The Grey Cloak - Page 112/256

"Why did you let those opportunities pass?" he asked, petulantly.

"Some day I may need those strokes. The vicomte does not know that I

possess them." Victor smiled; then he frowned. "He is made of iron;

he is a stone wall; but he is not as brilliant and daring as you are,

Paul."

"Let us prolong the truce indefinitely," said the vicomte, later.

Victor bowed without speaking. The courtesy had something

non-committal in it, and it did not escape the keen eye of the vicomte.

"Monsieur, you are the most gallant poet I know," and the vicomte

saluted gravely.

They were becalmed the next day and the day following. The afternoon

of the second day promised to be dull and uninteresting, but grew

suddenly pregnant with possibilities when the Comte d'Hérouville

addressed the vicomte with these words: "Monsieur, I should like to

speak to the Chevalier du Cévennes. Will you take upon yourself the

responsibility of conducting me to his cabin? It is not possible for

me to ask the courtesy of Monsieur de Saumaise. My patience becomes

strained at the sight of him."

"Certainly, Monsieur," answered the vicomte, pleasantly, though the

perpendicular line above his nose deepened. "I dare venture that the

matter concerns the coming engagement at Quebec, and you desire a

witness."

"Your surmise is correct. I do not wish to take advantage of him. I

wish to know if he believes he will be in condition."

"Follow me." The vicomte started toward the companionway.

The Chevalier lay in his bunk, in profound slumber. Breton was dozing

over his Rabelais. The clothes on the hooks moved but slightly. As

the two visitors entered, the lackey lifted his head and placed a

finger against his lips.

"He sleeps?" whispered the vicomte.

Breton nodded, eying d'Hérouville with disapproval.

The vicomte stared at the wan face on the pillow. He shrugged his

shoulders, and there was an essence of pity in the movement. Meanwhile

the count gazed with idle curiosity at the partitions. He saw the

Chevalier's court rapier with its jeweled hilt. The Chevalier's

grandsire had flaunted the slender blade under the great Constable's

nose in the days of Henri II. There had been a time when he himself

had worn a rapier even more valuable; but the Jews had swallowed it

even as the gaming tables had swallowed his patrimony. Next he

fingered the long campaign rapier, and looked away as if trying to

penetrate the future. A sharp gasp slipped past his lips.

"Boy," he said lowly and with apparent calm, "was not that a ship

passing?"

Breton looked out of the port-hole. As he did so the count grasped the

vicomte's arm. The vicomte turned quickly, and for the first time his

eyes encountered the grey cloak. His breath came sharply, while his

hand stretched forth mechanically and touched the garment, sinister and

repelling though it was. There followed his touch a crackling sound,

as of paper. D'Hérouville paled. On the contrary, the vicomte smiled.