"My men have orders to fire upon the first who cries out or tries to escape," he said. "They are all men fresh from fighting on the frontier, where they have learned to obey orders without question."
So Pierre Briant carried out the instructions which Herrick had given him a few hours since in the house by the wall. The gate had been secured silently, and a messenger was sent across the bridge to the woods, where Lemasle lay with a strong force.
"Tell him the gate is ours and the wedding is before noon," said Briant.
Lemasle and many of his men had entered the city, and crowded into the guard-rooms at the gate, or stood close in side streets so as not to attract the attention of any one who might be loitering in the neighborhood, when a carriage came down the street and toward the gate. It was stopped by the sentries placed there by Lemasle.
The Countess Elisabeth, who was the only occupant, produced an order permitting her to leave Vayenne. It was signed by Christine de Liancourt and Count Felix.
"Madame, you cannot pa.s.s."
"But there is the order."
Lemasle came forward, and looked at the paper.
"Only the Duke"s signature is of any value, madame."
"But Count Felix has----"
"I speak of Duke Roger, madame," said Lemasle, "and he has given orders that none shall pa.s.s out of the gates to-day."
"But Duke Roger----"
"Is in Vayenne," said the captain.
A sharp exclamation burst from her lips, and then the Countess was thoughtful for a moment. As she leaned forward to give a direction to the coachman, Lemasle interrupted her.
"Pardon, madame, but I must detain you. It is not yet generally known that the Duke has entered the city, and secrecy is still necessary.
You shall be made as comfortable as possible in one of the guard-rooms here until we know the Duke"s will."
The carriage was drawn into a side street, the coachman and footman were warned and added to the prisoners in the lower guard-room, while the Countess was shut in a little room in the tower of the gateway.
She was powerless to help Felix any more.
Long before noon the streets about the castle and St. Etienne were crowded. Even with the soldiers at the castle there were not very many in the city, and in some places the crowd grew disorderly. Ugly little rushes were made for more commanding positions, or out of pure wantonness; little control could be exercised, and the Count"s carriage had threaded its way to the great west doors of St. Etienne with difficulty. A few cheers had greeted him as he pa.s.sed, but the crowd seemed chiefly enthusiastic about its own pleasure.
The great church was full. Lights burned upon and before the high altar. Music, now tremulous, now deeply thundering, rolled along the aisles. Priests and choir waited in the chancel, and alone, a striking figure, stood Father Bertrand.
In the porch by the great doors stood Felix, waiting for the new d.u.c.h.ess, his bride. Ceremonial demanded that he should meet her there, that together they should pa.s.s to the altar. Near him stood de Bornais, and one or two others of importance in Vayenne. It was plain that both the Count and de Bornais were ill at ease. Christine was long in coming, and they fretted at the delay.
Behind them was a small, fast-shut door. Perhaps neither of them knew that it opened upon the steps leading down to the crypt.
Lucille sat opposite to Christine in the carriage, which slowly made its way through the crowd. The shouting now was loud enough, for the people of Vayenne, high and low, had always loved Christine de Liancourt. Very beautiful she looked, but very pale, and never a smile played about her lips as she bowed to this side and to that. It was no happy bride who slowly pa.s.sed on to St. Etienne.
"She is coming," whispered Felix.
Father Bertrand moved slowly toward the altar, the music crashed out, and the cheers from without rose louder and louder, sounding even to the crypt below.
The carriage with its guard, chiefly de Bornais" men, halted, and as Christine descended Felix went forward to meet her, followed by those who had stood beside him. For a moment the porch was empty, and then the crypt door burst open. A strange figure in scarlet and green rushed out, a dozen men following close behind him.
"Long live the Duke!" he cried.
Felix turned sharply, and Christine looked up to meet the steady eyes of Roger Herrick. There was the sharp ring of steel. The men behind him stood with drawn swords in their hands.
"So we return to find treason," said Herrick. "Mademoiselle, you are my prisoner, and will return to the castle. Arrest Count Felix and de Bornais." And then raising his voice he cried: "Let him who dares dispute the will of the Duke!"
CHAPTER XXVI
THE VENGEANCE OF THE MOB
By the carriage there was silence for a moment, but the more distant part of the crowd was still shouting, and the music had not ceased to roll along the aisles of the great church.
A laugh broke the silence.
"A dozen men!" exclaimed Felix, "and we stand like fools. Quick, de Bornais, shout a command! The delay need be only for a moment."
But no word came from de Bornais, and without it his men did not move.
"Are you afraid?" Felix cried. "Ho! men of Vayenne, to the rescue of your d.u.c.h.ess!"
He tried to spring forward to lead the attack, but two of Herrick"s companions seized him, and held him fast.
But his words had their effect. Unarmed as it was, the crowd surged toward the carriage, sullen determination in its face, angry threatening in its throat.
"Curse you, de Bornais! Shout!" raged the Count, struggling to free himself.
Had de Bornais obeyed the command, it had gone hard with the little band of men that surrounded Herrick. As it was, the sword points barely kept the crowd in check. But no word came from de Bornais, yet it was difficult to believe that fear was behind that set face, that there was no daring in the man whose limbs showed no sign of trembling. As repentance may come late to a man, so it seemed to come to de Bornais. Every thought that had driven him forward in this scheme, every word Father Bertrand had drummed into his ears, all were forgotten in his admiration of the man before him. Treachery against him was of no avail. Right and Justice seemed to keep watch and ward beside him. Better to stop here and now upon the path that conscience told him he ought never to have walked in.
Christine had not moved, the folds of her train still hung over the carriage step just as the page in his sudden bewilderment had dropped them. She had not taken her eyes from Herrick"s face. She had spoken no word when he had said she was his prisoner. She was almost conscious of waiting for his next order, and knew that she would obey it. This hateful marriage was not to be. The power to choose had been suddenly wrested from her, and her heart beat out its gladness. She had forgotten the surging crowd behind her, but Felix"s cry to de Bornais had a meaning for her. She waited for de Bornais" quick command, knowing that, if it came, some impulse which she would not be able to control would force her to Herrick"s side. It did not come. De Bornais stood still and silent, his head bowed, his arms loose-hanging by his side. There was danger; Christine saw it in the grim-set faces of the men about Herrick. They showed that they were men holding their lives in their hands, ready to lose them in the defence of their leader, to barter them freely for the lives of their enemies.
The tension was at the breaking pitch, there wanted but a man in the crowd to throw a stick or a stone, and the little band would have been overwhelmed, when from the distance came the shouts of "Long live the Duke!" The crowd heard them, wavered for a moment, and then turned, and began to struggle backward.
"Mademoiselle, let me help you to your carriage," said Herrick.
"Yonder come the men who have fought with me upon the frontier. They shall make free pa.s.sage for you to the castle."
Her hand rested in his for a moment as she stepped into the carriage.
He set free the folds of her dress carefully, and closed the door. She did not speak to thank him, but she lowered her head, and a tear fell suddenly into her lap. Lucille saw it, and her hand went out to touch Christine"s in silent sympathy; but it fell unnoticed by Herrick, who had turned suddenly to Felix.
The Count had made a last effort, and had shouted to stay the struggling retreat of the crowd.
"Would you leave your d.u.c.h.ess to her death? Strike, curs, strike!"
"Silence, fool!" said Herrick. "Only very hardly shall I save you from the swift vengeance of these men who come. To cry against me will be your death. Look! Are such men to be played with, think you?"
On they came, forcing their way wedge-like through the crowd, which burst aside from them to right and left, blows helping the pace of any who were slow to move.