“Your Majesty is a faithful son of the Church,” Father Allen said. “That is well known. Humbly I would suggest, sire, that the charge of heresy be strictly followed up.”
There was a short silence. Don Cristobal stood patiently waiting by the curtain that hung over the doorway. The King’s eyes were veiled; he seemed to brood, like some sated vulture. What thoughts passed in that tortuous mind even Father Allen could not guess.
“There is as yet no suspicion of heresy,” the King said at last. “We must remember, Father, that we have to deal with a subject of France.”
Father Allen bowed his head and stood back. The matter was plain enough now. Philip had no wish to offend the French King upon so trivial a matter, nor did he want his own secret dealings with the Guises to be made public. He would not run the risk of the Chevalier de Guise disclosing these dealings, Father Allen knew well.
Frey Luis, no Jesuit, but a priest with one single aim, one obsession, did not read the King’s mind so acutely, nor, had he been able to appreciate Philip’s difficulty, would it have weighed with him. His faith was simple, and burned like a consuming flame; earthly considerations he would never consider. “The Inquisition claims him,” he said, “There may yet be time to rescue his soul from the depths to which it has sunk.”
The King gave only half an ear to this. “We gain nothing by haste,” he said. “You assume, Frey Luis, that this man is indeed El Beauvallet. I am not so easily satisfied. I have listened to wild tales; they do not convince me.”
“The Holy Inquisition, sire, is tender above all things and infinitely just,” said Frey Luis earnestly. “It does not leap to conclusions, and there can be nothing to be feared at its hands by a true son of Christ. If this man be the Chevalier he could raise no objection to appearing before a tribunal appointed to sift him.”
Philip listened in silence. “True,” he said meditatively, “There could be no objection. A son of the Church would not flinch from such a test.” He paused and frowned. Much was revealed in such tests, he knew very well; perhaps more in this instance might be forthcoming than would be agreeable to his Catholic Majesty. The King saw clearly that this was yet another case that went to prove the truth of his maxim that nothing should be attempted without mature reflection. His frown cleared. He repeated his former observation. “We gain nothing by undue haste. If the man is proved not to be the Chevalier de Guise, I shall know how to act. Until such time as I shall receive intelligence from M. de Lauvinière, the Chevalier shall be kept in ward.” He turned to Porres. “This will be your charge, señor. You will treat the Chevalier with all consideration, but let him be kept in guard.” The frown returned. “He must be used with strict courtesy,” he said slowly. “He will appreciate the grave difficulties of our situation. But we would not have him in the least degree rudely entreated.”
Don Cristobal was a little puzzled. “Pardon, sire, is he to be a prisoner, or may he go abroad?”
Such bluntness was little to Philip’s taste. His frown deepened. Father Allen interposed. “Sire, if this man should be Beauvallet you cannot guard him too securely.”
“True,” the King said. “We have to think of the safety of our realm. You have some apartment, señor, in which he might be safely bestowed? Some room from which no exit is possible? We do not speak of prison cells.”
“Yes, sire, he is in such a room now, pending your pleasure.”
“There is no need to put indignity upon one who may well be proved innocent of the charge proffered against him,” Philip said. “A lock should suffice, and a sentry outside. You will see to it, señor. We shall hold you responsible for the Chevalier’s safety and well-being. You will remark his bearing, and report to us the least sign of an attempt to escape.”
Don Cristobal bowed. “I shall obey your Majesty in all my best,” he said, and bowed himself out of the closet.
XVII
No word came from the Alcazar to summon Dominica to answer an examination. Don Rodriguez, uneasily awaiting such a summons, brought back word first that the Chevalier was to be held in ward pending the arrival of word from France; second, that his Majesty had spoken no word concerning Doña Dominica; and thirdly, that Don Miguel de Tobar had started for Madrid sooner than had been expected, and was likely to arrive within the next few days.
Doña Beatrice was unwillingly roused to action. Sighing over it, she said that it was all very fatiguing, and not a little tiresome, but if suspicion did not rest on Doña Dominica there was no reason why they should not leave Madrid upon Saturday.
Dominica heard this with dismay. God knows what she hoped for by remaining in the capital; she hardly knew herself, but to journey north so many leagues out of sight or sound of Madrid filled her with despair. To stay could do Beauvallet no good. True enough, but how could one go, knowing him to be in such danger?
She said never a word, but bowed her head slightly and tried to look indifferent. She was far from that ideal state. While she was borne off north God alone knew what might be done to Beauvallet. She had heard that those who fell into the clutch of the Inquisition were sometimes never heard of again. She fell to trembling and to silent prayer. Her own fate
