In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
—Edgar Allan Poe.
Rose Marie had told her father all that she feared, all that she, alas, knew to be true.
 
"We cannot go now, Father dear," she said with quivering voice, whilst her eyes burning with hot tears, looked down appealingly at her father, "we must surely hear what becomes of him."
 
"Nay, my child," said Papa Legros with a heavy sigh, "what can we do by remaining here? Your duty is to your husband. No doubt he, too, fears for his life, and would wish to leave this country ere suspicion fall upon him."
 
"But Father, methinks you do not understand. I know not if there hath been conspiracy or not, but this I do know, that the charge was preferred against my husband. Then why is my lord arrested?"
 
"I know not, my jewel," replied Papa Legros, deeply perplexed and miserable. "England seems to be a queer country just now. Mayhap all these gentlemen do conspire. God knows there always have been many conspiracies against our own most high and most Catholic King Louis, the ever victorious."
 
[377]
 
And Master Legros doffed his felt hat in token of deep respect.
 
"Thy husband waits, child," added the worthy man resignedly; "'tis him thou must obey."
 
Even as he spoke, Rupert's steps were heard once more along the corridor. He entered, still looking miserably anxious, but at sight of Rose Marie a blush of shame-facedness overspread his pale cheeks.
 
"Your pardon, Mistress," he said, striving to speak quietly, "methinks the coast is clear now. Will you deign to descend?"
 
He offered Rose Marie his arm. She felt like some wild creature trapped, looking round her with wild, terrified eyes as if for a means of escape. Her father gave her an appealing look, and Rupert reiterated his request with more distinct command in his tone. His eyes, wherein wrath, fear, and a certain look of shame were obviously fighting for mastery, seemed to dare her to disobey. He was her master after all, and a master of her own choosing. The bars of that cage against which she would henceforth for ever bruise her heart were fashioned by her own hands.
 
"Come, Mistress, I wait," said Rupert, and with a gesture which was almost rough in its peremptoriness, he took her hand and slipped it under his arm.
 
Papa Legros gathered the sundry small bags and parcels which formed his own and his daughter's hand luggage, and then he followed the young couple out of the room.
 
But Rose Marie once across the threshold and in the corridor soon disengaged her arm. This masterful appropriation of her person and of her will caused her an instinctive pang of fear. Good God! Was she going to hate this man whom through an impulse of loyalty and righteousness she had openly acknowledged as her lord,[378] and to whom she almost wilfully had surrendered her whole young life, her hopes of happiness, her every thought and wish? Now with every look of unfettered admiration, with every word of command, he roused her numbed spirits into rebellion. Even now she could not bear to take his arm, she could not bear the touch of his hand on hers as he began to lead her along the corridor, as if already she were part of his goods and chattels, the obedient servant of his caprice.
 
When she withdrew her hand from his, he looked inquiringly on her face, then realising her motive, guessing her repugnance, he laughed a forced, ironical laugh and said with obvious intent to wound:
 
"Nay, Madam! I'm vastly sorry that even in this dark passage you cannot fancy that I am my cousin Michael. But you made your choice yourself 'twixt him and me, and therefore pray understand that 'tis too late to repent."
 
He walked, however, on ahead, keeping a little in front of her, and soon reached the door which gave on the yard.
 
His coach stood there all in readiness, the driver on the box holding the ribbons, the groom standing by the carriage holding open the door. But between the coach and the door through which Rupert with Rose Marie and Papa Legros had just stepped forth into the yard, there stood a group composed of three musketeers, one of whom was a little in advance of the others, and apparently in command.
 
Master Savage, landlord of the Bell Inn, was in close and voluble converse with the soldier, as Rupert with a peremptory voice called to his own driver to pull up a little closer.
 
At the sound, Master Savage turned, and the musketeer now came up to the little party in the door.
 
[379]
 
"Which of you two gentlemen," he said, looking from Rupert Kestyon to Master Legros, "is Master Legros, tailor-in-chief to His Majesty the King of France?"
 
Papa Legros, hearing his name thus mentioned, instinctively stepped forward, more fussy than ever, poor man, wondering indeed if some fresh misfortune was not coming his way. Rupert, pale to the lips, stood mutely staring at the musketeer.
 
"By order of His Majesty the King!" resumed the soldier now addressing Legros, and presenting a paper to him, which the worthy tailor, hopelessly bewildered and not ............