书城公版The Two Noble Kinsmen
26271500000034

第34章 CHAPTER X(1)

THE BAISER LAMOURETTE

Presently Charlot turned to La Boulaye, and for all that he uttered no word, his glance left nothing to be said. In response to it Caron stirred at last, and came leisurely over to the table.

"A mouthful of wine, and I'm gone, Charlot," said he in level, colourless tones, as taking up a flagon he filled himself a goblet.

"Fill for me, too," cried the Captain; "aye, and for the Citoyenne here. Come, my girl, a cup of wine will refresh you."

But Suzanne shrank from the invitation as much as from the tenor of it and the epithet he had applied to her. Observing this, he laughed softly.

"Oh! As you will. But the wine is good-from cellar of a ci-devant Duke. My service to you, Citoyenne," he pledged her, and raising his cup, he poured the wine down a throat that was parched by the much that he had drunk already, But ere the goblet was half-empty, a sharp, sudden cry from La Boulaye came to interrupt his quaffing.

He glanced round, and at what he saw he spilled the wine down his waistcoat, then let the cup fall to the ground, as with an oath he flung himself upon the girl.

She had approached the table whilst both men were drinking, and quietly possessed herself of a knife; and, but that it was too blunt to do the service to which she put it, Charlot's intervention would have come too late. As it was he caught her wrist in time, and in a rage he tore the weapon from her fingers, and flung it far across the room.

"So, pretty lady!" he gasped, now gripping both her wrists. "So! we are suicidally inclined, are we! We would cheat Captain Charlot, would we? Fi donc!" he continued with horrid playfulness. "To shed a blood so blue upon a floor so unclean! Name of a name of a name!"

Accounting herself baffled at every point, this girl, who had hitherto borne herself so stoutly as to have stoically sought death as a last means of escape, began to weep softly. Whereupon:

"Nay, nay, little-woman,"murmured the Captain, in such accents as are employed to a petted child, and instinctively, in his intent to soothe he drew her nearer. And now the close contact thrilled him; her beauty, and some subtle perfume that reached him from her, played havoc with his senses. Nearer he drew her in silence, his face white and clammy, and his hot, wine laden breath coming quicker every second. And unresisting she submitted, for she was beyond resistance now, beyond tears even. From between wet lashes her great eyes gazed into his with a look of deadly, piteous affright; her lips were parted, her cheeks ashen, and her mind was dimly striving to formulate a prayer to the Holy Mother, the natural protectress of all imperilled virgins.

Nearer she felt herself drawn to her tormentor, in whose thoughts there dwelt now little recollection of the vengeful character of his purpose. For a second her wrists were released; then she felt his arms going round her as the coils of a snake go round its prey.

With a sudden reassertion of self, with a panting gasp of horror, she tore herself free. An oath broke from him as he sprang after her. Then the unexpected happened. Above his head something bright flashed up, then down. There was a dull crack, and the Captain stopped short in his rush; his hands were jerked to the height of his breast, and like a pole-axed beast he dropped and lay prone at her feet.

Across his fallen body she beheld La Boulaye standing impassively, the ghost of a smile on his thin lips, and in his hand one of the heavy silver candlesticks from the table.

Whilst a man might count a dozen they stood so with no word spoken.

Then:

"It was a cowardly blow, Citoyenne," said the Deputy in accents of regret; "but what choice had I?" He set down the candlestick, and kneeling beside Charlot, he felt for the Captain's heart. "The door, Citoyenne," he muttered. "Lock it."

Mechanically, and without uttering a word, she hastened to do his bidding. As the key grated in the lock he rose.

"It has only stunned him," he announced. "Now to prepare an explanation for it."

He drew a chair under the old brass lamp, that hung from the ceiling.

He mounted the chair, and with both hands he seized the chain immediately above the lamp. Drawing himself up, he swung there for just a second; then the hook gave way, and amid a shower of plaster La Boulaye half-tumbled to the ground.

"There," said he, as he dropped the lamp with its chain and hook upon the floor by Charlot. "It may not be as convincing as we might wish, but I think that it will prove convincing enough to the dull wits of the landlady, and of such of Charlot's followers as may enter here. I am afraid," he deplored, "that it will be some time before he recovers. He was so far gone in wine that it needed little weight to fell him."

Her glance met his once more, and she took a step towards him with hands outstretched.

"Monsieur, Monsieur!" she cried. "If you but knew how in my thoughts I wronged you a little while ago."

"You had all reason to," he answered, taking her hands, and there came the least softening of his stern countenance. "It grieved me to add to your affliction. But had I permitted him to do so much as suspect that I was anything but your implacable enemy, I had no chance of saving you. He would have dismissed me, and I must have obeyed or been compelled, for he is master here, and has men enough to enforce what he desires."

And now she would have thanked him for having saved her, but he cut her short almost roughly.

"You owe me no thanks,"he said. "I have but done for you what my manhood must have bidden me do for any woman similarly situated. For to-night I have saved you, Citoyenne. I shall make an effort to smuggle you and your mother out of Boisvert before morning, but after that you must help yourselves."

"You will do this?" she cried, her eyes glistening.

"I will attempt it."

"By what means, Monsieur Caron?"

"I do not yet know. I must consider. In the meantime you had best return to your coach. Later to-night I shall have you and your mother brought to me, and I will endeavour to so arrange matters that you shall not again return to your carriage.