The man, who was called Jacques, now returned from the stone gallery. “A fire is lighted there,” said he, “and the birds are dressing; the table too is spread there, for that place is warmer than this.”
His companions approved of the removal, and invited their guests to follow to the gallery, of whom Blanche appeared distressed, and remained seated, and St. Foix looked at the Count, who said, he preferred the comfortable blaze of the fire he was then near. The hunters, however, commended the warmth of the other apartment, and pressed his removal with such seeming courtesy, that the Count, half doubting, and half fearful of betraying his doubts, consented to go. The long and ruinous passages, through which they went, somewhat daunted him, but the thunder, which now burst in loud peals above, made it dangerous to quit this place of shelter, and he forbore to provoke his conductors by showing that he distrusted them. The hunters led the way, with a lamp; the Count and St. Foix, who wished to please their hosts by some instances of familiarity, carried each a seat, and Blanche followed, with faltering steps. As she passed on, part of her dress caught on a nail in the wall, and, while she stopped, somewhat too scrupulously, to disengage it, the Count, who was talking to St. Foix, and neither of whom observed the circumstance, followed their conductor round an abrupt angle of the passage, and Blanche was left behind in darkness. The thunder prevented them from hearing her call but, having disengaged her dress, she quickly followed, as she thought, the way they had taken. A light, that glimmered at a distance, confirmed this belief, and she proceeded towards an open door, whence it issued, conjecturing the room beyond to be the stone gallery the men had spoken of. Hearing voices as she advanced, she paused within a few paces of the chamber, that she might be certain whether she was right, and from thence, by the light of a lamp, that hung from the ceiling, observed four men, seated round a table, over which they leaned in apparent consultation. In one of them she distinguished the features of him, whom she had observed, gazing at St. Foix, with such deep attention; and who was now speaking in an earnest, though restrained voice, till, one of his companions seeming to oppose him, they spoke together in a loud and harsher tone. Blanche, alarmed by perceiving that neither her father, nor St. Foix were there, and terrified at the fierce countenances and manners of these men, was turning hastily from the chamber, to pursue her search of the gallery, when she heard one of the men say:
“Let all dispute end here. Who talks of danger? Follow my advice, and there will be none—secure them, and the rest are an easy prey.” Blanche, struck with these words, paused a moment, to hear more. “There is nothing to be got by the rest,” said one of his companions, “I am never for blood when I can help it—dispatch the two others, and our business is done; the rest may go.”
“May they so?” exclaimed the first ruffian, with a tremendous oath—“What! to tell how we have disposed of their masters, and to send the king’s troops to drag us to the wheel! You were always a choice adviser—I warrant we have not yet forgot St. Thomas’s eve last year.”
Blanche’s heart now sunk with horror. Her first impulse was to retreat from the door, but, when she would have gone, her trembling frame refused to support her, and, having tottered a few paces, to a more obscure part of the passage, she was compelled to listen to the dreadful councils of those, who, she was no longer suffered to doubt, were banditti. In the next moment, she heard the following words, “Why you would not murder the whole gang?”
“I warrant our lives are as good as theirs,” replied his comrade. “If we don’t kill them, they will hang us: better they should die than we be hanged.”
“Better, better,” cried his comrades.
“To commit murder, is a hopeful way of escaping the gallows!” said the first ruffian—“many an honest fellow has run his head into the noose that way, though.” There was a pause of some moments, during which they appeared to be considering.
“Confound those fellows,” exclaimed one of the robbers impatiently, “they ought to have been here by this time; they will come back presently with the old story, and no booty: if they were here, our business would be plain and easy. I see we shall not be able to do the business tonight, for our numbers are not equal to the enemy, and in the morning they will be for marching off, and how can we detain them without force?”
“I have been thinking of a scheme, that will do,” said one of his comrades: “if we can dispatch the two chevaliers silently, it will be easy to master the rest.”
“That’s a plausible scheme, in good faith,” said another with a smile of scorn—“If I can eat my way through the prison wall, I shall be at liberty!—How can we dispatch them silently?”
“By poison,” replied his companions.
“Well said! that will do,” said the second ruffian, “that will give a lingering death too, and satisfy my revenge.
