PAGE 19
In The Second April
by
“Yes, madame,” said the Marquis, critically; “after all, she is in love with him. That is unfortunate, is it not, for Milor Ormskirk,–and even for Achille Cazaio,” he added, with a shrug.
“I fail to see,” a dignified young lady stated, “what Cazaio, at least, has to do with your galimatias.”
“Simply that I received this morning a letter demanding you be surrendered to Cazaio,” de Soyecourt answered as he sounded the gong. “Otherwise, our amiable friend of the Taunenfels announces he will attack Bellegarde. I, of course, hanged his herald and despatched messengers to Gaston, whom I look for to-morrow. If Gaston indeed arrive to-morrow morning, Mr. Bulmer, I shall relinquish you to him; in other circumstances will be laid upon me the deplorable necessity of summoning a Protestant minister from Manneville, and, after your spiritual affairs are put in order, of hanging you–suppose we say at noon?”
“The hour suits me,” said John Bulmer, “as well as another. But no better. And I warn you it will not suit the Duke of Ormskirk, either, whose relative–whose very near relative–” He posed for the astounding revelation.
But little de Soyecourt had drawn closer to him. “Mr. Bulmer, I have somehow omitted to mention that two years ago I was at Aix-la-Chapelle, when the treaty was in progress, and there saw your great kinsman. I cut no particular figure at the convocation, and it is unlikely he recalls my features; but I remember his quite clearly.”
“Indeed?” said John Bulmer, courteously; “it appears, then, that monsieur is a physiognomist?”
“You flatter me,” the Marquis returned. “My skill in that science enabled me to deduce only the veriest truisms–such as that the man who for fifteen years had beaten France, had hoodwinked France, would in France be not oversafe could we conceive him fool enough to hazard a trip into this country.”
“Especially alone?” said John Bulmer.
“Especially,” the Marquis assented, “if he came alone. But, ma foi! I am discourteous. You were about to say–?”
“That a comic subject declines to be set forth in tragic verse,” John Bulmer answered, “and afterward to inquire the way to my dungeon.”
X
But John Bulmer escaped a dungeon after all; for at parting de Soyecourt graciously offered to accept Mr. Bulmer’s parole, which he gave willingly enough, and thereby obtained the liberty of a tiny enclosed garden, whence a stairway led to his new apartment on the second floor of what had been known as the Constable’s Tower, since du Guesclin held it for six weeks against Sir Robert Knollys. This was a part of the ancient fortress in which, they say, Poictesme’s most famous hero, Dom Manuel, dwelt and performed such wonders, a long while before Bellegarde was remodeled by Duke Florian.
The garden, gravel-pathed, was a trim place, all green and white. It contained four poplars, and in the center was a fountain, where three Nereids contended with a brawny Triton for the possession of a turtle whose nostrils spurted water. A circle of attendant turtles, half-submerged, shot inferior jets from their gaping mouths. It was an odd, and not unhandsome piece, [Footnote: Designed by Simon Guillain. This fountain is still to be seen at Bellegarde, though the exuberancy of Revolutionary patriotism has bereft the Triton of his head and of the lifted arm.] and John Bulmer inspected it with appreciation, and then the garden, and having found all things satisfactory, sat down and chuckled sleepily and waited.
“De Soyecourt has been aware of my identity throughout the entire week! Faith, then, I am a greater fool than even I suspected, since this fop of the boulevards has been able to trick me so long. He has some card up his sleeve, too, has our good Marquis–Eh, well! Gaston comes to-morrow, and thenceforward all is plain sailing. Meantime I conjecture that the poor captive will presently have visitors.”
He had dinner first, though, and at this meal gave an excellent account of himself. Shortly afterward, as he sat over his coffee, little de Soyecourt unlocked the high and narrow gate which constituted the one entrance to the garden, and sauntered forward, dapper and smiling.