Clash of Arms. John Bloundelle-Burton

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СКАЧАТЬ for contradicting Andrew. "Many of the noblesse go against the Duke and throw in their lot with France--she protecting them from Charles of Lorraine's anger. He is one of them and has been since '70, when the King claimed the province again."

      Whereon he filled his glass once more.

      "And where is Turenne now?" asked Andrew, playing with his own glass, but drinking nothing.

      "The last news came from Sintzheim, where he had just beaten Caprara. He is somewhere, therefore, in that neighbourhood."

      "And Sintzheim is on the east bank of the Rhine, if I remember aright."

      "So, so! 'Twixt Philipsburg on the Rhine and Heilbronn on the Neckar."

      "Ay! thereabouts. And you are sure this man, this Camille de Bois-Vallée, is there with his master?"

      "Where else? That is his post. Unless----"

      "Unless?"

      "He is killed. That may be. They are fighting always during the summer. In the winter they go into quarters. Some returning to Paris who can get leave--and, then, 'tis as though forty thousand devils more than there are already here were let loose! Some stay there. The married ones mostly. He does, I think."

      It was on the tip of Andrew's tongue to say, "he is married then?" but he refrained. This man might not know that--although he knew much of what took place in the higher circles in France. Instead, therefore, he contented himself by saying: "Why so? Do their wives join them?"

      "Si! Si! They join them. And sometimes others--but no matter."

      "Therefore you think he will be there--say next winter."

      "Unless he is killed."

      "Always, of course, unless he is killed. That is without saying."

      "He is there now," the Frenchman said, filling his glass furtively and almost in a shamefaced manner at having drunk so much of what was in the bottle, "I know that. You bade me a week ago find out, discover, where he was. I have done it. You may rely on me." Then, with a slight simper and somewhat of hesitation in his voice, he said: "I have done my share of the work, monsieur."

      "That is true. I will do mine," and he produced from his breast a small roll of what were evidently gold pieces--or pieces of money of some sort--and slipped it across the table into the other's palm. "Yet," said Andrew, as he did so, "I would you could have answered the other portion of my question. I would have paid you well--will pay you well now--if you can discover anything further."

      The man opposite him shrugged his shoulders, while at the same time he was slipping the rouleau into his pouch, then he said, "Ma foi! In such cases it is a little difficult. Fichtre! It is extremely difficult. This Bois-Vallée has been so much mixed up with women that----"

      "Hist!" exclaimed Andrew under his breath, while he made a sign to the spy to be silent awhile. Then he turned his eyes towards a table in the corner, the other following intuitively his glance.

      Doing so, they rested on a young fellow who was scarce more than a lad--but an extremely good-looking one, with a pink and white complexion, now flushed a little, as though from too deep an attention having been paid to a bottle of amber-coloured wine on the table, upon which he leant his arm. He was well dressed, too, the garb he wore showing that he belonged to the wealthy classes, if not to the noble--though his clear-cut, aristocratic features proclaimed almost indubitably that he was of good birth. His coat of russet satin was enriched with red and silver cording, his satin breeches had handsome slashed seams, also showing red and silver lace, while the bows at his knees above his brown silk stockings were of deep frilled lace. His hat lay carelessly on the table where it had been tossed, and some droppings from his bottle had somewhat soaked into the rich black beaver and soiled its lace, while, unbelted from his body and with the sash belt still attached to it, a handsome silver-hilted rapier stood against the wall by his side. He wore his own hair, a bright chestnut flecked with yellow, which, as he sat with his back against the wall, with his eyes shut, shone like a new louis d'or against the somewhat dingy background.

      Andrew had thought him asleep during the time he had been holding his conversation with the informer, whom he had sent for some days since and taken into his pay, but he thought so no longer when--on that informer mentioning somewhat above his breath the name of "De Bois-Vallée"--the youth had opened a pair of dark grey eyes and fixed them on the speaker. And the manner in which he had done so gave the astute cavalier the idea that that name was not unfamiliar to him, an impression which he would have conceived earlier had he seen the lad previously open his eyes more than once when the name of the Vicomte had been mentioned.

      The young man, however, closed them again directly those other glances were directed towards him, and, since Andrew Vause and his companion turned their conversation to another subject, he opened them no more, but seemed to drop of again into a sleep with his head against the wall. Then a little later he aroused himself, called the serving-man, and paying him, as well as tossing him a silver coin for his service, buckled on his rapier and left the tavern.

      "Do you know the youth?" Andrew asked, as he too paid the man and arranged his jacket and neckerchief previous to leaving the place. "He was acquainted with, I will be sworn, the name of--of--the person we have been discussing."

      "Nay," said the other. "Nay. Though doubtless I could discover. Shall I follow him, watch where he goes to--find out who he is?"

      "No," replied Vause. "No. I have nought to do with him, and it may well be that he knows the man; by his appearance he should be one acquainted with the Court and such circles as those which De Bois-Vallée frequents. Let be! Also, he is in Paris, and he whom I go to seek is on the Rhine. And--he knows nothing."

      He did not add, which was the case, that to him, soldier of fortune and free lance as he was, all kinds of espionage were distasteful, and that, having now found out the Vicomte's whereabouts, he wanted no more spyings. This fellow had put him on the track of the man whom he had taken a vow to find and stand face to face with--that was enough. He would do the rest himself, trusting only to his own manhood and to his sword.

      He briefly bade the man "good-night," therefore, with some muttered word of thanks for service rendered, and, telling him that should he need him again he would send to his lodgings, went out into the night, leaving the spy draining the last dregs from the bottle. He was staying at "Le Point du Jour" for the present, having an airy, cool room at the top of the house, but there was one duty he performed nightly ere seeking that room. That was to go to the stables in the next alley to the one in which the inn was situated, and there see that all was well with his horse--a duty no man dared neglect even though his love of his animal did not prompt him to it, so valuable an adjunct to the life and safety of the soldier was his steed. But, with Andrew Vause, the attention would have been given, even though neither he nor the steed were ever likely to set forth on any journey of adventure together again.

      Outside the tavern the air was cool and fresh, and, meditating much on all that lay before him ere the task was done which he had vowed to accomplish, he strolled leisurely along, reached the Rue St. Honoré, and so wended his way towards where the stables were, casting up his eyes as he went at the portals of a grim, deserted-looking palace over which the light of a new moon showed him a cardinal's hat carved in stone--the portals of the house where Richelieu breathed his last thirty years before.

      "Ah! votre eminence!" he murmured, "you were a man, with all your faults, worth serving. An unscrupulous devil too," he mused, "yet one who knew good mettle when you found it. Better than the upstart Louvois, better СКАЧАТЬ