The House of the Wolf | Page 9

to take me aback. I had looked to
see her face lighten at our news; instead it wore an expression I had
never seen on it before. Catherine, so kind and gentle, calling us fools!
And without cause! I did not understand it. I turned confusedly to
Croisette. He was looking at her, and I saw that he was frightened. As
for Madame Claude, she was crying in the corner. A presentiment of
evil made my heart sink like lead. What had happened?
"Fools!" my cousin repeated with exceeding bitterness, her foot tapping
the parquet unceasingly. "Do you think he would have stooped to
avenge himself on YOU? On you! Or that he could hurt me one
hundredth part as much here as--as--" She broke off stammering. Her
scorn faltered for an instant. "Bah! he is a man! He knows!" she
exclaimed superbly, her chin in the air, "but you are boys. You do not
understand!"
I looked amazedly at this angry woman. I had a difficulty in associating
her with my cousin. As for Croisette, he stepped forward abruptly, and

picked up a white object which was lying at her feet.
"Yes, read it!" she cried, "read it! Ah!" and she clenched her little hand,
and in her passion struck the oak table beside her, so that a stain of
blood sprang out on her knuckles. Why did you not kill him? Why did
you not do it when you had the chance? You were three to one," she
hissed. "You had him in your power! You could have killed him, and
you did not! Now he will kill me!"
Madame Claude muttered something tearfully; something about
Pavannes and the saints. I looked over Croisette's shoulder, and read
the letter. It began abruptly without any term of address, and ran thus,
"I have a mission in Paris, Mademoiselle, which admits of no delay,
your mission, as well as my own--to see Pavannes. You have won his
heart. It is yours, and I will bring it you, or his right hand in token that
he has yielded up his claim to yours. And to this I pledge myself."
The thing bore no signature. It was written in some red fluid-- blood
perhaps--a mean and sorry trick! On the outside was scrawled a
direction to Mademoiselle de Caylus. And the packet was sealed with
the Vidame's crest, a wolfs head.
"The coward! the miserable coward!" Croisette cried. He was the first
to read the meaning of the thing. And his eyes were full of tears--tears
of rage.
For me I was angry exceedingly. My veins seemed full of fire, as I
comprehended the mean cruelty which could thus torture a girl.
"Who delivered this?" I thundered. "Who gave it to Mademoiselle?
How did it reach her hands? Speak, some one!"
A maid, whimpering in the background, said that Francis had given it
to her to hand to Mademoiselle.
I ground my teeth together, while Marie, unbidden, left the room to
seek Francis--and a stirrup leather. The Vidame had brought the note in
his pocket no doubt, rightly expecting that he would not get an

audience of my cousin. Returning to the gate alone he had seen his
opportunity, and given the note to Francis, probably with a small fee to
secure its transmission.
Croisette and I looked at one another, apprehending all this. "He will
sleep at Cahors to-night," I said sullenly.
The lad shook his head and answered in a low voice, "I am afraid not.
His horses are fresh. I think he will push on. He always travels quickly.
And now you know--"
I nodded, understanding only too well.
Catherine had flung herself into a chair. Her arms lay nerveless on the
table. Her face was hidden in them. But now, overhearing us, or stung
by some fresh thought, she sprang to her feet in anguish. Her face
twitched, her form seemed to stiffen as she drew herself up like one in
physical pain. "Oh, I cannot bear it!" she cried to us in dreadful tones.
"Oh, will no one do anything? I will go to him! I will tell him I will
give him up! I will do whatever he wishes if he will only spare him!"
Croisette went from the room crying. It was a dreadful sight for us--this
girl in agony. And it was impossible to reassure her! Not one of us
doubted the horrible meaning of the note, its covert threat. Civil wars
and religious hatred, and I fancy Italian modes of thought, had for the
time changed our countrymen to beasts. Far more dreadful things were
done then than this which Bezers threatened--even if he meant it
literally--far more dreadful things were suffered. But in the fiendish
ingenuity of his vengeance on her, the helpless, loving