THE TRAITOR’S WAY [Illustration: “QUICK!” I WHISPERED; “OPEN THE DOOR BEYOND, AND GO OUT BY THE PRIVATE WAY.”--_Page 8._] THE TRAITOR’S WAY _By_ S. LEVETT-YEATS _Author of_ “THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI,” ETC. _WITH FRONTISPIECE BY_ W. B. GILBERT _NEW YORK_ · FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY · _PUBLISHERS_ COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY FRANK A. MUNSEY COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY S. LEVETT-YEATS COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. SOWING THE WINDS, 1 II. THE RUE DES LAVANDIÈRES, 13 III. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS, 26 IV. WHAT MAJOLAIS SAW, 37 V. POUR MA FOY, ET MON ROY, 45 VI. A PRIEST OF BAAL, 57 VII. MONSIEUR OF ARLES MARKS THE KING, 73 VIII. AT THE SIGN OF THE GREEN MAN, 87 IX. HOW PONTHIEU CARRIED THE ADMIRAL’S LETTER, 101 X. THE VISION OF THE WOOD, 115 XI. THE CITY OF THE MAID, 126 XII. “GENTLEMEN! I AM WITH YOU,” 140 XIII. HOW SIGNOR BENTIVOGLIO BURNED HIS ALOES, 152 XIV. THE WIDOW OF FRANCE, 164 XV. THE KING’S PEACE, 175 XVI. THE KING’S SIGNET, 189 XVII. “LE PETIT HOMME TANT JOLI,” 202 XVIII. MARIE, 220 XIX. THE PRIORY OF THE JACOBINS, 239 XX. A QUOTATION FROM VIRGIL, 258 XXI. THE SHAME OF VIBRAC, 269 XXII. “NOTRE HOMME EST CROQUÉ,” 289 XXIII. THE AFTERMATH, 306 THE TRAITOR’S WAY CHAPTER I SOWING THE WINDS I SUPPOSE there is no man who would care to have sunlight in all his life; but I hardly think there is one who could have sunk to the deep as I did, and yet have been coward enough to live, as I do--I, Gaspard de Vibrac. As I write these lines in my study in lonely Vibrac, the four white stars on my shield, carved in relief above the fireplace, seem to burn red with the memory of my shame, and nothing can wipe out that stain in my ’scutcheon--nothing, nothing! Thank God! I am the last of my house! Thank God! No young feet patter up and down the long corridors; no young voices shrill through these silent rooms. They would grow up to know me as the “Shame of Vibrac.” The very villagers, my serfs, dogs, whom I could send to the _carcau_ with a nod of my head, scowl as they doff their caps to me, and the children shiver and shrink behind their mothers’ skirts on those rare occasions when I come out of the château. I suppose they know the story--and I live!