The Grey Cloak

listening. Satisfied that the alley was deserted save for his own presence, he would proceed, hugging the walls. The cobbles were icy, and scarce a moment passed in which he did not have to

ut of the blinding glare. The flash of light revealed a mask which left visible only the lower half of his face. Men wearing masks were frequen

be swallowed up in the darkness beyond. The tavern door closed, and once more the alley was hued with melting greys and purples. The ma

ered, continuing. "Well for

rrois. He was alone. A hundred yards to his left, on the opposite side of the street, stood a gloomy but magnificent h?tel, one of the few in this quarter that was surrounded by a walled court. The h?tel was dark. So far as the

r, so

urage and cunning. With a gesture resigning himself to whatever might befall, he entere

name in writing to a cabal! Only the devil knows what yonder old fool will do with the paper. Let him become frightened, let that painted play-woman coddle him; and it's the block for us all, all save Gaston and Condé and Beaufort. Ah, Madame, Madame, loveliest in all France, 'twas your beautiful eyes. For the joy of looking into them, I have soiled a fresh quill, tumbled into a pit, played the fool! And a silver crown against a golden louis, you know nothing ab

across the

of work. Self-preservation is not theft; let us ease our conscience with this sophism ... Ha! the ladder. Those twenty louis were well spent. This is droll, good

four rounds and listening. The only noise came from the armory where a parcel of mercenaries were moving about. Up, up, round by round, till his fingers touched the damp cold stone of the window ledge; the man raised himself, leaned toward the left, and glanced obliquely into the room. It was

sword. "No; let us play Iago rather than Tarquinius; let ambition, rather than love, strike the key-note. Greed was not born to wait. As yet I have robbed n

the curtain, his naked sword flashing evilly in the flickering light. He took up the candle and walked coolly down the wide corridor. The surenes

a bandaged arm or a tender cheek, and a fortnight or so in bed. Condé had once said of him that there was not a more courageous man in France; but he could not escape recalling Condé's afterthought: that drink and reckless temper had kept him where he was. There was in him a vein of madness which often burst forth in a blind fury. It had come upon him in battle, and he had awakened many a time to learn that he had been the hero of an exploit. He was not a boaster; he was not a broken soldier. He was a man whose violent temper had strewn his path with failures... In love! Silently he mocked himself. In love, he, the tried veteran

Comedy and Tragedy. The light from the candle gave

r which holds my h

was not to be found. The last drawer would not open. With infinite care and toil he succeeded in prying the lock with the point of his sword, and his spirits rose. The papers in this drawer were of no use to any one but the owner. The man in

.. or was it the devil? Hers! She was his; here was a sword to bend that proud neck. Ten thousand livres? There was more than that, more than that by a hundred times. Passion first, or avarice; love or greed? He would decide that question later. He slipped the paper into the pocket of the cloak. Curiosity drew him toward the drawer again. There was an old commission in the musk

ut the contents. It was in Latin, and with some difficulty he translated it. ... So rapt was he over what he read, so nearly in a d

evenge!" he murmure

t he of all men should make this discovery! His danger became

id a cold, dry voice

er into the pocket along with the cabal. His long rapier snarled

the neck." The speaker was a man of sixty, white of hair, but wiry and active. "Ha! in a mask, eh? That look

id the man in the cloak. His tones w

slithered

His blade ripped a hole in the cloak. "You have

e dull and cold, if yo

readth, saw the yawning drawers. "That paper, Monsieur, or you shall never

me a widow," said

e that thrust was met by parry. Up the rear staircase came a dozen mercenaries, bearing torches. The glare smote the master in the eyes, and

ou

h. He seemed possessed with strength and courage Homeric; odds were nothing. With a back hand-swing of his arm he broke one head; he smashed a face with the pommel; caught another by the throat and flung him headlong. In a moment he was out of th

way, then,

ll the while the bloody rapier in one hand and the mask held in place by the other. The astonished inmates of the tavern saw him leap like a huge bird and vanish through one of the windows, carrying the sash with him. But a nail caught the grey cloak, and it

clothed in the garments of a gentleman's

ulging, "there can not be two cloaks l

gained the alley, took to his legs, and became a moving

sed in her night-robes, her feet in slippers, hair disordered and her eyes fixed with horror, gazed down at the lifeless shape. The stupor of sleep still held her in its dulling grasp. She could not fully comprehend th

sed her hands against h

this?"

eling. He gently loosed the sword from the stiffeni

a ma

, Ma

he mot

about the h?tel save in monsieur's librar

ridor and entered the library. The o

t on it was without pity or regret. Alive, she had detested him; dead, she could gaze on him with indifference. He had died, leaving her the legacy of the headsman's ax. And his play-woman? would she weep or laugh?

eturned. He was led into t

hey fou

s if the ground had swallowed him. All that

and flew to her throat and her eye

y cloak with a squ

ed obliquely at madame. But madame lurched forward into