University of Virginia Library

Scene First.
Osma and the Assassin.

It had just fallen dark on the eve of St. Michael
when the Count of Osma left his cabinet; and, after
cautiously guarding against observation, entered the
faintly-illuminated anteroom, where, stretched upon
his pallet, Rascas still lay, weak and in pain, yet hourly
convalescing under the daily application of the healing
unguent of the sorceress.

“How fares it with thee?” he asked, closing the
door and approaching the pillow.

“Ill at ease, my lord, ill at ease. Is to-morrow
St. Michael's?”

“It is, and seems as it would never come for my
impatience. Each hour I am deprived of my charming
quadroone is a loss of bliss no future time can restore.
Had I not given my knightly word to this hag,
and that the trial is in all men's mouths, I would, ere
now, have put an end to this mummery. I trust thou
wilt be afoot again soon, man.”

“The day after the morrow will be the seventh
day!” murmured the wounded man. “If she fail me!”

“What is this thou art muttering within thy lips—
prayers? Be not so pious withal; thou art not so
near death as thou fearest. By the rood, I would not

so readily lose thee! I have e'en now need of thy aid,
and have come hither to bid thee point out to me some
trusty villain of thy comrades who may take thy place
till thou art on thy legs again. I would have his service
this night.”

“I do know of none save Paul Carra, and I think
he hath of late taken to the lakes.”

“Canst thou call to mind none other?”

“Not a man, my lord, who hath a true hand and
eye; not one that can strike the steel home at a blow.”

“Out upon thee, villain! Thou art so full of iniquity,
that thou canst talk of nothing but foul murders.
If men say `steel,' thou dost fancy it sheathed in a
man's ribs. I want no blood-service to-night. Some
one hath purloined from my escritoir the parchment
of manumission on which I would base my claim upon
this Renault and his sister. I believe it to be the handiwork
of my daughter. But if I can bring about
what I have in contemplation, this theft shall be turned
to good account, and whoever took it will pray the
saints they had left it. Knowest thou this outlaw, Jules
Caronde, who made havoc of my men-at-arms, and
since lieth sorely wounded in some place without the
town?”

“I know him, my lord. He hath lost a hand in
the affray, and hath become savage as a wounded lion.”

“I would find him. Direct me to his den.”

“Wilt thou go thyself?”

“Thou canst find me no one else. Sulem, of late,
I have begun to suspect of treachery, which, if I make
clear, he shall answer for with his head ere sunset tomorrow.
Give me the direction to find this Caronde.
I will see him in person.”

“After issuing from the Pontchartrain gate, ride
forward a quarter of a league, and take the first left-hand
path that offers through the forest. Continue
along the by-road until you come to a rivulet, which
follow a few hundred yards to its outlet in a small
mere. On the shore of this mere, upon a small promontory,
you will discover a dilapidated square tower.

Ride to its gate, and in a tree that branches above it
you will find, hanging within reach of a horseman's
hand, a chasseur's horn. Sound this sharply twice.
You will then be admitted.”

“Thou hast given it plainly, good Rascas. Adieu.
I commend thee to sleep in my absence.”