The Sword of a Gascon

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 63, 15 March 1900, Page 10

The Sword of a Gascon

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

By AMEDEE ACKAHD.

SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS,

CHAPTER I.—The Count Gedeon Paul de Montestruc spuanders the last of his valuable Inheritance at the gaming table at Lectoure, leaving a young wife and his heir who ig about 10 years old, destitute.

CHAPTER Il.—While her husband was having his final fling at the gaming table, the Countess, who' all her married life has been practically deserted, In a scene at the castle, learns that her lover, Count Jean de Coligny, is returning to Paris by order of the King.

CHAPTER lll.—The ruined .Count de Montestruc, determined to end his worthless life like a gentleman, and in a manner that will provide for his widow and heir offers the old Duke de Mirepoix to avenge his daughter, who has been ruined by a plundering exile, the Baron Saccaraux. The Duke accepts the offer, and the Count finding the Baron, succeeds in killing him, but at the cost or bis own life.

CHAPTER IV.

A DELUGE OF CREDITORS,

While Frantz, launched at full speed, whs going to the Abbaye Guinot with a mission to bring back a priest, the little man in black who had taken his grades in Spain was administering to the count certain cordials which he had drawn from a flask, and applying to Ms wounds divers ointments 01 which he possessel an ample provision. Giuseppe watched him in Ms work. "If you have some left," the poor soldier finally said, "I should like a little for myself." The count turned to the Italian, and looking at him: "Is it our destiny to make the great journey together?" "Do you doubt it? I am not one of those who desert at the last hour." Upon the order of the count, the poor devil was placed beside his master, and 'they began to talk of their campaigns of former times, both stretched upon the same bed of straw. The little man in black went from this one to that one, turning over the dead and stopping near those who still gave signs of life. The men of the country, without re-o-ard for the unfortunates "who were dying1, employed themselves in emptyiii"- their pockets, and displayed therein 0 a singular dexterity. Upon the news that there was something to glean in the inn of the Golden Pish, others ran up like a band of famished doo-s, and began to despoil the dead of their clothing, which the- noisily disputed with each other. "The beast dead, behold the flies!" said Giuseppe, with a philosophical air. He was going- to tear np again with his master his narratives of war, wlien the latter, all at once, placing a hand upon his companion's shoulder, said: "Do not take it into your head to die first; is not someone necessary for carrying me back to Montestrue, and it is upon you that I count." "Good! does not the master always lead the way? I shall wait." Suddenly an uproar-was heard in the street, and the crowd which was obstructing the door of the hostelry parted violently; it was Frantz returning at full gallop, with one-hand glued to the pommel of the saddle and with the other lashing the horse of a good father all out of breath, who rolled upon his beast and believed himself lost.

The Lorraine burst through the crowd, ran straight to Count Gedeon, and stopping himself:

"Here is your man," said he

This said, he rolled to the ground, where he remained stretched out his whole length. A shiver seized him, something contracted his mouth, he opened wide his eyes, and no longer moved.

Giuseppe, who had half raised himself, made a sign of the cross over poor Prnntz.

"This makes one!" he murmured

The priest had approached the count, whom he had known for a long time, and joining his hands: "Ah! sir, in what condition!" said

"That is why it is necessary to go to work quickly. I am too good a gentleman to die like a dog—but let us make haste."

He sat up, and the priest placed himself near him.

"My father, I have done a little pood, rarely; I have done a great deal of evil, often; but nothing1 contrary to honour. 1 die with the faith of a Christian and like a good Catholic. Lastly, I have rid the world of a rascal of the worst species.". "I know, I know," said the priest. "I hope this will be placed to my account up there."

The priest shook his head with an undecided air; then, leaning- over the dying-man:

"Do you repent of your faults, my son?"

"Bitterly."

The priest presented a crucifix to the lips of the count, who kissed it piously. Then making- with the thumb the sign of the cross upon his forehead, which was.bathed in a viscous sweat. "Pnx Vobiscnm!"'

"Amen!" answered Giuseppe. The count's confession finished, he prayed his faithful Giuseppe seek him a slip of paper, a pen and some.ink. The little man in black, who did not lose sight of him, drew the whole from n leather case which he carried at his belt, and placing the paper upon the knees of the woxmded man:

"You must not write too long," said he. with an air of fear.

'Ah! you think so?"

"It is prudence which makes me speak. I have just placed my finger upon your pulse. If you forget yourself in beautiful phrases, you will not hove time to affix your signature."

!vh, indeed!"

Giuseppe, who seemed to have found again the strength for this supreme moment, raised the count, who took the pen, and with a hand which an effort of will rendered still firm, the dying man wrote three lines, signed,

and folding1 the slip, applied upon a large seal of burning- wax which the little man in black had just made flow over the paper, a large gold ring engraved with his arms.

"Have I still time?" said he, risking a glance towards the physician.

"Yes, a little—but it would be necessary to limit yourself more than ihe first time."

"Hum! death is exacting'!"

The count took up again a slip of paper, and with the pen which he still held between his fingers, wrote: "Madame, my wife: I die like a Christian after having lived like a scapegrace. Pardon rue the evil which I have done you. I confide to you my son."

He shivered

"Eh! eh!" said he, "you are right. I feel it coming-——•" Then turning to Giuseppe. "These two papers g-o to the Countess of Montestruc, my wife; this ringto my son."

He lay down again upon his pile of straw, closed his eyes, joined his hands, and his lips moved softly. Giuseppe, who had knelt down, had placed the count's naked sword beside ..him. Everybody in the court was silent. The priest recited the service for the dead. Suddenly the count opened his eyes, and looking1 at Giuseppe, said in a clear voice:

"Au revoir!"

A spasxa made him tremble from head to foQt, and he remained cold.

"God take his soul!" said the priest. "This makes two!" murmured the

Italian

Giuseppe enveloped hi.s master's body in a cloak, and having placed it upon a hand barrow, took up the way to the Chateau Montestruc.

The corteg-e proceeded slowly; Giuseppe followed, in the saddle, and holding the count's horSe by the bridle. He had thrust the two papers iv his breast, under his doublet, and pressed the ring in lv's belt. He grew dizzy at times, but straightening himself up: "All the same," said he, "I shall arrive."

Night was abotit over when he perceived the walls of Montestrue emerging from the shadow. "Who goes there?" cried the sentinel, on seeing a group of men approaching the postern. "His lordship, Count of Ghargepaul, Duke of Montestruc, my master, who is returning dead to his chateau." The drawbridge was lowered; the procession crossed the moat and the portcullis fell.

If Giuseppe, instead of taking1 the way to the postern, had followed the pathpath which skirted the foot of the declivity upon which the wall of the chateau rested, he would perhaps have been able to distinguish two shadows enlaced, whose vague silhouette was visible in the black frame of a window, at the summit of the great tower. The countess held M. de Coligny embraced there and could not snatch herself from him.

"Then it is the hond of adieux," said she, "and it is forever." "Not forever, Louise, I shall return." She shook her head and tears flowed from her eyes.

"You have delayed your departure by a day. You have given it to me, but it has passed like the others—it is indeed finished."

And as he spoke to her of the future:

■ "No, no," she continued, "you will not return —Artnagnac is far, and Paris is so beautiful!"

Sobs stifled her; her heart throbbed wildly; nothing- could calm her despair—neither oaths nor promises. "I feel it," said she, "I shall see you no more."

A pale light, that which precedes the morning, began to whiten the horizon.

"It is day!" said she, shivering. Then drawing him to her for the last time:

"Adieu!" said she

She glued her Ups to his forehead, and, with a mute gesture, pointed out to him the cord attached to the window. Coligny suspended himself from it.

"Oh, no, no, not yet!" she exclaimed. A noise was heard in the direction of the postern, then the creaking- of the chains of the drawbridge slipping in their grooves and the shock of the planks over the moat. "God!" said she, "the count, perhaps! Go! gQ]." The countess remained breathless at the window until she had Been Coliffny touch the soil and take his course toward the wood. With a nervous hand she seized the long silk cord and, having brought it back to her, concealed it "in a coffer. She had scarcely closed the window when some one knocked at the door. Her lieai't leaped to her throat, "What is it," said she m a stifled

voice. "It is Giuseppe," your servitor, who has a mission to fulfil on the part of the Count of Montest'rue, my master. Louise walked slowly to the door, listening1. The gallop of a horse was heard in the distance.

"Gone!" she murmured

She opened the door and Giuseppe, hat in hand, pale, emaciated, appeared before her.

"Here, madame," said he, bowing-, "are some papers which the count charged me to remit to you._ Moreover, he has confined to me this ringl, which was his, for his son." The countess took the two objects which Giuseppe handed her. She looked at him with affright and was afraid to question him. "But he?" she finally said. "His lordship, the count, is just behind me. See."

I He parted the folds of a curtain which fell over the door, and pointed out to her the body of his master, which the two servitors had just placed in the middle of the room, between four lighted tapers. A cry came from Louise's throat. "Dead!" said she. "Dead, sword in hand, like a gentleman and a soldier. You see, madame, that his last thought has been for you." "Where, when, how?" said she, In a few words the equerry related to her how, after having passed the night at Lectoure playing cards, the count had left at dawn for setting out in pursuit of the Baran Saccoraux; and how, after having come up with him at St. Jean, he had attacked and killed him.

"It is then that he wrote the papers which I promised to bring you. This done, my master died from his wounds after having received the absolution of our holy church."

Louise fell to her knees, her face buried in her hands.

"Now, madame, my mission is fulfilled* and I can go away." And Giuseppe fell heavily to the ground by his master's side. "The third and last!" said he. The two servitors who had brought

in the count had withdrawn. The countess, who had remained alone befortj the two dead bodies, drew herself to the window, and clutching it, succeeded in raising' herself. In the distance, i,<>on the road, in tbe first light of morning, a cloud of dust rolled carried along by the wind. "Ah!" said she, "widowed and alone." She closed the window. "The past is dead now; only the future is left to think over," said she. The countess struck a. bell. A servant entered. "Inform the Count Hugues of Montestrue that his mother wishes to speak to him," said she. A moment after, a child who appeared to be eight or ten years of ag-e appeared; she took him by the hand, and conducting- him in front of the icy body of Count Gedeon: "Your father is dead, my sou; we are alone. Ih'ay God, count." Soon after the bells of the chateau chapel and the village church, sounding a full peal, informed the count's vassals that their master was dead. They came running up from all sides to kneel down around the coffin, covered over with a large square of black velvet on which shone an escutcheon with his arms and surrounded by hundreds of tapers whose flames sparkled amid the smoke of incense. But behind the crowd of servitors appeared Jews with wrinkled features and usurers more eager than wolves.

The countess received them herself, and showing the long tables set in the court said to them,

"Go and wait. To-morrow _ the chateau shall be yours. To-day it is death's."

After the funeral was terminated in the midst of the pomp of the church, and the countess consecrating- to this purpose what she had of resources, had wished that it should be surrounded with the magnificence due to his rank and his name, she had the doors of the chateau opened wide, and recalling those whom she had repulsed the eveningl before, said: "Nothing of that which is left hero is mine. You can enter. My son and myself are going to leave." Folio-wed by an old equerry and two servitors who had sworn to never abandon her, covered with, black clothing and holding Hugues by the hand, with a calm and firm step, the countess traversed the drawbridge and without, turning her head towards those old walls where she left so many recollections, she entered upon the road to exile. The child walked by its mother's side, looking- at her stealthily, and vaguely understanding that something 'extraordinary had just taken place. For the first time, aud pursued by the image of his father, whom he had seen white and immovable \ipon a bier, he felt the weight of death. When he no longer saw the towers of the chateau he began to weep silently. Agrippa—that was the name of the old equerry —dared not question the countess, but he said to himself aside that where she wont he would go.

At the turn of the sunken road which placed the chateau of Montestruc in communication with the country a species of cart which he had prepared upon the countess' order was waiting, harnessed to a vigorous farm horse. Louise took her place in it along "with her son. "What, madame, you in there!" said Agrippa,. "Permit me to run to the chateau and bring back —" "No," she said, extending towards him her white hand. "Have I not told you that nothing of that which I left back yonder any longer belonged to me? Obey me, then, as you obeyed your master." Without replying, but stilling- a 1 sigh, Agrippa took the horse by the 1 bridle. "And now, where does madame the countess wish me to conduct her?" said he. "To Lectoure—to the Duke of Mirepoix's." (To be continued daily.)