THE VALOIS SAGA: Queen Margot, Chicot de Jester & The Forty-Five Guardsmen (Historical Novels). Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ a drawn sword in his hand, came running, as if pursued, knocked at the door, and was admitted?”

      “Yes, monseigneur; but M. de Besme came up immediately, the gates were shattered, and the hôtel was surrounded.”

      “The man went in sure enough, but he has not gone out.”

      “Why,” said Coconnas to La Hurière, “if my eyes do not deceive me, I see Monsieur de Guise.”

      “You do see him, sir. Yes; the great Henry de Guise is come in person to watch for the admiral and serve him as he served the duke’s father. Every one has his day, and it is our turn now.”

      “Holà, Besme, holà!” cried the duke, in his powerful voice, “have you not finished yet?”

      And he struck his sword so forcibly against the stones that sparks flew out.

      At this instant shouts were heard in the hôtel — then several shots — then a great shuffling of feet and a clashing of swords, and then all was again silent.

      The duke was about to rush into the house.

      “Monseigneur, monseigneur!” said Du Gast, detaining him, “your dignity commands you to wait here.”

      “You are right, Du Gast. I must stay here; but I am dying with impatience and anxiety. If he were to escape me!”

      Suddenly the noise of feet came nearer — the windows of the first floor were lighted up with what seemed the reflection of a conflagration.

      The window, to which the duke’s eyes had been so many times lifted, opened, or, rather, was shattered to pieces, and a man, his pale face and white neck stained with blood, appeared on the balcony.

      “Ah! at last, Besme!” cried the duke; “speak! speak!”

      “Louk! louk!” replied the German coldly, and stooping down he lifted up something which seemed like a heavy body.

      “But where are the others?” asked the duke, impatiently, “where are the others?”

      “De udders are vinishing de udders!”

      “And what have you done?”

      “Vait! You shall peholt! Shtant pack a liddle.”

      The duke fell back a step.

      At that instant the object Besme was dragging toward him with such effort became visible.

      It was the body of an old man.

      He lifted it above the balcony, held it suspended an instant, and then flung it down at his master’s feet.

      The heavy thud, the billows of blood spurting from the body and spattering the pavement all around, filled even the duke himself with horror; but this feeling lasted only an instant, and curiosity caused every one to crowd forward, so that the glare of the torches flickered on the victim’s body.

      They could see a white beard, a venerable face, and limbs contracted by death.

      “The admiral!” cried twenty voices, as instantaneously hushed.

      “Yes, the admiral, here he is!” said the duke, approaching the corpse, and contemplating it with silent ecstasy.

      “The admiral! the admiral!” repeated the witnesses of this terrible scene, crowding together and timidly approaching the old man, majestic even in death.

      “Ah, at last, Gaspard!” said the Duke de Guise, triumphantly. “Murderer of my father! thus do I avenge him!”

      And the duke dared to plant his foot on the breast of the Protestant hero.

      But instantly the dying warrior opened his eyes, his bleeding and mutilated hand was clinched for the last time, and the admiral, though without stirring, said to the duke in a sepulchral voice:

      “Henry de Guise, some day the assassin’s foot shall be felt on your breast. I did not kill your father. A curse upon you.”

      The duke, pale, and trembling in spite of himself, felt a cold shudder come over him. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to dispel the fearful vision; when he dared again to glance at the admiral his eyes were closed, his hand unclinched, and a stream of black blood was flowing from the mouth which had just pronounced such terrible words.

      The duke raised his sword with a gesture of desperate resolution.

      “Vell, monsir, are you gondent?”

      “Yes, my worthy friend, yes, for you have revenged”—

      “The Dugue François, haf I not?”

      “Our religion,” replied Henry, in a solemn voice. “And now,” he went on, addressing the Swiss, the soldiers, and citizens who filled the court and street, “to work, my friends, to work!”

      “Good evening, M. de Besme,” said Coconnas with a sort of admiration, approaching the German, who still stood on the balcony, calmly wiping his sword.

      “So you settled him, did you?” cried La Hurière; “how did you manage it?”

      “Oh, zimbly, zimbly; he haf heerd de gommotion, he haf oben de door unt I joost brick my rabier troo his potty. But I tink dey am gilling Téligny now. I hear his gries!”

      At that instant, in fact, several shrieks, apparently uttered by a woman in distress, were heard; the windows of the long gallery which formed a wing of the hotel were lighted up with a red glare; two men were seen fleeing, pursued by a long line of assassins. An arquebuse-shot killed one; the other, finding an open window directly in his way, without stopping to look at the distance from the ground, sprang boldly into the courtyard below, heeding not the enemies who awaited him there.

      “Kill! kill!” cried the assassins, seeing their prey about to escape them.

      The fugitive picked up his sword, which as he stumbled had fallen from his hand, dashed headlong through the soldiers, upset three or four, ran one through the body, and amid the pistol-shots and curses of the soldiers, rendered furious because they had missed him, darted like lightning in front of Coconnas, who was waiting for him at the gate with his poniard in his hand.

      “Touched!” cried the Piedmontese, piercing his arm with his keen, delicate blade.

      “Coward!” replied the fugitive, striking his enemy in the face with the flat of his weapon, for want of room to thrust at him with its point.

      “A thousand devils!” cried Coconnas; “it’s Monsieur de la Mole!”

      “Monsieur de la Mole!” reëchoed La Hurière and Maurevel.

      “He is the one who warned the admiral!” cried several soldiers.

      “Kill him — kill him!” was shouted on all sides.

      Coconnas, La Hurière, and a dozen soldiers rushed in pursuit of La Mole, who, covered with blood, and having attained that state of exaltation which is the last resource of human strength, dashed through the streets, with no other СКАЧАТЬ