The Werewolf Blood Trail: Tales of Gore, Terror & Hunt. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

myself?”

      “Very well then! I will not begin by saying anything about your loitering in the corridors.”

      “Oh, pray, let us speak of it! how can you think, Countess, that knowing you, the diamond of diamonds, was waiting for me, I should stop to pick up an imitation pearl?”

      “Ah! but I know how fickle men are, and Lisette is such a pretty girl!”

      “Not so, dear Jane, but you must understand that she being our confidante, and knowing all our secrets, I cannot treat her quite like a servant.”

      “How agreeable it must be to be able to say to one’s-self ‘I am deceiving the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert and I am the rival of Monsieur Cramoisi!’ ”

      “Very well then, there shall be no more loiterings in the corridors, no more kisses for poor Lisette, supposing of course there ever have been any!”

      “Well, after all, there is no great harm in that.”

      “Do you mean that I have done something even worse?”

      “Where had you been the other night, when you were met on the road between Erneville and Villers-Cotterets?”

      “Someone met me on the road?”

      “Yes, on the Erneville Road; where were you coming from?”

      “I was coming home from fishing.”

      “Fishing! what fishing?”

      “They had been drawing the Berval ponds.”

      “Oh! we know all about that; you are such a fine fisher, are you not, Monsieur? And what sort of an eel were you bringing back in your net, returning from your fishing at two o’clock in the morning!”

      “I had been dining with my friend, the Baron, at Vez.”

      “At Vez? ha! I fancy you went there mainly to console the beautiful recluse, whom the jealous Baron keeps shut up there a regular prisoner, so they say. But even that I can forgive you.”

      “What, is there a blacker crime still,” said Thibault, who was beginning to feel quite reassured, seeing how quickly the pardon followed on the accusation; however serious it appeared at first.

      “Yes, at the ball given by his Highness the Duke of Orleans.”

      “What ball?”

      “Why, the one yesterday! it’s not so very along ago, is it?”

      “Oh, yesterday’s ball? I was admiring you.”

      “Indeed; but I was not there.”

      “Is it necessary for you to be present, Jane, for me to admire you; cannot one admire you in remembrance as truly as in person? and if, when absent, you triumph by comparison, the victory is only so much the greater.”

      “I daresay, and it was in order to carry out the comparison to its utmost limits that you danced four times with Madame de Bonneuil; they are very pretty, are they not, those dark women who cover themselves with rouge, and have eyebrows like the Chinese mannikins on my screens and moustaches like a grenadier.”

      “Do you know what we talked about during those four dances.”

      “It is true then, that you danced four times with her?”

      “It is true, no doubt, since you say so.”

      “Is that a proper sort of answer?”

      “What other could I give? could anyone contradict what was said by so pretty a mouth? not I certainly, who would still bless it, even though it were pronouncing my sentence of death.”

      And, as if to await this sentence, Thibault fell on his knees before the Countess, but at that moment, the door opened, and Lisette rushed in full of alarm.

      “Ah! Monsieur, Monsieur,” she cried “save yourself! here comes my master the Count!”

      “The Count!” exclaimed the Countess.

      “Yes, the Count in person, and his huntsman Lestocq, with him.”

      “Impossible!”

      “I assure you, Madame, Cramoisi saw them as plain as I see you; the poor fellow was quite pale with fright.”

      “Ah! then the meet at Thury was all a pretence, a trap to catch me?”

      “Who can tell, Madame? Alas! alas! men are such deceiving creatures!”

      “What is to be done?” asked the Countess.

      “Wait for the Count and kill him,” said Thibault resolutely, furious at again seeing his good fortune escaping from him, at losing what above all things it had been his ambition to possess.

      “Kill him! kill the Count? are you mad, Raoul? No, no, you must fly, you must save yourself.... Lisette! Lisette! take the Baron through my dressing-room.” And in spite of his resistance, Lisette by dint of pushing got him safely away. Only just in time! steps were heard coming up the wide main staircase. The Countess, with a last word of love to the supposed Raoul, glided quickly into her bedroom, while Thibault followed Lisette. She led him rapidly along the corridor, where Cramoisi was keeping guard at the other end; then into a room, and through this into another, and finally into a smaller one which led into a little tower; here, the fugitives came again on to a staircase corresponding with the one by which they had gone up, but when they reached the bottom they found the door locked. Lisette, with Thibault still following, went back up a few steps into a sort of office in which was a window looking over the garden; this she opened. It was only a few feet from the ground, and Thibault jumped out, landing safely below.

      “You know where your horse is,” called Lisette “jump on its back, and do not stop till you get to Vauparfond.”

      Thibault would have liked to thank her for all her kindly warnings, but she was some six feet above him and he had no time to lose. A stride or two brought him to the clump of trees under which stood the little building which served as stable for his horse. But was the horse still there? He heard a neigh which reassured him: only the neigh sounded he thought more like a cry of pain. Thibault went in, put out his hand, felt the horse, gathered up the reins, and leaped on to its back without touching the stirrups; Thibault, as we have already said, had suddenly become a consummate horseman. But the horse no sooner felt the weight of the rider on its back than the poor beast began to totter on its legs. Thibault dug his spurs in savagely, and the horse made a frantic effort to stand. But in another instant, uttering one of those pitiful neighs which Thibault had heard when he approached the stable, it rolled helplessly over on its side. Thibault quickly disengaged his leg from under the animal, which, as the poor thing struggled to rise, he had no difficulty in doing, and he found himself again on his feet. Then it became clear to him, that in order to prevent his escape, Monsieur le Comte de Mont-Gobert had hamstrung his horse.

      Thibault uttered an oath: “If I ever meet you, Monsieur Comte de Mont-Gobert,” he said, “I swear that I will hamstring you, as you have hamstrung this poor beast!”

      Then he rushed out of the little building, and remembering the way he had come, turned in the direction of the breach in the wall, and walking quickly towards it, found it, climbed over the stones, and was again outside the park. But his further passage was barred, for there in front of him was the figure of a man, who stood waiting, with a drawn sword in his hand. Thibault recognised the Comte de Mont-Gobert, the Comte de Mont-Gobert thought he recognised Raoul de Vauparfond.

      “Draw, Baron!” said the Count; further explanation was unnecessary. Thibault, on his side, equally enraged at having the prey, on which he had already set tooth and claw, snatched away from him, was as ready to fight as the Count. He drew, not his sword, but his hunting-knife, and the two men crossed weapons.

      Thibault, who was something of an adept at quarter-staff, had no idea of fencing; what was his surprise therefore, when he found, that he knew by instinct how to handle his weapon, and could parry and thrust according to all the rules of the art. He parried