The Grey Cloak - Page 157/256

"In here, Madame," said the vicomte, courteously, "if you will do me

that honor."

A glance told madame that she had been in this room before. Did they

burn candles every night in here, or had the vicomte, relying upon a

woman's innate curiosity, lighted these candles himself? Her gaze,

traveling along the oak table, discovered a few particles of burnt

paper. Her face grew warm.

The vicomte closed the door gently, leaving the key in the lock. She

followed, each movement with eyes as keen and wary as a cat's. He drew

out a chair, walked around the table and selected another chair.

"Will you not sit down, Madame?"

"I prefer to stand, Monsieur."

"As you please. Pardon me, but I am inclined to sit down."

"Will you be brief?"

"As possible." The vicomte took in a long breath, reached a hand into

his breast and drew out a folded paper, oblong in shape.

At the sight of this madame's eyes first narrowed, then grew wide and

round.

"Begin, Monsieur," a suspicion of tremor in her tones.

"Well, then: fate or fortune has made you free; fate or fortune has

brought you into this wilderness. Here, civilization becomes less fine

in the grain; men reach forth toward objects brusquely and boldly.

Well, Madame, you know that for the past year I have loved you silently

and devotedly. . . ."

"If that is all, Monsieur . . . !" scornfully.

"Patience!" He tapped the paper with his hand. "Is there not

something about the shape of this paper, Madame, that is familiar?

Does it not recall to your mind something of vital importance?"

Madame placed her hand upon the back of the chair and the ends of her

fingers grew white from the pressure.

"The great Beaufort has scrawled negligently across this paper; the

sly, astute Gaston. My name is here, and so is yours, Madame. My name

would never have been here but for your beauty, which was a fine lure.

Listen. As for my name, there lives in the Rue Saint Martin a friend

who plays at alchemy. He has a liquid which will dissolve ink, erase

it, obliterate it, leaving the paper spotless. Thus it will be easy

for me to substitute another in place of mine. Mazarin seeks you,

Madame, either to place your beautiful neck upon the block or to immure

you for life in prison. Madame, this paper represents two things: your

death-warrant or your marriage contract. Which shall it be?"