"Much, truly. I am troubled this morning when I hear that a spy has half killed a sentry. I say to myself, "That is one man less in the castle to defend it against its enemies.""
The Count laughed at the dwarf"s att.i.tude and his air of wisdom.
"Ah, you say, "What is one man?"" he went on. "The whole world is made up of one man after another. They all count. Why, to-day I"m worth more than the dead Duke yonder."
"There"s truth in that," said the priest.
"And then when I come to the castle to see the poor soldiers, I---"
"Poor! Why poor?"
"Because they have to do what they"re told and go where they"re led, and G.o.d made men for better things than that. This wounded sentry, I find, is a particular friend of mine. He doesn"t know it, but he is.
That"s the way of the world; we seldom do know our best friends. I"ve never spoken to him nor he to me, but I always look out for him, because his coat fits so badly. He"s a poor figure of a man, your Grace, and an ill-fitting coat suits him. I will go with you and see how he does."
"Better run away, Jean, before I have you whipped."
"Whipped? For what, Lord Duke?"
"Silence, fool!"
"It may be, Count, that clearer insight is given to those the world calls fools," whispered Father Bertrand.
"That"s a poor excuse for treason," said the Count; and then, turning to the dwarf, he went on: "The Duke comes to Vayenne to-day, Jean.
Have you not seen the soldiers in the streets ready to welcome him?"
"Ah! what a fool am I!" laughed the dwarf. "I thought they were there to keep out any one else who might fancy himself Duke. I"ll go and await his coming. But first, I pray you, let me see my ill-made friend. Nature has made such a mess of him, I doubt whether even the spy can have made him much worse."
"The fellow is an amusing fool, father. I"ve heard wise men talk more folly. Come if you will, Jean."
The sentry was conscious, but for all the Count"s questions there was little to be got from him. He was standing with his back toward the wall when something fell on him and crushed him. He had no breath to cry out, and remembered nothing after the first thrust of the steel.
"Poor soldier!" muttered Jean.
"You saw no one run along the terrace?"
"No one," the man answered.
"And you heard nothing when you stopped beneath the South Tower?"
asked the Count.
"No, sir," said the man faintly. He was weak, and the Count turned away, followed by Father Bertrand and Jean.
"He is not such an ill-made fellow," the Count said, turning to Jean.
"Ah! but you and I see with different eyes," was the dwarf"s quick answer. "You would call me ill-made."
"Strangely made," said the Count.
"Just so. Now I like twisted limbs, they"re less common. Mark you, in a crowd there will be more turn to look at me than at you."
"And more will laugh at you," said the Count.
"Well, laughter"s a good tonic," said the dwarf, and then sidling close to the Count, he went on: "Men such as I am see more than men such as you. I see ghosts in St. Etienne. I warrant you never saw them."
"Nor want to," Felix answered.
"See and hear them, eh, Father Bertrand?" Jean chuckled. "All the dead dukes who lie there, straight or with their feet crossed, have secrets to tell, and I listen. In the night St. Etienne is peopled with ghosts, and the great organ sings low to them, brave music, telling of great deeds done long ago, and of love that flowers and ripens into fruit beyond this world"s time. Some day you"ll hear it, only you"ll have to lie under a stone effigy first, and maybe you"ll tell me all your secrets then. I"ll go and watch for the Duke, who is strangely late in coming."
The dwarf waddled across the court-yard, and presently pa.s.sed out of the little postern beside the great gates. The soldiers laughed at him often, but none questioned his goings and comings. There was an old wife"s tale among them that the presence of an innocent was lucky, and Jean had wit enough to be of service sometimes. He had carried a love message before now, and sometimes demanded that payment should take the form of a kiss from the maid. It amused him to see how reluctantly the debt was liquidated.
Outside the castle he went at a slower pace.
"One," he said, holding up a finger--"one, the poor sentry saw nothing, therefore I am still free to come and go. Two, the Count is clever making all this show for a Duke he never expects to arrive.
Three," and he held up another finger for each number--"three, he"s a fool because he thinks I"m a fool. Four, my uncanny talk of ghosts makes him shiver, so there"s something of the coward in him somewhere.
Five, the Duke is long in coming; has friend Roger failed, I wonder?
I"ll go and see what the crowd thinks of the new Duke. Truly he is coming to no rosebed, if the Count is to have a hand in the making of it."
The Count watched him as he went across the court-yard.
"Think you he is as great a fool as he seems, father?" he asked, turning to the priest.
"The crooked body may hold some wisdom which is beyond us. He may have visions."
"Even straight-limbed men have," was the answer. "Tell me, why did you come to visit the prisoner last night?"
"To make certain he was a spy. I know the breed, Count," said the priest.
"I would he were swinging over the gate yonder," said Felix.
"Ay; spy or no spy, it would have pleased the populace," said Bertrand.
"And served as a warning," returned the Count. "We shall have all sorts of wastrels begging favors of the new Duke."
"That depends."
"On what?" asked Felix.
"On the new Duke."
"True. He may be made of sterner stuff than we imagine." And the Count re-entered the castle.
"I trust not," muttered Father Bertrand as he went back to the lodging of the wounded sentry. "Pliability will suit us best just now, and a character which lacks resolution. Then----" His lips moved, but no uttered words came. He walked slowly, with eyes on the ground.
Perchance he prayed silently.
Count Felix went back to his room, and sat there waiting. His att.i.tude was expectant, and he listened for the shouting that might come in the city streets, for footsteps at the door which would surely come soon.
He looked for a long time at a paper on his table--a list of names. He read each name carefully, calling to memory the man as he read it.
"Cut-throats all," he muttered, and then he laughed a little. "Why, the making carrion of them will bring me thanks. Gaspard Lemasle--he is different. He is ambitious. I must find a place for Gaspard Lemasle where he will easily make enemies. They shall destroy him."