The Constable De Bourbon

“Don’t blame me, Benoit,” she cried. “I couldn’t bear to see you hanged.”

“At last we have got the truth,” muttered Warthy. “I knew the woman wouldn’t hold out. Show me the Way to the vault, madame.”

“I forbid you,” said Benoit, authoritatively.

“Take care what you are about, sirrah,” cried Warthy; “you will only make your own position worse. Now, madame!”

At this moment the trap-door, which had been elevated a few inches so as to allow the person beneath it to overhear what was going on in the room, suddenly fell with a clap, that attracted the attention of Warthy.

Snatching up the light, he flew in the direction of the noise, and instantly detected the trap-door. “Soh! I have found it!” he exclaimed. “Here is the entrance to the vault. Open this trap-door,” he added to his men.

The order being promptly obeyed, Madelon was discovered standing on the upper steps of the ladder.

“A woman!” exclaimed Warthy, surprised. “And, by my faith, a very pretty one, too! Take care, mademoiselle! My men are coming down into the vault to look for your companions.”

“Let me come up first,” she rejoined, placing herself in the mouth of the trap, so as to obstruct the descent of the soldiers. “It will be useless for you to search the vault. You will find no one there.”

“I shan’t take your word for that, mademoiselle,” rejoined Warthy. “Make way. My men must go down.”

Madelon was obliged to obey, and the four soldiers instantly descended.

In another minute, Warthy, who was listening anxiously, heard shouts and the noise of a struggle within the vault, and he called to know whether Bourbon had been captured.

“Yes, we’ve caught him,” replied a soldier from below.

“Well done, my brave fellows!” cried Warthy. “You shall be handsomely rewarded. Bring him up at once.”

“Fear nothing, father,” said Madelon, noticing the miller’s consternation. “It is not the Constable.”

“Heaven be praised for that!” exclaimed Benoit.

A man-at-arms now ascended from the vault. After him came the captive, and then the three other soldiers.

“Why, this is not Bourbon!” cried Warthy, regarding the prisoner.

“I told your men so, captain,” replied Hugues – for it was he – “but they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Go down again instantly, and make further search,” roared Warthy. “He is there.”

“There was no one in the vault but this man, whom we took to be Bourbon in disguise,” replied one of the soldiers.

“Has the vault an outlet?” demanded Warthy.

“Oh yes,” returned the soldier, “there is a door at the farther end, but it is locked.”

“Then I have lost my prize,” cried Warthy. “He has escaped. You shall be hanged, rascal, for assisting the traitor,” he added, furiously, to Hugues.

“Give me my life, captain, and I’ll tell you where to find him,” rejoined the prisoner.

“If you utter a word, you need think no more of me, Hugues,” said Madelon.

“Heed her not, fellow,” said Warthy. “Better lose your mistress than your life.”

“I am quite of your opinion, captain,” rejoined Hugues. “I don’t like the thought of a halter. On the understanding, then, that I am to be spared – ”

“Recollect what the consequences will be,” interrupted Madelon.

“Avoid the rope, if you are wise,” said Warthy.

“I mean to do so, captain,” replied Hugues. “His highness the Constable and his companion have taken refuge in the mill.”

“Miserable craven!” exclaimed Madelon, scornfully. “Hanging is too good for you.”

“If you have misinformed me, you know the fate that awaits you,” said Warthy to Hugues. “To the mill!”

Just as he was about to quit the house, a sudden glare filled the room, rendering every object as visible as it would have been in broad day. No doubt could exist as to the cause of this illumination.

“Gracious Heavens! the mill is on fire!” exclaimed Benoit.

The shouts of the men-at-arms outside confirmed the truth of the ejaculation, and the guard stationed at the door vociferated, “The mill is on fire, captain!”

“Take care no one escapes from it,” roared Warthy, in reply.

“Powers of mercy! what an accident!” exclaimed Hugues, his countenance reflecting the horror depicted on the faces of all around. “The Constable de Bourbon will be burnt to death!”

“No, no, he won’t,” cried Warthy, who remained perfectly calm, even at this exciting moment. “But he will be forced out of his hiding-place.”

On this he quitted the house with his men, leaving a guard outside the door.

No sooner was he gone than Hugues went up to the miller, who looked almost stupified, and clapping him on the shoulder, said, with a grin, “I set the mill on fire, père Benoit.”

“You did!” exclaimed the miller; “a nice piece of work you’ve done. And you make a joke of it, rascal – you laugh.”

“Laugh! to be sure. And so will you, père Benoit, when you know why I set it on fire.”

“Mother of Heaven! how it burns!” exclaimed Margot, as the glare momentarily increased in brilliancy, and the roaring of the flames and the crackling of the timber could be distinctly heard.

“My poor old mill!” cried Benoit, in a despairing voice. “I shall never behold it again!”

“Cheer up, father,” said Madelon. “I told Hugues to set fire to it – indeed, I helped him.”

“What! you have assisted to make me a beggar, and then bid me cheer up!” cried the miller.

“The loss of the mill won’t make you a beggar, father. I know better than that,” she rejoined. “I felt sure you wouldn’t mind any sacrifice to save the Duke de Bourbon.”

“That I shouldn’t!” exclaimed Benoit. “But how will the burning of my mill save him? Mercy on us! how the flames roar!”

“I like to hear them roar,” said Madelon. “And I’m glad the fire burns so furiously. It will distract the soldiers, and enable the Constable and the Seigneur Pom-perant to get off unobserved.”