Domnei | Page 5

to me alone that you confess."
Perion leaned forward. You are to understand that, through the
incurrent necessities of every circumstance, each of them spoke in
whispers, even now. It was curious to note the candid mirth on either
side. Mercury was making his adieux to Alcmena's waiting-woman in
the middle of a jig.
"But you," sneered Perion, "are merciful in all things. Rogue that I am,
I dare to build on this notorious fact. I am snared in a hard golden trap,
I cannot get a guide to Manneville, I cannot even procure a horse from
Count Emmerick's stables without arousing fatal suspicions; and I must
be at Manneville by dawn or else be hanged. Therefore I dare stake all
upon one throw; and you must either save or hang me with unwashed
hands. As surely as God reigns, my future rests with you. And as I am
perfectly aware, you could not live comfortably with a gnat's death
upon your conscience. Eh, am I not a seasoned rascal?"
"Do not remind me now that you are vile," said Melicent. "Ah, no, not
now!"
"Lackey, impostor, and thief!" he sternly answered. "There you have

the catalogue of all my rightful titles. And besides, it pleases me, for a
reason I cannot entirely fathom, to be unpardonably candid and to fling
my destiny into your lap. To-night, as I have said, the Tranchemerlies
off Manneville; keep counsel, get me a horse if you will, and to-morrow
I am embarked for desperate service under the harried Kaiser of the
Greeks, and for throat-cuttings from which I am not likely ever to
return. Speak, and I hang before the month is up."
Dame Melicent looked at him now, and within the moment Perion was
repaid, and bountifully, for every folly and misdeed of his entire life.
"What harm have I ever done you, Messire de la Forêt, that you should
shame me in this fashion? Until to-night I was not unhappy in the belief
I was loved by you. I may say that now without paltering, since you are
not the man I thought some day to love. You are but the rind of him.
And you would force me to cheat justice, to become a hunted thief's
accomplice, or else to murder you!"
"It comes to that, madame."
"Then I must help you preserve your life by any sorry stratagems you
may devise. I shall not hinder you. I will procure you a guide to
Manneville. I will even forgive you all save one offence, since doubtless
heaven made you the foul thing you are." The girl was in a hot and
splendid rage. "For you love me. Women know. You love me. You!"
"Undoubtedly, madame."
"Look into my face! and say what horrid writ of infamy you fancied was
apparent there, that my nails may destroy it."
"I am all base," he answered, "and yet not so profoundly base as you
suppose. Nay, believe me, I had never hoped to win even such scornful
kindness as you might accord your lapdog. I have but dared to peep at
heaven while I might, and only as lost Dives peeped. Ignoble as I am, I
never dreamed to squire an angel down toward the mire and filth which
is henceforward my inevitable kennel."

"The masque is done," said Melicent, "and yet you talk, and talk, and
talk, and mimic truth so cunningly--Well, I will send some trusty person
to you. And now, for God's sake!--nay, for the fiend's love who is your
patron!--let me not ever see you again, Messire de la Forêt."

2.
How the Vicomte Was Very Gay
There was dancing afterward and a sumptuous supper. The Vicomte de
Puysange was generally accounted that evening the most excellent of
company. He mingled affably with the revellers and found a prosperous
answer for every jest they broke upon the projected marriage of Dame
Melicent and King Theodoret; and meanwhile hugged the reflection
that half the realm was hunting Perion de la Forêt in the more
customary haunts of rascality. The springs of Perion's turbulent mirth
were that to-morrow every person in the room would discover how
impudently every person had been tricked, and that Melicent
deliberated even now, and could not but admire, the hunted outlaw's
insolence, however much she loathed its perpetrator; and over this
thought in particular Perion laughed like a madman.
"You are very gay to-night, Messire de Puysange," said the Bishop of
Montors.
This remarkable young man, it is necessary to repeat, had reached
Bellegarde that evening, coming from Brunbelois. It was he (as you
have heard) who had arranged the match with Theodoret. The bishop
himself loved his cousin Melicent; but, now that he was in holy orders
and possession of her had become impossible, he had