"Your enthusiasm seems to have waned," the younger man said with a sneer,
"since we met, monsieur! May I ask now if you find any fault with the
plan?"
"With the plan, none."
"If it was Providence brought us together, was it not Providence
furnished me with Perrot who knows La Fleche? If it was Providence
brought the danger of the faithful in Angers to your knowledge, was it
not Providence set us on the road--without whom you had been powerless?"
"I believe it!"
"Then, in His name, what is the matter?" Tignonville rejoined with a
passion of which the other's manner seemed an inadequate cause. "What
will you! What is it?"
"I would take your place," La Tribe answered quietly.
"My place?"
"Yes."
"What, are we too many?"
"We are enough without you, M. Tignonville," the minister answered.
"These men, who have wrongs to avenge, God will justify them."
Tignonville's eyes sparkled with anger. "And have I no wrongs to
avenge?" he cried. "Is it nothing to lose my mistress, to be robbed of
my wife, to see the woman I love dragged off to be a slave and a toy? Are
these no wrongs?"
"He spared your life, if he did not save it," the minister said solemnly.
"And hers. And her servants."
"To suit himself."
La Tribe spread out his hands.
"To suit himself! And for that you wish him to go free?" Tignonville
cried in a voice half-choked with rage. "Do you know that this man, and
this man alone, stood forth in the great Hall of the Louvre, and when
even the King flinched, justified the murder of our people? After that
is he to go free?"
"At your hands," La Tribe answered quietly. "You alone of our people
must not pursue him." He would have added more, but Tignonville would
not listen.
Brooding on his wrongs behind the wall of the Arsenal, he had let hatred
eat away his more generous instincts. Vain and conceited, he fancied
that the world laughed at the poor figure he had cut; and the wound in
his vanity festered until nothing would serve but to see the downfall of
his enemy. Instant pursuit, instant vengeance--only these, he fancied,
could restore him in his fellows' eyes.
In his heart he knew what would become him better. But vanity is a
potent motive: and his conscience, even when supported by La Tribe,
struggled but weakly. From neither would he hear more.
"You have travelled with him, until you side with him!" he cried
violently. "Have a care, monsieur, have a care, lest we think you
papist!" And walking over to the men, he bade them saddle; adding a sour
word which turned their eyes, in no friendly gaze, on the minister.
After that La Tribe said no more. Of what use would it have been?