A DRAWN GAME.
Le Gardeur was too drunk to catch the full drift of the Intendant's reference to the Bourgeois under the metaphor of Actaeon torn in pieces by his own dog. He only comprehended enough to know that something was intended to the disparagement of the Philiberts, and firing up at the idea, swore loudly that "neither the Intendant nor all the Grand Company in mass should harm a hair of the Bourgeois's head!"
"It is the dog!" exclaimed De Pean, "which the Company will hang, not his master, nor your friend his son, nor your friend's friend the old Huguenot witch! We will let them hang themselves when their time comes; but it is the Golden Dog we mean to hang at present, Le Gardeur!"
"Yes! I see!" replied Le Gardeur, looking very hazy. "Hang the Golden Dog as much as you will, but as to the man that touches his master, I say he will have to fight ME, that is all." Le Gardeur, after one or two vain attempts, succeeded in drawing his sword, and laid it upon the table.
"Do you see that, De Pean? That is the sword of a gentleman, and I will run it through the heart of any man who says he will hurt a hair of the head of Pierre Philibert, or the Bourgeois, or even the old Huguenot witch, as you call Dame Rochelle, who is a lady, and too good to be either your mother, aunt, or cater cousin, in any way, De Pean!"
"By St. Picot! You have mistaken your man, De Pean!" whispered Cadet. "Why the deuce did you pitch upon Le Gardeur to carry out your bright idea?"
"I pitched upon him because he is the best man for our turn. But I am right. You will see I am right. Le Gardeur is the pink of morality when he is sober. He would kill the devil when he is half drunk, but when wholly drunk he would storm paradise, and sack and slay like a German ritter. He would kill his own grandfather. I have not erred in choosing him."
Bigot watched this by-play with intense interest. He saw that Le Gardeur was a two-edged weapon just as likely to cut his friends as his enemies, unless skilfully held in hand, and blinded as to when and whom he should strike.
"Come, Le Gardeur, put up your sword!" exclaimed Bigot, coaxingly;
"we have better game to bring down to-night than the Golden Dog.
Hark! They are coming! Open wide the doors, and let the blessed peacemakers enter!"
"The peacemakers!" ejaculated Cadet; "the cause of every quarrel among men since the creation of the world! What made you send for the women, Bigot?"
"Oh, not to say their prayers, you may be sure, old misogynist, but this being a gala-night at the Palace, the girls and fiddlers were ordered up by De Pean, and we will see you dance fandangoes with them until morning, Cadet."
"No you won't! Damn the women! I wish you had kept them away, that is all. It spoils my fun, Bigot!"
"But it helps the Company's! Here they come!"
Their appearance at the door caused a hubbub of excitement among the gentlemen, who hurried forward to salute a dozen or more women dressed in the extreme of fashion, who came forward with plentiful lack of modesty, and a superabundance of gaiety and laughter.
Le Gardeur and Cadet did not rise like the rest, but kept their seats. Cadet swore that De Pean had spoiled a jolly evening by inviting the women to the Palace.
These women had been invited by De Pean to give zest to the wild orgie that was intended to prepare Le Gardeur for their plot of to- morrow, which was to compass the fall of the Bourgeois. They sat down with the gentlemen, listening with peals of laughter to their coarse jests, and tempting them to wilder follies. They drank, they sang, they danced and conducted, or misconducted, themselves in such a thoroughly shameless fashion that Bigot, Varin, and other experts of the Court swore that the petits appartements of Versailles, or even the royal fetes of the Parc aux cerfs, could not surpass the high life and jollity of the Palace of the Intendant.
In that wild fashion Bigot had passed the night previous to his present visit to Angelique. The Chevalier de Pean rode the length of the Grande Allee and returned. The valet and horse of the Intendant were still waiting at the door, and De Pean saw Bigot and Angelique still seated at the window engaged in a lively conversation, and not apparently noticing his presence in the street as he sat pulling hairs out of the mane of his horse, "with the air of a man in love," as Angelique laughingly remarked to Bigot.
Her quick eye, which nothing could escape, had seen De Pean the first time he passed the house. She knew that he had come to visit her, and seeing the horse of the Intendant at the door, had forborne to enter,--that would not have been the way with Le Gardeur, she thought. He would have entered all the readier had even the Dauphin held her in conversation.
Angelique was woman enough to like best the bold gallant who carries the female heart by storm and puts the parleying garrison of denial to the sword, as the Sabine women admired the spirit of their Roman captors and became the most faithful of wives.
De Pean, clever and unprincipled, was a menial in his soul, as cringing to his superiors as he was arrogant to those below him.
"Fellow!" said he to Bigot's groom, "how long has the Intendant been here?"
"All the afternoon, Chevalier," replied the man, respectfully uncovering his head.
"Hum! and have they sat at the window all the time?"
"I have no eyes to watch my master," replied the groom; "I do not know."
"Oh!" was the reply of De Pean, as he suddenly reflected that it were best for himself also not to be seen watching his master too closely. He uttered a spurt of ill humor, and continued pulling the mane of his horse through his fingers.
"The Chevalier de Pean is practising patience to-day, Bigot," said she; "and you give him enough time to exercise it."
"You wish me gone, Angelique!" said he, rising; "the Chevalier de Pean is naturally waxing impatient, and you too!"
"Pshaw!" exclaimed she; "he shall wait as long as I please to keep him there."