The Grey Cloak - Page 94/256

The vicomte gazed into the handsome face, and there was some doubt in

his own eyes. "You have not always been a priest?"

"Not always."

"And your antecedents?"

"A nobler race than yours, Monsieur," haughtily. "You also have grown

curious, it would seem. I shall be associated with the Chevalier, and

I desired to know the root of his troubles in order to help him. But

for these robes, Monsieur, you would not use the tone you do."

"La, la! Take them off if they hamper you. But I like not curious

people, I am not a gossip. The Chevalier has reasons in plenty. Ask

him why he going to Quebec;" and the vicomte whirled on his heels,

leaving the Jesuit the desire to cast aside his robes and smite the

vicomte on the mouth.

"Swashbuckler!" he murmured. "How many times have you filched the

Chevalier of his crowns by the use of clogged dice? . . . God pardon

me, but I am lusting for that man's life!" His hand clutched his

rosary and his lips moved in prayer, though the anger did not

immediately die out of his eyes. He wandered among the crowds. Words

and vague sentences filtered through the noise. Two gentlemen were

conversing lowly. Brother Jacques neared them unconsciously, still at

his beads.

"On my honor, it is as I tell you. The Chevalier . . ."

Brother Jacques raised his eyes, "What! forfeited his rights in a moment of madness? Proclaimed himself

to be . . . before you all? Impossible!"

The beads slipped through Brother Jacques's fingers. He leaned against

the wall, his eyes round, his nostrils expanded. A great wave of pity

surged over him. He saw nothing but the handsome youth who had spoken

kindly to him at the Candlestick in Paris. That word! That invisible,

searing iron! He straightened, and his eyes flashed like points of

steel in the sunshine. That grim, wicked old man; not a thousand times

a thousand livres would give him the key to Heaven. Brother Jacques

left the tavern and walked along the wharves, breathing deeply of the

vigorous sea-air.

Victor encountered the vicomte as the latter was about to go aboard.

"Ah," said the vicomte; "so you ran about with a drawn sword last

night? Monsieur, you are only a boy." The vicomte never lost his

banter; it was a habit.

"I was hot-headed and in wine." Victor had an idea in regard to the

vicomte.

"The devil is always lurking in the pot; so let us not stir him again."

"Willingly."

"I compliment you on your good sense. Monsieur, I've been thinking

seriously. Has it not occurred to you that Madame de Brissac has that

paper?"

"Would she seek Spain?" said Victor.

"True. But supposing Mazarin should be seeking her, paper or no paper,

to force the truth from her?"