Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,84
had taken their leave late during the previous night. This suited the Gascon perfectly, as he was ounting on regaining the warmth of Gabrielle's bed without her being aware he had ever left. But as he was about to take the stairs, holding his boots in his hand, he heard a voice say:
'So? How is that ankle?'
He froze, grimacing as he closed his eyelids tightly, then re-opcned one eye and turned his head to look through a wide-open door. He saw Gabrielle sitting alone at the kitchen table. Her lace was in profile and she held her head stiffly upright as she ale, staring straight ahead of her. She had a large shawl around her shoulders and was wearing only a nightshirt, without having done anything about her hair or appearance.
She was beautiful, nevertheless.
The Gascon resolved to join her. He hated explanations and reproaches, but this time would not be able to escape making
the former or receiving the latter. Reluctantly, he fell into a chair.
'My ankle is much better,' he said. 'Thank you.'
Then he waited for the tongue-lashing to start.
'Where were you?' Gabrielle finally asked.
'Out.'
'In order to exchange a few words with Fortain, I imagine.'
Marciac frowned.
'Fortain?'
'The man who was watching the house. He was no longer there when I woke up. But you have reappeared. Whereas he—'
'Then you know.'
'That there are five or six men who have been discreetly watching the house these past few days?
Yes, I know. The fact is, you see, I'm neither totally blind nor a complete idiot. Even the girls know something is up. The only one who hasn't realised is poor old Thibault.'
Thibault, the porter at Les Petites Grenouilles, was a man of absolute devotion but limited intelligence.
Marciac nodded.
'All right,' he allowed. 'But do you know who these men work for?'
'Yes. For Rochefort.'
Astonished, the Gascon studied Gabrielle's expressionless face. She still hadn't accorded him the slightest glance.
'And how do you know that Rochefort is behind all this?'
'I recognised two of his men. Including Fortain.'
'Why didn't you say anything to me?'
'I might ask you the same question. In my case, it was because I was afraid you would only make matters worse by getting mixed up in this. A strange idea, that, wasn't it?'
Embarrassed, Marciac did not at first find a reply, but then he said:
'I had to know, Gabrielle. I had to make sure that—'
'That Rochefort was watching my house? Very well. Rochefort is watching my house. So what? He can discover nothing he doesn't already know. But now that you've attacked one of lis men, what will happen? Do you believe he'll let that go unanswered ?'
'I'll speak to him.'
'And why would he listen to you, since he has no love for the Blades and only takes orders from the cardinal? He won't be able to resist the temptation of reaching you through me. For if you've guessed that Rochefort has become interested in me, you must know it's because of your captain's hidden daughter. Isn't it? Of course, I didn't know that when I took her in and I don't know where she is now, but what does that matter?'
Gabrielle rose, abandoning the plate of fruit and cheese which she had barely touched. She had, in fact, mostly been digging her fingertips into a quarter loaf of white bread.
She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders more tightly, walked towards the door, halted, turned round and looked at Marciac closely.
At last, she said:
'I'm going to ask you one thing, Nicolas.'
'Yes?'
'You knew. Fven before you got rid of Fortain you knew
that -'
He interrupted her:
'Fortain is alive. And quite well. I am not an assassin, Gabrielle. I only dragged him off to get the truth out of him.'
She had no trouble believing him.
'But even before that, you knew he was one of Rochefort's men, didn't you? And you knew why Les Petites Grenouilles were being watched . . .'
Maniac thought for a moment.
But however much it might cost him, he hated lying to Gabrielle.
'Yes,' he recognised, 'I knew.'
'So it wasn't even a question of making sure . . . Merely of sending a message to Rochefort. So that he would understand that you and the Blades would not stand back with your arms crossed if he bothered La Fargue's daughter.'
'La Fargue's daughter or you, Gabrielle. La Fargue's daughter or you.'
She looked at him. He was sincere.
'Yes,' said Gabrielle. 'And do you believe you have done well to protect me, today?'
She left the kitchen, went to the staircase and from there told Marciac: