Roads of Destiny | Page 4

vehicle rolled up on solid ground. The
outriders climbed to their places.
David stood for a moment upon one foot. The huge gentleman waved a

hand. "You will enter the carriage," he said, in a voice large, like
himself, but smoothed by art and habit. Obedience belonged in the path
of such a voice. Brief as was the young poet's hesitation, it was cut
shorter still by a renewal of the command. David's foot went to the step.
In the darkness he perceived dimly the form of the lady upon the rear
seat. He was about to seat himself opposite, when the voice again
swayed him to its will. "You will sit at the lady's side."
The gentleman swung his great weight to the forward seat. The carriage
proceeded up the hill. The lady was shrunk, silent, into her corner.
David could not estimate whether she was old or young, but a delicate,
mild perfume from her clothes stirred his poet's fancy to the belief that
there was loveliness beneath the mystery. Here was an adventure such
as he had often imagined. But as yet he held no key to it, for no word
was spoken while he sat with his impenetrable companions.
In an hour's time David perceived through the window that the vehicle
traversed the street of some town. Then it stopped in front of a closed
and darkened house, and a postilion alighted to hammer impatiently
upon the door. A latticed window above flew wide and a nightcapped
head popped out.
"Who are ye that disturb honest folk at this time of night? My house is
closed. 'Tis too late for profitable travellers to be abroad. Cease
knocking at my door, and be off."
"Open!" spluttered the postilion, loudly; "open for Monsiegneur the
Marquis de Beaupertuys."
"Ah!" cried the voice above. "Ten thousand pardons, my lord. I did not
know--the hour is so late--at once shall the door be opened, and the
house placed at my lord's disposal."
Inside was heard the clink of chain and bar, and the door was flung
open. Shivering with chill and apprehension, the landlord of the Silver
Flagon stood, half clad, candle in hand, upon the threshold.
David followed the Marquis out of the carriage. "Assist the lady," he

was ordered. The poet obeyed. He felt her small hand tremble as he
guided her descent. "Into the house," was the next command.
The room was the long dining-hall of the tavern. A great oak table ran
down its length. The huge gentleman seated himself in a chair at the
nearer end. The lady sank into another against the wall, with an air of
great weariness. David stood, considering how best he might now take
his leave and continue upon his way.
"My lord," said the landlord, bowing to the floor, "h-had I ex- expected
this honour, entertainment would have been ready. T-t-there is wine
and cold fowl and m-m-maybe--"
"Candles," said the marquis, spreading the fingers of one plump white
hand in a gesture he had.
"Y-yes, my lord." He fetched half a dozen candles, lighted them, and
set them upon the table.
"If monsieur would, perhaps, deign to taste a certain Burgundy--there is
a cask--"
"Candles," said monsieur, spreading his fingers.
"Assuredly--quickly--I fly, my lord."
A dozen more lighted candles shone in the hall. The great bulk of the
marquis overflowed his chair. He was dressed in fine black from head
to foot save for the snowy ruffles at his wrist and throat. Even the hilt
and scabbard of his sword were black. His expression was one of
sneering pride. The ends of an upturned moustache reached nearly to
his mocking eyes.
The lady sat motionless, and now David perceived that she was young,
and possessed of pathetic and appealing beauty. He was startled from
the contemplation of her forlorn loveliness by the booming voice of the
marquis.

"What is your name and pursuit?"
"David Mignot. I am a poet."
The moustache of the marquis curled nearer to his eyes.
"How do you live?"
"I am also a shepherd; I guarded my father's flock," David answered,
with his head high, but a flush upon his cheek.
"Then listen, master shepherd and poet, to the fortune you have
blundered upon to-night. This lady is my niece, Mademoiselle Lucie de
Varennes. She is of noble descent and is possessed of ten thousand
francs a year in her own right. As to her charms, you have but to
observe for yourself. If the inventory pleases your shepherd's heart, she
becomes your wife at a word. Do not interrupt me. To-night I conveyed
her to the /chateau/ of the Comte de Villemaur, to whom her hand had
been promised. Guests were present; the priest was waiting; her
marriage to one eligible in rank and fortune was ready