THE LAW OF THE LAND

The driver pulled up his horses when Herrick hailed him.

"Are you going into the city?"

"Ay."

"Care to take a passenger?"

"Ay."

"A paying passenger?" said Herrick.

"Ay; they're the sort I care most about."

Herrick climbed up on to the wagon, which was loaded with straw.

"There's for fare," he said, putting money into the driver's hand as the horses moved slowly on again.

The man looked at it.

"I'll take you in and bring you out for this, if you like, and you've a mind to wait while I unload the straw."

"I don't want to come out again," said Herrick. "It's the getting in that's the difficulty. I'm for the new Duke, and there are some who plot against him. I might be stopped at the gate. I propose to lie buried in this straw, and once in the city, I will drop out of the wagon. Will you do me the service?"

The man looked at Herrick doubtfully and then at the money.

"But if there's trouble at the gate and they find you?" he said.

"Then I have climbed up into the wagon as you came along, and you didn't know it. I warrant you've often given an unconscious lift to a free passenger that way."

"Ay; that's true. I'll do it," the driver answered, putting the money in his pocket. "Get you down in the straw."

They lumbered presently over the bridge, and were passing through the gate when the wagon stopped.

"Where from?" a voice asked.

"Farmer Jacques."

"That's a road that goes toward Passey, isn't it?"

"Ay."

"Met any soldier on the road this morning?"

"No."

"Nor a priest?"

"No. If you want a priest there's one up the street yonder."

"Only straw in your wagon?"

"Ay. Taking it to a man in the Place Beauvoisin. I go there with a load every month."

Then the wagon began to move again and to jolt over rough, cobbled streets. For some time Herrick did not move, but presently lifted his head cautiously to see where they were going, and to choose a moment when he might drop from the wagon without attracting undue attention. To do so unseen would be impossible, for at this hour of the day there were many people in the streets. Herrick chose a busy corner. There was nothing really remarkable in a man leaving a wagon as it lumbered slowly along. The chief risk was that some one had had his suspicions aroused at the gate, and had followed. Herrick dropped carelessly into the roadway close to an alley that led out of the main street, and which he immediately made for. He wanted to take his bearings; he also wanted a hat. The sooner he could lose himself in the life of the streets the better. Fortunately he was well provided with money, thanks to the dwarf, and he decided to take a lodging at some third-rate cafÉ. He had formed no plans as yet beyond the determination to get into the castle, and into the presence of Count Felix somehow. Friend Jean might certainly help him so far, and presently he would go to St. Etienne and look for him. What was to happen when he did succeed in seeing Count Felix he had not thought about. So far fortune had favored him, and to fortune he trusted the future.

The alley ran between a row of dilapidated dwellings, into which one stepped down by two deep steps, and a blank wall. A few dirty children were playing in the doorways, but took no notice of him. He had nearly reached the farther end, which opened into another busy street, when a hand was suddenly laid upon his shoulder. Herrick turned sharply, ready to fight for his liberty if need be.

The man he faced smiled.

"I am a friend," he said, "who knows you are in danger in Vayenne."

"What do you know of me?"

"I was looking for a priest who was with Mademoiselle de Liancourt's escort. Wisely you are a priest no longer. There is an order to arrest all priests entering Vayenne."

"Well, sir, and what then?"

"Some of these children are watching us," was the answer. "There is anger in your face, and they hope to see fighting between us. We are friends, let us walk on."

"I have no proof of your friendship," said Herrick, walking on with the man.

"You would serve Mademoiselle de Liancourt, surely that is why you have returned to Vayenne. I would serve her also. I pray you trust me sufficiently to bear me company. If you are minded, as I believe you are, to strike a blow at Count Felix, who already makes preparations for his coronation, I have power to help you."

Herrick walked on for a few moments in silence. At the best this could only be an attempt to allure him into some plot against the Duke, which was probably more one of secret clamor than open action; yet he might learn something of the support a rising against the Count could depend on. At the worst—he pressed his hand to his side, and felt the revolver there.

"First help me to a new hat; I draw attention by going bare-headed," he said.

"That is easy; and afterward?"

"My good friend, I do not enter Vayenne in this fashion without having friends in the city. I warrant any hurt to me would be amply paid for. I will go with you, and treat you as a friend until I know that you are otherwise; then——"

"Ah! leave all threatening for your enemies," the man answered. "You will find plenty of them."

The hat purchased, a soft one that he could draw down to conceal his face a little, Herrick went with his companion, carefully noting the way they took. For the most part it was by by-streets, and not the shortest way to their destination; but presently they came out close to the Church of St. Etienne. The carillon burst forth as they crossed by the great west doors set deep in a very lacework of stone, and ceased as they passed into the Rue St. Romain. Herrick's guide stopped and knocked at a small postern there, which was opened immediately by a man in a cassock, who, without a word, stood back to let them enter, and then closed the door.

"Will you wait here a moment, monsieur?" said his companion, leading Herrick into a small, barely furnished room. "I will return immediately."

He left the door open, as though he would emphasize his perfect confidence, but Herrick noted that the man in the cassock who had admitted them remained in the passage. A sudden movement Herrick made caused him to glance round quickly. He was evidently there by design to watch, and Herrick pressed his hand upon his revolver again.

In a few minutes his guide returned, and led him along the passage and up a flight of stairs. He paused before a door there, knocked, and, after waiting for a moment, opened it and motioned Herrick to enter. He did not enter with him, but closed the door, and was immediately joined by the man in the cassock. With a nod of comprehension to each other they took up their positions on either side of the door, an alertness in their attitude which argued ill for Herrick should he attempt to leave that room against their will.

Herrick walked boldly into the room, unconscious that his companion was not following him. His attention was immediately arrested by the man who rose from his seat at the table and came to meet him.

"I welcome a brave man," he said.

"This is not our first meeting," Herrick answered. "You were at the Croix Verte on the night I arrived in Vayenne. You are Father Bertrand."

"I am," said the priest, motioning his visitor to a seat. "You can hardly know much concerning me beyond my identity."

"Very little more," said Herrick. "Subsequent events have made me remember a few words overheard at the Croix Verte that night which I took little notice of at the time."

"That is natural," the priest answered. "And you have assumed that we are both bent in helping the same cause."

"Captain Lemasle was at the Croix Verte with you. I saw him again at Passey. I found him honest, and I judge a man's companions are of his own choosing and after his own heart."

"I hope to prove myself a suitable comrade for so worthy a captain." And it was difficult to tell whether there was contempt in the priest's tone or whether he spoke in his usual manner. "Rumor has been busy with both of you in the last few hours, if, as I suppose, you were the 'priest' who fought beside Captain Lemasle."

"Rumor often finds it difficult to substantiate her tales," said Herrick, who was not inclined to admit anything until he understood his position more exactly.

"You are both to be arrested, and this I take to mean a short shrift and speedy closing of accounts. Justice in Montvilliers is inclined to be barbarous."

"Justice!" said Herrick.

"I am not considering the point of view," said the priest, with a smile. "Yours is the greater danger, for Lemasle has friends. You were received as a spy at the outset, and have no friends in Vayenne."

"I understood that I was brought here to find some," Herrick answered. "Besides, I have friends in this city."

"You mean those who helped you to escape from the South Tower?"

"That was a simple matter," said Herrick carelessly.

"Yes, Monsieur Herrick?" said the priest inquiringly after a short pause.

"Naturally I do not betray my friends," was the answer.

Father Bertrand smiled again, perhaps to hide his annoyance that his visitor would not speak more openly. He had so constantly found his suave manner a key to open hearts and loosen tongues, that he might well be disappointed now.

"Something more than your name is known to me, Monsieur Herrick—that, of course, was easy to ascertain—but first let me ask you one or two questions."

"I cannot promise to answer them."

"Where is the young Duke Maurice?"

"I do not know."

"Is he dead?"

"That I do not know."

"And Mademoiselle de Liancourt and this Captain Lemasle?"

"I last saw them in the forest which lies on the main road to Passey," Herrick answered.

"You do not look like a man who would lie," said the priest, regarding him intently.

Herrick inclined his head at the compliment. His answers were strictly true; he did not feel himself called upon to enter into explanations.

"Tell me, what made you come to Vayenne—originally, I mean?" said the priest after another pause.

"I came as any traveller might. From childhood Vayenne has always had a fascination for me. Long ago I determined to visit it some day, and truly it has treated me very scurvily thus far."

"Why this fascination?"

"Indeed, I cannot tell, but I do know it is being speedily cured," Herrick answered.

"And why have you returned to Vayenne now?"

"I hardly know," laughed Herrick. "The whim of an Englishman to see the game to the end. I might have been wiser to ride to the frontier while I had the chance."

"Perhaps; yet who shall say? Providence, or circumstance, call it what you will, determines these matters. I, too, have schemed, my son, schemed to bring about this very meeting, and after all it comes in a strange manner. It was I who on the night of your arrival arranged to have you captured—no, not as a spy, I never thought of that. I only wanted you brought here."

"Why not have invited me to come?" asked Herrick, who, although astonished at the priest's admission, would not show it.

"I did not know why you had come to Vayenne. I had reasons to be suspicious."

"I cannot congratulate you on your method," said Herrick. "Your fellows nearly succeeded in getting me hanged on the nearest lamp."

"You put such wholesome fear in them that they acted foolishly. One is still in his bed getting his bones mended, the other——"

"Faith, I'll give him some mending to do if he but gives me the chance."

"Poor Mercier," said Father Bertrand; "and you seem to have treated him in friendly fashion to-day."

"Was that he? The man who brought me here?"

"You may be anxious to thank him presently. That night," the priest went on, "I went to the castle, to your cell. I should have proved you were no spy, but you had gone. For the second time this interview was delayed."

"And this third time?" queried Herrick.

"Circumstances have changed. Duke Maurice is reported dead, is believed to be dead; you have said yourself that you do not know whether he is dead or alive. At such a time events happen quickly. Preparation is already active. Felix will be Duke, and once crowned——"

"That shall not be," said Herrick.

"How will you prevent it?"

Father Bertrand snapped out the question, and leaned forward, waiting for the answer. His whole attitude had changed. There was a tenseness about him that seemed subtly to convey itself into Herrick's blood.

"Show me the way," he said, leaning forward in his turn as eagerly as the priest had done.

"There is a mirror yonder, Monsieur Herrick," said the priest, rising suddenly. "If you have forgotten what manner of man you are, look in it."

Herrick had risen as the priest rose, and almost unconsciously turned to look at his own reflection. While he did so, he heard the rattle of a curtain being sharply drawn aside, and turned to see the priest pointing to a picture which the curtain had concealed until now.

"Do you know that face?" he asked.

"Surely, my grandmother—my mother's mother," said Herrick in astonishment.

"The likeness of the face in the mirror to this face leaves no doubt of close relationship. It is a distinctive face, as sometimes happens in families; it cannot be hidden. I recognized it in an instant when I saw you at the Croix Verte. That lady, your grandmother, was sister to Robert VI. of Montvilliers. You did not know that?"

"No. I only knew that she was a foreigner, a lady of rank, who was content to become the wife of an English country gentleman."

"Were it not for the law of this land, which forbids the throne to descendants of the female line, your grandmother, or, failing her, your mother, would have been Duchess of Montvilliers. There have been times when the people have been inclined to do away with this law. There are some now who would do away with it in favor of Christine de Liancourt. I have been tempted to wish it done away with. Her determination is fixed, however; she will keep to the very letter of the law, and lest she should loom too prominently in this matter, it is her whim to use none of her many titles, but to be called simply Mademoiselle de Liancourt."

"You mean that you would plot to do away with this law now?" asked Herrick after a pause.

"The breaking of a law which has been long established, and has worked for the general good, is not wise, my son," answered Father Bertrand, going to the table and unfolding a rough pedigree chart there. "This will show my meaning clearer. Here, you see, is Robert IV., dying without issue; Charles, his brother, who predeceased him; and Marie, his sister, your grandmother. On the death of Robert the crown went to Philip I., his cousin, and at his death to his son, a dissolute man, who was deposed in favor of Robert VII., the old Duke who lies waiting burial in the castle yonder. The deposed Duke, Philip II., died suddenly in the South Tower. He had no friends to assist him to escape, and plenty of enemies to help him to his death. Robert's elder brother Charles died before Robert seized the throne, leaving one child, Christine de Liancourt. A younger brother, Conrad, died a few years since. Felix is his son."

"Had Duke Robert no claim to the throne?" asked Herrick.

"You can trace it here," said Father Bertrand, pointing the descent with his finger; "through the male line all along you note until we come to Robert II., who had many children, of whom only the eldest and youngest survived—the eldest being the ancestor of your mother, the youngest of Duke Robert. This was the Duke's claim, and putting aside the deposition of Philip II., for which the people had no quarrel with him, a righteous claim but for one fact. You see what this youngest son was called."

"Called The Bastard," Herrick read from the chart.

"Nicknamed so in his own day," said the priest. "His father's love for a young girl in his old age has entered into the regions of romance in this country. You may find ballads which it has inspired. No one has ever doubted the story until it pleased the people to forget it when they made Robert Duke. Do you understand how the matter stands?"

"The story goes back so far, it may well be forgotten," Herrick answered.

"If Maurice came to the throne, yes; but not if Felix is the heir. The law which forbids women to reign in Montvilliers, and under ordinary conditions excludes even their male descendants, has one important provision which is this: that failing a direct male heir, the son through the female line shall inherit."

"Then?"

Father Bertrand glanced at the picture from which the curtain had been withdrawn, and then looked again at his visitor.

"Have I made it quite clear to Roger Herrick, the real Duke of Montvilliers?" he said slowly.