CHAPTER XXI.

"YOU WILL NEVER FIND HIM."

"When you and your charge, Mademoiselle Ducaire, have left us you will

betray no secrets," Cavalier had said to Martin, as they stood side by

side watching the army of Montrevel on its way through the province?

Yet some weeks passed, and still they remained in the hands of the

Camisards, well treated, yet still there.

For their accommodation two large caverns had been prepared as

sleeping rooms; prepared, too, in such a manner as would indeed have

astonished the Camisards' enemies, the dwellers in the valleys below,

had they been able to observe them. To observe that Urbaine's

chamber--if such a name could be given to the vault in which she

slept--was furnished not only with comfort, but indeed luxury, her

bed, which had been constructed expressly for her by one of the

_attroupés_ who was a carpenter, being covered with fine white linen

and made soft with skins and rugs. Also the sides of the vault were

hung with tapestry and brocade; the ewer from which she poured water

was solid silver; the floor on which she trod was covered with carpets

made at Aubusson. Yet the girl shuddered as, nightly, daily, she

glanced round this luxuriously furnished cavern, knowing full well, or

at least being perfectly able to divine, whence all these things came;

for none who had ever knelt, as Urbaine had done since her earliest

recollection, at the altar of any church of the Ancient Faith could

doubt that that silver jug had been torn from some such altar which

had been devastated with the edifice itself; none who had seen the

luxurious fittings and adornments of the _noblesse_ of Languedoc could

doubt that the tapestries and hangings and rich fine linen had once

adorned the château of Catholic noblemen or gentlemen. Everything

which surrounded her, all--even to the choice plate off which they

both ate their meals, and the crystal glass from which they drank the

Ginestoux and Lunel placed before them--told the same story; the story

of robbery and pillage, of an awakened vengeance that spared nothing

and hesitated at nothing.

Both, too, were free now, free to wander on the mountain slopes, no

parole being demanded, since escape was impossible through those

closely guarded paths and defiles, a little mule being at the girl's

service when she chose to use it, an animal which had been captured

from Julien's forces during a defeat sustained by him and while

bearing on its back two mountain guns. Now those guns guarded, with

other captured cannon, one of the approaches from the valley, and the

mule was given over entirely to her service. Yet she rarely rode it,

preferring, indeed, to sit upon a high promontory whence, at sunset,

she could see the spires of distant cathedrals or churches sparkling

far down in the valley, sometimes with Martin by her side, sometimes

alone.

"Monsieur," she said to him now one crisp, sunny October afternoon as

together they strolled toward this promontory to watch the sunset,

"monsieur, why do you not go away, return to your own land? You will

have the chance soon to escape out of France forever. You heard what

the chief said last night, that an English agent was at Nîmes

endeavouring to discover what chance the fleet in the Mediterranean

will have of invading us there."

"You forget, mademoiselle. I am in their power; you forget that----"

"Nay," she exclaimed, "why speak thus? I know that you are free to go

to-morrow, to-night; that you might have gone long since had you

chosen. That you remain here only because you will not leave me alone

in their power. I know, I understand," and the soft, clear eyes stole

a glance into his.

"I saved you once, by God's mercy," he said. "I shall not leave you

now. Not until I return you to your father's arms. And take heart! It

will not be long. Whether Montrevel or my countrymen effect a landing

from the sea, you will be soon free. If the former happens, it will be

a rescue; if the latter, you will be detained no longer, since they

deem you beyond all doubt a Protestant."

"The woman was mistaken," she answered. "It is impossible."

"Yet Cavalier thinks he has confirmation of the fact. You know that he

has been in the valleys lately, even in Montpellier, disguised. He has

met one, an old woman, who knew Monsieur Ducaire, your real father.

You know that?"

"She has said so, yet I deem it impossible. Who is this woman?"

"She will not say. But he seems confident. And--and--even though my

religion is so hateful to you--think, think, I beseech you, of what

advantage to you it is to be deemed here one of our faith.

Mademoiselle, if that strange seer, that prophetess whose knowledge

astounds, mystifies me, had not proclaimed you one of them and a

Protestant, you would have been dead by now," and he shuddered as he

spoke.

"You wrong me," she said, "when you say that the Protestant--that

your--faith is hateful to me. It is only that I have been taught from

my earliest days to believe so strongly in my own, to regard nothing

as true but that. Also," she continued, "because it is yours, the

religion of you who have saved me, it could never be hateful to me."

And as she spoke the soft rose-blush came to her cheek and her eyes

fell. To her, and to Cavalier, Martin Ashurst had given a full account

of himself, concealing nothing, and at last not even hesitating to

avow himself an Englishman, a fact which, if known in any other part

of Louis' dominions but this Protestant and rebel stronghold, would

have led to his instant destruction. For England was pressing France

sorely now, trampling her under the iron heel of the vast armies

headed by Marlborough, attacking her on every coast she possessed,

even now sending a fleet under Sir Cloudesley Shovel to attempt a

landing at Cette and Toulon to succour and aid the Huguenots. Also it

was to her principally that France's cruelly-used subjects had been

fleeing for years, by her that they had been warmly welcomed and

humanely treated. What hopes of anything short of a swift and awful

death could an Englishman hope for at this time if caught in France?

Yet that he was safe in telling Urbaine Ducaire who and what he was he

never doubted, even though she, in her turn, should tell Baville; for,

since he meant himself to restore her to Baville's arms, it was not

too much to suppose that this restoration would cancel the awful

crime, in the eyes of the man who cherished this girl so, of being a

British subject.

Also he had told both of what had brought him to Languedoc--his quest

for the last of the de Rochebazons--and of how that quest had failed

up to now, must fail entirely, since it was impossible that any

investigations could be carried on in the distracted state of the

province at the present time. Nor did Cavalier, whose mind would have

better become a man of forty than one of twenty, give him any

encouragement to hope that he would ever find the man he sought.

"For, _figurez vous_," he remarked, "this land, this sweet, fair

Languedoc, has been a prey to dissension, slaughter, upon one side

only up till now" (and he laughed grimly as he spoke, perhaps at the

change which had come about), "to misery and awful wrongs for how

long? Long before this present king--this _Dieudonné_, this _Roi

Soleil_--came to the throne, and when his father _Le Juste_ was

harrying our fathers. _Le Juste!_" he repeated with bitter scorn, "_Le

Juste!_ A man who had a hundred virtues that became a valet--witness

his love for shaving his courtiers, for larding his own fillets of

veal, for combing his _mignon's_ wigs--and not one that became a

master, a king, except dissimulation! My God! he had that royal gift,

at least. You know what he and that devil incarnate, Richelieu, did

here in the south, did at Rochelle?"

"I know," Martin replied. "Alas! all the world knows. Yet it must have

been after his time that Cyprien de Beauvilliers, as he then was, came

here."

"If he came," said Cavalier, "he came under another guise, a mask;

under another name. And it is long ago; you will never find him."

"I fear not."

"Moreover, even should you do so, of what avail to you, to him? Will

Louis disgorge the de Rochebazon wealth, will the Church of Rome

release one dernier of what she has clutched? Monsieur, you have flung

your fortune away for a shadow, a chimera, since you yourself will

never get it now. Better have taken it, have got back to your own

land, have enjoyed it in peace."

"It would have been treachery to the dead--to her who believed in me

and died deeming that I was a true child of her own faith. And," he

added, "she was a good woman in spite of that faith."

Cavalier glanced at him, then shrugged his shoulders. Yet as he turned

away he muttered:

"I begin to understand why your country is so great, so prosperous.

Understand! if all Englishmen are like you."

That conversation was not to end thus, however, with a delicate

compliment to Martin's honour, since, ere Cavalier had strode many

paces from him, he came back and, taking a seat by his side in the

great cavern where they then were, began to talk to him about the

future hopes of the Protestant cause, in Languedoc especially. "We

shall win," he said, "we shall win! What we want, which after all is

not much for Louis to grant, we must have: Freedom to worship as we

choose, freedom from paying taxes for a Church we have revolted from,

freedom to come and go out of France as we desire. Let Louis grant

that and I will place at his disposal so fine a regiment that none of

his dragoons or _chevaux-légers_ shall be our superiors. None! He

shall say to me what he said to Jean Bart, the sailor."

"What did he say to him?"

"He sent for Jean Bart one day at Versailles, received him among all

his grinning, shoulder-shrugging courtiers, and, looking on Jean and

his rough, simple comrades, said, 'Bart, _mon ami_, you have done more

for me than all my admirals.' And I love Bart for his reply when,

casting his eyes round on all the admirals and captains who stood in

the throng, he answered, '_Mon Dieu! je crois bien_. Without doubt!

That is, if these _petits crevés_ are your admirals and captains.'"

Martin smiled at the little story, then he said:

"I would to God your cause, my own faith, could prosper here. We have

gone through much stress ourselves to make it secure and safe in

England. Discarded our king, who was of the family more dearly loved

in England than any that have ever sat on her throne, yet we were

forced to do it. But the Protestants of England can make a stronger

boast than those of your land, Monsieur Cavalier. They alone have

suffered; they never retaliated as you have done."

"As we were forced to retaliate," he exclaimed, striking the table in

his excitement. "My God! think of what we have suffered. And not our

men alone, but our wives, our sisters, our old mothers. Have you ever

seen a gray-haired woman stripped and beaten in a market place? Have

you ever seen a young innocent girl stretched naked on a wheel, the

shame of her exposure even more frightful than the blows of _la

massue?_ Have you ever stood on board a galley laden with Protestant

slaves or smelled the burning flesh of old men at the stake? We have,

we of these mountain deserts, and--and--my God!" while even as he

spoke he wept, brushing the tears from his eyes fiercely, "I wonder

that that girl, Urbaine Ducaire, is still alive, Protestant though she

be. Wonder she is spared, since she is the loved treasure of that

tiger, Baville."

"Protestant though she be!" Martin repeated. "You know that? From some

surer source than the divinations, the revelations of La Grande

Marie?"

"I know it," Cavalier said, facing round suddenly on him, "I know it

now for certain. Ducaire was a Protestant living at Mont Joyre. I have

discovered all. And I curse the discovery! For otherwise we would have

repaid Baville a thousandfold for all his crimes, wrung his

heartstrings as he has wrung ours for years, slaughtered his pet lamb

as he has slaughtered hundreds of ours. But she is a Protestant,

therefore safe."

"When will you release her, let her return to him?"

"Ho! _la, la!_" the other replied. "That must be thought upon. Even

now she is a great hostage in our hands, a card that may win the

trick. And--and--you and she are very intimate; yet can I tell you

something without fear of its being repeated to her?"

"I will respect any confidence you place in me so long as it thrusts

not against her welfare."

"It will not do that. Yet listen. Ere she leaves us there is something

to be told her as regards Baville's friendship for her father,

Ducaire. And, when she has heard that, it may be she will never wish

to return to him, to set eyes on her beloved Intendant again."

"My God! What is to become of her then?"

For reply Cavalier only laughed. Then he said:

"There is always a home for any Protestant here, and she can not

complain of how we have treated her. I think myself she will elect to

stay with us, unless----"

"Unless?"

"Something more tempting offers," and again he laughed. "She might,

monsieur will understand, fall in love. With--say--some hero."

For a moment Martin wondered if Cavalier alluded to himself; in

another he _knew_ that he did so. There was no mistaking the glance in

the Camisard's eyes. But he gave him no opportunity of saying anything

further on the subject, asking instead if he might be confided in with

regard to the strange story which, when told to Urbaine, was to quench

every spark of love and affection in her heart for Baville, the man

who, with all his faults, had cherished and loved her so fondly.

"No, monsieur," Cavalier replied. "That can not be--as yet. Later you

will doubtless know all, know the reason why Urbaine Ducaire should

change her love for him to an undying hate. Meanwhile I have to ask a

favour of you."

"A favour? What is there in my power to do?"

"This: The power to help us end this war--you, a Protestant, an

Englishman."

"I can not understand. God knows I desire nothing better."

"_Soit!_ Then aid us. Thus: The English agent is at Nîmes, disguised.

He passes under the name of Flottard, and has plans for the use of

your admiral, who will bring his fleet to Cette or Toulon when the

time is ripe. Unfortunately, however, this man, this _soi-disant_

Flottard, has not the French very clearly. As for us--poor weavers,

carders, husbandmen--what should we know of other tongues? We can not

speak a word of your language. Monsieur Martin, you are a Protestant,

an Englishman. Before God I think you English the greatest of all.

Help us, help us to be free without more bloodshed, to worship the

Almighty as we see fit, to bow our necks no more before the Scourge of

God. Help us! Help us!" he repeated, "us of your own faith."

Stirred to the heart's core by the man's appeal, though he scarce

needed such impulse, every fibre in him, every drop of blood in his

veins, tingling for those of his own faith, of his own loved religion,

he answered quietly, saying again:

"What I can do I will," and adding, also quietly, "or die in the

attempt."