"Truly I think my duty to Montvilliers is to let some one else rule it," he said, with a smile.
"Duty is not a cloak a man can put off and on as he wills," Christine answered; "it is part of the man himself. He is called to fulfil certain conditions of his life, of his birth, and he cannot throw duty aside by saying he is unfitted to perform it. Are you a coward, Maurice, as well as a scholar?"
"No; I do not think I am a coward."
"It is only a coward who would not ride to Vayenne and claim his birthright."
"If we come to such close argument as that, this same birthright may be found to have little justice in it," he said quickly. "Did my father become Duke by right of birth? You know he didn"t. He was a strong man, while those who should have ruled were weak. Montvilliers wanted a strong hand to guide her, and a bloodless revolution raised my father to power."
"Has Felix any greater right than you?" she asked.
"By birth, no; by capacity, yes. Let him be Duke. I will be the first to shout for him."
"Coward!" she said.
"Christine, there are bounds which even you must not pa.s.s," he said, turning a stern face to her.
She clapped her hands at his sudden anger, and stepped quickly to his side.
"There spoke a worthy Duke. I have seen the same anger rush blood-red into your father"s face, and have trembled for his enemies. You cannot hide your real self; you cannot deny your real personality, even though you would."
"It lies in peace among these books of mine," he answered. "We have talked of this enough."
"Not yet. Listen, Maurice. Felix is hated by many, and if he seizes the crown, there will be bloodshed in the streets of Vayenne."
"He will be strong enough to suppress rebellion," was the answer.
"And wise enough perchance to shed blood in this peaceful Chateau of Pa.s.sey," she went on quickly.
"Why here? Pa.s.sey does not trouble itself with politics. The harvest of the fields is Pa.s.sey"s concern, and it is of small consequence who rules in Vayenne."
Christine laid her hand on his arm. "Think you the golden circle of sovereignty will rest easily on your cousin"s brow while you live?
Deny your birthright, Maurice, and then, like a coward, flee your country for safety, for I warrant you will die a violent death if you stay in it."
"I cannot think so--so much evil of Felix," he answered.
"I know him far better than you possibly can do," she said. "He let me come to you only because he is convinced that you will not come to Vayenne. He despises you, Maurice. He will use your refusal for his own purposes, and in his own manner. He will easily convince many that you are a danger to the state and that there is righteousness in judicial murder."
"Will not a kingdom satisfy him, but he must have my poor life as well?" Maurice muttered.
"Has it ever satisfied, in any age, in any history? Felix will seek to make himself secure in every possible way. Since there are many who love me, he wishes to wed me."
"Perhaps he loves you?"
"It may be," she answered, "but not as he loves himself."
"And you would marry him?"
"For the good of Montvilliers I might be persuaded."
She watched him as he walked slowly across the room. Perhaps there was a vague, half-formed desire in his heart that she should not marry his cousin. She would be less his friend if she were Felix"s wife.
"Perhaps such a marriage might be good for Montvilliers," he said after a pause.
"I shall serve my country more directly by persuading you to do your duty, Maurice," she answered. "It is not only internal strife which is to be feared, but danger from without. In the past Montvilliers has fought for, and maintained, her independence, but our neighbors have not ceased to long for the possession of our fruitful soil, and our dissensions are their opportunity. Only last night a spy was caught in the streets and brought to the castle."
Maurice went to the window, and for some time stood looking down at the peaceful village he had loved so well. Here he had found happiness and the life he longed for. But beyond were the fruitful fields and green pastures of his native land, dearer to him than any other land, though he had no desire to rule it. Did it not rest with him to save this land from the enemies who had so long sought to lay a conquering hand upon it? Immediately below him, lounging in the courtyard, were some of the soldiers of Christine de Liancourt"s escort, proof that there were men armed and ready to fight for their freedom as their fathers had done. Duty seemed to present itself with a new meaning to Maurice, and, as though Heaven itself would send him a messenger in this crisis of his life, just then a ca.s.socked and hooded priest came slowly in at the gates.
"At least we will see what plots exist," he said presently, turning to Christine, "and also prove your cousin Felix. To-morrow I will ride with you to Vayenne. Leave me alone until then. A man does not break with so peaceful a life as mine has been without sorrow."
In an instant her manner changed. Stepping back she made a low curtsey. "Long live the Duke," she said quietly, and then left the room quickly.
She had conquered. He had promised to come to Vayenne. She could not tell which particular argument had forced him to this decision, she only knew that it had been far more difficult to persuade him than even she had expected. What would his answer have been had she told him that the fact of going to Vayenne was only one step toward success, and only a small one--if she had explained that he spoke no more than the truth when he had said that he had been forgotten?
Vayenne was not going to open her arms and shout a welcome to him until he had proved himself a man. She was thrusting upon him a great task, would he be able to perform it? She could have wished him different to what he was, but at least right was his, and opposition might stir him to great things. Of herself she thought little. For Felix she had little love, yet, were it for the good of her country, she would marry him. She was ready to make any sacrifice for the land she loved.
At the foot of the stairs a soldier saluted, and said that a priest craved an audience with her.
"What should he want with me?"
"He would say no more than that he had a message of importance. He is not of Pa.s.sey, and carries the dust of a long journey upon him."
"I will see him. Bring him to the small room yonder, and see that we are not disturbed."
Christine turned from the window as the priest entered. Much dust was upon his ca.s.sock and cloak, and the hood, which he did not remove, partially concealed his face.
"You have travelled far," she said.
"From Vayenne," he answered.
"From Father Bertrand?"
"No, mademoiselle; from one far humbler than Father Bertrand, yet one who is wiser, perhaps, in your interests."
"He chooses a strange messenger."
"No stranger surely than the messenger chosen to ride to Pa.s.sey and bid the young Duke to Vayenne. Besides, a priest may enter where a soldier would be refused. These are perilous times, mademoiselle, and I come to tell you so."
"In this matter you can tell me little I do not know," she answered.
"Then you do not ride to Vayenne to-morrow?"
"Yes--with the Duke." And she watched the priest closely to see if he were astonished at this information.
"With the same escort as came with you to Pa.s.sey?"
"I think I have sufficiently answered you," she said.
"Mademoiselle, I have travelled all night to serve you. You must not ride to Vayenne to-morrow. It has been arranged that your party is to be attacked by a strongly armed party of robbers, and defeated. Your soldiers will make a show of fight, but for the most part they are bought men. You will escape, there is no desire to hurt you, but the Duke will be slain."