The grey cloak

Contents

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I THE MAN IN THE CLOAK 1

II THE TOILET OF THE CHEVALIKB 12

Chapter II The Toilet Of The Chevalier Du Cevennes

The Chevalier du Cevennes occupied the apartment on the first floor of the Hotel of the Silver Candlestick, in the Eue Guenegaud, The apartment consisted of three rooms. In all Paris there was not to be found the like of them. They were not only elegant, ihey were simple; for true elegance is always closely allied to simplicity. Persian rugs covered the floors, rugs upon which many a true believer had knelt in evening prayer ; Moorish tapestries hung from the walls, making a fine and mellow backgroimd for the various pieces of ancient and modern armor; here and there were Greek marbles and Italian vases; and several spirited paintings filled the gaps left between one tapestry and another. Sometimes the Chevalier entertained his noble friends, young and old, in these rooms ; and the famous kitchens of Madame Boisjoli, the landlady of the Candlestick, supplied the delicacies of his tiibles. Ordinarily the Chevalier dined in the cheery assembly-room below; for, like all true gourmands of refinement, lie believed that there is as much appetite in a man's cars and eyes as in his stomach, and to feed the latter properly there must be light, a coming and going of old and new faces, the rumor of voices, the jest, and the snatch of song.

THE TOILET OF THE CHEVALIEE 13

At this moment the Chevalier was taking a bath, and was splashing about in the warm water, laughing with the joyous heart of a boy. With the mild steam roae the vague perfume of violets. Brave as a Crillon thou^ he was, fearless as a Bussy, the Chevalier was something of a fop; not the mincing, lisping fop, but one who loved physical cleanliness, who took pride In the whiteness of his skin, the clarity of his eyes. There had been summer nights in the brilliant gardens of La Place Hoyale when he had been pointed out as one of the handsomest youths in Paris. Ah, those summer nights, the c)Tnbals and trumpets of les heaux mousquetaires, the display of feathers and lace, unwrought pearls and ropes of precious stones, the lisping and murmuring of silks, the variety of colors, the fair dames with their hoods, their masks, their elaborate coiffures, the crowds in the balconies ! All the celebrities of court might be seen promenading the Place; and to be identiiied as one above many was a plume such as all Mazarin's gold oould not buy.

'Ily faith! but this has been a day," he murmured, gazing wistfully at his ragged nails. ^Till I entered this tub there was nothing but lead in my veins, nothing but marble on my bones. Look at those boots, Breton, lad; a spur gone, the soles loose, the heels cracked. And that cloak! The mud on the skirts is a week old. And that scabbard was new when I left Paris. When I came up T looked like a swashbuckler in one of Scudery's plays. I let no one see me. Indeed, I doubt if any would have recognized me. But a man can not ride from Rome to Paris, after having ridden from Paris to Rome, changing neither his clothes nor his horse, without losing some particle

U THE GREY CLOAK

©f liis fastidiousness, and, body of Bacchus! I have lost DO small particle of mine."

''Ah, Monsieur Paul," said the lackey, hiding the east-off clothing in the closet, "I am that glad to see you safe and sound again !"

"Your own face is welcome, lad. What weather I have seen \" wringing his mustache and royal. "And Heaven forfend that another such ride falls my lot." He smiled at the ruddy heap in the fireplace.

What a ride, indeed I For nearly two weeks he had tidden over hills and mountains, through valleys and gorges, across deep and shallow streams, sometimes beneath the sun, sometimes beneath the moon or the stars, sometimes beneath the flying black canopies of midnight storms, always and ever toward Paris. He had been harried by straggling Spaniards; he had drawn his sword three times in unavoidable tavern brawls; he had been robbed of Ms purse; he had even pawned his signet-ring for a night's lodging: all because Mazarin had asked a question which only the pope could answer.

Paris at last! — Paris the fanciful, the illogical, the changeable, the wholly delightful Paris ! He knew his Paris well, did the Chevalier. He had been absent thirty days, and on the way in from Fontainebleau, where he had spent the preceding night at the expense of his signet-ring, he had wondered what changes had taken place among the exiles and favorites during this time. What if the Grande Mademoiselle again headed that comic revolution, the Fronde, as in the old days uphen she climbed the walls at Orleans and assumed command against the forces of the king ? What if Monaeiir de Retz issued orders from the Palais Royal, using the s&roe pen with which Mazarin had demanded his reeignation as Archbishop of Paris ? In fact, what if Madame de Longueville, aided by the middle class, had once more taken up quarters in the Hotel de Ville? Oh! so many things happened in Paris in thirty days that the Chevalier would not have been surprised to learn that the boy Louis had declared to govern his kingdom without the assistance of ministers, priests, and old women. Ah, that Fronde! Those had been gallant days, laughable, it is true; but every one seemed to be able to pluck a feather from the golden goose of fortune. He was eighteen then, and had followed the royal exodus to Germain.

The Chevalier sighed as he continued to absorb the genial heat of the water. The captain at the Porte Saint Antoine had told him that the Grande Mademoiselle was still in exile at Blois, writing lampoons against the court and particularly against Mazarin; that De Eetz was biting his nails, full of rage and impotence against those fetters which banishment casts around men of action; that Madame de Longueville was conducting a love-intrigue in Normandy ; and that Louis had to borrow or beg his pocket-money. Strange as it seemed to the Chevalier, Paris was unchanged.

But what warmed the Chevalier's heart, even as the water warmed his body, was the thought of that adorable mystery, that tantalizing, haunting mystery, the woman unknown. This very room was made precious by the fact that its air had once embraced her with & familiarity such as he had never dared assume. What a night that had been! She had come, masked; she had dined ; at his protestations of love she had laughed, as one laughs who hears a droll story; and in the attempt to put his arm around her waist, the cold light ri ashing from, her half-hiddeu eyes had stilled and abashed him. Why did she hold him, yet repel ? What was her object? Was she some princess who had been hidden away during her girlhood, to appear only when the bud opened into womanhood, rich, glorious, and warm? Like a sunbeam, like a shadow, she flitted through the corridors and galleries of the Louvre and the Palais Royal, and whenever he had sought to point her out to some one, to discover her name, Jo, she was gone! Tormenting mystery! Ah, that soft lisp of hers, those enchanting caprices, those amazing extravagances of fancy, that wit which possessed the sparkle of white chambertin ! He would never forget that summer night when, dressed as a boy, she had gone with him swashbuckling along the quays. And for all these meetings, for all her supplicating or imperious notes, what had been his reward ? To kiss her hand when she came, to kiss her hand when she went, and all the while her lips burned like a cardinal poppy and her eyes lured like those phantom lakes of the desert. True, he had often kissed her perfumed tresses without her knowledge; but what was that? Why had he never taken by force that which entreaty did not win ? Love. Man never uses force where he loves. When would the day come -when the hedge of mystery inclosing her would be leveled? 'Tjove you. Monsieur?" she had said. "Ah, well, in a way !"

The Chevalier smiled. Yes, it was fine to be young, and rich, and in love. He recalled their first meeting. He had been placed on guard at the entrance to the grand gallery at the Palais Royal, where Mazarin was giving a mask. Presently a slender, elegant youth ia the garb of a grey musketeer approached.

"Your nams, Monsieur, if you please," he eaid, scan- Bing the list of invited guests.

"I am one of those who pass without the interrogatory." The voice was hoarse, affectedly so; and this roused the Chevalier's suspicions.

"I can not believe that," he laughed, "since Monsieur le Due, his Majesty's brother, was good enough to permit me to question him." He leaned against the wall, smiling and twisting his mustache. What a charming musketeer !

"What !" haughtily, "you parley with me ?" A gauntleted hand flew to a jeweled hilt.

"Monsieur will not be so rude ?" mockingly.

"Monsieur!" with a stamp of the foot — a charming foot.

"Monsieur!" he mimicked, also stamping a foot which, though shapely, was scarce charming.

Then through the curtain of the mask there came a low, rollicking laugh. The hand fell away from the sword-hilt, and a grey gauntlet slipped to the floor, discovering a hand as dazzling white and begemmed as that on which Anne of Austria prided herself.

*T)eath of my life !" said a voice as soft and musical as the vibration of a bell, "you make an admirable Cerberus. My gauntlet." The sweep of the hand fascinated him. "Are your ears like the sailors' of Ulysses, filled with wax ? I am asking you to pick up my gauntlet."

As he stooped to obey the command, a laugh sounded behind him, and he knew that he had been tricked. The little musketeer had vanished. For a moment he was disturbed. In vain he searched the gauntlet for some distinguishing sign. But as reason told him that no harm could possibly come from the prank, his fears subsided, and he laughed. On being relieved from duty, later, he sought her, to return the gauntlet. She was talking to Mademoiselle de Longueville. As she saw the Chevalier, she moved away. The Chevalier, determined on seeing the adventure to its end, followed her deliberately. She sat in a window-seat. Without ceremony he sat down beside her.

"Monsieur," he said, smiling, and he was very handsome when he smiled, "permit me to return this gauntlet."

She folded her arms, and the movement of her shoulders told him that she was laughing silently.

"Are you madame or mademoiselle?" he asked, eagerly.

She raised her mask for an instant, and his subjugation was complete. The conversation which ensued was so piquant and charming that thereafter whatever warmth the gauntlet knew was gathered not from her hand but from the Chevalier's heart.

The growing chill in the water brought the Chevalier out of his reverie. He leaped from the tub and shone rosily in the firelight, as elegantly proportioned a youth as ever was that fabulous Leander of the Hellespont. ^ "Bring me those towels I purchased from the wandering Persian. I regret that I did not have them blessed by his Holiness. For who knows what spell the heretic Saracen may have cast over them ?"

"Monsieur knows," said Breton piously, "that I have had them sprinkled with the blessed water."

The Chevalier laughed. He was rather a godless youth, and whatever religion he possessed was merely observance of forms. "Donkey, if the devil himself had offered them for sale, I should have taken them, for they pleased me; and besides, they have created a fashion. I shall wear my new baldric — the red one. I report at the Palais Eoyal at eight, and I've an empty stomach to attend to. Be lively, lad. Duty, duty, always duty," snatching the towels. "I have been in the saddle since morning; I am still dead with stiffness; yet duty calls. Bah ! I had rather be fighting the Spaniard with Turenne than idle away at the* Louvre. Never any fighting save in pothouses ; nothing but ride, ride, ride, here, there, everywhere, bearing despatches not worth the paper written on, but worth a man's head if he lose them. And what about ? Is this person ill ? Condolences. Is this person a father ? Congratulations. Monsieur, the king's uncle, is ailing ; I romp to Blois. A cabal is being formed in Brussels; I gallop away. His Eminence hears of a new rouge; off I go. And here I have been to Eome and back with a message which made the pope laugh ; is it true that he is about to appoint a successor ? Mazarin, tiring of being a lefthanded king, aspires to the mantle of Saint Peter. Mazarin always selects me for petty service. Why? Oh, Monsieur le Chevalier, having an income, need not be paid moneys; because Monsieur le Chevalier was born in the saddle, his father is an eagle, his grandsire was a centaur. And don't forget the grey cloak, lad, the apple of my eye, the admiration of the ladies, and the confusion of mine enemies; my own particular grey cloak." By this time the Chevalier was getting into his clothes; fine cambrics, silk hose, velvet pantaloons, grey doublet, and shoes with buckles and red heels.

"But the grey cloak, IVIonsieur Paul ..." began the lackey.

"Wliat ! you have dared to soil it?"

"Xo, Monsieur; but you have forgotten that you loaned it to Monsieur de Saumaise, prior to your departure to Italy. He has not returned it."

'•That's not like Victor. And I had dreamed of wearing that cloak. Mademoiselle complimented me on it, and that fop De Montausier asked me how many pistoles I paid for it."

"The purple cloak is new. Monsieur. It is fully as handsome as the grey o-ne. All it lacks is the square collar you invented.''

"Ah well, since there is no grey cloak. Now the gossip. First of all, my debts and debtors."

"Monsieur de Saumaise," said Breton, "has remitted the ten louis he lost to you at tennis."

"There's a friend ; ruined himself to do it. Poetry and improvidence ; how they cling together !"

"Brisemont, the jeweler, says that the garters you ordered will come to one hundred and ten pistoles. But he wants to know what the central gem shall be, rubies or sapphires surrounding."

"Topaz for the central gem, rubies and diamonds for the rest. The clasps must match topaz eyes. And they must be done by Monday."

"Monsieur's eyes are grey," the lackey observed slyly.

"Rascal, you are asking a question !"

"No, Monsieur, I was simply stating a fact. Plutarch Bays ..."

"Plutarch? What next?" in astonishment.

"I have just bought a copy of Amyot's translation with the money you gave me. Plutarch is fine. Monsieur."

"What shall a gentleman do when his lackey starts to quote Plutarch?" with mock helplessness. "Well, lad, read Plutarch and profit. But keep your grimy hands off my Rabelais, or I'll trounce you."

Breton flushed guiltily. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than another it was the adventures of the worthy Pantagruel and his resourceful esquire; but he had never been able to complete this record of extravagant exploits, partly because he could not read fast enough and partly because his master kept finding new hiding places for it.

"A messenger from De Guitaut," he said, "called this morning for you."

"For me? That is strange. The captain knew that I could not arrive ]>efore to-night, which is the twentieth."

"I told the officer that. He laughed curiously and eaid that he expected to find you absent."

"What the devil did he call for, then?"

Breton made a grimace which explained his inability to answer this question.

The Chevalier stood still and twisted his mustache till the ends were like needle-points. "Horns of Panurge ! as Victor would say ; is it possible for any man save Homer to be in two places at once? Possibly I am to race for some other end of France. I like it not. Mazarin thinks because I am in her Majesty's Guards that I belong to him. Plague take him, I say."

He snapped the buckles on his shoes, while Breton ^€W fnan its worn scabbard the Chevalier's campaign

22 THE GREl CLOAK

rapier, long and flexile, dreaded by many and respected by all, and thrust it into the new scabbard.

"Ah, Monsieur/' said Breton, stirred by that philosophy which one gathers from a first reading of Plutarch, "a man is a deal like a sword. If he be good and true, it matters not into what kind of scabbard he is thrust.*'

"Aye, lad; but how much more confidence a handsome scabbard gives a man! Even a sword, dressed well, attracts the eye; and, heart of mine, what other aim have we poor mortals than to attract ?"

"Madame Boisjoli makes out her charges at twelve louis, including the keep of the horses."

"That is reasonable, considering my absence. Mignon is an excellent woman."

"The Vicomte d'Halluys did not come as he promised with the eight hundred pistoles he lost to you at vingU et-un."

"Ah !" The Chevalier studied the pattern in the rug. "Eh, well, since I had no pistoles, I have lost none. I was deep in wine, and so was he; doubtless he has forgotten. The sight of me will recall his delinquency.'*

"That is all of the debts and credits, Monsieur."

*'The gossip, then, while I trim my nails. Paris can not have stood still like the sun of Joshua's time, simply because I was not here."

"Beaufort has made up with Madame de Montbazon."

*'Even old loves may become new loves. Go on."

Breton recounted the other important court news, while the Chevalier nodded or frowned, as the news affected him.

"Mademoiselle Catharine ..."

"Has that woman been here again P'

"Yes, Monsieur."

'■^ou attended her down the stairs ?"

"I did, but she behaved coarsely and threatened not to cease coming tintil you had established her in the millinery."

The Chevalier roared with laughter. "And all I did was to kiss the lass and compliment her cheeks. There's a warning for you, lad."

Breton looked aggrieved. His master's gallantries never ceased to cause him secret unrest.

"Yesterday your quarterly remittance from Monsieur le Marquis, your father, arrived.'"

*^as there a letter ?" with subdued eagerness.

"There was nothing but the gold. Monsieur," answered Breton, his eyes lowered. How many times during the past four years had his master asked this question, always to receive the same answer ?

The Chevalier's shoulders drooped. "Who brought it?" .^

"Jehan," said the lackey.

"'Had he anything to say?"

"Very little. Monsieur le Marquis has closed the chateau in P6rigny and is living at the hotel in Rochelle."

"He mentions my name ?"

"No, Monsieur."

The Chevalier crossed the room and stood by one of the windows. It was snowing ever so lightly. The snow-clouds, separating at times as they rushed over the night, discovered the starry bowl of heaven. Some noble lady's carriage passed surrounded by flaring torches. But the young man saw none of these things. A sense of incompleteness had taken hold of him. The heir to a marquisate, the possessor of an income of forty thousand livres the year, endowed with health and physical beauty, and yet there was a flaw which marred ihe whole. It was true that he was light-hearted, always and ever ready for a rout, whether with women or with men, whether with wine or with dice; but under all this brave show there was a canker which ate with subtile slowness, but surely. To be disillusioned at the ■age of sixteen by one's own father ! To be given gold and duplicate keys to the wine-cellars ! To be eye-witness of Eoman knights over which this father had presided like a Tiberius !

The Duchesse de Montbazon had been in her youth A fancy of the marquis, his father. Was it not a fine stroke of irony to decide that this son of his should marry the obscure daughter of madame? — the daughter about whom very few had ever heard? Without the Chevalier's sanction, miniatures had been exchanged. When the marquis presented him with that of Mademoiselle de Montbazon, together with his desires, he had ground the one under foot without glancing at it, and had laughed at the other as preposterous. Since tiiat night the marquis had ceased to recall his name. The Chevalier's mother had died at his birth ; thus, he knew neither maternal nor paternal love; and a man must love something which is common with his blood. Even now he would have gone half-way, had his fathers love come to meet him. But no; Monsieur le Marquis loved only his famous wines, his stories, and his souvenirs. Bah ! this daughter had been easily consoled. The Comte de Brissac was fully sixty. Tbe Chevalier squared his shoulders and shifted his baldric.

With forced gaiety he turned to his lackey. 'Xad, let us love only ourBelves. Self-love is always tme to us. We will spend our gold and play the butterfly while the summer lasts. It will be cold soon, and then . . . pouf ! To-morrow you will take the gold and balance my accounts/'

'TTes, Monsieur. Will ^kfonsieur permit a familiarity by recalling a forbidden subject?"

'"Monsieur le Comte de Brissac died last nigbt,^' solemnly.

**Wliat ! of old age ?" ironically.

"Of steel. A gallant was entering by a window, presumably to entertain madame, who is said to be young and as beautiful as her mother was. Monsieur le Comte appeared upon the scene; but his guard was weak. He was mn through the neck. The gallant wore a mask. That is all I know of the scandal."

*"Happy the star which guided me from the pitfall of wedded life ! What an escape ! I must inform Monsieur le Marquis. He will certainly relish this bit of scandal which all but happened at his own fireside. Certainly I shall inform him. It will be like caviar to the appetite. I shall dine before the effect wears off." The ChcTalier put on his hat and cloak, and took a final look in the Venetian mirror. 'TDon't wait for me, lad ; I shall be late. Perhaps to-night I shall learn her name."

Breton smiled discreetly as his master left the room. Between a Catharine of the millinerj^ and a mysterious lady of fashion there was n« inconsiderable difference

Chapter III

'*MonsieTir Paul ?" cried the liandsome widow of Mon* nenr Boisjoli, stepping from behind the pastry counter.

**Ye8, Mignon, it is I/* said the Chevalier; "that is, what remains of me."

*^hat happiness to see you again!" she exclaimed. She turned to a waiter. "Chariot, bring Monsieur le CSievalier the pheasant pie, the ragout of hare, and a liottle of chambertin from the bin of '36."

'^Sorceress !" laughed the Chevalier; "you have Eoiinded the very soul of me. Thanks, Mignon, thanks ! Next to love, what is more to a man than a full ston^- aeh ? Ah, you should have seen me when I came in ! And devil take this nose of mine; not even steam and water have thawed the frost from it." He chucked her under the chin and smiled comically, all of which made manifest that the relations existing between the hostess ef the Candlestick and her principal tenant were of the most cordial and Platonic character.

"And you have just returned from Rome ? Ah, what a terrible ride !"

"Abominable, Mignon.^*

"And I see you hungry !" She sighed, and her black eyes grew moist and tender. Madame Boisjoli was only thirty-two. She was young.

THE MUTILATED HAKD 2T

"But alive, Mignon, alive ; don't forget thaf

^Tou have had adventures?" eagerly; for she was a woman who loved the recital of exploits. Monsieur Boisjoli had fallen as a soldier at Charenton.

"Adventures? Oh, as they go/' slapping his rapier and his pockets which had recently been very empty.

^Tou have been wounded ?"

''Only in the pockets, dear, and in the tender quick of comfort. And will you have Chariot hasten that pie ? I can smell it from afar, and my mouth waters."

''This moment. Monsieur;" and she flew away to the kitchens.

The Chevalier took this temporary absence as an opportunity to look about him. Only one table was occupied. This occupant was a priest who was gravely dining off black bread and milk ser\^ed in a wooden bowl. But for the extreme pallor of his skin, which doubtless had its origin in the constant mortification of the flesh, he would have been a singularly handsome man. His features were elegantly designed, but it was evident that melancholy had recast them in a serioua mold. His face was clean shaven, and his hair clipped close to the skull. There was something eminently noble in the loftiness of the forehead, and at the same time there was something subtly cruel in the turn of the nether lip, as though the spirit and the flesh were constantly at war. He was young, possibly not older than the Chevalier, who was thirty.

The priest, as if feeling the Chevalier's scrutiny, raised his eyes. As their glances met, casually in the way of gratifying a natural curiosity, both men experienced a mental disturbance which was at once strange and annoying. Those large, penetrating grey

US THE GREY CLOAK

eyes: eacli seemed to be looking into his own as in a mirror.

The Chevalier was first to disembarrass himself. "A tolerably shrewd night, Monsieur/' he said with 8 friendly gesture.

"It is the frost in the air, my son," the priest responded in a mellow barytone. "May Saint Ignatius listen kindly to the poor. Ah, this gulf you call Paxis; I like it not."

*^ou are but recently arrived P'' asked the Chevalier politely.

"I came two days ago. I leave for Rouen this night."

"What ! you travel at night, and leave a cheery tavern like this ?" All at once the crinkle of a chill ran across the Chevalier's shoulders. The thumb, the forefinger and the second of the priest's left hand were twisted, reddened stumps.

"Yes, at night; and the wind will be rough beyond the hills. But I have suffered worse discomforts f and to this statement the priest added a sour smile. He had seen the shudder. He dropped the maimed hand below the level of the table.

"You ride, however?'" suggested the Chevalier.

"A Spanish mule, the gift of Father Vincent''

**Her Majesty's confessor?"

*Trou are a Jesuit ?"

"I have the happiness to serve God in that order. I have just presented my respects to her Majesty and Cardinal Mazarin. I am come from America, my son, to see his Eminence in regard to the raising of funds for some new missions we have in mind ; but I have been indifferently successful, due possibly to my lack of elo* quence and to the fact that my superior. Father Chaumonot, was unable to accompany me to Paris. I shall meet him in Eouen."

"And so you are from that country of which I hav& heard so much of late — that France across the sea?'*' The Chevalier's tones expressed genuine interest. He could now account for the presence of the mutilated hand. Here was a man who had seen strange adventures in a strange land. "New France !" musingly.

"Tes, my son ; and I am all eagerness to return."

The Chevalier laughed pleasantly. "Pardon my irrelevancy, but I confess that it excites my amusement to be called *^son' by one who can not be older than myself."

"It is a habit I acquired with the savages. And yet, I have known men of fifty to be young/' said the Jesuit, his brows sinking. "I have known men of thirty to be old. Youth never leaves us till we have suffered. I am old, very old." He was addressing^ some inner thought rather than the Chevalier.

^^ell, I am thirty, myself," said the Chevalier with assumed lightness. "I am neither young nor old. I stand on the threshold. I can not say that I have suffered since I have known only physical discomforts.. But to call me *sou' ..."

"Well, then," replied the priest, smiling, "since the disparity in years is so small as to destroy the dignity of the term, I shall call you my brother. All men are brothers; it is the Word."

"That is true." How familiar this priest's eyes were t "But some are rich and some are poor; beggars and thieves and cutthroats ; nobly and basely born."

The Jesuit gazed thoughtfully into his bowl. 'TTes^

Bome are nobly and some are basely bom. I have often contemplated what a terrible thing it must be to possess a delicate^ sensitive soul and a body disowned ; to long for the glories of the world from behind the bar sinister, an object of scorn, contumely and forgetfulness; to be cut away from the love of women and the affection of men, the two strongest of human ties: to dream what might and should have been ; to be proved guilty of a crime we did not commit ; to be laughed at, to beg futilely, always subject to that mental conflict between love and hate, charity and en\j. Yes; I can think of nothing which stabs so deeply as the finger of ridicule, unmerited. I am not referring to the children of kings, but to the forgotten by the lesser nobility."