QUEEN MARGOT (Historical Novel). Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
get dis yoong mahn on de right drack.”
“Don’t worry about me: the Coconnas are regular bloodhounds, and I am a chip off the old block.”2
“Atieu.”
“Go on!”
“Unt you?”
“Begin the hunt; we shall be at the death.”
De Besme went on, and Maurevel closed the window.
“Did you hear, young man?” said Maurevel; “if you have any private enemy, even if he is not altogether a Huguenot, you can put him on your list, and he will pass with the others.”
Coconnas, more bewildered than ever with what he saw and heard, looked first at his landlord, who was assuming formidable attitudes, and then at Maurevel, who quietly drew a paper from his pocket.
“Here’s my list,” said he; “three hundred. Let each good Catholic do this night one-tenth part of the business I shall do, and tomorrow there will not remain one single heretic in the kingdom.”
“Hush!” said La Hurière.
“What is it?” inquired Coconnas and Maurevel together.
They heard the first pulsation from the bell in Saint Germain l’Auxerrois.
“The signal!” exclaimed Maurevel. “The time is set forward! I was told it was appointed at midnight — so much the better. When it concerns the interest of God and the King, it is better for clocks to be fast than slow!”
In reality they heard the church bell mournfully tolling.
Then a shot was fired, and almost instantly the light of several torches blazed up like flashes of lightning in the Rue de l’Arbre Sec.
Coconnas passed his hand over his brow, which was damp with perspiration.
“It has begun!” cried Maurevel. “Now to work — away!”
“One moment, one moment!” said the landlord. “Before we begin, let us protect the camp, as we say in the army. I do not wish to have my wife and children’s throats cut while I am out. There is a Huguenot here.”
“Monsieur de la Mole!” said Coconnas, starting.
“Yes, the heretic has thrown himself into the wolf’s throat.”
“What!” said Coconnas, “would you attack your guest?”
“I gave an extra edge to my rapier for his special benefit.”
“Oho!” said the Piedmontese, frowning.
“I never yet killed anything but my rabbits, ducks, and chickens,” replied the worthy inn-keeper, “and I do not know very well how to go to work to kill a man; well, I will practise on him, and if I am clumsy, no one will be there to laugh at me.”
“By Heaven! it is hard,” said Coconnas. “Monsieur de la Mole is my companion; Monsieur de la Mole has supped with me; Monsieur de la Mole has played with me”—
“Yes; but Monsieur de la Mole is a heretic,” said Maurevel. “Monsieur de la Mole is doomed; and if we do not kill him, others will.”
“Not to say,” added the host, “that he has won fifty crowns from you.”
“True,” said Coconnas; “but fairly, I am sure.”
“Fairly or not, you must pay them, while, if I kill him, you are quits.”
“Come, come!” cried Maurevel; “make haste, gentlemen, an arquebuse-shot, a rapier-thrust, a blow with a mallet, a stroke with any weapon you please; but get done with it if you wish to reach the admiral’s in time to help Monsieur de Guise as we promised.”
Coconnas sighed.
“I’ll make haste!” cried La Hurière, “wait for me.”
“By Heaven!” cried Coconnas, “he will put the poor fellow to great pain, and, perhaps, rob him. I must be present to finish him, if requisite, and to prevent any one from touching his money.”
And impelled by this happy thought, Coconnas followed La Hurière upstairs, and soon overtook him, for according as the landlord went up, doubtless as the effect of reflection, he slackened his pace.
As he reached the door, Coconnas still following, many gunshots were discharged in the street. Instantly La Mole was heard to leap out of bed and the flooring creaked under his feet.
“Diable!” muttered La Hurière, somewhat disconcerted; “that has awakened him, I think.”
“It looks like it,” observed Coconnas.
“And he will defend himself.”
“He is capable of it. Suppose, now, Maître la Hurière, he were to kill you; that would be droll!”
“Hum, hum!” responded the landlord, but knowing himself to be armed with a good arquebuse, he took courage and dashed the door in with a vigorous kick.
La Mole, without his hat, but dressed, was entrenched behind his bed, his sword between his teeth, and his pistols in his hands.
“Oho!” said Coconnas, his nostrils expanding as if he had been a wild beast smelling blood, “this grows interesting, Maître la Hurière. Forward!”
“Ah, you would assassinate me, it seems!” cried La Mole, with glaring eyes; “and it is you, wretch!”
Maître la Hurière’s reply to this was to take aim at the young man with his arquebuse; but La Mole was on his guard, and as he fired, fell on his knees, and the ball flew over his head.
“Help!” cried La Mole; “help, Monsieur de Coconnas!”
“Help, Monsieur de Maurevel! — help!” cried La Hurière.
“Ma foi! Monsieur de la Mole,” replied Coconnas, “all I can do in this affair is not to join the attack against you. It seems all the Huguenots are to be put to death to-night, in the King’s name. Get out of it as well as you can.”
“Ah, traitors! assassins! — is it so? Well, then, take this!” and La Mole, aiming in his turn, fired one of his pistols. La Hurière, who had kept his eye on him, dodged to one side; but Coconnas, not anticipating such a reply, stayed where he was, and the bullet grazed his shoulder.
“By Heaven!” he exclaimed, grinding his teeth; “I have it. Well, then, let it be we two, since you will have it so!”
And drawing his rapier, he rushed on La Mole.
Had he been alone La Mole would, doubtless, have awaited his attack; but Coconnas had La Hurière to aid him, who was reloading his gun, and Maurevel, who, responding to the innkeeper’s invitation, was rushing up-stairs four steps at a time.
La Mole, therefore, dashed into a small closet, which he bolted inside.
“Ah, coward!” cried Coconnas, furious, and striking at the door with the pommel of his sword; “wait! wait! and I will make as many holes in your body as you have gained crowns of me to-night. I came up to prevent you from suffering! Oh, I came up to prevent you from being robbed and you pay me back by putting a bullet into my shoulder! Wait for me, coward, wait!”
While this was going on, Maître la Hurière came up and with one blow with the butt-end of his arquebuse smashed in the door.
Coconnas darted into the closet, but only bare walls met him. The closet was empty and the window was open.
“He must have jumped out,” said the landlord, “and as we are on the fourth story, he is surely dead.”
“Or he has escaped by the roof of the next house,” said Coconnas, putting his leg on the window-sill and preparing to follow him over this narrow and slippery route; but