Gallantry. Dizain des Fetes Galantes

You know what happened to de Maurepas. Ah, yes, Gaston is undoubtedly a peer of France, but the Pompadour is queen of that kingdom. And in consequence—on the day that Madame de Pompadour learns of your death,—Gaston goes to the Bastile.'

'Naturally,' John Bulmer assented, 'since imprisonment in the Bastile is by ordinary the reward of common- sense when manifested by a Frenchman. What the devil, monsieur! The Duchess' uncle, Marechal de Richelieu, has been there four times, and Gaston himself, if I am not mistaken, has sojourned there twice. And neither is one whit the worse for it.'

The Marquis sipped his coffee. 'The Bastile is not a very healthy place. Besides, I have a friend there,—a gaoler. He was formerly a chemist.' 

John Bulmer elevated the right eyebrow. 'Poison?'

'Dieu m'en garde!' The Marquis was appalled. 'Nay, monsieur, merely an unforeseeable attack of heart- disease.'

'Ah! ah!' said John Bulmer, very slowly. He presently resumed: 'Afterward the Duchesse de Puysange will be a widow. And already she is fond of you; but unfortunately the Duchess—with every possible deference,—is a trifle prudish. I see it all now, quite plainly; and out of pure friendliness, I warn you that in my opinion the Duchess is hopelessly in love with her husband.'

'We should suspect no well bred lady of provincialism,' returned the Marquis, 'and so I shall take my chance. Believe me, Monsieur le Duc, I profoundly regret that you and Gaston must be sacrificed in order to afford me this same chance.'

But John Bulmer was chuckling. 'My faith!' he said, and softly chafed his hands together, 'how sincerely you will be horrified when your impetuous error is discovered—just too late! You were merely endeavoring to serve your beloved Gaston and the Duke of Ormskirk when you hanged the rascal who had impudently stolen the woman intended to cement their friendship! The Duke fell a victim to his own folly, and you acted precipitately, perhaps, but out of pure zeal. You will probably weep. Meanwhile your lettre-de-cachet is on the road, and presently Gaston, too, is trapped and murdered. You weep yet more tears—oh, vociferous tears!—-and the Duchess succumbs to you because you were so devotedly attached to her former husband. And England will sit snug while France reconquers Europe. Monsieur, I make you my compliments on one of the tidiest plots ever brooded over.'

'It rejoices me,' the Marquis returned, 'that a conspirator of many years' standing should commend my maiden effort.' He rose. 'And now, Monsieur d'Ormskirk,' he continued, with extended hand, 'matters being thus amicably adjusted, shall we say adieu?'

John Bulmer considered. 'Well,—no!' said he, at last; 'I commend your cleverness, Monsieur de Soyecourt, but as concerns your hand I must confess to a distaste.'

The Marquis smiled. 'Because at the bottom of your heart you despise me,' he said. 'Ah, believe me, monsieur, your contempt for de Soyecourt is less great than mine. And yet I have a weakness for him,—a weakness which induces me to indulge all his desires.'

He bowed with ceremony and left the garden.

XI

John Bulmer sat down to consider more at leisure these revelations. He foreread like a placard Jeanne d'Etoiles' magnificent scheme: it would convulse all Europe. England would remain supine, because Henry Pelham could hardly hold the ministry together, even now; Newcastle was a fool; and Ormskirk would be dead. He would barter his soul for one hour of liberty, he thought. A riot, now,—ay, a riot in Paris, a blow from within, would temporarily stupefy French enterprise and gain England time for preparation. And a riot could be arranged so easily! Meanwhile he was a prisoner, Pelham's hands were tied, and Newcastle was a fool, and the Pompadour was disastrously remote from being a fool.

'It is possible to announce that I am the Duke of Ormskirk—and to what end? Faith, I had as well proclaim myself the Pope of Rome or the Cazique of Mexico: the jackanapes will effect to regard my confession as the device of a desperate man and will hang me just the same; and his infernal comedy will go on without a hitch. Nay, I am fairly trapped, and Monsieur de Soyecourt holds the winning hand—Now that I think of it he even has, in Mr. Bulmer's letter of introduction, my formally signed statement that I am not Ormskirk. It was tactful of the small rascal not to allude to that crowning piece of stupidity: I appreciate his forbearance. But even so, to be outwitted —and hanged—-by a smirking Hop-o'-my-thumb!

'Oh, this is very annoying!' said John Bulmer, in his impotence.

He sat down once more, sulkily, like an overfed cat, and began to read with desperate attention: ''Here may men understand that be of worship, that he was never formed that at every time might stand, but sometimes he was put to the worse by evil fortune. And at sometimes the worse knight putteth the better knight into rebuke.' Behold a niggardly salve rather than a panacea.' He turned several pages. ''And then said Sir Tristram to Sir Lamorake, 'I require you if ye happen to meet with Sir Palomides—''' Startled, John Bulmer glanced about the garden.

It turned on a sudden into the primal garden of Paradise. 'I came,' she loftily explained, 'because I considered it my duty to apologize in person for leading you into great danger. Our scouts tell us that already Cazaio is marshalling his men upon the Taunenfels.'

'And yet,' John Bulmer said, as he arose, and put away his book, 'Bellegarde is a strong place. And our good Marquis, whatever else he may be, is neither a fool nor a coward.'

Claire shrugged. 'Cazaio has ten men to our one. Yet perhaps we can hold out till Gaston comes with his dragoons. And then—well, I have some influence with Gaston. He will not deny me,—ah, surely he will not deny me if I go down on my knees to him and wear my very prettiest gown. Nay, at bottom Gaston is kind, my friend, and he will spare you.'

'To be your husband?' said John Bulmer.

Twice she faltered 'No.' And then she cried, with a sudden flare of irritation: 'I do not love you! I cannot help that. Oh, you—you unutterable bully!'

Gravely he shook his head at her.

'But indeed you are a bully. You are trying to bully me into caring for you, and you know it. What else moved you to return to Bellegarde, and to sit here, a doomed man, tranquilly reading? Yes, but you were,—I happened to see you, through the key-hole in the gate. And why else should you be doing that unless you were trying to bully me into admiring you?'

'Because I adore you,' said John Bulmer, taking affairs in order; 'and because in this noble and joyous history of the great conqueror and excellent monarch, King Arthur, I find much diverting matter; and because, to be quite frank, Claire, I consider an existence without you neither alluring nor possible.'

She had noticeably pinkened. 'Oh, monsieur,' the girl cried, 'you are laughing because you are afraid that I will laugh at what you are saying to me. Believe me, I have no desire to laugh. It frightens me, rather. I had thought that nowadays no man could behave with a foolishness so divine. I had thought all such extravagancy perished with the Launcelot and Palomides of your book. And I had thought—that in any event, you had no earthly right to call me Claire.'

'Superficially, the reproach is just,' he assented, 'but what was the name your Palomides cried in battle, pray? Was it not Ysoude! when his searching sword had at last found the joints of his adversary's armor, or when the foe's helmet spouted blood? Ysoude! when the line of adverse spears wavered and broke, and the Saracen was victor? Was it not Ysoude! he murmured riding over alien hill and valley in pursuit of the Questing Beast?—'the glatisant beast'? Assuredly, he cried Ysoude! and meantime La Beale Ysoude sits snug in Cornwall with Tristram, who dons his armor once in a while to roll Palomides in the sand coram populo. Still the name was sweet, and I protest the Saracen had a perfect right to mention it whenever he felt so inclined.'

'You jest at everything,' she lamented—'which is one of the many traits that I dislike in you.'

'Knowing your heart to be very tender,' he submitted, 'I am endeavoring to present as jovial and callous an appearance as may be possible—to you, whom I love as Palomides loved Ysoude. Otherwise, you might be cruelly