THE VALOIS SAGA: Queen Margot, Chicot de Jester & The Forty-Five Guardsmen (Historical Novels). Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
La Mole opened his eyes.
“Oh! mon Dieu!” murmured he; “where am I?”
“Saved!” said Marguerite. “Reassure yourself — you are saved.”
La Mole turned his eyes on the queen, gazed earnestly for a moment, and murmured,
“Oh, how beautiful you are!”
Then as if the vision were too much for him, he closed his lids and drew a sigh.
Marguerite started. He had become still paler than before, if that were possible, and for an instant that sigh was his last.
“Oh, my God! my God!” she ejaculated, “have pity on him!”
At this moment a violent knocking was heard at the door. Marguerite half raised herself, still supporting La Mole.
“Who is there?” she cried.
“Madame, it is I— it is I,” replied a woman’s voice, “the Duchesse de Nevers.”
“Henriette!” cried Marguerite. “There is no danger; it is a friend of mine! Do you hear, sir?”
La Mole with some effort got up on one knee.
“Try to support yourself while I go and open the door,” said the queen.
La Mole rested his hand on the floor and succeeded in holding himself upright.
Marguerite took one step toward the door, but suddenly stopped, shivering with terror.
“Ah, you are not alone!” she said, hearing the clash of arms outside.
“No, I have twelve guards which my brother-inlaw, Monsieur de Guise, assigned me.”
“Monsieur de Guise!” murmured La Mole. “The assassin — the assassin!”
“Silence!” said Marguerite. “Not a word!”
And she looked round to see where she could conceal the wounded man.
“A sword! a dagger!” muttered La Mole.
“To defend yourself — useless! Did you not hear? There are twelve of them, and you are alone.”
“Not to defend myself, but that I may not fall alive into their hands.”
“No, no!” said Marguerite. “No, I will save you. Ah! this cabinet! Come! come.”
La Mole made an effort, and, supported by Marguerite, dragged himself to the cabinet. Marguerite locked the door upon him, and hid the key in her alms-purse.
“Not a cry, not a groan, not a sigh,” whispered she, through the panelling, “and you are saved.”
Then hastily throwing a night-robe over her shoulders, she opened the door for her friend, who tenderly embraced her.
“Ah!” cried Madame Nevers, “then nothing has happened to you, madame!”
“No, nothing at all,” replied Marguerite, wrapping the mantle still more closely round her to conceal the spots of blood on her peignoir.
“’Tis well. However, as Monsieur de Guise has given me twelve of his guards to escort me to his hôtel, and as I do not need such a large company, I am going to leave six with your majesty. Six of the duke’s guards are worth a regiment of the King’s to-night.”
Marguerite dared not refuse; she placed the soldiers in the corridor, and embraced the duchess, who then returned to the Hôtel de Guise, where she resided in her husband’s absence.
Chapter 9.
The Murderers.
Coconnas had not fled, he had retreated; La Hurière had not fled, he had flown. The one had disappeared like a tiger, the other like a wolf.
The consequence was that La Hurière had already reached the Place Saint Germain l’Auxerrois when Coconnas was only just leaving the Louvre.
La Hurière, finding himself alone with his arquebuse, while around him men were running, bullets were whistling, and bodies were falling from windows — some whole, others dismembered — began to be afraid and was prudently thinking of returning to his tavern, but as he turned into the Rue de l’Arbre Sec from the Rue d’Averon he fell in with a troop of Swiss and light cavalry: it was the one commanded by Maurevel.
“Well,” cried Maurevel, who had christened himself with the nickname of King’s Killer, “have you finished so soon? Are you going back to your tavern, worthy landlord? And what the devil have you done with our Piedmontese gentleman? No misfortune has happened to him? That would be a shame, for he started out well.”
“No, I think not,” replied La Hurière; “I hope he will rejoin us!”
“Where have you been?”
“At the Louvre, and I must say we were very rudely treated there.”
“By whom?”
“Monsieur le Duc d’Alençon. Isn’t he interested in this affair?”
“Monseigneur le Duc d’Alençon is not interested in anything which does not concern himself personally. Propose to treat his two older brothers as Huguenots and he would be in it — provided only that the work should be done without compromising him. But won’t you go with these worthy fellows, Maître La Hurière?”
“And where are they going?”
“Oh, mon Dieu! Rue Montorguen; there is a Huguenot minister there whom I know; he has a wife and six children. These heretics are enormous breeders; it will be interesting.”
“And where are you going?”
“Oh, I have a little private business.”
“Say, there! don’t go off without me,” said a voice which made Maurevel start, “you know all the good places and I want to have my share.”
“Ah! it is our Piedmontese,” said Maurevel.
“Yes, it is Monsieur de Coconnas,” said La Hurière; “I thought you were following me.”
“Hang it! you made off too swiftly for that; and besides I turned a little to one side so as to fling into the river a frightful child who was screaming, ‘Down with the Papists! Long live the admiral!’ Unfortunately, I believe the little rascal knew how to swim. These miserable heretics must be flung into the water like cats before their eyes are opened if they are to be drowned at all.”
“Ah! you say you are just from the Louvre; so your Huguenot took refuge there, did he?” asked Maurevel.
“Mon Dieu! yes.”
“I gave him a pistol-shot at the moment when he was picking up his sword in the admiral’s court-yard, but I somehow or other missed him.”
“Well, I did not miss him,” added Coconnas; “I gave him such a thrust in the back that my sword was wet five inches up the blade. Besides, I saw him fall into the arms of Madame Marguerite, a pretty woman, by Heaven! yet I confess I should not be sorry to hear he was really dead; the vagabond is infernally spiteful, and capable of bearing me a grudge all his life. But didn’t you say you were bound somewhere?”
“Why, do you mean to go with me?”
“I do not like standing still, by Heaven! I have killed only three or four as yet, and when I get cold my shoulder pains me. Forward! forward!”
“Captain,” said Maurevel to the commander of the troop, “give me three men, and go and despatch your parson with the rest.”
Three Swiss stepped forward and joined Maurevel. Nevertheless, the two