moonlit fields. He wasrestless and disturbed. The image of Marguerite de Roberval haunted hisbrain, and he could not get rid of an uneasy impression that Claude'seagerness to defend her honour had something more behind it than merechivalrous gallantry. Then, too, how came she so suddenly upon the sceneof the conflict? and whither had she disappeared? He walked all night,not caring whither, absorbed in pondering over the mysteriouscircumstances which surrounded the beautiful girl who had made so strongan impression on his imagination; and the first faint streak of dawnfound him back at the spot where the fight had taken place. Looking idlyover the wall his eye caught the gleam of De Roberval's sword fullfifteen feet below the surface of the clear water. No one was about. Ina moment he was stripped. He took one quick plunge, and the nextinstant the sword was in his hand. When he returned to the city, hewaited till it was full day, and then with eager steps proceeded to thehouse whither he had borne the unconscious form of Marguerite two nightsbefore. Hammering on the door, he waited, uncertain what to say or do,and timid as a schoolboy for the first time in his life. The old, crustyservant who opened the door, curtly informed him that his master wasstill in bed.

  "Tell him," he said, "that Charles de la Pommeraye wishes to see him inhis own room if possible."

  In a moment the servant returned, and, guiding him through a long anddark hall, brought him to a chamber hung with trophies of the fight. Ona couch in the centre, overhung with heavy curtains, lay De Roberval,haggard and worn, having evidently passed a sleepless night.

  "Go, Jean," he said, waving his hand to his servant.

  When the door was closed La Pommeraye advanced, and bowing, said:"Monsieur must pardon my visit, but I have fished up his sword, andthought it best to bring it to him at once. Ah, I see mine on the floor!It has not often had such treatment; but it was used in a dishonourablequarrel and deserves dishonour."

  As he spoke he took it up lovingly and placed it in its sheath.

  The tears were in the eyes of De Roberval as he took his loved blade inhis left hand, but his voice was hard and cold.

  "I thank you, Monsieur," he frigidly replied. "You add one more to theobligations under which you have already placed me."

  La Pommeraye saw what an effort it had cost the nobleman to make eventhis slight admission. It was like swallowing the bitterest hemlock toacknowledge his debt to the man who had vanquished him, and whosegenerosity had shielded him from disgrace. The young adventurer wasshrewd enough to see that if he would win favour with the uncle ofMarguerite he must wound his vanity and pride no further. He felt thatit would be wise to withdraw, and, after expressing in a few words hisregret for the thoughtlessness which had been the cause of theunfortunate affair, he was about to leave the room, when De Robervalcalled him back.

  "Stay," he said, "I have fought many battles, but last night I foughtwith the most honourable, if the most thoughtless, man in France. Thisafternoon at four o'clock Cartier and De Pontbriand meet with me toconsider the expedition to Canada. Join us in our councils; we cannotbut be benefited by the experience and courage of so distinguished asoldier, and one so well acquainted with the New World."

  La Pommeraye bowed his acknowledgment, and found himself once more inthe streets where life was just beginning to stir. He was soon at theinn to which for years he had resorted when in St Malo, and after abreakfast that would have satisfied Goliath himself, he went to his roomto snatch forty winks to brace and refresh him for further adventures.