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diff --git a/old/13626.txt b/old/13626.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6ce45d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13626.txt @@ -0,0 +1,24162 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Forty-Five Guardsmen, by Alexandre Dumas + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Forty-Five Guardsmen + +Author: Alexandre Dumas + +Release Date: October 5, 2004 [EBook #13626] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +THE WORKS OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS + +THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN +A SEQUEL TO "CHICOT, THE JESTER" + + +_Copiously Illustrated with elegant Pen and Ink and Wood Engravings, +specially drawn for this edition by eminent French and American Artists_ + + +NEW YORK +PETER FENELON COLLIER, PUBLISHER +1893 + +[Illustration: Briquet at the window.] + + + +CONTENTS + +THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN + +CHAPTER + + +1. The Porte St. Antoine +2. What passed outside the Porte St. Antoine +3. The Examination +4. His Majesty Henri the Third +5. The Execution +6. The Brothers +7. "The Sword of the Brave Chevalier" +8. The Gascon +9. M. de Loignac +10. The Purchase of Cuirasses +11. Still the League +12. The Chamber of his Majesty Henri III. +13. The Dormitory +14. The Shade of Chicot +15. The Difficulty of finding a good Ambassador +16. The Serenade +17. Chicot's Purse +18. The Priory of the Jacobins +19. The two Friends +20. The Breakfast +21. Brother Borromee +22. The Lesson +23. The Penitent +24. The Ambush +25. The Guises +26. The Louvre +27. The Revelation +28. Two Friends +29. St. Maline +30. De Loignac's Interview with the Forty-Five +31. The Bourgeois of Paris +32. Brother Borromee +33. Chicot, Latinist +34. The four Winds +35. How Chicot continued his Journey, and what happened to him +36. The third Day of the Journey +37. Ernanton de Carmainges +38. The Stable-Yard +39. The Seven Sins of Magdalen +40. Bel-Esbat +41. The Letter of M. de Mayenne +42. How Dom Gorenflot blessed the King as he passed before the Priory of + the Jacobins +43. How Chicot blessed King Louis II. for having invented Posting, and + resolved to profit by it +44. How the King of Navarre guesses that "Turennius" means Turenne, and + "Margota" Margot +45. The Avenue three thousand Feet long +46. Marguerite's Room +47. The Explanation +48. The Spanish Ambassador +49. The Poor of Henri of Navarre +50. The true Mistress of the King of Navarre +51. Chicot's Astonishment at finding himself so popular in Nerac +52. How they hunted the Wolf in Navarre +53. How Henri of Navarre behaved in Battle +54. What was passing at the Louvre about the Time Chicot entered Nerac +55. Red Plume and White Plume +56. The Door opens +57. How a great Lady loved in the Year 1586 +58. How St. Maline entered into the Turret and what followed +59. What was passing in the mysterious House +60. The Laboratory +61. What Monsieur Francois, Duc d'Anjou, Duc de Brabant and Comte de + Flanders, was doing in Flanders +62. Preparations for Battle +63. Monseigneur +64. Monseigneur +65. French and Flemings +66. The Travelers +67. Explanation +68. The Water +69. Flight +70. Transfiguration +71. The two Brothers +72. The Expedition +73. Paul-Emile +74. One of the Souvenirs of the Duc d'Anjou +75. How Aurilly executed the Commission of the Duc d'Anjou +76. The Journey +77. How King Henri III. did not invite Grillon to Breakfast, and how + Chicot invited himself +78. How, after receiving News from the South, Henri received News from + the North +79. The two Companions +80. The Corne d'Abondance +81. What happened in the little Room +82. The Husband and the Lover +83. Showing how Chicot began to understand the Purport of Monsieur de + Guise's Letter +84. Le Cardinal de Joyeuse +85. News from Aurilly +86. Doubt +87. Certainty +88. Fatality +89. Les Hospitalieres +90. His Highness Monseigneur le Duc de Guise + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + +1.--_Frontispiece_.--Briquet at the window. +2.--"His face pleases me, and he has white hands and a well-kept beard." +3.--Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with a soldier. +4.--"An ax!" cried Henri, and with a vigorous arm he struck down wood + and iron. +5.--"I said you were a traitor, and as a traitor you shall die." +6.--The prince was cold, stiff, and perfectly inanimate. + + + + +THE FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN + +CHAPTER I. + +THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE. + + +On the 26th of October, 1585, the barriers of the Porte St. Antoine +were, contrary to custom, still closed at half-past ten in the morning. +A quarter of an hour after, a guard of twenty Swiss, the favorite troops +of Henri III., then king, passed through these barriers, which were +again closed behind them. Once through, they arranged themselves along +the hedges, which, outside the barrier, bordered each side of the road. + +There was a great crowd collected there, for numbers of peasants and +other people had been stopped at the gates on their way into Paris. They +were arriving by three different roads--from Montreuil, from Vincennes, +and from St. Maur; and the crowd was growing more dense every moment. +Monks from the convent in the neighborhood, women seated on +pack-saddles, and peasants in their carts, and all, by their questions +more or less pressing, formed a continual murmur, while some voices were +raised above the others in shriller tones of anger or complaint. + +There were, besides this mass of arrivals, some groups who seemed to +have come from the city. These, instead of looking at the gate, fastened +their gaze on the horizon, bounded by the Convent of the Jacobins, the +Priory of Vincennes, and the Croix Faubin, as though they were expecting +to see some one arrive. These groups consisted chiefly of bourgeois, +warmly wrapped up, for the weather was cold, and the piercing northeast +wind seemed trying to tear from the trees all the few remaining leaves +which clung sadly to them. + +Three of these bourgeois were talking together--that is to say, two +talked and one listened, or rather seemed to listen, so occupied was he +in looking toward Vincennes. Let us turn our attention to this last. He +was a man who must be tall when he stood upright, but at this moment his +long legs were bent under him, and his arms, not less long in +proportion, were crossed over his breast. He was leaning against the +hedge, which almost hid his face, before which he also held up his hand +as if for further concealment. By his side a little man, mounted on a +hillock, was talking to another tall man who was constantly slipping off +the summit of the same hillock, and at each slip catching at the button +of his neighbor's doublet. + +"Yes, Maitre Miton," said the little man to the tall one, "yes, I tell +you that there will be 100,000 people around the scaffold of +Salcede--100,000 at least. See, without counting those already on the +Place de Greve, or who came there from different parts of Paris, the +number of people here; and this is but one gate out of sixteen." + +"One hundred thousand! that is much, Friard," replied M. Miton. "Be sure +many people will follow my example, and not go to see this unlucky man +quartered, for fear of an uproar." + +"M. Miton, there will be none, I answer for it. Do you not think so, +monsieur?" continued he, turning to the long-armed man.--"What?" said +the other, as though he had not heard. + +"They say there will be nothing on the Place de Greve to-day." + +"I think you are wrong, and that there will be the execution of +Salcede." + +"Yes, doubtless: but I mean that there will be no noise about it." + +"There will be the noise of the blows of the whip, which they will give +to the horses." + +"You do not understand: by noise I mean tumult. If there were likely to +be any, the king would not have had a stand prepared for him and the two +queens at the Hotel de Ville." + +"Do kings ever know when a tumult will take place?" replied the other, +shrugging his shoulders with an air of pity. + +"Oh, oh!" said M. Miton; "this man talks in a singular way. Do you know +who he is, compere?" + +"No." + +"Then why do you speak to him? You are wrong. I do not think he likes to +talk." + +"And yet it seems to me," replied Friard, loud enough to be heard by the +stranger, "that one of the greatest pleasures in life is to exchange +thoughts." + +"Yes, with those whom we know well," answered M. Miton. + +"Are not all men brothers, as the priests say?" + +"They were primitively; but in times like ours the relationship is +singularly loosened. Talk low, if you must talk, and leave the stranger +alone." + +"But I know you so well, I know what you will reply, while the stranger +may have something new to tell me." + +"Hush! he is listening." + +"So much the better; perhaps he will answer. Then you think, monsieur," +continued he, turning again toward him, "that there will be a tumult?" + +"I did not say so." + +"No; but I believe you think so." + +"And on what do you found your surmise, M. Friard?" + +"Why, he knows me!" + +"Have I not named you two or three times?" said Miton. + +"Ah! true. Well, since he knows me, perhaps he will answer. Now, +monsieur, I believe you agree with me, or else would be there, while, +on the contrary, you are here." + +"But you, M. Friard, since you think the contrary of what you think I +think, why are you not at the Place de Greve? I thought the spectacle +would have been a joyful one to all friends of the king. Perhaps you +will reply that you are not friends of the king; but of MM. de Guise, +and that you are waiting here for the Lorraines, who they say are about +to enter Paris in order to deliver M. de Salcede." + +"No, monsieur," replied the little man, visibly frightened at this +suggestion; "I wait for my wife, Nicole Friard, who has gone to take +twenty-four tablecloths to the priory of the Jacobins, having the honor +to be washerwoman to Dom. Modeste Gorenflot, the abbe." + +"Look, compere," cried Miton, "at what is passing." + +M. Friard, following the direction of his friend's finger, saw them +closing yet another door, while a party of Swiss placed themselves +before it. "How! more barriers!" cried he. + +"What did I tell you?" said Miton. + +At the sight of this new precaution, a long murmur of astonishment and +some cries of discontent proceeded from the crowd. + +"Clear the road! Back!" cried an officer. + +This maneuver was not executed without difficulty; the people in carts +and on horseback tried to go back, and nearly crushed the crowd behind +them. Women cried and men swore, while those who could escape, did, +overturning the others. + +"The Lorraines! the Lorraines!" cried a voice in the midst of this +tumult. + +"Oh!" cried Miton, trembling, "let us fly." + +"Fly! and where?" said Friard. + +"Into this inclosure," answered Miton tearing his hands by seizing the +thorns of the hedge. + +"Into that inclosure, it is not so easy. I see no opening, and you +cannot climb a hedge that is higher than I am." + +"I will try," returned Miton, making new efforts. + +"Oh! take care, my good woman," cried Friard, in a tone of distress; +"your ass is on my feet. Oh, monsieur, take care, your horse is going to +kick." + +While M. Miton was vainly trying to climb the hedge, and M. Friard to +find an opening through which to push himself, their neighbor quietly +opened his long legs and strode over the hedge with as much ease as one +might have leaped it on horseback. M. Miton imitated him at last after +much detriment to his hands and clothes; but poor Friard could not +succeed, in spite of all his efforts, till the stranger, stretching out +his long arms, and seizing him by the collar of his doublet, lifted him +over. + +"Ah! monsieur," said he, when he felt himself on the ground, "on the +word of Jean Friard, you are a real Hercules; your name, monsieur? the +name of my deliverer?" + +"I am called Briquet--Robert Briquet, monsieur." + +"You have saved me, M. Briquet--my wife will bless you. But apropos; mon +Dieu! she will be stifled in this crowd. Ah! cursed Swiss, only good to +crush people!" + +As he spoke, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and, looking round +and seeing that it was a Swiss, he took to flight, followed by Miton. +The other man laughed quietly, then turning to the Swiss, said: + +"Are the Lorraines coming?" + +"No." + +"Then why do they close the door. I do not understand it." + +"There is no need that you should," replied the Swiss, laughing at his +own wit. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WHAT PASSED OUTSIDE THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE. + + +One of the groups was formed of a considerable number of citizens. They +surrounded four or five of a martial appearance, whom the closing of the +doors annoyed very much, as it seemed, for they cried with all their +might, "The door! the door!" + +Robert Briquet advanced toward this group, and began to cry also, "The +door! the door!" + +One of the cavaliers, charmed at this, turned toward him and said, "Is +it not shameful, monsieur, that they should close the gates in open day, +as though the Spaniards or the English were besieging Paris?" + +Robert Briquet looked attentively at the speaker, who seemed to be about +forty-five years of age, and the principal personage in the group. "Yes, +monsieur," replied he, "you are right: but may I venture to ask what you +think their motive is for these precautions?" + +"Pardieu! the fear they have lest some one should eat their Salcede." + +"Diable!" said a voice, "a sad meal." + +Robert Briquet turned toward the speaker, whose voice had a strong +Gascon accent, and saw a young man from twenty to twenty-five, resting +his hand on the crupper of the horse of the first speaker. His head was +bare; he had probably lost his hat in the melee. + +"But as they say," replied Briquet, "that this Salcede belongs to M. de +Guise--" + +"Bah! they say that!" + +"Then you do not believe it, monsieur?" + +"Certainly not," replied the cavalier, "doubtless, if he had, the duke +would not have let him be taken, or at all events would not have allowed +him to have been carried from Brussels to Paris bound hand and foot, +without even trying to rescue him." + +"An attempt to rescue him," replied Briquet, "would have been very +dangerous, because, whether it failed or succeeded, it would have been +an avowal, on the duke's part, that he had conspired against the Duc +d'Anjou." + +"M. de Guise would not, I am sure, have been restrained by such +considerations; therefore, as he has not defended Salcede, it is certain +that he is not one of his men." + +"Excuse me, monsieur, if I insist, but it is not I who invent, for it +appears that Salcede has confessed." + +"Where? before the judges?" + +"No, monsieur; at the torture." + +"They asserted that he did, but they do not repeat what he said." + +"Excuse me again, monsieur, but they do." + +"And what did he say?" cried the cavalier impatiently. "As you seem so +well informed, what were his words?" + +"I cannot certify that they were his words," replied Briquet, who seemed +to take a pleasure in teazing the cavalier. + +"Well, then, those they attribute to him." + +"They assert that he has confessed that he conspired for M. de Guise." + +"Against the king, of course?" + +"No; against the Duc d'Anjou." + +"If he confessed that--" + +"Well?" + +"Well, he is a poltroon!" said the cavalier, frowning. + +"Ah! monsieur, the boot and the thumb-screw make a man confess many +things." + +"Alas! that is true, monsieur." + +"Bah!" interrupted the Gascon, "the boot and the thumb-screw, nonsense: +if Salcede confessed that, he was a knave, and his patron another." + +"You speak loudly, monsieur," said the cavalier. + +"I speak as I please; so much the worse for those who dislike it." + +"More calmly," said a voice at once soft and imperative, of which +Briquet vainly sought the owner. + +The cavalier seemed to make an effort over himself, and then said +quietly to the Gascon, "Do you know him of whom you speak?" + +"Salcede?"--"Yes." + +"Not in the least." + +"And the Duc de Guise?" + +"Still less." + +"Well, then, Salcede is a brave man." + +"So much the better: he will die bravely." + +"And know that, when the Duc de Guise wishes to conspire, he conspires +for himself." + +"What do I care?" + +"What!" + +"Mayneville! Mayneville!" murmured the same voice. + +"Yes, mordieu! what do I care?" continued the Gascon, "I came to Paris +on business, and find the gates closed on account of this +execution--that is all I care for." + +At this moment there was a sound of trumpets. The Swiss had cleared the +middle of the road, along which a crier proceeded, dressed in a flowered +tunic, and bearing on his breast a scutcheon on which was embroidered +the arms of Paris. He read from a paper in his hand the following +proclamation: + +"This is to make known to our good people of Paris and its environs, +that its gates will be closed for one hour, and that none can enter +during that time; and this by the will of the king and the mayor of +Paris." + +The crowd gave vent to their discontent in a long hoot, to which, +however, the crier seemed indifferent. The officer commanded silence, +and when it was obtained, the crier continued: + +"All who are the bearers of a sign of recognition, or are summoned by +letter or mandate, are exempt from this rule. Given at the hotel of the +provost of Paris, 26th of October, 1585." + +Scarcely had the crier ceased to speak, when the crowd began to undulate +like a serpent behind the line of soldiers. + +"What is the meaning of this?" cried all. + +"Oh! it is to keep us out of Paris," said the cavalier, who had been +speaking in a low voice to his companions. "These guards, this crier, +these bars, and these trumpets are all for us; we ought to be proud of +them." + +"Room!" cried the officer in command; "make room for those who have the +right to pass!" + +"Cap de Bious! I know who will pass, whoever is kept out!" said the +Gascon, leaping into the cleared space. He walked straight up to the +officer who had spoken, and who looked at him for some moments in +silence, and then said: + +"You have lost your hat, it appears, monsieur?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Is it in the crowd?" + +"No. I had just received a letter from my sweetheart, and was reading +it, cap de Bious! near the river, about a mile from here, when a gust of +wind carried away both my letter and my hat. I ran after the letter, +although the button of my hat was a single diamond; I caught my letter, +but my hat was carried by the wind into the middle of the river. It will +make the fortune of the poor devil who finds it."--"So that you have +none?" + +"Oh, there are plenty in Paris, cap de Bious! I will buy a more +magnificent one, and put in it a still larger diamond." + +The officer shrugged his shoulders slightly, and said, "Have you a +card?" + +"Certainly I have one--or rather two." + +"One is enough, if it be the right one." + +"But it cannot be wrong--oh, no, cap de Bious! Is it to M. de Loignac +that I have the honor of speaking?" + +"It is possible," said the officer coldly, and evidently not much +charmed at the recognition. + +"M. de Loignac, my compatriot?" + +"I do not say no." + +"My cousin!" + +"Good! Your card?" + +"Here it is;" and the Gascon drew out the half of a card, carefully cut. + +"Follow me," said De Loignac, without looking at it, "and your +companions, if you have any. We will verify the admissions." + +The Gascon obeyed, and five other gentlemen followed him. The first was +adorned with a magnificent cuirass, so marvelous in its work that it +seemed as if it had come out of the hands of Benvenuto Cellini. However, +as the make of this cuirass was somewhat old-fashioned, its magnificence +attracted more laughter than admiration; and it is true that no other +part of the costume of the individual in question corresponded with this +magnificence. The second, who was lame, was followed by a gray-headed +lackey, who looked like the precursor of Sancho Panza, as his master did +of Don Quixote. The third carried a child of ten months old in his arms, +and was followed by a woman, who kept a tight grasp of his leathern +belt, while two other children, one four and the other five years old, +held by her dress. + +The fourth was attached to an enormous sword, and the fifth, who closed +the troop, was a handsome young man, mounted on a black horse. He looked +like a king by the side of the others. Forced to regulate his pace by +those who preceded him, he was advancing slowly, when he felt a sudden +pull at the scabbard of his sword; he turned round, and saw that it had +been done by a slight and graceful young man with black hair and +sparkling eyes. + +"What do you desire, monsieur?" said the cavalier. + +"A favor, monsieur." + +"Speak; but quickly, I pray you, for I am waited for." + +"I desire to enter into the city, monsieur; an imperious necessity +demands my presence there. You, on your part, are alone, and want a page +to do justice to your appearance." + +"Well?" + +"Take me in, and I will be your page." + +"Thank you; but I do not wish to be served by any one." + +"Not even by me," said the young man, with such a strange glance, that +the cavalier felt the icy reserve in which he had tried to close his +heart melting away. + +"I meant to say that I could be served by no one," said he. + +"Yes, I know you are not rich, M. Ernanton de Carmainges," said the +young page. The cavalier started, but the lad went on, "therefore I do +not speak of wages; it is you, on the contrary, who, if you grant what I +ask, shall be paid a hundred-fold for the service you will render me; +let me enter with you, then, I beg, remembering that he who now begs, +has often commanded." Then, turning to the group of which we have +already spoken, the lad said, "I shall pass; that is the most important +thing; but you, Mayneville, try to do so also if possible." + +"It is not everything that you should pass," replied Mayneville; "it is +necessary that he should see you." + +"Make yourself easy; once I am through, he shall see me." + +"Do not forget the sign agreed upon." + +"Two fingers on the mouth, is it not?" + +"Yes; success attend you." + +"Well, monsieur page," said the man on the black horse, "are you ready?" + +"Here I am," replied he, jumping lightly on the horse, behind the +cavalier, who immediately joined his friends who were occupied in +exhibiting their cards and proving their right to enter. + +"Ventre de Biche!" said Robert Briquet; "what an arrival of Gascons!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE EXAMINATION. + + +The process of examination consisted in comparing the half card with +another half in the possession of the officer. + +The Gascon with the bare head advanced first. + +"Your name?" said De Loignac. + +"It is on the card." + +"Never mind; tell it to me." + +"Well, I am called Perducas de Pincornay." + +Then, throwing his eyes on the card. M. de Loignac read. "Perducas de +Pincornay, 26 October, 1585, at noon precisely. Porte St. Antoine." + +"Very good; it is all right," said he, "enter. Now for you," said he to +the second. + +The man with the cuirass advanced. + +"Your card?" said De Loignac. + +"What! M. de Loignac, do you not know the son of your old friend, whom +you have danced twenty times on your knee?"--"No." + +"I am Pertinax de Montcrabeau," replied the young man, with +astonishment. "Do you not know me now?" + +"When I am on service, I know no one. Your card, monsieur?" + +He held it out. "All right! pass," said De Loignac. + +The third now approached, whose card was demanded in the same terms. The +man plunged his hand into a little goatskin pouch which he wore, but in +vain; he was so embarrassed by the child in his arms, that he could not +find it. + +"What the devil are you doing with that child?" asked De Loignac. + +"He is my son, monsieur." + +"Well; put your son down. You are married, then?"---"Yes, monsieur." + +"At twenty?" + +"They marry young among us; you ought to know that, M. de Loignac, who +were married at eighteen." + +"Oh!" thought De Loignac, "here is another who knows me." + +"And why should he not be married?" cried the woman advancing. "Yes, +monsieur, he is married, and here are two other children who call him +father, besides this great lad behind. Advance, Militor, and bow to M. +de Loignac." + +A lad of sixteen, vigorous and agile, with an incipient mustache, +stepped forward. + +"They are my wife's sons, monsieur." + +"In Heaven's name, your card!" cried De Loignac. + +"Lardille!" cried the Gascon to his wife, "come and help me." + +Lardille searched the pouch and pockets of her husband, but uselessly. +"We must have lost it!" she cried. + +"Then I arrest you." + +The man turned pale, but said, "I am Eustache de Miradoux, and M. de St. +Maline is my patron." + +"Oh!" said De Loignac, a little mollified at this name, "well, search +again." + +They turned to their pockets again, and began to re-examine them. + +"Why, what do I see there, on the sleeve of that blockhead?" said De +Loignac. + +"Yes, yes!" cried the father. "I remember, now, Lardille sewed it on." + +"That you might carry something, I suppose, you great lazy fellow." + +The card was looked at and found all right, and the family passed on in +the same order as before. + +The fourth man advanced and gave his name as Chalabre. It was found +correct, and he also entered. + +Then came M. de Carmainges. He got off his horse and presented his card, +while the page hid his face by pretending to adjust the saddle. + +"The page belongs to you?" asked De Loignac. + +"You see, he is attending to my horse." + +"Pass, then." + +"Quick, my master," said the page. + +Behind these men the door was closed, much to the discontent of the +crowd. Robert Briquet, meanwhile, had drawn near to the porter's lodge, +which had two windows, one looking toward Paris and the other into the +country. From this post he saw a man, who, coming from Paris at full +gallop, entered the lodge and said, "Here I am, M. de Loignac." + +"Good. Where do you come from?" + +"From the Porte St. Victor." + +"Your number?"--"Five." + +"The cards?" + +"Here they are." + +De Loignac took them, examined them, and wrote on a slate the number +five. The messenger left, and two others appeared, almost immediately. +One came from the Porte Bourdelle, and brought the number four, the +other from the Porte du Temple, and announced six. Then came four +others. The first from the Porte St. Denis, with the number five; the +next from the Porte St. Jacques, with the number three; the third from +the Porte St. Honore, with the number eight; and the fourth from the +Porte Montmartre, with the number four. Lastly came a messenger, from +the Porte Bussy, who announced four. De Loignac wrote all these down, +added them to those who had entered the Porte St. Antoine, and found the +total number to be forty-five. + +"Good!" said he. "Now open the gates, and all may enter." + +The gates were thrown open, and then horses, mules, and carts, men, +women, and children, pressed into Paris, at the risk of suffocating each +other, and in a quarter of an hour all the crowd had vanished. + +Robert Briquet remained until the last. "I have seen enough," said he: +"would it be very advantageous to me to see M. Salcede torn in four +pieces? No, pardieu! Besides, I have renounced politics; I will go and +dine." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +HIS MAJESTY HENRI THE THIRD. + + +M. Friard was right when he talked of 100,000 persons as the number of +spectators who would meet on the Place de Greve and its environs, to +witness the execution of Salcede. All Paris appeared to have a +rendezvous at the Hotel de Ville; and Paris is very exact, and never +misses a fete; and the death of a man is a fete, especially when he has +raised so many passions that some curse and others bless him. + +The spectators who succeeded in reaching the Place saw the archers and a +large number of Swiss and light horse surrounding a little scaffold +raised about four feet from the ground. It was so low as to be visible +only to those immediately surrounding it, or to those who had windows +overlooking the Place. Four vigorous white horses beat the ground +impatiently with their hoofs, to the great terror of the women, who had +either chosen this place willingly, or had been forcibly pushed there. + +These horses were unused, and had never done more work than to support, +by some chance, on their broad backs the chubby children of the +peasants. After the scaffold and the horses, what next attracted all +looks was the principal window of the Hotel de Ville, which was hung +with red velvet and gold, and ornamented with the royal arms. This was +for the king. Half-past one had just struck when this window was filled. +First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time +only thirty-five, and with a somber expression, always a mystery to his +subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say "Vive +le Roi!" or to pray for his soul. He was dressed in black, without +jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a +fastening to three short plumes. He carried in his hand a little black +dog that his sister-in-law Marie Stuart had sent him from her prison, +and on which his fingers looked as white as alabaster. + +Behind the king came Catherine de Medicis, almost bowed by age, for she +might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm and +erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. At her +side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise de +Torraine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a punishment. Behind them +came two handsome young men, brothers, the eldest of whom smiled with +wonderful beauty, and the younger with great melancholy. The one was +Anne, duc de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de Joyeuse, comte de Bouchage. +The people had for these favorites of the king none of the hatred which +they had felt toward Maugiron, Quelus, and Schomberg. + +Henri saluted the people gravely; then, turning to the young men, he +said, "Anne, lean against the tapestry; it may last a long time." + +"I hope so," said Catherine. + +"You think, then, that Salcede will speak, mother?" + +"God will, I trust, give this confusion to our enemies." + +Henri looked doubtful. + +"My son," said Catherine, "do I not see some tumult yonder?" + +"What clear sight you have! I believe you are right. I have such bad +eyes, and yet I am not old. Yes, here comes Salcede." + +"He fears," said Catherine; "he will speak." + +"If he has strength," said the king. "See, his head falls about like +that of a corpse." + +"He is frightful," said Joyeuse. + +"How should a man be handsome whose thoughts are so ugly? Have I not +explained to you, Anne, the secret connection of the physical and the +moral, as Hippocrates and Galen understood and expounded them?" + +"I admit it, sire, but I am not a good pupil. I have sometimes seen very +ugly men very good soldiers. Have you not, Henri?" said he, turning to +his brother: but he looked without seeing, and heard without +understanding, so the king answered for him. + +"Eh, mon Dieu! my dear Anne, who says this man is not brave? He is +brave, pardieu, like a wolf, a bear, or a serpent. He burned in his +house a Norman gentleman, his enemy; he has fought ten duels, and killed +three of his adversaries. He has now been taken in the act of coining, +for which he has been condemned to death." + +"That is a well-filled existence, but which will soon finish." + +"On the contrary," said Catherine, "I trust it will finish as slowly as +possible." + +"Madame," said Joyeuse, "I see those four stout horses, who appear to me +so impatient of their state of inactivity that I do not believe in a +long resistance of the muscles, tendons, and cartilages of M. de +Salcede." + +"Yes, but my son is merciful," replied she, with the smile peculiar to +herself, "and he will tell the men to go gently." + +"But, madame," said the queen timidly, "I heard you say this morning +that there were only to be two draws?" + +"Yes, if he conducts himself well; in that case all will be finished as +soon as possible, and, as you interest yourself so much in him, you had +better let him know as much, my daughter." + +"Madame," said the queen, "I have not your strength when looking at +suffering." + +"Do not look, then." + +The king heard nothing; he was all eyes. They were lifting Salcede from +the car on to the scaffold, round which the archers had cleared a large +space, so that it was distinctly visible to all eyes. + +Salcede was about thirty-five years of age, strong and vigorous; and his +pale features, on which stood drops of blood, were animated alternately +by hope and anguish. He was no vulgar assassin; he was of good birth, +and even distantly related to the queen, and had been a captain of some +renown. Those bound hands had valiantly borne the sword, and that livid +head, on which were depicted the terrors of death, had conceived great +designs. Therefore, to many of the spectators, he was a hero; to others, +a victim; some looked on him as an assassin; but the crowd seldom +despises those very great criminals who are registered in the book of +history as well as in that of justice. Thus they told, in the crowd, +that Salcede was of a race of warriors; that his father had fought +against the Cardinal de Lorraine, but that the son had joined with the +Guises to destroy in Flanders the rising power of the Duc d'Anjou, so +hated by the French. + +He had been arrested and conducted to France, and had hoped to be +rescued by the way; but unfortunately for him, M. de Bellievre had kept +such good watch, that neither Spaniards nor Lorraines, nor leaguers, had +been able to approach. In the prison Salcede hoped; during the torture, +on the car, even on the scaffold, he still hoped. He wanted neither +courage nor resignation; but he was one of those who defend themselves +to their last breath. He darted curious glances toward the crowd, but +constantly turned away, with a look of disappointment. + +At this moment, an usher, raising the tapestry of the royal tent, +announced that the president Brisson and four councilors desired the +honor of an instant's conversation with the king on the subject of the +execution. + +"Good," said the king. "Mother, you will be satisfied." + +"Sire, a favor," said Joyeuse. + +"Speak, Joyeuse; and provided it be not the pardon of the criminal--" + +"Sire, permit my brother and me to retire." + +"What! you take so little interest in my affairs that you wish to retire +at such a moment!" + +"Do not say so, sire; all that concerns your majesty profoundly +interests me; but I am of a miserable organization, and the weakest +woman is stronger than I am on this point. I cannot see an execution +without being ill for a week; and as I am the only person who ever +laughs at the Louvre, since my brother--I know not why--has given it up, +think what would become of the Louvre--so sad already--if I were sad +also." + +"You wish to leave me then, Anne." + +"Peste! sire, you are exacting; an execution is a spectacle of which, +unlike me, you are fond. Is not that enough for you, or must you also +enjoy the weakness of your friends?" + +"If you will remain, Joyeuse, you will see that it is interesting." + +"I do not doubt it, sire; I only think that the interest will be carried +to a point that I cannot bear;" and he turned toward the door. + +"Go, then," said Henri, sighing; "my destiny is to live alone." + +"Quick! Du Bouchage," said Anne to his brother. "The king says yes now; +but in five minutes he will say no." + +"Thanks, my brother," said Bouchage; "I was as anxious as you to get +away." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE EXECUTION. + + +The councilors entered. + +"Well, gentlemen," said the king, "is there anything new?" + +"Sire," replied the president, "we come to beg your majesty to promise +life to the criminal; he has revelations to make, which, on this +promise, we shall obtain." + +"But have we not obtained them?" + +"Yes, in part; is that enough for your majesty?" + +"No," said Catherine; "and the king has determined to postpone the +execution, if the culprit will sign a confession substantiating his +depositions before the judge." + +"Yes," said Henri, "and you can let the prisoner know this." + +"Your majesty has nothing to add?" + +"Only that there must be no variation in the confessions, or I withdraw +my promise; they must be complete." + +"Yes, sire; with the names of the compromised parties." + +"With all the names." + +"Even if they are of high rank?" + +"If they were those of my nearest relations." + +"It shall be as your majesty wishes." + +"No misunderstanding, M. Brisson. Writing materials shall be brought to +the prisoner, and he will write his confessions; after that we shall +see." + +"But I may promise?" + +"Oh! yes, promise." + +M. Brisson and the councilors withdrew. + +"He will speak, sire," said the queen; "and your majesty will pardon +him. See the foam on his lips." + +"No," said Catherine; "he is seeking something. What is it?" + +"Parbleu!" said Henri; "he seeks M. le Duc de Guise, M. le Duc de Parma, +and my brother, the very Catholic king. Yes, seek, wait; do you believe +that there is more chance of rescue on the Place de Greve than on the +route from Flanders?" + +Salcede had seen the archers sent off for the horses, and he understood +that the order for punishment was about to be given, and it was then +that he bit his lips till they were covered with blood, as the queen had +remarked. + +"No one," murmured he; "not one of those who had promised me help. +Cowards! cowards!" + +The horses were now seen making their way through the crowd, and +creating everywhere an opening which closed immediately behind them. As +they passed the corner of the Rue St. Vannerie, a handsome young man, +whom we have seen before, was pushed forward impatiently by a young lad, +apparently about seventeen. It was the Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges +and the mysterious page. + +"Quick!" cried the page; "throw yourself into the opening, there is not +a moment to lose." + +"But we shall be stifled; you are mad, my little friend." + +"I must be near," cried the page, imperiously. "Keep close to the +horses, or we shall never arrive there." + +"But before we get there, you will be torn to pieces." + +"Never mind me, only go on." + +"The horses will kick." + +"Take hold of the tail of the last; a horse never kicks when you hold +him so." + +Ernanton gave way in spite of himself to the mysterious influence of +this lad, and seized the tail of the horse, while the page clung to him. +And thus, through the crowd, waving like the sea, leaving here a piece +of a cloak, and there a fragment of a doublet, they arrived with the +horses at a few steps from the scaffold. + +"Have we arrived?" asked the young man, panting. + +"Yes, happily!" answered Ernanton, "for I am exhausted." + +"I cannot see." + +"Come before me." + +"Oh, no! not yet. What are they doing?" + +"Making slip knots at the ends of the cords." + +"And he--what is he doing?" + +"Who?" + +"The condemned." + +"His eyes turn incessantly from side to side." + +The horses were near enough to enable the executioner to tie the feet +and hands of the criminal to the harness. Salcede uttered a cry when he +felt the cord in contact with his flesh. + +"Monsieur," said the Lieutenant Tanchon to him politely, "will it please +you to address the people?" and added in a whisper, "a confession will +save your life." + +Salcede looked earnestly at him, as though to read the truth in his +eyes. + +"You see," continued Tanchon, "they abandon you. There is no other hope +in the world but what I offer you." + +"Well!" said Salcede, with a sigh, "I am ready to speak." + +"It is a written and signed confession that the king exacts." + +"Then untie my hands, and give me a pen and I will write it." + +They loosened the cords from his wrists, and an usher who stood near +with writing materials placed them before him on the scaffold. "Now," +said Tanchon, "state everything." + +"Do not fear; I will not forget those who have forgotten me;" but as he +spoke, he cast another glance around. + +While this was passing, the page, seizing the hand of Ernanton, cried, +"Monsieur, take me in your arms, I beg you, and raise me above the heads +of the people who prevent me from seeing." + +"Ah! you are insatiable, young man." + +"This one more service; I must see the condemned, indeed I must." + +Then, as Ernanton still hesitated, he cried, "For pity's sake, monsieur, +I entreat you." + +Ernanton raised him in his arms at this last appeal, and was somewhat +astonished at the delicacy of the body he held. Just as Salcede had +taken the pen, and looked round as we have said, he saw this young lad +above the crowd, with two fingers placed on his lips. An indescribable +joy spread itself instantaneously over the face of the condemned man, +for he recognized the signal so impatiently waited for, and which +announced that aid was near. After a moment's hesitation, however, he +took the paper and began to write. + +"He writes!" cried the crowd. + +"He writes!" exclaimed Catherine. + +"He writes!" cried the king, "and I will pardon him." + +Suddenly Salcede stopped and looked again at the lad, who repeated the +signal. He wrote on, then stopped to look once more; the signal was +again repeated. + +"Have you finished?" asked Tanchon. + +"Yes."--"Then sign." + +Salcede signed, with his eyes still fixed on the young man. "For the +king alone," said he, and he gave the paper to the usher, though with +hesitation. + +"If you have disclosed all," said Tanchon, "you are safe." + +A strange smile strayed over the lips of Salcede. Ernanton, who was +fatigued, wished now to put down the page, who made no opposition. With +him disappeared all that had sustained the unfortunate man; he looked +round wildly and cried: "Well, come!" + +No one answered. + +"Quick! quick! the king holds the paper; he is reading!" + +Still there was no response. + +The king unfolded the paper. + +"Thousand devils!" cried Salcede, "if they have deceived me! Yet it was +she--it was really she!" + +No sooner had the king read the first lines, than he called out +indignantly, "Oh! the wretch!" + +"What is it, my son?" + +"He retracts all--he pretends that he confessed nothing; and he declares +that the Guises are innocent of any plot!" + +"But," said Catherine, "if it be true?" + +"He lies!" cried the king. + +"How do you know, my son? Perhaps the Guises have been calumniated: the +judges, in their zeal, may have put false interpretation on the +depositions." + +"Oh! no, madame; I heard them myself!" cried Henri. + +"You, my son?" + +"Yes, I?" + +"How so?" + +"When the criminal was questioned, I was behind a curtain and heard all +he said." + +"Well, then, if he will have it, order the horses to pull." + +Henri, in anger, gave the sign. It was repeated, the cords were +refastened, four men jumped on the horses, which, urged by violent +blows, started off in opposite directions. A horrible cracking, and a +terrible cry was heard. The blood was seen to spout from the limbs of +the unhappy man, whose face was no longer that of a man but of a demon. + +"Ah, heaven!" he cried; "I will speak, I will tell all. Ah! cursed +duch--" + +The voice had been heard above everything, but suddenly it ceased. + +"Stop, stop," cried Catherine, "let him speak." + +But it was too late; the head of Salcede fell helplessly on one side, he +glanced once more to where he had seen the page, and then expired. +Tanchon gave some rapid orders to his archers, who plunged into the +crowd in the direction indicated by Salcede's glance. + +"I am discovered!" said the page to Ernanton. "For pity's sake, aid me! +they come, they come!" + +"What do you want?" + +"To fly! Do you not see that it is me they want?" + +"But who are you, then?" + +"A woman. Oh, save me! protect me!" + +Ernanton turned pale; but generosity triumphed over fear. He placed his +protegee before him, opened a path with blows, and pushed her toward the +corner of the Rue du Mouton, toward an open door. Into this door she +entered; and she seemed to have been expected, for it closed behind her. +Ernanton had not even time to ask her name, or where he should find her +again; but in disappearing she had made a sign full of promise. + +Meanwhile, Catherine was standing up in her place, full of rage. + +"My son," said she, at last, "you would do well to change your +executioner; he is a leaguer." + +"What do you mean, mother?" + +"Salcede suffered only one draw, and he is dead." + +"Because he was too sensible to pain." + +"No; but because he has been strangled with a fine cord underneath the +scaffold, just as he was about to accuse those who let him die. Let a +doctor examine him, and I am certain that he will find round his neck +the circle that the cord has left." + +"You are right!" cried Henri, with flashing eyes; "my cousin of Guise is +better served than I am!" + +"Hush, my son--no eclat; we shall only be laughed at, for once more we +have missed our aim." + +"Joyeuse did well to go and amuse himself elsewhere," said the king; +"one can reckon on nothing in this world--not even on punishments. Come, +ladies, let us go." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE BROTHERS. + + +MM. De Joyeuse had, as we have seen, left this scene, and were walking +side by side in the streets generally so populous but now deserted, for +every one was in the Place de Greve. Henri seemed preoccupied and sad, +and Anne was unquiet on account of his brother. He was the first to +speak. + +"Well, Henri," said he, "where are you taking me?" + +"I take you nowhere, brother; I was only walking before you. Do you wish +to go anywhere?" + +"Do you?" + +"Oh! I do not care where I go." + +"Yet you go somewhere every evening, for you always go out at the same +hour and return late at night." + +"Are you questioning me, brother?" said Henri, with gentleness. + +"Certainly not; let each keep his own secrets if he wishes to do so." + +"If you wish it, brother, I will have no secrets from you." + +"Will you not, Henri?" + +"No; are you not my elder brother and friend?" + +"Oh! I thought you had secrets from me, who am only a poor layman. I +thought you confessed to our learned brother, that pillar of theology, +that light of the Church, who will be a cardinal some day, and that you +obtained absolution from him, and perhaps, at the same time, advice." + +Henri took his brother's hand affectionately. "You are more than a +confessor to me, my dear Anne--more than a father; you are my friend." + +"Then, my friend, why, from so gay as you used to be, have I seen you +become sad? and why, instead of going out by day, do you only go out at +night?" + +"My brother, I am not sad." + +"What, then?" + +"In love." + +"Good! And this preoccupation?" + +"Is because I am always thinking of my love." + +"And you sigh in saying that?" + +"Yes." + +"You sigh?--you, Henri, comte de Bouchage?--you, the brother of +Joyeuse?--you, whom some people call the third king in France? You know +M. de Guise is the second, if not the first; but you, rich and handsome, +who will be peer and duke on the first occasion, are in love, and you +sigh!--you, whose device is 'hilariter.'" + +"My dear Anne, I have never reckoned the gifts of fortune, past and to +come, as things to constitute happiness; I have no ambitions." + +"That is to say, you have not at present." + +"At all events, not for the things you speak of." + +"Not just now, perhaps, but later you will return to them." + +"Never, brother; I desire nothing--I want nothing." + +"You are wrong. When one is called 'Joyeuse,' one of the best names in +France, when one has a brother a king's favorite, one desires +everything, and has everything." + +Henri hung his blond head sadly. + +"Come," continued Anne, "we are quite alone here; have you anything to +tell me?" + +"Nothing, but that I love." + +"Diable! that is not a very serious affair; I also am in love." + +"Not like me, brother." + +"I, also, think sometimes of my mistress." + +"Yes, but not always." + +"I, also, have annoyances." + +"Yes; but you also have joys, for you are loved." + +"True; but I have obstacles. They exact from me so much mystery." + +"They exact! If your mistress exacts, she loves you." + +"Yes, she loves me and M. de Mayenne--or rather only me, for she would +give up Mayenne at once if she was not afraid he would kill her; it is +his habit to kill women, you know. I am obliged to be constantly on my +guard, but I do not grow sad on that account; I continue to laugh--at +least, sometimes. Tell me, Henri, is your lady beautiful?" + +"Alas! she is not mine." + +"Is she beautiful? Her name?" + +"I do not know it." + +"Come, now." + +"On my honor." + +"My friend, I begin to think it is more dangerous than I thought; it is +not sadness, but madness." + +"She never spoke but once before me, and since then I have not heard the +sound of her voice." + +"And you have not inquired about her?" + +"Of whom?" + +"Why, of the neighbors." + +"She lives in her own house, and no one knows her." + +"Ah! _ca!_ then she is a ghost!" + +"She is a woman, tall and beautiful as a nymph, serious and grave as the +angel Gabriel!" + +"When did you meet her?" + +"One day I followed a young girl to the church of La Gypecienne, and I +entered a little garden close to it, where there is a stone seat under +some trees. Do you know this garden, Anne?" + +"No; but never mind--go on." + +"It began to grow dark; I had lost sight of the young girl, and in +seeking her I arrived at this seat. I saw a woman's dress, and held out +my hands. 'Pardon, monsieur,' said the voice of a man whom I had not +noticed, and he gently but firmly pushed me away." + +"He dared to touch you, Henri?" + +"Listen; he had his face hidden in a sort of frock, and I took him for a +monk. Besides, he impressed me also by the polite manner of his warning; +for, as he spoke, he pointed out to me the woman, whose white dress had +attracted me, and who was kneeling before the seat as though it were an +altar. It was toward the beginning of September that this happened; the +air was warm, the flowers planted by friends around the tombs scattered +their delicate perfume, and the moon, rising above the white clouds, +began to shed her silver light over all. Whether it were the place, or +her own dignity, I know not, but this woman seemed to me like a marble +statue, and impressed me with a strange respect. I looked at her +earnestly. She bent over the seat, enveloping it in her arms, placed her +lips to it, and soon I saw her shoulders heave with such sobs as you +never heard, my brother. As she wept she kissed the stone with ardor; +her tears had troubled me, but her kisses maddened me." + +"But, by the pope, it is she who is mad, to kiss a stone and sob for +nothing." + +"Oh! it was a great grief that made her sob, a profound love which made +her kiss the stone. Only whom did she love? whom did she weep for? whom +did she pray for? I know not." + +"Did you not question this man?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he reply? + +"That she had lost her husband." + +"Bah! as if people weep like that for a husband. Were you content with +such an answer?" + +"I was obliged to be content, for he would give me no other." + +"But the man--what is he?" + +"A sort of servant who lives with her."--"His name?" + +"He would not tell me." + +"Young or old?" + +"He might be about thirty." + +"Well, afterward? She did not stop all night praying and weeping, did +she?" + +"No; when she had exhausted her tears she rose, and there was so much +mystery and sadness about her that, instead of advancing to her as I +might have done to another, I drew back; but she turned toward me, +though she did not see me, and the moon shone on her face, which was +calm and sad, and the traces of her tears were still on her cheeks; she +moved slowly, and the servant went to support her. But, oh! my brother, +what dreadful, what superhuman beauty. I have never seen anything like +it on earth, only sometimes in my dreams." + +"Well, Henri?" said Anne, interested, in spite of himself, at a recital +at which he had determined to laugh. + +"Oh! it is nearly finished, brother. Her servant whispered something to +her, and she lowered her veil; doubtless he told her I was there, but +she did not glance toward me. I saw her no more, and it seemed to me, +when the veil concealed her face, as if the sky had become suddenly +overshadowed--that it was no longer a living thing, but a shade escaped +from the tomb, which was gliding silently before me. She went out of the +garden, and I followed her; from time to time the man turned and saw me, +for I did not hide myself; I had still the old habits in my mind--the +old leaven in my heart." + +"What do you mean, Henri?" + +The young man smiled. "I mean, brother," said he, "that I have often +thought I loved before, and that all women, until now, have been for +me--women to whom I might offer my love." + +"Oh! and what is this one?" said Anne, trying to recover his gayety, +which, in spite of himself, had been a little disturbed by his brother's +confidence. + +"My brother," said Henri, seizing his hand in a fervent grasp, "as truly +as I live, I know not if she be a creature of this world or not." + +"Holy Fathers! you would make me afraid, if a Joyeuse could know fear. +However, as she walks, weeps, and gives kisses, it seems to me to augur +well. But finish." + +"There is little more. I followed her, and she did not try to escape or +lead me astray; she never seemed to think of it." + +"Well, and where does she live?" + +"By the side of the Bastille, Rue de Lesdiguieres. At the door, the +servant turned and saw me." + +"You asked to speak to him?" + +"You will think it ridiculous, but I dared not." + +"You entered the house, then?" + +"No, brother." + +"Really, Henri, I am tempted to disown you this evening. But you +returned the next day?" + +"Yes, but uselessly, and equally so to La Gypecienne." + +"She had disappeared?" + +"Like a shadow." + +"But you inquired?" + +"The street has few inhabitants, and no one knew her. I watched for the +servant, but he also had disappeared; however, a light which shone every +evening through the Venetian blinds consoled me by the knowledge that +she was still there. At last this disappeared; she had quitted the Rue +de Lesdiguieres, and no one knew where she had gone." + +"But you found her again?" + +"Chance did it. Listen: it is really strange. I was going along the Rue +de Bussy, a fortnight ago, about midnight; you know how strict the +regulations are about fire; well, I saw, not only light in the windows +of a house, but a real fire, which had broken out in the second story. I +knocked at the door, and a man appeared at the window. 'You have fire in +your house!' I cried. 'Silence! I beg; I am occupied in putting it out.' +'Shall I call the watch?' I asked. 'No! in Heaven's name, call no one!' +'But can I help you?' 'Will you? I shall be very grateful,' and he threw +me the key out of the window. + +"I mounted the stairs rapidly, and entered the room where the fire was +burning; it was used as a chemist's laboratory, and in making I know not +what experiments, an inflammable liquid had been spilled, which had +ignited the floor. When I entered, the fire was almost got under. I +looked at the man; a dreadful scar disfigured his cheek, and another his +forehead; the rest of his face was hidden by a thick beard. 'I thank +you, monsieur,' said he; 'but you see all is finished now; if you are as +gallant a man as you seem, have the goodness to retire, for my mistress +may return at any moment, and will be angry if she sees a stranger +here.' + +"The sound of his voice struck me instantly. I was about to cry, 'You +are the man of La Gypecienne--of the Rue de Lesdiguieres!' for you +remember that I had not seen his face before, but only heard his voice, +when suddenly a door opened, and a woman entered. 'What is the matter, +Remy, and why this noise?' she asked. Oh! my brother, it was she! more +beautiful than ever, by the dying light of the fire. It was she!--the +woman whose memory had ever lived in my heart. At the cry which I +uttered the servant looked narrowly at me. 'Thanks, monsieur,' said he, +again; 'you see the fire is out; go, I beg of you.' + +"'My friend,' said I, 'you dismiss me very rudely.' 'Madame,' said he, +'it is he.' 'Who?' 'The young man we met in the garden, and who followed +us home.' She turned toward me and said, 'Monsieur, I beg of you to go.' +I hesitated; I wished to speak, but my words failed me. I remained +motionless and mute, gazing at her. 'Take care, monsieur,' said the +servant, sadly; 'you will force her to fly again.' 'Heaven forbid!' +cried I; 'but how do I offend you, madame?' She did not reply; +insensible, mute, and cold, as though she had not heard me, she turned, +and I saw her disappear gradually in the shade." + +"And is that all?" + +"All; the servant led me to the door, saying, 'Forget, monsieur, I beg +of you.' I fled, bewildered and half crazy, and since then I have gone +every evening to this street, and, concealed in the angle of the +opposite house, under the shade of a little balcony, I see, once in ten +times, a light in her room: that is my life, my happiness." + +"What happiness!" + +"Alas! I should lose this, if I tried for more." + +"But in acting thus, you lose all the amusements of the world." + +"My brother," said Henri, with a sad smile, "I am happy thus." + +"Not so, mordieu! One monk in a family is enough." + +"No railleries, brother." + +"But let me say one thing!" + +"What is it?" + +"That you have been taken in like a schoolboy." + +"I am not taken in; I only gave way to a power stronger than mine. When +a current carries you away, you cannot fight against it." + +"But if it lead to an abyss?" + +"You must be swallowed up!" + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes!" + +"I do not: and in your place--" + +"What would you have done?" + +"Enough, certainly, to have learned her name and--" + +"Anne, you don't know her." + +"No, but I know you, Henri. You had 50,000 crowns that I gave you out of +the last 100,000 the king gave to me." + +"They are still in my chest, Anne; I have not touched one of them." + +"Mordieu! If they were not there, you would be in a different position." + +"Oh! my brother!" + +"Certainly. An ordinary servant may be bought for ten crowns, a good +one for 100, an excellent one for 1,000, and a marvel for 3,000. Let us +see, then. Suppose this man to be the phoenix of all servants--the beau +ideal of fidelity, yet, by the pope! for 20,000 crowns you will buy him. +There would then remain 30,000 crowns for the phoenix of women, and all +would be settled." + +"Anne!" sighed Henri, "there are people who cannot be bought; there are +hearts that the king is not rich enough to purchase." + +"Well! perhaps so; but hearts are sometimes given. What have you done to +win that of the beautiful statue?" + +"I believe, Anne, that I have done all I could." + +"Really, Comte du Bouchage, you are mad. You see a woman, sad, solitary, +and melancholy, and you become more sad, more recluse, and more +melancholy than she. She is alone--keep her company; she is sad--be gay; +she regrets--console her, and replace him she regrets." + +"Impossible! brother." + +"Have you tried? Are you in love, or are you not?" + +"I have no words to express how much!" + +"Well! I see no reason to despair." + +"I have no hope." + +"At what time do you see her?" + +"I have told you that I do not see her."--"Never?"--"Never!" + +"Not even at her window?" + +"Not even at her window!" + +"We must put an end to that. Do you think she has a lover?" + +"I have never seen any one enter her house, except the Remy of whom I +spoke to you." + +"Take the house opposite." + +"It may not be to let." + +"Bah! offer double the rent!" + +"But if she sees me there, she will disappear as before." + +"You shall see her this evening." + +"I!" + +"Yes! Be under her balcony at eight o'clock." + +"I am always there." + +"Well, give me the address." + +"Between the Porte Bussy and the Hotel St. Denis, near the corner of the +Rue des Augustins, and a few steps from a large inn, having for a sign, +'The Sword of the Brave Chevalier.'" + +"Very well, then; this evening at eight o'clock." + +"But what do you intend to do?" + +"You shall see: meanwhile, go home; put on your richest dress, and use +your finest perfume, and I hope that you will enter the house to-night." + +"May you be a true prophet, brother!" + +"Well! I leave you for the present, for my lady-love waits for me: and I +confess, that after your account, I prefer her to yours. Adieu! Henri, +till the evening." + +The brothers then pressed each other's hands, and separated. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"THE SWORD OF THE BRAVE CHEVALIER." + + +During the conversation we have just related, night had begun to fall, +enveloping the city with its damp mantle of fog. + +Salcede dead, all the spectators were ready to leave the Place de Greve, +and the streets were filled with people, hurrying toward their homes. +Near the Porte Bussy, where we must now transport our readers, to follow +some of their acquaintances, and to make new ones, a hum, like that in a +bee-hive at sunset, was heard proceeding from a house tinted rose color, +and ornamented with blue and white pointings, which was known by the +sign of "The Sword of the Brave Chevalier," and which was an immense +inn, recently built in this new quarter. This house was decorated to +suit all tastes. On the entablature was painted a representation of a +combat between an archangel and a dragon breathing flame and smoke, and +in which the artist, animated by sentiments at once heroic and pious, +had depicted in the hands of "the brave chevalier," not a sword, but an +immense cross, with which he hacked in pieces the unlucky dragon, of +which the bleeding pieces were seen lying on the ground. At the bottom +of the picture crowds of spectators were represented raising their arms +to heaven, while from above, angels were extending over the chevalier +laurels and palms. Then, as if to prove that he could paint in every +style, the artist had grouped around gourds, grapes, a snail on a rose, +and two rabbits, one white and the other gray. + +Assuredly the proprietor must have been difficult to please, if he were +not satisfied, for the artist had filled every inch of space--there was +scarcely room to have added a caterpillar. In spite, however, of this +attractive exterior, the hotel did not prosper--it was never more than +half full, though it was large and comfortable. Unfortunately, from its +proximity to the Pre-aux-Clercs, it was frequented by so many persons +either going or ready to fight, that those more peaceably disposed +avoided it. Indeed, the cupids with which the interior was decorated had +been ornamented with mustaches in charcoal by the habitues; and Dame +Fournichon, the landlady, always affirmed that the sign had brought them +ill-luck, and that had her wishes been attended to, and the painting +represented more pleasing things, such as the rose-tree of love +surrounded by flaming hearts, all tender couples would have flocked to +them. + +M. Fournichon, however, stuck to his sign, and replied that he preferred +fighting men, and that one of them drank as much as six lovers. + +About a month before the execution of Salcede, the host and hostess, all +of whose rooms were then empty, were looking out of the window, sadly, +and were watching the exercises of some soldiery on the Pre-aux-Clercs, +when they saw an officer, followed by a single soldier, advancing toward +their hotel. He was about to pass, when the host called out loudly--"Oh! +wife, what a beautiful horse!" + +Madame Fournichon replied in an equally audible voice, "And what a +handsome cavalier!" + +The officer, who did not appear insensible to flattery, raised his head +and looked first at the host and hostess and then at the hotel. +Fournichon ran rapidly downstairs and appeared at the door. + +"Is the house empty?" asked the officer. + +"Yes, monsieur; just at present," replied the host, humiliated; "but it +is not usually so." + +However, Dame Fournichon, like most women, was more clear-sighted than +her husband, and called out, "If monsieur desires solitude, he will find +it here." + +"Yes, my good woman, that is what I desire, at present," said the +officer, who dismounted, threw the bridle to the soldier, and entered +the hotel. + +He was a man of about thirty-five years of age, but he did not look more +than twenty-eight, so carefully was he dressed. He was tall, with a fine +countenance and a distinguished air. + +"Ah! good!" said he, "a large room and not a single guest. But there +must be something," he added, "either in your house or conduct that +keeps people away." + +"Neither, monsieur," replied Madame Fournichon; "only the place is new, +and we choose our customers." + +"Oh! very well." + +"For example," continued she, "for a person like your lordship, we would +send away a dozen." + +"Thanks, my kind hostess." + +"Will monsieur taste the wine?" asked M. Fournichon. + +"Will monsieur visit the rooms?" added his wife. + +"Both, if you please." + +Fournichon descended to the cellar. + +"How many people can you lodge here?" asked the captain of the hostess. + +"Thirty." + +"That is not enough." + +"Why so, monsieur?" + +"I had a project--but we will speak of it no more." + +"Ah! monsieur, you will find nothing larger, except the Louvre itself." + +"Well; you can lodge thirty people?" + +"Yes, doubtless." + +"But for a day?" + +"Oh! for a day, forty, or even forty-five." + +"Without making a commotion outside?"--"We have often eighty soldiers +here, on Sundays." + +"And no crowd before the house--no spying by the neighbors?" + +"Mon Dieu! no! our nearest neighbors are a worthy bourgeois, who meddles +with no one, and a lady who lives so retired, that although she has been +here for three weeks, I have not seen her." + +"That will do excellently." + +"So much the better." + +"And in a month from to-day--" + +"That will be the 26th of October." + +"Precisely. Well, on that day I hire your inn."--"The whole of it?" + +"Yes, the whole. I wish to give a surprise to some countrymen, +officers--or at least--soldiers: they will be told to come here." + +"But if it be a surprise--" + +"Oh! if you are curious, or indiscreet--" + +"No, no, monsieur," cried she. + +M. Fournichon, who had heard what had passed, added, "Monsieur, you +shall be master here; and all your friends will be welcome." + +"I did not say my friends, I said countrymen," replied the officer, +haughtily. + +"Yes, monsieur, it was my mistake." + +"You will give them supper." + +"Certainly." + +"If necessary, they will sleep here." + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"In a word, give them all they want, and ask no questions." + +"Very well, monsieur." + +"Here are thirty livres in advance." + +"Well, monsieur, these gentlemen shall be treated like princes; will you +assure yourself by tasting the wine?" + +"Thank you, I never drink." + +"But, monsieur, how shall I know these gentlemen?" + +"That is true; parfandious! I forgot. Give me paper, light, and wax." + +When they were brought, the captain made a seal on the paper with a ring +he had on his finger. "Do you see this figure?" said he. + +"A beautiful woman." + +"Yes; a Cleopatra. Well, each of these men will present a similar one, +on which you will receive him. You will have further orders afterward." + +The captain then descended the stall's and rode off, leaving the +Fournichons delighted with their thirty livres in advance. + +"Decidedly," said the host, "the sign has brought us good fortune." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE GASCON. + + +We dare not affirm that Dame Fournichon was as discreet as she had +promised to be, for she interrogated the first soldier whom she saw pass +as to the name of the captain who had conducted the review. The soldier, +more cautious than she, asked her why she wished to know. + +"Because he has just been here," she replied, "and one likes to know to +whom one has been talking." + +The soldier laughed. "The captain who conducted the review would not +have entered this hotel," said he. + +"Why not; is he too great for that?" + +"Perhaps so." + +"Well, but it is not for himself that he wanted the hotel." + +"For whom then?" + +"For his friends." + +"He would not lodge his friends here, I am sure." + +"Peste! why, who can he be, then?" + +"Well, my good woman, he who conducted the review is simply Monsieur le +Duc Nogaret de Lavalette d'Epernon, peer of France, and colonel-general +of infantry. What do you say to that?" + +"That if it was he, he did me great honor." + +"Did you hear him say 'parfandious'?" + +"Oh! yes." + +We may now judge if the 26th of October was impatiently expected. On the +evening of the 25th a man entered, bearing a heavy bag, which he placed +on Fournichon's table. + +"It is the price of the repast ordered for to-morrow," said he. + +"At how much a head?" + +"At six livres." + +"Will they have only one meal here?" + +"That is all." + +"Has the captain found them a lodging, then?" + +"It appears so," said the messenger, who went, and declined to answer +any more questions. + +At last the much-desired day arrived; half-past twelve had just struck +when some cavaliers stopped at the door of the hotel. One, who appeared +to be their chief, came with two well-mounted lackeys. Each of them +produced the seal of Cleopatra's head, and were received with all sorts +of courtesies, especially the young man with the lackeys. Nevertheless, +excepting this young man, they all seemed timid and preoccupied. Most of +them dispersed, however, until supper-time, either to swell the crowd at +the execution of Salcede, or to see Paris. + +About two o'clock, others began to arrive. One man came in alone, +without a hat, a cane in his hand, and swearing at Paris, where he said +the thieves were so adroit that they had stolen his hat as he had passed +through a crowd, without his being able to see who had taken it. +However, he said, it was his own fault, for wearing a hat ornamented +with such a superb diamond. At four o'clock, forty people had arrived. + +"Is it not strange," said Fournichon to his wife, "they are all +Gascons?" + +"Well, what of that? The captain said they were all countrymen, and he +is a Gascon. M. d'Epernon is from Toulouse." + +"Then you still believe it was M. d'Epernon?" + +"Did he not say three times the famous 'parfandious'?" + +Very soon the five other Gascons arrived; the number of guests was +complete. Never was such surprise painted on so many faces; for an hour +nothing was heard but "saudioux," "mordioux!" and "cap de Bious!" and +such noisy joy, that it seemed to the Fournichons that all Poitou and +Languedoc were collected in their room. Some knew, and greeted each +other. + +"Is it not singular to find so many Gascons here?" asked one. + +"No," replied Perducas de Pincornay, "the sign is tempting for men of +honor." + +"Ah! is it you?" said St. Maline, the gentleman with the lackeys, "you +have not yet explained to me what you were about to do, when the crowd +separated us." + +"What was that?" asked Pincornay, reddening. + +"How it happens that I met you on the road between Angouleme and Angers +without a hat, as you are now?" + +"It seems to interest you, monsieur?" + +"Ma foi! yes. Poitiers is far from Paris, and you came from beyond +Poitiers." + +"Yes, from St. Andre de Cubsac." + +"And without a hat?" + +"Oh! it is very simple. My father has two magnificent horses, and he is +quite capable of disinheriting me for the accident that has happened to +one of them." + +"What is that?" + +"I was riding one of them when it took fright at the report of a gun +that was fired close to me, and ran away; it made for the bank of the +Dordogne and plunged in." + +"With you?" + +"No; luckily I had time to slip off, or I should have been drowned with +him." + +"Ah! then the poor beast was drowned?" + +"Pardioux! you know the Dordogne--half a league across." + +"And then?" + +"Then I resolved not to return home, but to go away as far as possible +from my father's anger." + +"But your hat?" + +"Diable! my hat had fallen." + +"Like you." + +"I did not fall; I slipped off." + +"But your hat?" + +"Ah! my hat had fallen. I sought for it, being my only resource, as I +had come out without money." + +"But how could your hat be a resource?" + +"Saudioux! it was a great one, for I must tell you that the plume of +this hat was fastened by a diamond clasp, that his majesty the emperor +Charles V. gave to my grandfather, when, on his way from Spain to +Flanders, he stopped at our castle." + +"Ah! ah! and you have sold the clasp, and the hat with it. Then, my +dear friend, you ought to be the richest of us all, and you should have +bought another glove; your hands are not alike; one is as white as a +woman's, and the other as black as a negro's." + +"But listen; as I turned to seek my hat I saw an enormous crow seize +hold of it." + +"Of your hat!" + +"Or rather of the clasp; attracted by the glitter, and in spite of my +cries, he flew away with it, and I saw it no more. So that, overwhelmed +by this double loss, I did not dare to return home, but came to seek my +fortune in Paris." + +"Good!" cried a third, "the wind has changed into a crow. I heard you +tell M. de Loignac that the wind had carried it away while you were +reading a letter from your mistress." + +"Now," cried St. Maline, "I have the honor of knowing M. d'Aubigne, who, +though a brave soldier, writes well, and I recommend you to tell him the +history of your hat; he will make a charming story of it." + +Several stifled laughs were heard. + +"Ah! gentlemen," cried the Gascon, "do you laugh at me?" + +They turned away to laugh again. + +Perducas threw a glance around him, and saw a young man near the +fireplace hiding his face in his hands. He thought it was to laugh, and, +going up to him, struck him on the shoulder, saying-- + +"Eh! monsieur, if you laugh, at all events show your face." + +The young man looked up; it was our friend Ernanton de Carmainges. + +"I beg you will leave me alone," said he, "I was not thinking of you." + +Pincornay turned away, grumbling; but at this moment an officer entered. + +"M. de Loignac!" cried twenty voices. + +At this name, known through all Gascony, every one rose and kept +silence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +M. DE LOIGNAC. + + +"Supper!" cried M. de Loignac; "and from this moment let all be friends, +and love each other like brothers." + +"Hum!" said St. Maline. + +"That would be difficult," added Ernanton. + +"See," cried Pincornay, "they laugh at me because I have no hat, and +they say nothing to M. Montcrabeau, who is going to supper in a cuirass +of the time of the Emperor Pertinax, from whom it probably came. See +what it is to have defensive arms." + +"Gentlemen," cried Montcrabeau, "I take it off; so much the worse for +those who prefer seeing me with offensive instead of defensive arms;" +and he gave his cuirass to his lackey, a man about fifty years of age. + +"Peace! peace!" cried De Loignac, "and let us go to table." + +Meanwhile the lackey whispered to Pertinax, "And am I not to sup? Let me +have something, Pertinax. I am dying of hunger." + +Pertinax, instead of being offended at this familiar address, replied, +"I will try, but you had better see for something for yourself." + +"Hum! that is not reassuring." + +"Have you no money?" + +"We spent our last crown at Sens." + +"Diable! then try to sell something." + +A few minutes after a cry was heard in the street of "Old iron! who +wants to sell old iron?" + +Madame Fournichon ran to the door, while M. Fournichon placed the supper +on the table, and to judge by its reception it must have been exquisite. +As his wife did not return, however, the host asked a servant what she +was doing. + +"Oh, master," he replied, "she is selling all your old iron for new +money." + +"I hope not my cuirass and arms," said he, running to the door. + +"No," said De Loignac, "it is forbidden to buy arms." + +Madame Fournichon entered triumphantly. + +"You have not been selling my arms?" cried her husband. + +"Yes, I have." + +"I will not have them sold." + +"Bah! in time of peace; and I have got ten crowns instead of an old +cuirass." + +"Ten crowns! Samuel, do you hear?" said Pertinax, looking for his +valet, but he was not to be seen. + +"It seems to me that this man carries on a dangerous trade. But what +does he do with them?" + +"Sells them again by weight." + +"By weight! and you say he gave you ten crowns--for what?" + +"A cuirass and a helmet." + +"Why, even if they weighed twenty pounds, that is half-a-crown a pound. +This hides some mystery." + +Voices rose, and the mirth grew loud with all, except Carmainges, who +still thought of the mysterious page. He sat by M. de Loignac, who said +to him: + +"Here are a number of joyful people, and they do not know what for." + +"Nor I, neither; but at least I am an exception." + +"You are wrong, for you are one of those to whom Paris is a paradise." + +"Do not laugh at me, M. de Loignac." + +"I do not; I distinguished you at once, and that other young man also +who looks so grave." + +"Who?" + +"M. de St. Maline." + +"And why this distinction, if this question be not too curious?" + +"I know you, that is all." + +"Me! you know me?" + +"You, and he, and all here." + +"It is strange." + +"Yes, but necessary." + +"Why?" + +"Because a chief should know his soldiers." + +"And all these men--" + +"Will be my soldiers to-morrow." + +"But I thought that M. d'Epernon--" + +"Hush! do not pronounce that name here." + +Then rising, M. de Loignac said, "Gentlemen, since chance unites here +forty-five compatriots, let us empty a glass of wine to the prosperity +of all." + +This proposal gave rise to frantic applause. "They are almost all half +drunk," said De Loignac; "it would be a good opportunity to make them +repeat their histories, only time does not permit of it." Then he added +aloud, "Hola! M. Fournichon, dismiss from the room all women, children +and lackeys." + +Lardille retired grumbling, but Militor did not move. "Did you not hear, +M. Militor," said De Loignac; "to the kitchen!" + +There remained only forty-five men, and M. de Loignac then said, "Now, +gentlemen, each knows who called him to Paris. Good! that will do; do +not call out his name. You know also that you have come to obey him." + +A murmur of assent came from all, mingled with astonishment, for each +one knew only what concerned himself, and was ignorant that his neighbor +had been moved by the same influence. + +"Well, then!" continued De Loignac, "you will have time to become +acquainted with each other afterward. You agree that you have come here +to obey him?" + +"Yes, yes," they cried. + +"Then, to begin; go quietly out of this hotel to the lodgings prepared +for you." + +"For all?" asked St. Maline. + +"Yes, for all." + +"We are all equal here," cried Perducas, whose limbs felt rather +doubtful under him. + +"Yes," replied De Loignac; "all are equal before the will of the +master." + +"Oh!" cried Carmainges, coloring; "I do not know that M. d'Epernon would +be called my master." + +"Wait!" + +"I did not expect that." + +"Wait, hot head! I did not tell you who was to be your master." + +"No; but you said we should have one." + +"Every one has a master; and if you are too proud to acknowledge him we +spoke of, you may look higher; I authorize you." + +"The king!" murmured Carmainges. + +"Silence!" said De Loignac. "But first will you do me the favor to read +aloud this parchment." + +Ernanton took it and read these words: + + "Order to M. de Loignac to take the command of the forty-five + gentlemen whom I have sent for to Paris with the consent of his + majesty. + + "NOGARET DE LAVALETTE. + + "Duc d'Epernon." + +They all bowed at this. + +"Thus," continued De Loignac, "you have to follow me at once; your +equipages and servants will remain here, M. Fournichon will take care of +them: we will send for them; but now, be quick! the boats are ready." + +"The boats!" cried they. + +"Certainly; to go to the Louvre, we must go by water." + +"To the Louvre!" cried they, joyfully. "Cap de Bious! we are going to +the Louvre." + +De Loignac made them all pass before him, counting them as they went, +and then conducted them to the place where three large boats were +waiting for them. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE PURCHASE OF CUIRASSES. + + +As soon as the valet of Pertinax heard the words of Madame Fournichon, +he ran after the dealer, but as it was night and he was doubtless in a +hurry, he had gone some little way and Samuel was obliged to call to +him. He appeared to hesitate at first, but seeing that Samuel was laden +with merchandise, he stopped. + +"What do you want, my friend?" said he. + +"Pardieu! I want to do a little business with you."--"Well, be quick!" + +"Are you in a hurry?" + +"Yes." + +"When you have seen what I bring you, you will be willing to wait." + +"What is it?" + +"A magnificent piece, of which the work--but you do not listen." + +"Yes; but I am also looking round." + +"Why?" + +"Do you not know that it is forbidden to buy arms?" + +Samuel thought it best to feign ignorance, and said, "I know nothing; I +have just arrived from Mont-de-Marsan." + +"Oh! that is another thing; but how did you know that I bought arms?" + +"I was at the door of 'The Brave Chevalier.'" + +"Well, come under that portico; it is too public here. Now, let me see +this cuirass," said he, when they were there. + +"It is so heavy." + +"It is old and out of date." + +"A work of art." + +"I will give you six crowns." + +"What! six crowns! and you gave ten just now for an old thing--" + +"Six, or none." + +"But look at the chasing." + +"Of what use is the chasing, when I sell by weight?" + +"The gilding alone is worth ten crowns--" + +"Well, I will give you seven." + +"You bargain here, and at the inn you gave anything; you go against the +law and then endeavor to cheat honest people."--"Do not call out so +loud." + +"Oh! I am not afraid." + +"Come, then, take ten crowns and begone." + +"I told you the gold was worth more. Ah! you want to escape; I will call +the guard," and he raised his voice. + +At the noise, a window opposite was opened. + +"Come," said the dealer; "I see I must give you what you want. Here are +fifteen crowns; now go." + +"That will do," said Samuel; "only these are for my master: I want +something for myself." + +The dealer half drew his dagger. + +"Yes, yes, I see your dagger," said Samuel; "but I also see the figure +in that balcony, watching you." + +The dealer, white with terror, looked up, and saw a man who had +witnessed the whole scene. "Oh!" said he, affecting to laugh; "you get +all you want out of me: here is another crown. And may the devil take +you," he added to himself. + +"Thanks, my good friend," said Samuel, and he made off. + +The dealer began to take up his wares and was also going, when the +bourgeois opposite cried out: + +"It seems, monsieur, that you buy armor." + +"No, monsieur," replied the unlucky dealer; "this was a mere chance." + +"A chance that suits me." + +"In what respect, monsieur?" + +"I have a heap of old things that I want to get rid of." + +"I have as much as I can carry." + +"But let me show them to you." + +"It is useless; I have no more money." + +"Never mind, I will give you credit; you look like an honest man." + +"Thank you; but I cannot wait." + +"It is odd how I seem to know you." + +"Know me!" cried the dealer, trembling. + +"Look at this helmet," said the bourgeois, showing it from the window. + +"You say you know me?" asked the dealer. + +"I thought so. Are you not--" he seemed seeking for the name. "Are you +not Nicholas--" + +The dealer looked frightened. + +"Nicholas Trouchon, ironmonger, Rue de la Cossonnerie?" + +"No, no!" cried the man, breathing more freely again. + +"Never mind; will you buy all my armor, cuirass, sword, and all?" + +"It is a forbidden commerce." + +"I know that; he whom you dealt with just now called it out loud +enough." + +"You heard!" + +"Yes, all; and you were liberal. But be easy, I will not be hard upon +you; I have been a trader myself." + +"What did you sell?" + +"Never mind; I have made my fortune."--"I congratulate you." + +"Well, will you buy all my armor?" + +"No, I only want the cuirass." + +"Do you only buy cuirasses?" + +"Yes." + +"That is odd, for if you buy and sell by weight, one sort of iron is as +good as another." + +"That is true, but I have preferences." + +"Well, then, buy only the cuirass, or rather--now I think again--buy +nothing at all." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that in these times every one wants his arms." + +"What! in perfect peace?" + +"My good friend, if we were in perfect peace, you would not buy so many +cuirasses, and so secretly, too. But really, the longer I look at you, +the more I think I know your face. You are not Nicholas Trouchon, but +still I know you." + +"Silence!" + +"And if you buy cuirasses--" + +"Well!" + +"I am sure it is for a work agreeable to God." + +"Hold your tongue!" + +"You enchant me!" cried the bourgeois, stretching out a long arm over +the balcony and seizing the hand of the dealer. + +"Then who the devil are you?" cried he, who felt his hand held as if in +a vise. + +"I am Robert Briquet, the terror of schismatics, the friend of the +Union, and a fierce Catholic; and you are not Nicholas Gimbelot, the +currier." + +"No, no! good-by." + +"What! are you going?" + +"Yes!" and he ran off. + +But Robert Briquet was not a man to be foiled; he jumped from his +balcony and ran after him. + +"You are mad!" said he. "If I were your enemy, I have but to cry out, +and the watch is in the next street; but you are my friend, and now I +know your name. You are Nicholas Poulain, lieutenant to the provost of +Paris. I knew it was Nicholas something." + +"I am lost!" murmured the man. + +"No; you are saved. I will do more for the good cause than ever you +would; you have found a brother. Take one cuirass, and I will take +another; I give you my gloves and the rest of my armor for nothing. Come +on, and Vive l'Union!" + +"You accompany me?" + +"I will help you to carry these cuirasses which are to conquer the +Philistines. Go on, I follow." + +A spark of suspicion lingered in the soul of the lieutenant, but he +thought; "If he wished me ill, he would not have acknowledged he knew +me. Come on then!" he added aloud, "if you will." + +"To life or death!" cried Briquet, and he continued to talk in this +strain till they arrived near the Hotel Guise, where Nicholas Poulain +stopped. + +"I fancied it would be here," thought Briquet. + +"Now," said Nicholas, with a tragic air, "there is still time to retire +before entering the lion's den." + +"Bah! I have entered many. _Et non intermuit medulla mea!_" exclaimed +Briquet; "but pardon me, perhaps you do not understand Latin?" + +"Do you?"--"As you see." + +"What a catch?" thought Poulain, "learned, strong, bold, and rich!" Then +he added aloud, "Well! let us enter," and he conducted Briquet to the +door of the hotel. The court was full of guards and men wrapped in +cloaks, and eight horses, saddled and bridled, waited in a corner; but +there was not a light to be seen. Poulain whispered his name to the +porter, and added, "I bring a good companion."--"Pass on." + +"Take these to the magazine," said Poulain, handing the cuirasses to a +soldier. "Now I will present you," said he to Briquet. + +"No, I am very timid. When I have done some work, I will present +myself." + +"As you please. Then wait here for me."--"What are we waiting for?" +asked a voice. + +"For the master," replied another. + +At this moment, a tall man entered. "Gentlemen," said he, "I come in his +name." + +"Ah! it is M. de Mayneville," said Poulain. + +"Ah, really!" said Briquet, making a hideous grimace, which quite +altered him. + +"Let us go, gentlemen," said M. de Mayneville, and he descended a +staircase leading to a vault. All the others followed, and Briquet +brought up the rear, murmuring: "But the page! where the devil is the +page?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +STILL THE LEAGUE. + + +At the moment when Robert Briquet was about to enter, he saw Poulain +waiting for him. + +"Pardon," said he, "but my friends do not know you, and decline to +admit you to their councils till they know more of you." + +"It is just, and I retire, happy to have seen so many brave defenders of +the Holy Union." + +"Shall I re-conduct you?" + +"No, I thank you, I will not trouble you." + +"But perhaps they will not open for you; yet I am wanted." + +"Have you not a password?" + +"Yes." + +"Then give it to me. I am a friend, you know." + +"True. It is 'Parma and Lorraine!'" + +"And they will open?" + +"Yes." + +"Thanks; now return to your friends." + +Briquet took some steps as if to go out, and then stopped to explore the +locality. The result of his observations was, that the vault ran +parallel to the exterior wall, and terminated in a hall destined for the +mysterious council from which he had been excluded. What confirmed him +in this supposition was that he saw a light at a barred window, pierced +in the wall, and guarded by a sort of wooden pipe, such as they placed +at the windows of convents and prisons to intercept the view from +without, while the air was still admitted. Briquet imagined this to be +the window of the hall, and thought that if he could gain this place he +could see all. He looked round him; the court had many soldiers and +servants in it, but it was large, and the night was dark; besides, they +were not looking his way, and the porter was busy, preparing his bed for +the night. + +Briquet rapidly climbed on to the cornice which ran toward the window in +question, and ran along the wall like a monkey, holding on with his +hands and feet to the ornaments of the sculpture. Had the soldiers seen +in the dark this figure gliding along the wall without apparent support, +they would not have failed to cry, "Magic!" but they did not see him. In +four bounds he reached the window, and established himself between the +bars and the pipe, so that from the inside he was concealed by the one, +and from the outside by the other. + +He then saw a great hall, lighted by a torch, and filled with armor of +all sorts. There were enough pikes, swords, halberds, and muskets to arm +four regiments. He gave less attention, however, to the arms than to the +people engaged in distributing them, and his piercing eyes sought +eagerly to distinguish their faces. + +"Oh! oh!" thought he, "there is M. Cruce, little Brigard and Leclerc, +who dares to call himself Bussy. Peste! the bourgeoisie is grandly +represented; but the nobility--ah! M. de Mayneville presses the hand of +Nicholas Poulain; what a touching fraternity! An orator, too!" continued +he, as M. de Mayneville prepared to harangue the assembly. + +Briquet could not hear a word, but he thought that he did not make much +impression on his audience, for one shrugged his shoulders, and another +turned his back. But at last they approached, seized his hand, and threw +up their hats in the air. But though Briquet could not hear, we must +inform our readers of what passed. + +First, Cruce, Marteau, and Bussy had complained of the inaction of the +Duc de Guise. + +Marteau was spokesman, and said, "M. de Mayneville, you come on the part +of M. le Duc de Guise, and we accept you as his ambassador; but the +presence of the duke himself is indispensable. After the death of his +glorious father, he, when only eighteen years of age, made all good +Frenchmen join this project of the Union, and enrolled us under this +banner. We have risked our lives, and sacrificed our fortunes, for the +triumph of this sacred cause, according to our oaths, and yet, in spite +of our sacrifices, nothing progresses--nothing is decided. Take care, M. +de Mayneville, Paris will grow tired, and then what will you do?" + +This speech was applauded by all the leaguers. + +M. de Mayneville replied, "Gentlemen, if nothing is decided, it is +because nothing is ripe. Consider our situation; M. le Duc and his +brother the cardinal are at Nancy--the one is organizing an army to keep +in check the Huguenots of Flanders, whom M. d'Anjou wishes to oppose to +us, the other is expediting courier after courier to the clergy of +France and to the pope, to induce them to adopt the Union. The Duc de +Gruise knows, what you do not, that the old alliance between the Duc +d'Anjou and the Bearnais is ready to be renewed, and he wishes, before +coming to Paris, to be in a position to crush both heresy and +usurpation." + +"They are everywhere where they are not wanted," said Bussy. "Where is +Madame de Montpensier, for instance?" + +"She entered Paris this morning." + +"No one has seen her." + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Who was it?" + +"Salcede." + +"Oh! oh!" cried all. + +"But where is she?" cried Bussy. "Has she disappeared? how did you know +she was here?" + +"Because I accompanied her to the Porte St. Antoine." + +"I heard that they had shut the gates." + +"Yes, they had." + +"Then, how did she pass." + +"In her own fashion. Something took place at the gates of Paris this +morning, gentlemen, of which you appear to be ignorant. The orders were +to open only to those who brought a card of admission--signed by whom I +know not. Immediately before us five or six men, some of whom were +poorly clothed, passed with these cards, before our eyes. Now, who were +those men? What were the cards? Reply, gentlemen of Paris, who promised +to learn everything concerning your city." + +Thus Mayneville, from the accused, became the accuser, which is the +great art of an orator. + +"Cards and exceptional admissions!" cried Nicholas Poulain, "what can +that mean?" + +"If you do not know, who live here, how should I know, who live in +Lorraine?" + +"How did these people come?" + +"Some on foot, some on horseback; some alone, and some with lackeys." + +"Were they soldiers?" + +"There were but two swords among the six; I think they were Gascons. +This concerns you, M. Poulain, to find out. But to return to the League. +Salcede, who had betrayed us, and would have done so again, not only did +not speak, but retracted on the scaffold--thanks to the duchess, who, in +the suite of one of these card-bearers, had the courage to penetrate the +crowd even to the place of execution, and made herself known to Salcede, +at the risk of being pointed out. At this sight Salcede stopped his +confession, and an instant after, the executioner stopped his +repentance. Thus, gentlemen, you have nothing to fear as to our +enterprise in Flanders; this secret is buried in the tomb." + +It was this last speech which had so pleased all the conspirators. Their +joy seemed to annoy Briquet; he slipped down from his place, and +returning to the court, said to the porter, "Parma and Lorraine." The +gate was opened, and he left. + +History tells us what passed afterward. M. de Mayneville brought from +the Guises the plan of an insurrection which consisted of nothing less +than to murder all the principal people of the city who were known to be +in favor with the king, and then to go through the streets crying, "Vive +la Messe! death to our enemies!" In fact, to enact a second St. +Bartholomew; in which, however, all hostile Catholics were to be +confounded with the Protestants. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE CHAMBER OF HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. + + +In a great room at the Louvre sat Henri, pale and unquiet. Since his +favorites, Schomberg, Quelus and Maugiron had been killed in a duel, St. +Megrin had been assassinated by M. de Mayenne, and the wounds left by +their deaths were still fresh and bleeding. The affection he bore his +new favorites was very different from what he had felt for the old. He +had overwhelmed D'Epernon with benefits, but he only loved him by fits +and starts, and at certain times he even hated him, and accused him of +cowardice and avarice. + +D'Epernon knew how to hide his ambition, which was indeed vague in its +aspirations; but his cupidity governed him completely. When he was rich, +he was laughing and good-tempered; but when he was in want of money, he +used to shut himself up in one of his castles, where, frowning and sad, +he bemoaned his fate, until he had drawn from the weakness of the king +some new gift. + +Joyeuse was very different. He loved the king, who, in turn, had for him +almost a fatherly affection. Young and impulsive, he was, perhaps, +somewhat egotistical, and cared for little but to be happy. Handsome, +brave and rich, Nature had done so much for him that Henri often +regretted that she had left so little for him to add. The king knew his +men well, for he was remarkably clear-sighted: and though often +betrayed, was never deceived. But ennui was the curse of his life; he +was ennuye now, and was wondering if any one would come and amuse him, +when M. le Duc d'Epernon was announced. Henri was delighted. + +"Ah! good-evening, duke; I am enchanted to see you. Why were you not +present at the execution of Salcede?--I told you there would be room in +my box." + +"Sire, I was unable to avail myself of your majesty's kindness." + +"Unable?" + +"Yes, sire; I was busy." + +"One would think that you were my minister, coming to announce, with a +long face, that some subsidy had not been paid." + +"Ma foi! your majesty is right; the subsidy has not been paid, and I am +penniless. But it was not that which occupied me." + +"What then?" + +"Your majesty knows what passed at the execution of Salcede?" + +"Parbleu! I was there." + +"They tried to carry off the criminal." + +"I did not see that." + +"It is the rumor all through the city, however." + +"A groundless one." + +"I believe your majesty is wrong." + +"On what do you found your belief?" + +"Because Salcede denied before the people what he had confessed to the +judges." + +"Ah! you know that, already." + +"I try to know all that interests your majesty." + +"Thanks; but what do you conclude from all this?" + +"That a man who dies like Salcede was a good servant, sire." + +"Well?" + +"And the master who has such followers is fortunate." + +"You mean to say that I have none such; or, rather, that I no longer +have them. You are right, if that be what you mean." + +"I did not mean that; your majesty would find, I am sure, were there +occasion, followers as devoted as Salcede." + +"Well, duke, do not look gloomy; I am sad enough already. Do be gay." + +"Gayety cannot be forced, sire." + +The king struck the table angrily. "You are a bad friend," said he; "I +lost all, when I lost my former ones." + +"May I dare to say to your majesty that you hardly encourage the new +ones." + +The king looked at him with an expression which he well understood. + +"Ah! your majesty reproaches me with your benefits," said he, "but I do +not reproach you with my devotion." + +"Lavalette," cried Henri, "you make me sad; you who are so clever, and +could so easily make me joyful. It is not your nature to fight +continually, like my old favorites; but you are facetious and amusing, +and give good counsel. You know all my affairs, like that other more +humble friend, with whom I never experienced a moment's ennui." + +"Of whom does your majesty speak?" + +"Of my poor jester, Chicot. Alas! where is he?" + +D'Epernon rose, piqued. "Your majesty's souvenirs, to-day, are not very +amusing for other people," said he. + +"Why so?" + +"Your majesty, without intending it, perhaps, compared me to Chicot, +which is not very flattering." + +"You are wrong, D'Epernon; I could only compare to Chicot a man who +loves me, and whom I love." + +"It was not to resemble Chicot, I suppose, that your majesty made me a +duke?" + +"Chicot loved me, and I miss him; that is all I can say. Oh! when I +think that in the same place where you now are have been all those young +men, handsome, brave, and faithful--that there, on that very chair on +which you have placed your hat, Chicot has slept more than a hundred +times--" + +"Perhaps that was very amusing," interrupted the duke, "but certainly +not very respectful." + +"Alas! he has now neither mind nor body."--"What became of him?" + +"He died, like all who loved me." + +"Well, sire, I think he did well to die; he was growing old, and I have +heard that sobriety was not one of his virtues. Of what did he +die--indigestion?" + +"Of grief." + +"Oh! he told you so, to make you laugh once more." + +"You are wrong; he would not sadden me with the news of his illness. He +knew how I regretted my friends--he, who had so often seen me weep for +them." + +"Then it was his shade that came to tell you?" + +"No; I did not even see his shade. It was his friend, the worthy prior +Gorenflot, who wrote me this sad news." + +"I see that if he lived your majesty would make him chancellor." + +"I beg, duke, that you will not laugh at those who loved me, and whom I +loved." + +"Oh! sire, I do not desire to laugh, but just now you reproached me with +want of gayety, parfandious!" + +"Well, now I am in the mood to hear bad news, if you have any to tell. +Luckily I have strength to bear it, or I should be dead ten times a +day." + +"Which would not displease certain people of our acquaintance." + +"Oh! against them I have the arms of my Swiss." + +"I could find you a better guard than that." + +"You?"--"Yes, sire." + +"What is it?" + +"Will your majesty be so good as to accompany me to the old buildings of +the Louvre?" + +"On the site of the Rue de l'Astruce?" + +"Precisely." + +"What shall I see there?" + +"Oh! come first." + +"It is a long way, duke." + +"We can go in five minutes through the galleries." + +"D'Epernon--" + +"Well, sire?" + +"If what you are about to show me be not worth seeing, take care." + +"I answer for it, sire." + +"Come, then," said the king, rising. + +The duke took his cloak, presented the king's sword to him, then, taking +a light, preceded his majesty. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE DORMITORY. + + +In less than five minutes they arrived at their destination. The duke +took out a key, and, after crossing a court, opened an arched door, the +bottom of which was overgrown with long grass. They went along a dark +corridor, and then up a staircase to a room, of which D'Epernon had also +the key. He opened the door, and showed the king forty-five beds, and in +each of them a sleeper. + +The king looked at all this with a troubled curiosity. "Well," said he, +"who are these people?" + +"People who sleep to-night, but will not do so to-morrow night." + +"Why not?" + +"That your majesty may sleep in peace." + +"Explain yourself. Are these your friends?" + +"Chosen by me, sire; intrepid guards, who will not quit your majesty, +and who, gentlemen all, will be able to go wherever your majesty goes, +and will let no one approach you." + +"And you thought of this, D'Epernon?" + +"I, alone, sire." + +"We shall be laughed at." + +"No, we shall be feared." + +"But they will ruin me?" + +"How can a king be ruined?" + +"I cannot pay my Swiss!" + +"Look at these men, sire; do you think they would be very expensive to +keep?" + +"But they could not always live like this, they would be stifled. And +look at their doublets!" + +"Oh! I confess they are not all very sumptuously clothed, but if they +had been born dukes and peers--" + +"Yes, I understand; they would have cost me more?"--"Just so." + +"Well, how much will they cost? That will, perhaps, decide me, for, in +truth, D'Epernon, they do not look very inviting." + +"Sire, I know they are rather thin and burned by our southern sun, but I +was so when I came to Paris. They will fatten and whiten like me." + +"How they snore!" + +"Sire, you must not judge them to-night; they have supped well." + +"Stay, there is one speaking in his sleep; let us listen." + +Indeed, one of the gentlemen called out, "If you are a woman, fly!" + +The king approached him softly. "Ah! ah!" said he, "he is a gallant." + +"What do you think of him, sire?" + +"His face pleases me, and he has white hands and a well-kept beard." + +[Illustration: "HIS FACE PLEASES ME, AND HE HAS WHITE HANDS AND A +WELL-KEPT BEARD."] + +"It is Ernanton de Carmainges, a fine fellow, who is capable of much." + +"He has left behind him some love, I suppose, poor fellow. But what a +queer figure his next neighbor is." + +"Ah! that is M. de Chalabre. If he ruins your majesty, it will not be +without enriching himself, I answer for it." + +"And that one, with such a somber air; he does not seem as though he +dreamed of love." + +"What number, sire?" + +"Number 12." + +"M. de St. Maline, a brave fellow, with a heart of bronze." + +"Well, Lavalette, you have had a good idea." + +"I should think so. Imagine the effect that will be produced by these +new watch-dogs, who will follow you like your shadow." + +"Yes, yes; but they cannot follow me in this guise." + +"Now we return to the money. But about this, also, I have an idea." + +"D'Epernon!" + +"My zeal for your majesty doubles my imagination." + +"Well, let us hear it." + +"If it depended upon me, each of these gentlemen should find by his bed +a purse containing 1,000 crowns, as payment for the first six months." + +"One thousand crowns for six months! 6,000 livres a year! You are mad, +duke; an entire regiment would not cost that." + +"You forget, sire, that it is necessary they should be well dressed. +Each will have to take from his 1,000 crowns enough for arms and +equipments. Set down 1,500 livres to effect this in a manner to do you +honor, and there would remain 4,500 livres for the first year. Then for +subsequent years you could give 3,000 livres." + +"That is more reasonable." + +"Then your majesty accepts?" + +"There is only one difficulty, duke." + +"What is it?" + +"Want of money." + +"Sire, I have found a method. Six months ago a tax was levied on +shooting and fishing." + +"Well?" + +"The first payment produced 65,000 crowns, which have not yet been +disposed of." + +"I destined it for the war, duke." + +"The first interest of the kingdom is the safety of the king." + +"Well; there still would remain 20,000 crowns for the army." + +"Pardon, sire, but I had disposed of them, also." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes, sire; your majesty had promised me money." + +"Ah! and you give me a guard to obtain it." + +"Oh! sire. But look at them; will they not have a good effect?" + +"Yes, when dressed, they will not look bad. Well, so be it." + +"Well, then, sire, I have a favor to ask." + +"I should be astonished if you had not." + +"Your majesty is bitter to-day." + +"Oh! I only mean, that having rendered me a service, you have the right +to ask for a return." + +"Well, sire, it is an appointment." + +"Why, you are already colonel-general of infantry, more would crush +you." + +"In your majesty's service, I am a Samson." + +"What is it, then?" + +"I desire the command of these forty-five gentlemen." + +"What! you wish to march at their head?" + +"No; I should have a deputy; only I desire that they should know me as +their head." + +"Well, you shall have it. But who is to be your deputy?" + +"M. de Loignac, sire." + +"Ah! that is well." + +"He pleases your majesty?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Then it is decided?" + +"Yes; let it be as you wish." + +"Then I will go at once to the treasurer, and get my forty-five purses." + +"To-night?" + +"They are to find them to-morrow, when they wake." + +"Good; then I will return." + +"Content, sire?" + +"Tolerably." + +"Well guarded, at all events." + +"By men who sleep." + +"They will not sleep to-morrow, sire." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE SHADE OF CHICOT. + + +The king, as we have said, was never deceived as to the character of his +friends; he knew perfectly well that D'Epernon was working for his own +advantage, but as he expected to have had to give and receive nothing in +return, whereas he had got forty-five guards, he had thought it a good +idea. Besides, it was a novelty, which was a thing that a poor king of +France could not always get, and especially Henri III., who, when he had +gone through his processions, counted his dogs, and uttered his usual +number of sighs, had nothing left to do. Therefore he became more and +more pleased with the idea as he returned to his room. + +"These men are doubtless brave, and will be perhaps very devoted," +thought he; "and forty-five swords always ready to leap from their +scabbards are a grand thing." + +This thought brought to his mind the other devoted swords that he +regretted so bitterly. He became sad again, and inquired for Joyeuse. +They replied that he had not returned. + +"Then call my valets-de-chambre." + +When he was in bed, they asked if his reader should attend, for Henri +was subject to long fits of wakefulness, and was often read to sleep. + +"No," replied the king, "I want no one; only if M. de Joyeuse returns, +bring him to me." + +"If he returns late, sire?" + +"Alas! he is always late; but whatever be the hour, bring him here." + +The servants extinguished the candles and lighted a lamp of essences, +which gave a pale blue flame, that the king liked. Henri was tired, and +soon slept, but not for long; he awoke, thinking he heard a noise in the +room. + +"Joyeuse," he asked; "is it you?" + +No one replied. The light burned dim, and only threw faint circles on +the ceiling of carved oak. + +"Alone, still!" murmured the king. "Mon Dieu! I am alone all my life, as +I shall be after death." + +"'Alone after death'; that is not certain," said a powerful voice near +the bed. + +The king started up and looked round him in terror. "I know that voice," +cried he. + +"Ah! that is lucky," replied the voice. + +"It is like the voice of Chicot." + +"You burn, Henri: you burn." + +Then the king, getting half out of bed, saw a man sitting in the very +chair which he had pointed out to D'Epernon. + +"Heaven protect me!" cried he; "it is the shade of Chicot." + +"Ah! my poor Henriquet, are you still so foolish?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"That shades cannot speak, having no body, and consequently no tongue." + +"Then you are Chicot, himself?" cried the king, joyfully. + +"Do not be too sure." + +"Then you are not dead, my poor Chicot?" + +"On the contrary; I am dead." + +"Chicot, my only friend." + +"You, at least, are not changed." + +"But you, Chicot, are you changed?" + +"I hope so." + +"Chicot, my friend, why did you leave me?" + +"Because I am dead." + +"You said just now that you were not dead." + +"Dead to some--alive to others." + +"And to me?"--"Dead." + +"Why dead to me?" + +"It is easy to comprehend that you are not the master here." + +"How?" + +"You can do nothing for those who serve you." + +"Chicot!" + +"Do not be angry, or I shall be so, also." + +"Speak then, my friend," said the king, fearful that Chicot would +vanish. + +"Well, I had a little affair to settle with M. de Mayenne, you +remember?" + +"Perfectly." + +"I settled it; I beat this valiant captain without mercy. He sought for +me to hang me; and you, whom I thought would protect me, abandoned me, +and made peace with him. Then I declared myself dead and buried by the +aid of my friend Gorenflot, so that M. de Mayenne has ceased to search +for me." + +"What a frightful courage you had, Chicot; did you not know the grief +your death would cause me?" + +"I have never lived so tranquilly as since the world thought me dead." + +"Chicot, my head turns; you frighten me--I know not what to think." + +"Well! settle something." + +"I think that you are dead and--" + +"Then I lie; you are polite." + +"You commence by concealing some things from me; but presently, like the +orators of antiquity, you will tell me terrible truths." + +"Oh! as to that, I do not say no. Prepare, poor king!" + +"If you are not a shade, how could you come unnoticed into my room, +through the guarded corridors?" And Henri, abandoning himself to new +terrors, threw himself down in the bed and covered up his head. + +"Come, come," cried Chicot; "you have only to touch me to be convinced." + +"But how did you come?" + +"Why, I have still the key that you gave me, and which I hung round my +neck to enrage your gentlemen, and with this I entered." + +"By the secret door, then?" + +"Certainly." + +"And why to-day more than yesterday?" + +"Ah! that you shall hear." + +Henri, sitting up again, said like a child, "Do not tell me anything +disagreeable, Chicot; I am so glad to see you again." + +"I will tell the truth; so much the worse if it be disagreeable." + +"But your fear of Mayenne is not serious?" + +"Very serious, on the contrary. You understand that M. de Mayenne gave +me fifty blows with a stirrup leather, in return for which I gave him +one hundred with the sheath of my sword. No doubt he thinks, therefore, +that he still owes me fifty, so that I should not have come to you now, +however great your need, had I not known him to be at Soissons." + +"Well, Chicot, I take you now under my protection, and I wish that you +should be resuscitated and appear openly." + +"What folly!" + +"I will protect you, on my royal word." + +"Bah! I have better than that." + +"What?" + +"My hole, where I remain." + +"I forbid it," cried the king, jumping out of bed. + +"Henri, you will catch cold; go back to bed, I pray." + +"You are right, but you exasperated me. How, when I have enough guards, +Swiss, Scotch, and French, for my own defense, should I not have enough +for yours?" + +"Let us see: you have the Swiss--" + +"Yes, commanded by Tocquenot." + +"Good! then you have the Scotch--" + +"Commanded by Larchant." + +"Very well! and you have the French guards--" + +"Commanded by Crillon. And then--but I do not know if I ought to tell +you--" + +"I did not ask you." + +"A novelty, Chicot!" + +"A novelty?" + +"Yes; imagine forty-five brave gentlemen." + +"Forty-five? What do you mean?" + +"Forty-five gentlemen." + +"Where did you find them? Not in Paris, I suppose?" + +"No, but they arrived here yesterday." + +"Oh!" cried Chicot, with a sudden illumination, "I know these +gentlemen." + +"Really!" + +"Forty-five beggars, who only want the wallet; figures to make one die +with laughter." + +"Chicot, there are splendid men among them." + +"Gascons, like your colonel-general of infantry." + +"And like you, Chicot. However, I have forty-five formidable swords at +command." + +"Commanded by the 46th, whom they call D'Epernon." + +"Not exactly." + +"By whom, then?" + +"De Loignac." + +"And it is with them you think to defend yourself?" + +"Yes, mordieu! yes." + +"Well, I have more troops than you." + +"You have troops?" + +"Why not?" + +"What are they?" + +"You shall hear. First, all the army that MM. de Guise are raising in +Lorraine." + +"Are you mad?" + +"No; a real army--at least six thousand men." + +"But how can you, who fear M. de Mayenne so much, be defended by the +soldiers of M. de Guise?" + +"Because I am dead." + +"Again this joke!" + +"No; I have changed my name and position." + +"What are you, then?" + +"I am Robert Briquet, merchant and leaguer." + +"You a leaguer?" + +"A devoted one, so that I keep away from M. de Mayenne. I have, then, +for me, first, the army of Lorraine--six thousand men; remember that +number." + +"I listen." + +"Then, at least one hundred thousand Parisians." + +"Famous soldiers!" + +"Sufficiently so to annoy you much: 6,000 and 100,000 are 106,000; then +there is the pope, the Spaniards, M. de Bourbon, the Flemings, Henry of +Navarre, the Duc d'Anjou--" + +"Have you done?" interrupted Henri, impatiently. + +"There still remain three classes of people." + +"What are they?" + +"First the Catholics, who hate you because you only three parts +exterminated the Huguenots: then the Huguenots, who hate you because you +have three parts exterminated them; and the third party is that which +desires neither you, nor your brother, nor M. de Guise, but your +brother-in-law, Henri of Navarre." + +"Provided that he abjure. But these people of whom you speak are all +France." + +"Just so. These are my troops as a leaguer; now add, and compare." + +"You are joking, are you not, Chicot?" + +"Is it a time to joke, when you are alone, against all the world?" + +Henri assumed an air of royal dignity. "Alone I am," said he, "but at +the same time I alone command. You show me an army, but where is the +chief? You will say, M. de Guise; but do I not keep him at Nancy? M. de +Mayenne, you say yourself, is at Soissons, the Duc d'Anjou is at +Brussels, and the king of Navarre at Pau; so that if I am alone, I am +free. I am like a hunter in the midst of a plain, waiting to see his +prey come within his reach." + +"On the contrary; you are the game whom the hunters track to his lair." + +"Chicot!" + +"Well! let me hear whom you have seen come." + +"No one." + +"Yet some one has come." + +"Of those whom I named?" + +"Not exactly, but nearly." + +"Who?" + +"A woman." + +"My sister Margot?" + +"No; the Duchesse de Montpensier." + +"She! at Paris?" + +"Mon Dieu! yes." + +"Well, if she be; I do not fear women." + +"True; but she comes as the avant courier to announce the arrival of her +brother." + +"Of M. de Guise?" + +"Yes." + +"And do you think that embarrasses me? Give me ink and paper." + +"What for? To sign an order for M. de Guise to remain at Nancy?" + +"Exactly; the idea must be good, since you had it also." + +"Execrable, on the contrary." + +"Why?" + +"As soon as he receives it he will know he is wanted at Paris, and he +will come." + +The king grew angry. "If you only returned to talk like this," said he, +"you had better have stayed away." + +"What would you have? Phantoms never flatter. But be reasonable; why do +you think M. de Guise remains at Nancy?" + +"To organize an army." + +"Well; and for what purpose does he destine this army?" + +"Ah, Chicot! you fatigue me with all these questions." + +"You will sleep better after it. He destines this army--" + +"To attack the Huguenots in the north--" + +"Or rather, to thwart your brother of Anjou, who has called himself Duke +of Brabant, and wishes to build himself a throne in Flanders, for which +he solicits your aid--" + +"Which I never sent." + +"To the great joy of the Duc de Guise. Well, if you were to feign to +send this aid--if they only went half way--" + +"Ah! yes, I understand; M. de Guise would not leave the frontier." + +"And the promise of Madame de Montpensier that her brother would be here +in a week--" + +"Would be broken." + +"You see, then?" + +"So far, good; but in the south--" + +"Ah, yes; the Bearnais--" + +"Do you know what he is at?" + +"No." + +"He claims the towns which were his wife's dowry," said the king. + +"Insolent! to claim what belongs to him." + +"Cahors, for example; as if it would be good policy to give up such a +town to an enemy." + +"No; but it would be like an honest man." + +"But to return to Flanders. I will send some one to my brother--but whom +can I trust? Oh! now I think of it, you shall go, Chicot." + +"I, a dead man?" + +"No; you shall go as Robert Briquet." + +"As a bagman?" + +"Do you refuse?"--"Certainly." + +"You disobey me!" + +"I owe you no obedience--" + +Henri was about to reply, when the door opened and the Duc de Joyeuse +was announced. + +"Ah! there is your man," said Chicot; "who could make a better +ambassador?" + +Chicot then buried himself in the great chair, so as to be quite +invisible in the dim light. M. de Joyeuse did not see him. The king +uttered a cry of joy on seeing his favorite, and held out his hand. + +"Sit down, Joyeuse, my child," said he; "how late you are." + +"Your majesty is very good," answered Joyeuse, approaching the bed, on +which he sat down. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE DIFFICULTY OF FINDING A GOOD AMBASSADOR. + + +Chicot was hidden in his great chair, and Joyeuse was half lying on the +foot of the bed in which the king was bolstered up, when the +conversation commenced. + +"Well, Joyeuse," said Henri, "have you well wandered about the town?" + +"Yes, sire," replied the duke, carelessly. + +"How quickly you disappeared from the Place de Greve." + +"Sire, to speak frankly, I do not like to see men suffer." + +"Tender heart." + +"No; egotistical heart, rather; then sufferings act on my nerves." + +"You know what passed?" + +"Ma foi! no." + +"Salcede denied all." + +"Ah!" + +"You bear it very indifferently, Joyeuse." + +"I confess I do not attach much importance to it; besides, I was certain +he would deny everything." + +"But since he confessed before the judges--" + +"All the more reason that he should deny it afterward. The confession +put the Guises on their guard, and they were at work while your majesty +remained quiet." + +"What! you foresee such things, and do not warn me?" + +"I am not a minister, to talk politics." + +"Well, Joyeuse, I want your brother." + +"He, like myself, is at your majesty's service." + +"Then I may count on him?" + +"Doubtless." + +"I wish to send him on a little mission." + +"Out of Paris?" + +"Yes." + +"In that case, it is impossible." + +"How so?" + +"Du Bouchage cannot go away just now." + +The king looked astonished. "What do you mean?" said he. + +"Sire," said Joyeuse quietly, "it is the simplest thing possible. Du +Bouchage is in love, but he had carried on his negotiations badly, and +everything was going wrong; the poor boy was growing thinner and +thinner." + +"Indeed," said the king, "I have remarked it." + +"And he had become sad, mordieu! as if he had lived in your majesty's +court." + +A kind of grunt, proceeding from the corner of the room interrupted +Joyeuse, who looked round astonished. + +"It is nothing, Joyeuse," said the king, laughing, "only a dog asleep on +the footstool. You say, then, that Du Bouchage grew sad?--" + +"Sad as death, sire. It seems he has met with some woman of an +extraordinary disposition. However, one sometimes succeeds as well with +this sort of women as with others, if you only set the right way to +work." + +"You would not have been embarrassed, libertine!" + +"You understand, sire, that no sooner had he made me his confidant, than +I undertook to save him." + +"So that--" + +"So that already the cure commences." + +"What, is he less in love?" + +"No; but he has more hope of making her so. For the future, instead of +sighing with the lady, we mean to amuse her in every possible way. +To-night I stationed thirty Italian musicians under her balcony." + +"Ah! ma foi! music would not have amused me when I was in love with +Madame de Conde." + +"No; but you were in love, sire; and she is as cold as an icicle." + +"And you think music will melt her?" + +"Diable! I do not say that she will come at once and throw herself into +the arms of Du Bouchage, but she will be pleased at all this being done +for herself alone. If she do not care for this, we shall have plays, +enchantments, poetry--in fact, all the pleasures of the earth, so that, +even if we do not bring gayety back to her, I hope we shall to Du +Bouchage." + +"Well, I hope so; but since it would be so trying to him to leave Paris, +I hope you are not also, like him, the slave of some passion?" + +"I never was more free, sire." + +"Oh! I thought you were in love with a beautiful lady?" + +"Yes, sire, so I was; but imagine that this evening, after having given +my lesson to Du Bouchage, I went to see her, with my head full of his +love story, and, believing myself almost as much in love as he, I found +a trembling frightened woman, and thinking I had disturbed her somehow, +I tried to reassure her, but it was useless. I interrogated her, but she +did not reply. I tried to embrace her, and she turned her head away. I +grew angry, and we quarreled: and she told me she should never be at +home to me any more."' + +"Poor Joyeuse; what did you do?" + +"Pardieu, sire! I took my hat and cloak, bowed, and went out, without +once looking back." + +"Bravo, Joyeuse; it was courageous." + +"The more so, sire, that I thought I heard her sigh." + +"But you will return?" + +"No, I am proud." + +"Well, my friend, this rupture is for your good." + +"Perhaps so, sire; but I shall probably be horribly ennuye for a week, +having nothing to do. It may perhaps amuse me, however, as it is +something new, and I think it distingue." + +"Certainly it is, I have made it so," said the king. "However, I will +occupy you with something." + +"Something lazy, I hope?" + +A second noise came from the chair; one might have thought the dog was +laughing at the words of Joyeuse. + +"What am I to do, sire?" continued Joyeuse. + +"Get on your boots." + +"Oh! that is against all my ideas." + +"Get on horseback." + +"On horseback! impossible." + +"And why?" + +"Because I am an admiral, and admirals have nothing to do with horses." + +"Well, then, admiral, if it be not your place to mount a horse, it is so +at all events to go on board ship. So you will start at once for Rouen, +where you will find your admiral's ship, and make ready to sail +immediately for Antwerp." + +"For Antwerp!" cried Joyeuse, in a tone as despairing as though he had +received an order for Canton or Valparaiso. + +"I said so," replied the king, in a cold and haughty tone, "and there is +no need to repeat it." + +Joyeuse, without making the least further resistance, fastened his cloak +and took his hat. + +"What a trouble I have to make myself obeyed," continued Henri. +"Ventrebleu! if I forget sometimes that I am the master, others might +remember it." + +Joyeuse bowed stifly, and said, "Your orders, sire?" + +The king began to melt. "Go," said he, "to Rouen, where I wish you to +embark, unless you prefer going by land to Brussels." + +Joyeuse did not answer, but only bowed. + +"Do you prefer the land route, duke?" asked Henri. + +"I have no preference when I have an order to execute, sire." + +"There, now you are sulky. Ah! kings have no friends." + +"Those who give orders can only expect to find servants." + +"Monsieur," replied the king, angry again, "you will go then to Rouen; +you will go on board your ship, and will take the garrisons of Caudebec, +Harfleur, and Dieppe, which I will replace afterward. You will put them +on board six transports, and place them at the service of my brother, +who expects aid from me." + +"My commission, if you please, sire." + +"And since when have you been unable to act by virtue of your rank as +admiral?" + +"I only obey, sire; and, as much as possible, avoid responsibility." + +"Well, then, M. le Duc, you will receive the commission at your hotel +before you depart." + +"And when will that be?" + +"In an hour." + +Joyeuse bowed and turned to the door. The king's heart misgave him. +"What!" cried he, "not even the courtesy of an adieu? You are not +polite, but that is a common reproach to naval people." + +"Pardon me, sire, but I am a still worse courtier than I am a seaman;" +and shutting the door violently, he went out. + +"See how those love me, for whom I have done so much," cried the king; +"ungrateful Joyeuse!" + +"Well, are you going to recall him?" said Chicot, advancing. "Because, +for once in your life, you have been firm, you repent it." + +"Ah! so you think it very agreeable to go to sea in the month of +October? I should like to see you do it." + +"You are quite welcome to do so; my greatest desire just now is to +travel." + +"Then if I wish to send you somewhere you will not object to go?" + +"Not only I do not object, but I request it." + +"On a mission?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you go to Navarre?" + +"I would go to the devil." + +"You are joking." + +"No; since my death I joke no more." + +"But you refused just now to quit Paris." + +"I was wrong, and I repent. I will go to Navarre, if you will send me." + +"Doubtless; I wish it." + +"I wait your orders, gracious prince," said Chicot, assuming the same +attitude as Joyeuse. + +"But you do not know if the mission will suit you. I have certain +projects of embroiling Margot with her husband." + +"Divide to reign was the A B C of politics one hundred years ago." + +"Then you have no repugnance?" + +"It does not concern me; do as you wish. I am ambassador, that is all; +and as long as I am inviolable, that is all I care for." + +"But now you must know what to say to my brother-in-law." + +"I say anything! Certainly not." + +"Not?" + +"I will go where you like, but I will say nothing." + +"Then you refuse?" + +"I refuse to give a message, but I will take a letter." + +"Well, I will give you a letter." + +"Give it me, then." + +"What! you do not think such a letter can be written at once. It must be +well weighed and considered." + +"Well, then, think over it. I will come or send for it early to-morrow." + +"Why not sleep here?" + +"Here?" + +"Yes, in your chair." + +"I sleep no more at the Louvre." + +"But you must know my intentions concerning Margot and her husband. My +letter will make a noise, and they will question you; you must be able +to reply." + +"Mon Dieu!" said Chicot, shrugging his shoulders, "how obtuse you are, +great king. Do you think I am going to carry a letter a hundred and +fifty leagues without knowing what is in it? Be easy, the first halt I +make I shall open your letter and read it. What! have you sent +ambassadors for ten years to all parts of the world, and know no better +than that? Come, rest in peace, and I will return to my solitude." + +"Where is it?" + +"In the cemetery of the Grands-Innocens, great prince." + +Henri looked at him in astonishment again. + +"Ah! you did not expect that," said Chicot. "Well, till to-morrow, when +I or my messenger will come--" + +"How shall I know your messenger when he arrives?" + +"He will say he comes from the shade." And Chicot disappeared so rapidly +as almost to reawaken the king's fears as to whether he were a shade or +not. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE SERENADE. + + +From the Louvre Chicot had not far to go to his home. He went to the +bank of the Seine and got into a little boat which he had left there. + +"It is strange," thought he, as he rowed and looked at the +still-lighted window of the king's room, "that after so many years, +Henri is still the same. Others have risen or fallen, while he has +gained some wrinkles, and that is all. He has the same weak, yet +elevated mind--still fantastical and poetical--still the same +egotistical being, always asking for more than one has to give him, +friendship from the indifferent, love from the friendly, devotion from +the loving, and more sad than any one in his kingdom. By-the-by, he did +not speak of giving me any money for my journey; that proves at least +that he thinks me a friend." And he laughed quietly. + +He soon arrived at the opposite bank, where he fastened his boat. On +entering the Rue des Augustins, he was struck by the sound of +instruments and voices in the street at that late hour. + +"Is there a wedding here?" thought he, "I have not long to sleep, and +now this will keep me awake." + +As he advanced, he saw a dozen flambeaux carried by pages, while thirty +musicians were playing on different instruments. The band was stationed +before a house, that Chicot, with surprise, recognized as his own. He +remained for an instant stupefied, and then said to himself, "There must +be some mistake; all this noise cannot be for me. Unless, indeed, some +unknown princess has suddenly fallen in love with me." + +This supposition, flattering as it was, did not appear to convince +Chicot, and he turned toward the house facing his, but it showed no +signs of life. + +"They must sleep soundly, there," said he; "such a noise is enough to +wake the dead." + +"Pardon me, my friend," said he, addressing himself to a torch-bearer, +"but can you tell me, if you please, who all this music is for?" + +"For the bourgeois who lives there." replied he, pointing out to Chicot +his own house. + +"Decidedly it is for me!" thought he. "Whom do you belong to?" he asked. + +"To the bourgeois who lives there." + +"Ah! they not only come for me, but they belong to me--still better. +Well! we shall see," and piercing through the crowd, he opened his door, +went upstairs, and appeared at his balcony, in which he placed a chair +and sat down. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "are you sure there is no mistake? is all this +really for me?" + +"Are you M. Robert Briquet?" + +"Himself." + +"Then we are at your service, monsieur," said the leader of the band, +giving the sign to recommence. + +"Certainly it is unintelligible," thought Chicot. He looked around; all +the inhabitants of the street were at their windows, excepting those of +the opposite house, which, as we have said, remained dark and quiet. But +on glancing downward, he saw a man wrapped in a dark cloak, and who wore +a black hat with a red feather, leaning against the portico of his own +door, and looking earnestly at the opposite house. + +The leader of the band just then quitted his post and spoke softly to +this man, and Chicot instantly guessed that here lay all the interest of +the scene. Soon after, a gentleman on horseback, followed by two +squires, appeared at the corner of the street, and pushed his way +through the crowd, while the music stopped. + +"M. de Joyeuse," murmured Chicot, who recognized him at once. + +The cavalier approached the gentleman under the balcony. + +"Well! Henri," said he, "what news?" + +"Nothing, brother."--"Nothing?" + +"No; she has not even appeared." + +"They have not made noise enough." + +"They have roused all the neighborhood." + +"They did not cry as I told them, that it was all in honor of this +bourgeois." + +"They cried it so loud, that there he is, sitting in his balcony, +listening." + +"And she has not appeared?" + +"Neither she, nor any one." + +"The idea was ingenious, however, for she might, like the rest of the +people, have profited by the music given to her neighbor." + +"Ah! you do not know her, brother." + +"Yes, I do; or at all events I know women, and as she is but a woman, we +will not despair." + +"Ah! you say that in a discouraged tone, brother." + +"Not at all; only give the bourgeois his serenade every night." + +"But she will go away." + +"Not if you do not speak to her, or seem to be doing it on her account, +and remain concealed. Has the bourgeois spoken?" + +"Yes, and he is now speaking again." + +"Hold your tongue up there and go in," cried Joyeuse, out of humor. +"Diable! you have had your serenade, so keep quiet." + +"My serenade! that is just what I want to know the meaning of; to whom +is it addressed?" + +"To your daughter." + +"I have none."--"To your wife, then." + +"Thank God, I am not married." + +"Then to yourself, and if you do not go in--" cried Joyeuse, advancing +with a menacing air. + +"Ventre de biche! but if the music be for me--" + +"Old fool!" growled Joyeuse. "If you do not go in and hide your ugly +face they shall break their instruments over your head." + +"Let the man alone, brother," said Henri, "the fact is, he must be very +much astonished." + +"Oh! but if we get up a quarrel, perhaps she will look to see what is +the matter; we will burn his house down, if necessary." + +"No, for pity's sake, brother, do not let us force her attention; we are +beaten, and must submit." + +Chicot, who heard all, was mentally preparing the means of defense, but +Joyeuse yielded to his brother's request, and dismissed the pages and +musicians. + +Then he said to his brother, "I am in despair; all conspires against +us." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I have no longer time to aid you." + +"I see now that you are in traveling dress; I did not remark it before." + +"I set off to-night for Antwerp, by desire of the king." + +"When did he give you the order?" + +"This evening." + +"Mon Dieu!" + +"Come with me, I entreat." + +"Do you order me, brother?" said Henri, turning pale at the thought. + +"No; I only beg you." + +"Thank you, brother. If I were forced to give up passing my nights under +this window." + +"Well?" + +"I should die." + +"You are mad." + +"My heart is here, brother; my life is here." + +Joyeuse crossed his arms with a mixture of anger and pity. "If our +father," he said, "begged you to let yourself be attended by Miron, who +is at once a philosopher and a doctor?" + +"I should reply to my father that I am well and that my brain is sound, +and that Miron cannot cure love sickness." + +"Well, then, Henri, I must make the best of it. She is but a woman, and +at my return I hope to see you more joyous than myself." + +"Yes, yes, my good brother, I shall be cured--I shall be happy, thanks +to your friendship, which is my most precious possession." + +"After your love." + +"Before my life." + +Joyeuse, much touched, interrupted him. + +"Let us go, brother," said he. + +"Yes, brother, I follow you," said Du Bouchage, sighing. + +"Yes, I understand; the last adieux to the window; but you have also one +for me, brother." + +Henri passed his arms round the neck of his brother, who leaned down to +embrace him. + +"No!" cried he. "I will accompany you to the gates," and with a last +look toward the window, he followed his brother. + +Chicot continued to watch. Gradually every one disappeared, and the +street was deserted. Then one of the windows of the opposite house was +opened, and a man looked out. + +"There is no longer any one, madame," said he; "you may leave your +hiding-place and go down to your own room," and lighting a lamp, he gave +it into a hand stretched out to receive it. + +Chicot looked earnestly, but as he caught sight of her pale but sublime +face, he shuddered and sat down, entirely subjugated, in his turn, by +the melancholy influence of the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +CHICOT'S PURSE. + + +Chicot passed the remainder of the night dreaming in his armchair, for +the face of that woman brought before him a number of illustrious shades +connected with many happy or terrible souvenirs, and he who had +regretted his sleep on first arriving, now thought no more of it. + +When morning dawned he got up, threw a cloak over his shoulders, and +with the firmness of a sage, examined the bottom of his purse and his +shoes. Chicot, a man of lively imagination, had made in the principal +beam which ran through his house a cavity, a foot and a half long and +six inches wide, which he used as a strong box, to contain 1,000 crowns +in gold. He had made the following calculation: "I spend the twentieth +part of one of these crowns every day; therefore I have enough to last +me for 20,000 days. I cannot live so long as that, but I may live half +as long, and as I grow older my wants and expenses will increase, and +this will give me twenty-five or thirty good years to live, and that is +enough." He was therefore tranquil as to the future. + +This morning on opening his store, "Ventre de biche!" he cried, "times +are hard, and I need not be delicate with Henri. This money did not come +from him, but from an old uncle. If it were still night, I would go and +get 100 crowns from the king; but now I have no resource but in myself +or in Gorenflot." + +This idea of drawing money from Gorenflot made him smile. "It would be +odd," thought he, "if Gorenflot should refuse 100 crowns to the friend +through whom he was appointed prior to the Jacobins. But this letter of +the king's. I must go and fetch it. But these Joyeuses are in truth +capable of burning my house down some night, to attract the lady to her +window: and my 1,000 crowns! really, I think it would be better to hide +them in the ground. However, if they burn my house the king shall pay me +for it." + +Thus reassured, he left the house, and at that moment saw at the window +of the opposite house the servant of the unknown lady. This man, as we +have said, was completely disfigured by a scar extending from the left +temple to the cheek; but although bald and with a gray beard, he had a +quick, active appearance, and a fresh and young-looking complexion. On +seeing Chicot, he drew his hood over his head, and was going in, but +Chicot called out to him: + +"Neighbor! the noise here last night quite disgusted me, and I am going +for some weeks to my farm; will you be so obliging as to look after my +house a little?" + +"Willingly, monsieur." + +"And if you see robbers?" + +"Be easy, monsieur, I have a good arquebuse." + +"I have still one more favor to ask." + +"What is it?" + +"I hardly like to call it out." + +"I will come down to you." + +He came down accordingly, with his hood drawn closely round his face, +saying, as a sort of apology, "It is very cold this morning." + +"Yes," said Chicot, "there is a bitter wind. Well, monsieur, I am going +away." + +"You told me that before!" + +"Yes, I know; but I leave a good deal of money behind me." + +"So much the worse; why not take it with you?" + +"I cannot; but I leave it well hidden--so well, that I have nothing to +fear but fire. If that should happen, will you try and look after that +great beam you see on the right." + +"Really, monsieur, you embarrass me. This confidence would have been +far better made to a friend than to a stranger of whom you know +nothing." + +"It is true, monsieur, that I do not know you; but I believe in faces, +and I think yours that of an honest man." + +"But, monsieur, it is possible that this music may annoy my mistress +also, and then she might move." + +"Well, that cannot be helped, and I must take my chance." + +"Thanks, monsieur, for your confidence in a poor unknown; I will try to +be worthy of it;" and bowing, he went into the house. + +Chicot murmured to himself, "Poor young man, what a wreck, and I have +seen him so gay and so handsome." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE PRIORY OF THE JACOBINS. + + +The priory which the king had bestowed upon Gorenflot was situated near +the Porte St. Antoine. This was at that time a very favorite quarter, +for the king frequently visited the Chateau of Vincennes, and different +noblemen had built charming residences in its neighborhood. + +The priory was built on four sides of an immense court, planted with +trees; it had a kitchen-garden behind, and a number of out-houses, which +made it look like a small village. Two hundred monks occupied the +dormitories situated at the end of the courtyard, while in the front, +four large windows, with a balcony before them, gave to these apartments +air and light. + +It was maintained on its own resources and dependencies; its pasture +land fed a troop of fifty oxen and ninety-nine sheep, for by some +traditional law, no religious order was allowed to possess one hundred +of anything, while certain outbuildings sheltered ninety-nine pigs of a +particular breed, which were most carefully reared and fattened. The +espaliers of the priory, which were exposed to the mid-day sun, +furnished peaches, apricots, and grapes, while preserves of these fruits +were skillfully made by a certain Brother Eusebius, who was the +architect of the famous rock constructed of sweetmeats which had been +presented to the two queens by the Hotel de Ville of Paris at the last +state banquet which had taken place there. + +In the interior of this paradise for gourmands and sluggards, in a +sumptuous apartment, we shall find Gorenflot, ornamented with an +additional chin, and characterized by that sort of venerable gravity +which the constant habit of repose and good living gives to the most +vulgar faces. Half-past seven in the morning had just struck. The prior +had profited by the rule which gave to him an hour's more sleep than to +the other monks, and now, although he had risen, he was quietly +continuing his sleep in a large armchair as soft as eider down. The +furniture of the room was more mundane than religious; a carved table, +covered with a rich cloth, books of religious gallantry--that singular +mixture of love and devotion, which we only meet with at that epoch of +art--expensive vases, and curtains of rich damask, were some of the +luxuries of which Dom Modeste Gorenflot had become possessed by the +grace of God, of the king, and of Chicot. + +Gorenflot slept, as we have said, in his chair, when the door opened +softly, and two men entered. The first was about thirty-five years of +age, thin and pale, and with a look which commanded, even before he +spoke; lightnings seemed to dart from his eyes when they were open, +although the expression was generally softened by a careful lowering of +the white eyelids. This was Brother Borromee, who had been for the last +three weeks treasurer of the convent. The other was a young man about +seventeen or eighteen, with piercing black eyes, a bold look, and whose +turned-up sleeves displayed two strong arms quick in gesticulation. + +"The prior sleeps still, Father Borromee," said he: "shall we wake him?" + +"On no account, Brother Jacques." + +"Really, it is a pity to have a prior who sleeps so long, for we might +have tried the arms this morning. Did you notice what beautiful +cuirasses and arquebuses there were among them?" + +"Silence! brother; you will be heard." + +"How unlucky," cried the young man, impatiently, stamping his feet, "it +is so fine to-day, and the court is so dry." + +"We must wait, my child," replied Borromee, with a submission his glance +belied. + +"But why do you not order them to distribute the arms?" + +"I, order!" + +"Yes, you." + +"You know that I am not the master here; there is the master." + +"Yes, asleep, when every one else is awake," replied Jacques, +impatiently. + +"Let us respect his sleep," said Borromee, overturning a chair, however, +as he spoke. + +At the sound, Gorenflot looked up and said, sleepily, "Who is there?" + +"Pardon us," said Borromee, "if we interrupt your pious meditations, but +I have come to take your orders." + +"Ah! good-morning, Brother Borromee; what orders do you want?" + +"About the arms." + +"What arms?" + +"Those which your reverence ordered to be brought here." + +"I, and when?" + +"About a week ago." + +"I ordered arms?" + +"Without doubt," replied Borromee, firmly. + +"And what for?" + +"Your reverence said to me, 'Brother Borromee, it would be wise to +procure arms for the use of the brethren; gymnastic exercises develop +the bodily forces, as pious exhortations do those of the soul.'" + +"I said that?" + +"Yes, reverend prior; and I, an unworthy but obedient brother, hastened +to obey." + +"It is strange, but I remember nothing about it." + +"You even added this text, '_Militat spiritu, militat gladio._'" + +"What!" cried Gorenflot, "I added that text!" + +"I have a faithful memory," said Borromee, lowering his eyes. + +"Well, if I said so, of course I had my reasons for it. Indeed, that +has always been my opinion." + +"Then I will finish executing your orders, reverend prior," said +Borromee, retiring with Jacques. + +"Go," said Gorenflot, majestically. + +"Ah!" said Borromee, "I had forgotten; there is a friend in the parlor +who asks to see your reverence." + +"What is his name?" + +"M. Robert Briquet." + +"Oh! he is not a friend; only an acquaintance." + +"Then your reverence will not see him?" + +"Oh, yes! let him come up; he amuses me." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE TWO FRIENDS. + + +When Chicot entered, the prior did not rise, but merely bent his head. + +"Good-morning," said Chicot. + +"Ah! there you are; you appear to have come to life again." + +"Did you think me dead?" + +"Diable! I never saw you." + +"I was busy." + +"Ah!" + +Chicot knew that before being warmed by two or three bottles of old +Burgundy, Gorenflot was sparing of his words; and so, considering the +time of the morning, it was probable that he was still fasting, Chicot +sat down to wait. + +"Will you breakfast with me, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot. + +"Perhaps." + +"You must not be angry with me, if it has become impossible for me to +give you as much time as I could wish." + +"And who the devil asked you for your time? I did not even ask you for +breakfast; you offered it." + +"Certainly I offered it; but--" + +"But you thought I should not accept." + +"Oh! no, is that my habit?" + +"Ah! a superior man like you can adopt any habits, M. le Prior." + +Gorenflot looked at Chicot; he could not tell whether he was laughing at +him or speaking seriously. Chicot rose. + +"Why do you rise, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot. + +"Because I am going away." + +"And why are you going away, when you said you would breakfast with me?" + +"I did not say I would; I said, perhaps." + +"You are angry." + +Chicot laughed. "I angry!" said he, "at what? Because you are impudent, +ignorant, and rude? Oh! my dear monsieur, I have known you too long to +be angry at these little imperfections." + +Gorenflot remained stupefied. + +"Adieu," said Chicot. + +"Oh! do not go." + +"My journey will not wait." + +"You travel?" + +"I have a mission." + +"From whom?" + +"From the king." + +"A mission from the king! then you have seen him again?" + +"Certainly." + +"And how did he receive you?" + +"With enthusiasm; he has a memory, king as he is." + +"A mission from the king!" stammered Gorenflot. + +"Adieu," repeated Chicot. + +Gorenflot rose, and seized him by the hand. "Come! let us explain +ourselves," said he. + +"On what?" + +"On your susceptibility to-day." + +"I! I am the same to-day as on all other days." + +"No." + +"A simple mirror of the people I am with. You laugh, and I laugh; you +are rude, so am I." + +"Well! I confess I was preoccupied." + +"Really!" + +"Can you not be indulgent to a man who has so much work on his +shoulders? Governing this priory is like governing a province: remember, +I command two hundred men." + +"Ah! it is too much indeed for a servant of God." + +"Ah! you are ironical, M. Briquet. Have you lost all your Christian +charity? I think you are envious, really." + +"Envious! of whom?" + +"Why, you say to yourself, Dom Modeste Gorenflot is rising--he is on +the ascending scale." + +"While I am on the descending one, I suppose?" + +"It is the fault of your false position, M. Briquet." + +"M. Gorenflot, do you remember the text, 'He who humbles himself, shall +be exalted?'" + +"Nonsense!" cried Gorenflot. + +"Ah! now he doubts the Holy Writ; the heretic!" + +"Heretic, indeed! But what do you mean, M. Briquet?" + +"Nothing, but that I set out on a journey, and that I have come to make +you my adieux; so, good-by." + +"You shall not leave me thus." + +"I must." + +"A friend!" + +"In grandeur one has no friends." + +"Chicot!" + +"I am no longer Chicot; you reproached me with my false position just +now." + +"But you must not go without eating; it is not wholesome." + +"Oh! you live too badly here." + +"Badly, here!" murmured the prior, in astonishment. + +"I think so." + +"You had to complain of your last dinner here?" + +"I should think so." + +"Diable! and of what?" + +"The pork cutlets were burned." + +"Oh!" + +"The stuffed ears did not crack under your teeth." + +"Ah!" + +"The capon was soft." + +"Good heavens!" + +"The soup was greasy." + +"Misericorde!" + +"And then you have no time to give me." + +"I!" + +"You said so, did you not? It only remains for you to become a liar." + +"Oh! I can put off my business: it was only a lady who asks me to see +her." + +"See her, then." + +"No, no! dear M. Chicot, although she has sent me a hundred bottles of +Sicilian wine." + +"A hundred bottles!" + +"I will not receive her, although she is probably some great lady. I +will receive only you." + +"You will do this?" + +"To breakfast with you, dear M. Chicot--to repair my wrongs toward you." + +"Which came from your pride." + +"I will humble myself." + +"From your idleness." + +"Well! from to-morrow I will join my monks in their exercises." + +"What exercises?" + +"Of arms." + +"Arms!" + +"Yes; but it will be fatiguing to command." + +"Who had this idea?" + +"I, it seems." + +"You! impossible!" + +"No. I gave the order to Brother Borromee." + +"Who is he?" + +"The new treasurer." + +"Where does he come from?" + +"M. le Cardinal de Guise recommended him." + +"In person?" + +"No, by letter." + +"And it is with him you decided on this?" + +"Yes, my friend." + +"That is to say, he proposed it and you agreed." + +"No, my dear M. Chicot; the idea was entirely mine." + +"And for what end?" + +"To arm them." + +"Oh! pride, pride! Confess that the idea was his." + +"Oh! I do not know. And yet it must have been mine, for it seems that I +pronounced a very good Latin text on the occasion." + +"You! Latin! Do you remember it?" + +"Militat spiritu--" + +"Militat gladio." + +"Yes, yes: that was it." + +"Well, you have excused yourself so well that I pardon you. You are +still my true friend." + +Gorenflot wiped away a tear. + +"Now let us breakfast, and I promise to be indulgent." + +"Listen! I will tell the cook that if the fare be not regal, he shall be +placed in confinement; and we will try some of the wine of my penitent." + +"I will aid you with my judgment."' + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE BREAKFAST. + + +Gorenflot was not long in giving his orders. The cook was summoned. + +"Brother Eusebius," said Gorenflot, in a severe voice, "listen to what +my friend M. Briquet is about to tell you. It seems that you are +negligent, and I hear of grave faults in your last soup, and a fatal +mistake in the cooking of your ears. Take care, brother, take care; a +single step in a wrong direction may be irremediable." + +The monk grew red and pale by turns, and stammered out an excuse. + +"Enough," said Gorenflot, "what can we have for breakfast to-day?" + +"Eggs fried with cock's combs." + +"After?" + +"Mushrooms." + +"Well?" + +"Crabs cooked with Madeira." + +"Those are all trifles; tell us of something solid." + +"A ham boiled with pistachios." + +Chicot looked contemptuous. + +"Pardon!" cried Eusebius, "it is cooked in sherry wine." + +Gorenflot hazarded an approving glance toward Chicot. + +"Good! is it not, M. Briquet?" said he. + +Chicot made a gesture of half-satisfaction. + +"And what have you besides?" + +"You can have some eels." + +"Oh! we will dispense with the eels," said Chicot. + +"I think, M. Briquet," replied the cook, "that you would regret it if +you had not tasted my eels." + +"What! are they rarities?" + +"I nourish them in a particular manner." + +"Oh, oh!" + +"Yes," added Gorenflot; "it appears that the Romans or the Greeks--I +forget which--nourished their lampreys as Eusebius does his eels. He +read of it in an old author called Suetonius." + +"Yes, monsieur, I mince the intestines and livers of fowls and game with +a little pork, and make a kind of sausage meat, which I throw to my +eels, and they are kept in soft water, often renewed, in which they +become large and fat. The one which I shall offer you to-day weighs nine +pounds." + +"It must be a serpent!" said Chicot. + +"It swallowed a chicken at a meal." + +"And how will it be dressed?" + +"Skinned and fried in anchovy paste, and done with bread crumbs; and I +shall have the honor of serving it up with a sauce flavored with garlic +and allspice, lemons and mustard." + +"Perfect!" cried Chicot. + +Brother Eusebius breathed again. + +"Then we shall want sweets," said Gorenflot. + +"I will invent something that shall please you." + +"Well, then, I trust to you; be worthy of my confidence." + +Eusebius bowed and retired. Ten minutes after, they sat down, and the +programme was faithfully carried out. They began like famished men, +drank Rhine wine, Burgundy and Hermitage, and then attacked that of the +fair lady. + +"What do you think of it?" asked Gorenflot. + +"Good, but light. What is your fair petitioner's name?" + +"I do not know; she sent an ambassador." + +They ate as long as they could, and then sat drinking and talking, when +suddenly a great noise was heard. + +"What is that?" asked Chicot. + +"It is the exercise which commences." + +"Without the chief? Your soldiers are badly disciplined, I fear." + +"Without me! never!" cried Gorenflot, who had become excited with wine. +"That cannot be, since it is I who command--I who instruct--and stay, +here is Brother Borromee, who comes to take my orders." + +Indeed, as he spoke, Borromee entered, throwing on Chicot a sharp and +oblique glance. + +"Reverend prior," said he, "we only wait for you to examine the arms and +cuirasses." + +"Cuirasses!" thought Chicot, "I must see this," and he rose quietly. + +"You will be present at our maneuvers?" said Gorenflot, rising in his +turn, like a block of marble on legs. "Your arm, my friend; you shall +see some good instruction." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +BROTHER BORROMEE. + + +When Chicot, sustaining the reverend prior, arrived in the courtyard, he +found there two bands of one hundred men each, waiting for their +commander. About fifty among the strongest and most zealous had helmets +on their heads and long swords hanging to belts from their waists. +Others displayed with pride bucklers, on which they loved to rattle an +iron gauntlet. + +Brother Borromee took a helmet from the hands of a novice, and placed it +on his head. While he did so, Chicot looked at it and smiled. + +"You have a handsome helmet there, Brother Borromee," said he; "where +did you buy it, my dear prior?" + +Gorenflot could not reply, for at that moment they were fastening a +magnificent cuirass upon him, which, although spacious enough to have +covered Hercules, Farnese constrained wofully the undulations of the +flesh of the worthy prior, who was crying: + +"Not so tight! I shall stifle; stop!" + +But Borromee replied, "It made part of a lot of armor that the reverend +prior bought yesterday to arm the convent." + +"I!" said Gorenflot. + +"Yes; do you not remember that they brought several cuirasses and +casques here, according to your reverence's orders?" + +"It is true," said Gorenflot. + +"Ventre de biche!" thought Chicot; "my helmet is much attached to me, +for, after having taken it myself to the Hotel Guise, it comes here to +meet me again." + +At a sign from Borromee, the monks now formed into lines, while Chicot +sat down on a bench to look on. + +Gorenflot stood up. "Attention," whispered Borromee to him. + +Gorenflot drew a gigantic sword from the scabbard, and waving it in the +air, cried in the voice of a stentor, "Attention!" + +"Your reverence will fatigue yourself, perhaps, in giving the orders," +said Borromee, softly; "if it please you to spare your precious health, +I will command to-day." + +"I should wish it, I am stifling." + +Borromee bowed and placed himself at the head of the troop. + +"What a complaisant servant," said Chicot. + +"He is charming, I told you so." + +"I am sure he does the same for you every day." + +"Oh! every day. He is as submissive as a slave." + +"So that you have really nothing to do here--Brother Borromee acts for +you?" + +"Oh! mon Dieu, yes." + +It was wonderful to see Borromee with his arms in his hands, his eye +dilated, and his vigorous arm wielding his sword in so skillful a manner +that one would have thought him a trained soldier. Each time that +Borromee gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding: + +"Brother Borromee is right; but I told you all that yesterday. Pass the +pike from one hand to the other! Raise it to the level of the eye!" + +"You are a skillful instructor," said Chicot. + +"Yes, I understand it well." + +"And Borromee an apt pupil." + +"Oh, yes! he is very intelligent." + +While the monks went through their exercises, Gorenflot said, "You shall +see my little Jacques." + +"Who is Jacques?" + +"A nice lad, calm-looking, but strong, and quick as lightning. Look, +there he is with a musket in his hand, about to fire." + +"And he fires well." + +"That he does." + +"But stay--" + +"Do you know him?" + +"No; I thought I did, but I was wrong." + +While they spoke, Jacques loaded a heavy musket, and placing himself at +one hundred yards from the mark, fired, and the ball lodged in the +center, amid the applause of the monks. + +"That was well done!" cried Chicot. + +"Thank you, monsieur," said Jacques, whose cheeks colored with pleasure. + +"You manage your arms well," added Chicot. + +"I study, monsieur." + +"But he is best at the sword," said Gorenflot; "those who understand it, +say so, and he is practicing from morning till night." + +"Ah! let us see," said Chicot. + +"No one here, except perhaps myself, is capable of fencing with him; but +will you try him yourself, monsieur?" said Borromee. + +"I am but a poor bourgeois," said Chicot; "formerly I have used my sword +like others, but now my legs tremble and my arm is weak." + +"But you practice still?" + +"A little," replied Chicot, with a smile. "However, you, Brother +Borromee, who are all muscle and tendon, give a lesson to Brother +Jacques, I beg, if the prior will permit it." + +"I shall be delighted," cried Gorenflot. + +The two combatants prepared for the trial. Borromee had the advantage in +height and experience. The blood mounted to the cheeks of Jacques and +animated them with a feverish color. Borromee gradually dropped all +appearance of a monk, and was completely the maitre d'armes: he +accompanied each thrust with a counsel or a reproach, but often the +vigor and quickness of Jacques triumphed over the skill of his teacher, +who was several times touched. + +When they paused, Chicot said, "Jacques touched six times and Borromee +nine; that is well for the scholar, but not so well for the master." + +The flash of Borromee's eyes showed Chicot that he was proud. + +"Monsieur," replied he, in a tone which he endeavored to render calm, +"the exercise of arms is a difficult one, especially for poor monks." + +"Nevertheless," said Chicot, "the master ought to be at least half as +good again as his pupil, and if Jacques were calmer, I am certain he +would fence as well as you." + +"I do not think so," replied Borromee, biting his lips with anger. + +"Well! I am sure of it." + +"M. Briquet, who is so clever, had better try Jacques himself," replied +Borromee, in a bitter tone. + +"Oh! I am old." + +"Yes, but learned." + +"Ah! you mock," thought Chicot, "but wait." Then he said, "I am certain, +however, that Brother Borromee, like a wise master, often let Jacques +touch him out of complaisance." + +"Ah!" cried Jacques, frowning in his turn. + +"No," replied Borromee, "I love Jacques, certainly, but I do not spoil +him in that manner. But try yourself, M. Briquet." + +"Oh, no." + +"Come, only one pass." + +"Try," said Gorenflot. + +"I will not hurt you, monsieur," said Jacques, "I have a very light +hand." + +"Dear child," murmured Chicot, with a strange glance. "Well!" said he, +"since every one wishes it, I will try," and he rose slowly, and +prepared himself with about the agility of a tortoise. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE LESSON. + + +Fencing was not at that time the science that it is now. The swords, +sharp on each side, made them strike as often with the edge as with the +point; besides, the left hand, armed with a dagger, was at the same time +offensive and defensive, and hence resulted a number of slight wounds, +which, in a real combat, kept up a continual excitement. Fencing, then +in its infancy, consisted in a crowd of evolutions, in which the actor +moved continually, and which, on a ground chosen by chance, might be +continually impeded by its nature. + +It was common to see the fencer throw himself forward, draw back again, +or jump to the right or left, so that agility, not only of the hand, but +of the whole body, was necessary. Chicot did not appear to have learned +in this school, but seemed to have forestalled the modern style, of +which the superiority and grace is in the agility of the hands and +immovability of the body. He stood erect and firm, with a wrist at once +strong and supple, and with a sword which seemed a flexible reed from +the point to the middle of the blade, and an inflexible steel from +thence to the guard. + +At the very first commencement, Jacques, seeing before him this man of +bronze, whose wrist alone seemed alive, gave some impatient passes, +which merely made Chicot extend his arm, and at every opening left by +the young man, strike him full on the chest. Jacques, red with anger and +emulation as this was repeated, bounded back, and for ten minutes +displayed all the resources of his wonderful agility--he flew like a +tiger, twisted like a serpent, and bounded from right to left; but +Chicot, with his calm air and his long arm, seized his time, and putting +aside his adversary's sword, still sent his own to the same place, while +Borromee grew pale with anger. At last, Jacques rushed a last time on +Chicot, who, parrying his thrust with force, threw the poor fellow off +his equilibrium, and he fell, while Chicot himself remained firm as a +rock. + +"You did not tell us you were a pillar," said Borromee, biting his nails +with vexation. + +"I, a poor bourgeois!" said Chicot. + +"But, monsieur, to manage a sword as you do, you must have practiced +enormously." + +"Oh! mon Dieu! yes, monsieur, I have often held the sword, and have +always found one thing."--"What is that?" + +"That for him who holds it, pride is a bad counselor and anger a bad +assistant. Now, listen, Jacques," added he: "you have a good wrist, but +neither legs nor head; you are quick, but you do not reason. There are +three essential things in arms--first the head, then the hands and legs: +with the one you can defend yourself, with the others you may conquer, +but with all three you can always conquer." + +"Ah! monsieur," said Jacques, "try Brother Borromee; I should like to +see it." + +"No," said the treasurer, "I should be beaten, and I would rather +confess it than prove it." + +"How modest and amiable he is!" said Gorenflot. + +"On the contrary," whispered Chicot, "he is stupid with vanity. At his +age I would have given anything for such a lesson," and he sat down +again. + +Jacques approached him, and admiration triumphing over the shame of +defeat: + +"Will you give me some lessons, M. Briquet?" said he; "the prior will +permit it, will you not, your reverence?" + +"With pleasure, my child." + +"I do not wish to interfere with your master," said Chicot, bowing to +Borromee. + +"Oh! I am not his only master," said he. "Neither all the honor nor the +defeat are wholly due to me." + +"Who is the other, then?" + +"Oh! no one!" cried Borromee, fearing he had committed an imprudence. + +"Who is he, Jacques?" asked Chicot. + +"I remember," said Gorenflot; "he is a little fat man who comes here +sometimes and drinks well." + +"I forget his name," said Borromee. + +"I know it," said a monk who was standing by. "It is Bussy Leclerc." + +"Ah! a good sword," said Chicot. + +Jacques reiterated his request. + +"I cannot teach you," said Chicot. "I taught myself by reflection and +practice; and I advise you to do the same." + +Gorenflot and Chicot now returned to the house. + +"I hope," said Gorenflot, with pride, "that this is a house worth +something, and well managed." + +"Wonderful! my friend; and when I return from my mission--" + +"Ah! true, dear M. Chicot; let us speak of your mission." + +"So much the more willingly, that I have a message to send to the king +before I go." + +"To the king, my dear friend! You correspond with the king?" + +"Directly." + +"And you want a messenger?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you have one of our monks? It would be an honor to the priory." + +"Willingly." + +"Then you are restored to favor?" + +"More than ever." + +"Then," said Gorenflot, "you can tell the king all that we are doing +here in his favor." + +"I shall not fail to do so." + +"Ah! my dear Chicot," cried Gorenflot, who already believed himself a +bishop. + +"But first I have two requests to make." + +"Speak." + +"First, money, which the king will restore to you." + +"Money! I have my coffers full." + +"Ma foi! you are lucky." + +"Will you have 1,000 crowns?" + +"No, that is far too much; I am modest in my tastes, humble in my +desires, and my title of ambassador does not make me proud; therefore +100 crowns will suffice." + +"Here they are; and the second thing?" + +"An attendant!" + +"An attendant?" + +"Yes, to accompany me; I love society." + +"Ah! my friend, if I were but free, as formerly." + +"But you are not." + +"Greatness enslaves me," murmured Gorenflot. + +"Alas!" said Chicot, "one cannot do everything at once. But not being +able to have your honorable company, my dear prior, I will content +myself with that of the little Jacques; he pleases me." + +"You are right, Chicot, he is a rare lad." + +"I am going to take him 250 leagues, if you will permit it." + +"He is yours, my friend." + +The prior struck a bell, and when the servant appeared said, "Let +Brother Jacques come here, and also our messenger." + +Ten minutes after both appeared at the door. + +"Jacques," said Gorenflot, "I give you a special mission." + +"Me!" cried the young man, astonished. + +"Yes, you are to accompany M. Robert Briquet on a long journey." + +"Oh!" cried he, enthusiastically, "that will be delightful. We shall +fight every day--shall we not, monsieur?" + +"Yes, my child." + +"And I may take my arquebuse?" + +"Certainly." + +Jacques bounded joyfully from the room. + +"As to the message, I beg you to give your orders. Advance, Brother +Panurge." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE PENITENT. + + +Panurge advanced. He looked intelligent, but like a fox. + +"Do you know the Louvre?" said Chicot. + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"And in the Louvre a certain Henri de Valois?" + +"The king?" + +"People generally call him so." + +"Is it to him that I am to go?" + +"Just so. You will ask to speak to him." + +"Will they let me?" + +"Yes, till you come to his valet-de-chambre. Your frock is a passport, +for the king is very religious." + +"And what shall I say to the valet-de-chambre?" + +"Say you are sent by the shade." + +"What shade?" + +"Curiosity is a vice, my brother." + +"Pardon!" + +"Say then that you want the letter." + +"What letter?" + +"Again!" + +"Ah! true." + +"You will add that the shade will wait for it, going slowly along the +road to Charenton." + +"It is on that road, then, that I am to join you?" + +"Exactly." + +As Panurge went out, Chicot thought he saw some one listening at the +door, but could not be sure. He fancied it was Borromee. + +"Where do you go?" asked Gorenflot. + +"Toward Spain." + +"How do you travel?" + +"Oh! anyhow; on foot, on horseback, in a carriage--just as it happens." + +"Jacques will be good company for you." + +"Thanks, my good friend, I have now, I think, only to make my adieux." + +"Adieu; I will give you my benediction." + +"Bah! it is useless between us." + +"You are right; but it does for strangers," and they embraced. + +"Jacques!" called the prior, "Jacques!" + +Borromee appeared. + +"Brother Jacques," repeated the prior. + +"Jacques is gone." + +"What! gone," cried Chicot. + +"Did you not wish some one to go to the Louvre?" + +"Yes; but it was Panurge." + +"Oh! stupid that I am," cried Borromee, "I understood it to be Jacques." + +Chicot frowned, but Borromee appeared so sorry that it was impossible to +say much. + +"I will wait, then," said he, "till Jacques returns." + +Borromee bowed, frowning in his turn. "Apropos," said he, "I forgot to +announce to your reverence that the unknown lady has arrived and desires +to speak to you." + +"Is she alone?" asked Gorenflot. + +"No; she has a squire with her." + +"Is she young?" + +Borromee lowered his eyes. "She seems so," said he. + +"I will leave you," said Chicot, "and wait in a neighboring room." + +"It is far from here to the Louvre, monsieur, and Jacques may be long, +or they may hesitate to confide an important letter to a child." + +"You make these reflections rather late," replied Chicot, "however, I +will go on the road to Charenton and you can send him after me." And he +turned to the staircase. + +"Not that way, if you please," said Borromee, "the lady is coming up, +and she does not wish to meet any one." + +"You are right," said Chicot, smiling, "I will take the little +staircase." + +"Do you know the way?" + +"Perfectly." And Chicot went out through a cabinet which led to another +room, from which led the secret staircase. The room was full of armor, +swords, muskets, and pistols. + +"They hide Jacques from me," thought Chicot, "and they hide the lady, +therefore of course I ought to do exactly the opposite of what they want +me to do. I will wait for the return of Jacques, and I will watch the +mysterious lady. Oh! here is a fine shirt of mail thrown into a corner; +it is much too small for the prior, and would fit me admirably. I will +borrow it from Gorenflot, and give it to him again when I return." And +he quietly put it on under his doublet. He had just finished when +Borromee entered. + +Chicot pretended to be admiring the arms. + +"Is monsieur seeking some arms to suit him?" asked Borromee. + +"I! mon Dieu! what do I want with arms?" + +"You use them so well." + +"Theory, all theory; I may use my arms well, but the heart of a soldier +is always wanting in a poor bourgeois like me. But time passes, and +Jacques cannot be long; I will go and wait for him at the Croix Faubin." + +"I think that will be best." + +"Then you will tell him as soon as he comes?" + +"Yes." + +"And send him after me?" + +"I will not fail." + +"Thanks, Brother Borromee; I am enchanted to have made your +acquaintance." + +He went out by the little staircase, and Borromee locked the door behind +him. + +"I must see the lady," thought Chicot. + +He went out of the priory and went on the road he had named; then, when +out of sight, he turned back, crept along a ditch and gained, unseen, a +thick hedge which extended before the priory. Here he waited to see +Jacques return or the lady go out. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE AMBUSH. + + +Chicot made a slight opening through the hedge, that he might see those +who came and went. The road was almost deserted as far as he could see; +there was no one but a man poorly clothed measuring the ground with a +long, pointed stick. Chicot had nothing to do, and therefore was +preparing to watch this man, when a more important object attracted his +attention. + +The window of Gorenflot's room opened with folding-doors on to a +balcony, and Chicot saw them open, and Gorenflot come out, with his most +gallant manner and winning smile, leading a lady almost hidden under a +mantle of velvet and fur. + +"Oh!" thought Chicot, "here is the penitent. She looks young; it is very +odd, but I find resemblances in every one I see. And here comes the +squire; as for him, there is no mistake; I know him, and if he be +Mayneville--ventre de biche!--why should not the lady be Madame de +Montpensier? And, morbleu! that woman _is_ the duchess!" + +After a moment, he saw the pale head of Borromee behind them. + +"What are they about?" thought Chicot; "does the duchess want to board +with Gorenflot?" + +At this moment Chicot saw M. de Mayneville make a sign to some one +outside. Chicot looked round, but there was no one to be seen but the +man measuring. It was to him, however, that the sign was addressed, for +he had ceased measuring, and was looking toward the balcony. Borromee +began also to gesticulate behind Mayneville, in a manner unintelligible +to Chicot, but apparently clear to this man, for he went further off, +and stationed himself in another place, where he stopped at a fresh +sign. Then he began to run quickly toward the gate of the priory, while +M. de Mayneville held his watch in his hand. + +"Diable!" said Chicot, "this is all very odd." + +As the man passed him, he recognized Nicholas Poulain, the man to whom +he had sold his armor the day before. Shortly after, they all re-entered +the room and shut the window, and then the duchess and her squire came +out of the priory and went toward the litter which waited for them. +Gorenflot accompanied them to the door, exhausting himself in bows and +salutations. The curtains of the litter were still open, when a monk, in +whom Chicot recognized Jacques, advanced from the Porte St. Antoine, +approached, and looked earnestly into it. The duchess then went away, +and Nicholas Poulain was following, when Chicot called out from his +hiding place-- + +"Come here, if you please." + +Poulain started, and turned his head. + +"Do not seem to notice, M. Nicholas Poulain," said Chicot. + +The lieutenant started again. "Who are you, and what do you want?" asked +he. + +"I am a friend, new, but intimate; what I want will take long to +explain; come here to me." + +"To you?" + +"Yes; here in the ditch." + +"What for?" + +"You shall know when you come." + +"But--" + +"Come and sit down here, without appearing to notice me." + +"Monsieur?" + +"Oh! M. Robert Briquet has the right to be exacting." + +"Robert Briquet!" cried Poulain, doing as he was desired. + +"That is right; it seems you were taking measures in the road." + +"I!" + +"Yes; there is nothing surprising that you should be a surveyor, +especially as you acted under the eyes of such great people." + +"Great people! I do not understand." + +"What! you did not know?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You did not know who that lady and gentlemen on the balcony were?" + +"I declare--" + +"Oh! how fortunate I am to be able to enlighten you. Only imagine, M. +Poulain; you had for admirers Madame de Montpensier and M. de +Mayneville. Do not go away. If a still more illustrious person--the +king--saw you--" + +"Ah! M. Briquet--" + +"Never mind; I am only anxious for your good." + +"But what harm have I done to the king, or to you, or anybody?" + +"Dear M. Poulain, my ideas may be wrong, but it seems to me that the +king would not approve of his lieutenant of the Provostry acting as +surveyor for M. de Mayneville; and that he might also take it ill that +you should omit in your daily report the entrance of Madame de +Montpensier and M. de Mayneville, yesterday, into his good city of +Paris." + +"M. Briquet, an omission is not an offense, and his majesty is too +good--" + +"M. Poulain, I see clearer than you, and I see--" + +"What?" + +"A gallows." + +"M. Briquet!" + +"And more--a new cord, four soldiers at the four cardinal points, a +number of Parisians around, and a certain lieutenant of my acquaintance +at the end of the cord." + +Nicholas Poulain trembled so that he shook the hedge. "Monsieur!" cried +he, clasping his hands. + +"But I am your friend, dear M. Poulain, and I will give you a counsel." + +"A counsel?" + +"Yes; and very easy to follow. Go at once, you understand, to--" + +"Whom?" + +"Let me think. To M. d'Epernon." + +"M. d'Epernon, the king's friend?" + +"Take him aside, and tell him all about this." + +"This is folly." + +"No, it is wisdom. It is clear that if I denounce you as the man of the +cuirasses and measures, they will hang you; but if, on the contrary, you +disclose all, with a good grace, they will reward you. You do not +appear convinced, however. Well! that will give me the trouble of +returning to the Louvre, but I do not mind doing that for you," and he +began to rise. + +"No, no; stay here, I will go." + +"Good! But you understand, no subterfuges, or to-morrow I shall send a +little note to the king, whose intimate friend I have the honor to be, +so that if you are not hanged till the day after to-morrow, you will +only be hanged the higher." + +"I will go; but you abuse your position." + +"Oh! M. Poulain, you were a traitor five minutes ago, and I make you the +savior of your country. Now, go quickly, for I am in a hurry. The Hotel +d'Epernon--do not forget." + +Nicholas Poulain ran off, with a despairing look. + +"Ah! it was time," said Chicot, "for some one is leaving the priory. But +it is not Jacques; that fellow is half as tall again." + +Chicot then hastened to the Croix Faubin, where he had given the +rendezvous. The monk, who was there to meet him, was a giant in height; +his monk's robe, hastily thrown on, did not hide his muscular limbs, and +his face bore anything but a religious expression. His arms were as long +as Chicot's own, and he had a knife in his belt. + +As Chicot approached, he turned and said, "Are you M. Robert Briquet?" + +"I am." + +"Then I have a letter for you from the reverend prior." + +Chicot took the letter, and read as follows: + + "My dear friend, I have reflected since we parted; it is impossible + for me to let the lamb confided to me go among the wolves of the + world. I mean, you understand, our little Jacques, who has + fulfilled your message to the king. Instead of him, who is too + young, I send you a good and worthy brother of our order; his + manners are good, and his humor innocent, and I am sure you will + like him. I send you my benediction. Adieu, dear friend." + +"What fine writing," said Chicot; "I will wager it is the treasurer's." + +"It was Brother Borromee who wrote it," said the Goliath. + +"In that case you will return to the priory, my friend."--"I?" + +"Yes; and tell his reverence that I have changed my mind, and intend to +travel alone." + +"What! you will not take me, monsieur?" said the man, with astonishment, +mixed with menace. + +"No, my friend." + +"And why, if you please?" + +"Because I must be economical, and you would eat too much." + +"Jacques eats as much as I do." + +"Yes, but Jacques was a monk." + +"And what am I?" + +"You, my friend, are a gendarme, or a foot soldier." + +"What do you mean? Do you not see my monk's robe?" + +"The dress does not make the monk, my friend; tell Brother Borromee +that, if you please." + +The giant disappeared, grumbling, like a beaten hound. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE GUISES. + + +On the evening of the same day on which Chicot set off for Navarre, we +shall find again, in a large room at the Hotel Guise, the person who, +disguised as a page, had entered Paris behind Carmainges, and who was +also, as we know, the penitent of Gorenflot. On this occasion her sex +was disclosed, and, elegantly dressed, with her hair glittering with +precious stones, she was waiting impatiently for some one. + +At last a horse's step was heard, and the usher almost immediately +announced M. le Duc de Mayenne. Madame de Montpensier ran to her brother +so hastily that she forgot to proceed on the point of the right foot, as +was her habit, in order to conceal her lameness. + +"Are you alone, brother?" asked she. + +"Yes, my sister." + +"But Henri; where is Henri? Do you know that every one expects him +here?" + +"Henri has nothing to do here, and plenty to do in Flanders and +Picardy. We have work to do there, and why should we leave it to come +here, where our work is done?" + +"But where it will be quickly undone, if you do not hasten." + +"Bah!" + +"Bah! if you like. I tell you the citizens will be put off no longer; +they insist upon seeing their Duke Henri." + +"They shall see him at the right time. And Salcede--?" + +"Is dead." + +"Without speaking?" + +"Without uttering a word." + +"Good! and the arming?" + +"Finished." + +"And Paris?" + +"Is divided into sixteen quarters." + +"And each quarter has the chief pointed out?" + +"Yes." + +"Then let us live in peace, and so I shall say to our good bourgeoisie." + +"They will not listen to you." + +"Bah!" + +"I tell you they are furious." + +"My sister, you judge others by your own impatience. What Henri says +must be done; and he says we are to remain quiet." + +"What is to be done, then?" asked the duchess impatiently. + +"What do you wish to do?" + +"Firstly, to take the king." + +"That is your fixed idea; I do not say it is bad, if it could be done, +but think how often we have failed already." + +"Times are changed, the king has no longer defenders." + +"No; except the Swiss, Scotch, and French guards." + +"My brother, when you wish it, I will show you the king on the road with +only two lackeys." + +"I have heard that a hundred times, and never seen it once." + +"You will see it if you stay here only three days." + +"Another project: tell me what it is." + +"You will laugh at a woman's idea." + +At this moment, M. de Mayneville was announced. "My accomplice," said +she: "let him enter." + +"One word, monseigneur," said he to M. de Mayenne as he entered; "they +suspect your arrival at the Louvre." + +"How so?" + +"I was conversing with the captain of the guards at St. Germain +l'Auxerrois, when two Gascons passed--" + +"Do you know them?" + +"No; they were quite newly dressed. 'Cap de Bious!' said one, 'you have +a magnificent doublet, but it will not render you so much service as +your cuirass of yesterday.' 'Bah!' said the other; 'however heavy the +sword of M. de Mayenne may be, it will do no more harm to this satin +than to my cuirass,' and then he went on in a series of bravadoes, which +showed that they knew you were near." + +"And to whom did these men belong?" + +"I do not know; they talked so loudly that some passers-by approached, +and asked if you were really coming. They were about to reply, when a +man approached, whom I think was De Loignac, and touched them on the +shoulder. He said some words in a low voice, and they looked submissive, +and accompanied him, so that I know no more; but be on your guard." + +"You did not follow them?" + +"Yes, but from afar. They went toward the Louvre, and disappeared behind +the Hotel des Meubles." + +"I have a very simple method of reply," said the duke. + +"What?" + +"To go and pay my respects to the king to-night." + +"To the king?" + +"Certainly; I have come to Paris--he can have nothing to say against +that." + +"The idea is good," said Mayneville. + +"It is imprudent," said the duchess. + +"It is indispensable, sister, if they indeed suspect my arrival. +Besides, it was the advice of Henri to go at once and present to the +king the respects of the family; that once done, I am free, and can +receive whom I please." + +"The members of the committee, for example, who expect you." + +"I will receive them at the Hotel St. Denis on my return from the +Louvre. You will wait for us, if you please, my sister."--"Here?" + +"No; at the Hotel St. Denis, where I have left my equipages. I shall be +there in two hours." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE LOUVRE. + + +That same day, about noon, the king came out of his cabinet and called +for M. d'Epernon. The duke, when he came, found the king attentively +examining a young monk. + +The king took D'Epernon aside, "Look, what an odd-looking monk," said +he. + +"Does your majesty think so?--I think him very ordinary." + +"Really!" Then to the monk, the king said, "What is your name?" + +"Brother Jacques, sire." + +"Your family name?" + +"Clement." + +"Good. You have performed your commission very well." + +"What commission, sire?" said the duke, with his wonted familiarity. + +"Nothing!" said Henri. "It is a little secret between me and some one +you do not know." + +"How strangely you look at the lad, sire! you embarrass him." + +"It is true; I know not why, but it seems to me that I have seen him +before; perhaps it was in a dream. Go, my child; I will send the letter +to him who asks for it; be easy. D'Epernon, give him ten crowns." + +"Thanks, sire," said the monk. + +"You did not say that as if you meant it," said D'Epernon, who did not +understand a monk despising ten crowns. + +"I would rather have one of those beautiful Spanish knives on the wall," +said Jacques. + +"What! you do not prefer money?" + +"I have made a vow of poverty." + +"Give him a knife, then, and let him go, Lavalette," said the king. + +The duke chose one of the least rich and gave it to him. Jacques took +it, quite joyful to possess such a beautiful weapon. When he was gone, +the king said to D'Epernon, "Duke, have you among your Forty-five two or +three men who can ride?" + +"Twelve, at least, sire; and in a month all will be good horsemen." + +"Then choose two, and let them come to me at once." + +The duke went out, and calling De Loignac, said to him, "Choose me two +good horsemen, to execute a commission for his majesty." + +De Loignac went to the gallery where they were lodged, and called M. de +Carmainges and M. de St. Maline. They soon appeared, and were conducted +to the duke, who presented them to the king, who dismissed the duke. + +"You are of my Forty-five, then?" said he to the young men. + +"I have that honor, sire," said St. Maline. + +"And you, monsieur?" + +"And I, also, sire," replied Carmainges; "and I am devoted to your +majesty's service, as much as any one in the world." + +"Good! Then mount your horses, and take the road to Tours--do you know +it?" + +"We will inquire." + +"Go by Charenton." + +"Yes, sire." + +"And proceed till you overtake a man traveling alone." + +"Will your majesty describe him?" said St. Maline. + +"He has long arms and legs, and has a large sword by his side." + +"May we know his name, sire?" asked Carmainges. + +"He is called 'the Shade.'" + +"We will ask the name of every traveler we see, sire." + +"And we will search the hotels." + +"When you find him, give him this letter." + +Both the young men held out their hands. + +The king was embarrassed. "What is your name?" said he. + +"Ernanton de Carmainges, sire." + +"And yours?" + +"Rene de St. Maline." + +"M. de Carmainges, you shall carry the letter, and you, M. de St. +Maline, shall deliver it." + +Ernanton took the precious deposit, and was going to place it in his +doublet, when St. Maline stopped him, kissed the letter, and then +returned it to Ernanton. + +This made Henri smile. "Come, gentlemen," said he, "I see I shall be +well served."--"Is this all, sire?" + +"Yes, gentlemen; only our last recommendation. This letter is more +precious than the life of a man--for your heads, do not lose it; give it +secretly to the Shade, who will give you a receipt for it, which you +will bring back to me; and, above all, travel as though it were on your +own affairs. Go." + +The two young men went out--Ernanton full of joy, and St. Maline filled +with jealousy. M. d'Epernon waited for them, and wished to question +them, but Ernanton replied: "M. le Duc, the king did not authorize us to +speak." + +They went to the stables, when the king's huntsman gave them two strong +horses. M. d'Epernon would have followed them, but at that moment he was +told that a man much wished to speak to him at once. "Who is he?" he +asked. + +"The lieutenant of the provost of the Ile de France." + +"Parfandious! am I sheriff or provost?" + +"No, monsieur; but you are a friend of the king, and, as such, I beg you +to hear me," said a humble voice at his side. + +The duke turned. Near him was a man, bowing perpetually. + +"Who are you?" asked the duke. + +"Nicholas Poulain, monsieur." + +"And you wish to speak to me?" + +"I beg for that favor." + +"I have no time." + +"Not even to hear a secret?" + +"I hear a hundred every day." + +"But this concerns the life of his majesty," said Poulain, in a low +voice. + +"Oh! oh! then come into my cabinet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE REVELATION. + + +M. D'Epernon, in traversing the antechamber, addressed himself to one of +the gentlemen who stood there. + +"What is your name, monsieur?" said he. + +"Pertinax de Montcrabeau, monsieur." + +"Well, M. de Montcrabeau, place yourself at that door, and let no one +enter." + +"Yes, M. le Duc;" and M. Pertinax, who was sumptuously dressed, with a +blue satin doublet and orange stockings, obeyed. Nicholas Poulain +followed the duke into his cabinet. + +"Now let us hear your conspiracy," said the duke. + +"Oh! M. le Duc, it concerns the most frightful crimes." + +"They wish to kill me, I suppose." + +"It does not concern you, monsieur; it is the king. They wish to carry +him off." + +"Oh! again that old story," replied the duke, disdainfully. + +"This time the thing is serious, M. le Duc." + +"On what day do they intend to do it?" + +"The first time that his majesty goes to Vincennes in his litter." + +"How will they do it?" + +"By killing his two attendants." + +"And who will do it?" + +"Madame de Montpensier." + +D'Epernon began to laugh. "That poor duchess; what things are attributed +to her!" + +"Less than she projects, monsieur." + +"And she occupies herself with that at Soissons?" + +"No; she is in Paris." + +"In Paris!" + +"I can answer for it." + +"Have you seen her?" + +"Yes." + +"You thought you did?" + +"I have had the honor of speaking to her." + +"The honor." + +"I am wrong; the misfortune." + +"But, my dear lieutenant, the duchess cannot carry off the king." + +"With her associates, of course." + +"And where will she be when this takes place?" + +"At a window of the Jacobin Priory, which is, as you know, on the road +to Vincennes." + +"What the devil do you tell me?" + +"The truth, monsieur: all is prepared to stop the litter at the gate of +the priory." + +"And who made the preparations?" + +"Alas!--" + +"Finish quickly." + +"I did, monsieur." + +D'Epernon started back. "You, who denounce them!" + +"Monsieur, a good servant should risk all in the service of the king." + +"Mordieu! you risk hanging." + +"I prefer death to infamy, or to the death of the king, therefore I +came; and I thought, M. le Duc, that you, the friend of the king, would +not betray me, and would turn my news to good account." + +The duke looked fixedly at Poulain. "There must be more in it," said he; +"resolute as the duchess is, she would not attempt such an enterprise +alone." + +"She expects her brother." + +"The Duke Henri?" + +"No, monsieur; only the Duc de Mayenne." + +"Ah! good," said d'Epernon; "now I must set to work to counteract these +fine projects." + +"Doubtless, monsieur; it was for that I came." + +"If you have spoken the truth you shall be rewarded." + +"Why should I lie, monsieur; where is my interest--I, who eat the king's +bread? If you do not believe me, I will go to the king himself." + +"No, parfandious, you shall not go to the king: you shall have to deal +with me, alone." + +"I only said it because you seemed to hesitate." + +"No, I do not hesitate; and, first, here are a thousand crowns for you, +and you shall keep this secret between you and me." + +"I have a family, monsieur." + +"Well! a thousand crowns, parfandious." + +"If they knew in Lorraine that I had spoken, each word would cost me a +pint of blood; and in case of any misfortune, my family must be able to +live, therefore I accept the thousand crowns." + +The duke approached a coffer. Poulain thought it was for the money, and +held out his hand, but he only drew out a little book and wrote, "Three +thousand livres to M. Nicholas Poulain." + +"It is as if you had them," said he. + +Nicholas bowed, and looked puzzled. + +"Then it is agreed?" said the duke. + +"What, monsieur?" + +"That you will continue to instruct me?" + +Nicholas hesitated. + +"What! has your noble devotion vanished already?" + +"No, monsieur." + +"Then I may count on you?" + +"You may." + +"And I alone know this?" + +"You alone." + +"Now you may go, my friend; and, parfandious, let M. de Mayenne look to +himself." + +When D'Epernon returned to the king he found him playing at cup and +ball. D'Epernon assumed a thoughtful air, but the king did not remark +it. However, as the duke remained perfectly silent, the king raised his +head and said, "Well, Lavalette, what is the matter, are you dead?" + +"I wish I were," replied D'Epernon, "and I should not see what I do +see." + +"What, my cup and ball?" + +"Sire, in a time of great peril the subject may be alarmed for the +safety of his master." + +"What! again perils; devil take you, duke." + +"Then you are ignorant of what is passing?" + +"Ma foi, perhaps." + +"Your most cruel enemies surround you at this moment." + +"Bah! who are they?" + +"First, the Duchesse de Montpensier." + +"Yes, that is true; she came to see Salcede; but what is that to me?" + +"You knew it, then?" + +"You see I did." + +"But that M. de Mayenne was here?" + +"Yes, since yesterday evening." + +"What! this secret?" cried D'Epernon, with a disagreeable surprise. + +"Are there, then, any secrets from the king? You are zealous, dear +Lavalette, but you are slow. This news would have been good at four +o'clock yesterday, but to-day--" + +"Well, sire, to-day?" + +"It comes too late, you will agree?" + +"Still too soon, sire, it seems, since you will not listen to me." + +"I have been listening for half-an-hour." + +"You are menaced--they lay ambushes for you." + +"Well, yesterday you gave me a guard, and assured me that my immortality +was secured. Are your Forty-five no longer worth anything?" + +"Your majesty shall see." + +"I should not be sorry, duke; when shall I see?" + +"Sooner perhaps than you think." + +"Ah! you want to frighten me." + +"You shall see, sire. Apropos, when do you go to Vincennes?" + +"On Saturday." + +"That is enough, sire." D'Epernon bowed and withdrew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +TWO FRIENDS. + + +We will now follow the two young men sent by the king. Scarcely on +horseback, Ernanton and St. Maline, determined that one should not get +before the other, nearly crushed each other in the gateway. The face of +St. Maline became purple, and that of Ernanton pale. + +"You hurt me, monsieur," cried the former; "do you wish to crush me?" + +"You also hurt me, only I did not complain." + +"You wish to give me a lesson, I believe?" + +"I wish to give you nothing." + +"Ah!" cried St. Maline, "pray repeat that." + +"You are seeking a quarrel, are you not?" replied Ernanton, quietly; "so +much the worse for you." + +"And why should I wish to quarrel? I do not know you," replied St. +Maline, disdainfully. + +"You know me perfectly, monsieur, because at home my house is but two +leagues from yours, and I am well known there, being of an old family; +but you are furious at seeing me in Paris, when you thought that you +alone were sent for; also, because the king gave me the letter to +carry." + +"Well," said St. Maline, "it may be true, but there is one result." + +"What is it?" + +"That I do not like to be near you." + +"Go away, then; pardieu, I do not want to keep you. On the contrary, I +understand perfectly; you would like to take the letter from me and +carry it yourself; but unfortunately you must kill me first." + +"And who tells you that I do not wish to do that?" + +"To desire and to do are two different things." + +"Descend with me to the banks of the water, and you will see that with +me they are the same." + +"My dear monsieur, when the king gives me a letter to carry, I carry +it." + +"I will tear it from you by force." + +"You will not force me, I hope, to shoot you like a dog." + +"You!" + +"Yes; I have a pistol, and you have not." + +"You shall pay for this." + +"I trust so, after my commission is over; but, meanwhile, I beg you to +observe that as we belong to the king, it is setting a bad example to +quarrel." + +St. Maline was furious, he bit his fingers with rage. As they crossed +the Rue St. Antoine, Ernanton saw a litter with a lady in it. "My page!" +cried he, and he rode toward it; but she did not seem to recognize him, +and passed on. + +The young men now rode on without speaking. St. Maline soon discovered, +to his chagrin, that his horse was not as good as Ernanton's, and could +hardly keep pace with him. This annoyed him so much that he began to +quarrel with his horse, and to fret him so perpetually with the spur, +that at last the animal started off and made for the river Bievre, where +he got rid of his rider by throwing him in. One might have heard half a +mile off the imprecations of St. Maline, although he was half stifled by +the water. By the time he scrambled out his horse had got some little +way off. He himself was wet and muddy, and his face bleeding with +scratches, and he felt sure that it was useless to try and catch it; and +to complete his vexation, he saw Ernanton going down a cross-road which +he judged to be a short cut. + +He climbed up the banks of the river, but now could see neither Ernanton +nor his own horse. But while he stood there, full of sinister thoughts +toward Ernanton, he saw him reappear from the cross-road, leading the +runaway horse, which he had made a detour to catch. At this sight St. +Maline was full of joy and even of gratitude; but gradually his face +clouded again as he thought of the superiority of Ernanton over himself, +for he knew that in the same situation he should not even have thought +of acting in a similar manner. + +He stammered out thanks, to which Ernanton paid no attention, then +furiously seized the reins of his horse and mounted again. They rode on +silently till about half-past two, when they saw a man walking with a +dog by his side. Ernanton passed him; but St. Maline, hoping to be more +clever, rode up to him and said, "Traveler, do you expect something?" + +The man looked at him. Certainly his aspect was not agreeable. His face +still bore marks of anger, and the mud half dried on his clothes and the +blood on his cheeks, and his hand extended more in menace than +interrogation, all seemed very sinister to the traveler. + +"If I expect something," said he, "it is not some one; and if I expect +some one, it is not you." + +"You are impolite," said St. Maline, giving way to the anger that he had +restrained so long; and as he spoke he raised his hand armed with a cane +to strike the traveler, but he, with his stick, struck St. Maline on the +shoulder, while the dog rushed at him, tearing his clothes, as well as +his horse's legs. + +The horse, irritated by the pain, rushed furiously on. St. Maline could +not stop him for some time, but he kept his seat. They passed thus +before Ernanton, who took no notice. At last St. Maline succeeded in +quieting his horse, and they rode on again in silence till Ernanton +said: "There is he whom we seek waiting for us." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +ST. MALINE. + + +Ernanton was not deceived; the man he saw was really Chicot. He on his +side had seen the cavaliers coming, and suspecting that it was for him +that they came, waited for them. + +Ernanton and St. Maline looked at each other. + +"Speak, monsieur, if you wish," said Ernanton to his adversary. + +St. Maline was suffocated by this courtesy, he could not speak, he could +only bend his head; then Ernanton, advancing said, to Chicot-- + +"Monsieur, would it be indiscreet to inquire your name?" + +"I am called 'the Shade.'" + +"Do you expect anything?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Will you be good enough to tell us what?" + +"A letter." + +"From where?" + +"From the Louvre." + +"Sealed with what seal?" + +"The royal seal." + +Ernanton put his hand into the breast of his doublet and drew out a +letter. + +"That is it," said Chicot, "and for greater certainty, I was to give you +something in exchange, was I not?" + +"A receipt."--"Yes." + +"Monsieur," continued Ernanton, "I was told to carry it, but this +gentleman was to deliver it." And he handed the letter to St. Maline, +who gave it to Chicot. + +"You see," said Ernanton, "that we have faithfully fulfilled our +mission. There is no one here, and no one has seen us give you the +letter." + +"It is true, gentlemen; but to whom am I to give the receipt?" + +"The king did not say," said St. Maline, with a meaning air. + +"Write two, monsieur, and give one to each of us. It is far from this +to the Louvre, and some misfortune may happen to one of us on the road," +and as he spoke, Ernanton's eyes flashed in their turn. + +"You are wise," said Chicot, drawing his tablets from his pocket, from +which he tore out two pages and wrote on each, "Received from the hands +of St. Maline the letter brought by M. Ernanton de Carmainges.--THE +SHADE." + +"Adieu, monsieur," said St. Maline, taking his. + +"Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant journey to you," added Ernanton. "Have +you anything else to send to the Louvre?" + +"Nothing, I thank you." + +Then the young men set off toward Paris, and Chicot in the opposite +direction. When he was out of sight-- + +"Now, monsieur," said Ernanton to St. Maline, "dismount, if you please." + +"And why so?" + +"Our task is accomplished; we have now to converse, and this place +appears excellent for an explanation of this sort." + +"As you please, monsieur;" and they got off their horses. + +Then Ernanton said, "You know, monsieur, that without any cause on my +part, you have during the whole journey insulted me grievously. You +wished to make me fight at an inopportune time, and I refused; but now +the time is good and I am your man." + +But St. Maline was angry no longer, and did not wish to fight. + +"Monsieur," replied he, "when I insulted you, you responded by rendering +me a service. I can no longer hold the language I did just now." + +"No; but you think the same." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because your words were dictated by hatred and envy, and they cannot +already be extinct in your heart." + +St. Maline colored, but did not reply. + +Ernanton continued, "If the king preferred me to you, it was because I +pleased him best. If I was not thrown into the Bievre like you, it was +because I ride better; if I did not accept your challenge before, it +was because I was wiser than you; if I was not bitten by the dog, it was +because I had more sagacity; if I now summon you to draw your sword, it +is because I have more honor; and if you hesitate, I shall say more +courage." + +St. Maline looked like a demon, and drew his sword furiously. + +"I have fought eleven times," said he, "and two of my adversaries are +dead. Are you aware of that, monsieur?" + +"And I, monsieur, have never fought, for I have never had occasion, and +I did not seek it now. I wait your pleasure, monsieur." + +"Oh!" said St. Maline, "we are compatriots, and we are both in the +king's service; do not let us quarrel. You are a brave man, and I would +give you my hand if I could. What would you have? I am envious--it is my +nature. M. de Chalabre, or M. de Montcrabeau, would not have made me +angry; it was your superior merit. Console yourself, therefore, for I +can do nothing against you, and unluckily your merit remains. I should +not like any one to know the cause of our quarrel." + +"No one will know it, monsieur." + +"No one?" + +"No; for if we fight I should kill you, or you would kill me. I do not +despise life; on the contrary, I cling to it, for I am only twenty-three +years of age, have a good name and am not poor, and I shall defend +myself like a lion." + +"Well, I, on the contrary, am thirty, and am disgusted with life; but +still I would rather not fight with you." + +"Then you will apologize?" + +"No, I have said enough. If you are not content, so much the better, for +you are not superior to me." + +"But, monsieur, one cannot end a quarrel thus, without the risk of being +laughed at."--"I know it." + +"Then you refuse to fight?" + +"With you." + +"After having provoked me?" + +"I confess it." + +"But if my patience fail, and I attack you?" + +"I will throw my sword away; but I shall then have reason to hate you, +and the first time I find you in the wrong, I will kill you." + +Ernanton sheathed his sword. "You are a strange man," said he, "and I +pity you." + +"You pity me!" + +"Yes, for you must suffer." + +"Horribly." + +"Do you never love?" + +"Never." + +"Have you no passions?" + +"One alone, jealousy; but that includes all others to a frightful +degree. I adore a woman, as soon as she loves another; I love gold, when +another possesses it;--yes, you are right, I am unhappy." + +"Have you never tried to become good?" + +"Yes, and failed. What does the venomous plant? What do the bear and +bird of prey? They destroy, but certain people use them for the chase. +So shall I be in the hands of MM. d'Epernon and Loignac, till the day +when they shall say, 'This plant is hurtful, let us tear it up; this +beast is furious, let us kill him.'" + +Ernanton was calmed; St. Maline was no longer an object of anger but of +pity. + +"Good fortune should cure you," said he; "when you succeed, you should +hate less." + +"However high I should rise, others would be higher." + +They rode on silently for some time. At last Ernanton held out his hand +to St. Maline, and said, "Shall I try to cure you?" + +"No, do not try that; you would fail. Hate me, on the contrary, and I +shall admire you." + +An hour after they entered the Louvre; the king had gone out, and would +not return until evening. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +DE LOIGNAC'S INTERVIEW WITH THE FORTY-FIVE. + + +Each of the young men placed himself at a window to watch for the return +of the king. Ernanton, however, soon forgot his present situation, and +became abstracted in thinking who the woman could be who had entered +Paris as his page, and whom he had since seen in such a splendid litter; +and with a heart more disposed to love adventure than to make ambitious +calculations, he forgot why he was sitting there, till, suddenly raising +his head, he saw that St. Maline was no longer there. He understood at +once that he had seen the king arrive, and had gone to him. He rose +quickly, traversed the gallery, and arrived at the king's room just as +St. Maline was coming out. + +"Look!" cried he joyfully, "what the king has given me," and he showed a +gold chain. + +"I congratulate you, monsieur," said Ernanton, quietly, and he entered +in his turn. + +St. Maline waited impatiently until he came out again, which he did in +about ten minutes, although it appeared an hour to St. Maline. + +When Ernanton came out, he looked all over him, and seeing nothing, he +cried joyfully, "And you, monsieur, what has he given to you?" + +"His hand to kiss," replied Ernanton. + +St. Maline crushed his chain impatiently in his hands, and they both +returned in silence. As they entered the hall, the trumpet sounded, and +at this signal all the Forty-five came out of their rooms, wondering +what was the matter; while they profited by this reunion to examine each +other. Most of them were richly dressed, though generally in bad taste. +They all had a military tournour, and long swords, boots and gloves of +buckskin or buffalo, all well gilded or well greased, were almost +universal. + +The most discreet might be known by their quiet colors, the most +economical by the substantial character of their equipments, and the +most gay by their white or rose-colored satins. Perducas de Pincornay +had bought from some Jew a gold chain as thick as a cable; Pertinax de +Montcrabeau was all bows and embroidery: he had bought his costume from +a merchant who had purchased it of a gentleman who had been wounded by +robbers. It was rather stained with blood and dirt, it was true, but he +had managed to clean it tolerably. There remained two holes made by the +daggers of the robbers, but Pertinax had had them embroidered in gold. + +Eustache de Miradoux did not shine; he had had to clothe Lardille, +Militor, and the two children. All the gentlemen were there admiring +each other, when M. de Loignac entered frowning, and placed himself in +front of them, with a countenance anything but agreeable. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "are you all here?" + +"All!" they replied. + +"Gentlemen, you have been summoned to Paris as a special guard to the +king; it is an honorable title, but it engages you to much. Some of you +seem not to have understood your duties; I will, therefore, recall them +to you. If you do not assist at the deliberations of the council, you +will constantly be called upon to execute the resolutions passed there; +therefore, the responsibility of those secrets rests upon you. Suppose +now that one of the officers on whom the safety of the state and the +tranquillity of the crown reposes, betray the secrets of the council, or +a soldier charged with a commission does not execute it, his life is the +forfeit; you know that?" + +"Doubtless," replied many voices. + +"Well, gentlemen, this very day a measure of his majesty's has been +betrayed, and a step which he wished to take rendered, perhaps, +impossible." + +Terror began to replace pride in the minds of the Forty-five, and they +looked at each other with suspicion and disquietude. + +"Two of you, gentlemen," continued De Loignac, "have been heard in the +open street chattering like a couple of old women, and that about grave +things." + +St. Maline advanced. "Monsieur," said he, "pray explain at once, that +suspicion may not rest on us all." + +"That is easy. The king heard to-day that one of his enemies--precisely +one of those whom we have been enrolled to guard him against--had +arrived in Paris to conspire against him. This name was pronounced +quietly, but was overheard by a soldier on guard, that is to say, by a +man who should be regarded as a wall--deaf, dumb, and immovable. +However, that man repeated this name in the street with a noise and +boasting which attracted the attention of the passers-by and raised +quite an emotion; I know it, for I was there, and heard and saw all, and +had I not placed my hand on his shoulder to stop him, he would have +compromised such grave interests, that, had he not been quiet at my +touch, I should have been compelled to poniard him on the spot." + +Pertinax de Montcrabeau and Perducas de Pincornay turned deadly pale, +and Montcrabeau tried to stammer out some excuses. All eyes were turned +toward them. + +"Nothing can excuse you," said De Loignac; "even if you were drunk you +should be punished for that; and you shall be punished." + +A terrible silence ensued. Then Pertinax said, "Pardon, monsieur! we are +provincials, new to the court, and unaccustomed to politics." + +"You should not have accepted your posts without weighing their duties." + +"For the future we will be as mute as sepulchers, we swear to you." + +"Good; but can you repair the evil you have done to-day?" + +"We will try." + +"It is impossible, I tell you." + +"Then, for this time, pardon us." + +"You live," continued De Loignac, "with a sort of license which I must +repress. Those who find the terms too hard will return; I can easily +replace them; but I warn you that justice will be done among us, +secretly and expeditiously. Traitors will be punished with death on the +spot." + +Montcrabeau nearly fainted, and Pertinax grew paler than ever. + +"I shall have," De Loignac continued, "for smaller offenses lighter +punishments, as imprisonment, for instance. For this time, I spare the +lives of M. de Montcrabeau and M. de Pincornay, because they probably +acted in ignorance, and shall only enforce against them my third method +of punishment--a fine. You have received one thousand livres apiece, +gentlemen; you will each return one hundred." + +"One hundred!" cried Pincornay; "Cap de Bious! I have not got them; I +have spent them on my equipment." + +"Sell your chain, then. But I have something else to add; I have +remarked many signs of irritation between different members of your +body, and each time a difference arises I wish the matter referred to +me, and I alone shall have the power of allowing a duel to take place. +Dueling is much in fashion now, but I do not wish, that, to follow the +fashion, my company be constantly left imperfect. The first duel, +therefore, that takes place without my permission will be punished with +a rigorous imprisonment and a heavy fine. Now fifteen of you will place +yourselves this evening at the foot of the staircase when his majesty +receives, fifteen will keep without, and fifteen remain at home. Also, +as you should have some chief, and I cannot be everywhere, I will each +day name a chief for the fifteen, so that all shall learn to obey and +command. At present I do not know the capacities of any one, but I shall +watch and learn. Now, go, gentlemen; and M. de Montcrabeau and M. de +Pincornay, you will remember that I expect your fines to be paid +to-morrow." + +They all retired except Ernanton, who lingered behind. + +"Do you wish anything?" asked De Loignac. + +"Yes, monsieur," said Ernanton, bowing; "it seems to me that you have +forgotten to point out to us our duties. To be in the king's service has +a glorious sound, doubtless, but I should wish to know in what this +service consists?" + +"That, monsieur, is a question to which I cannot reply." + +"May I ask why, monsieur?" + +"Because I, myself, am often ignorant in the morning of what I shall +have to do in the evening." + +"Monsieur, you are placed in such a high position that you must know +much of which we are ignorant." + +"You love the king, I suppose?" + +"I do; and I ought to do so, as a subject and a gentleman." + +"Well! that is the cardinal point by which to regulate your conduct." + +"Very well, monsieur; but there is one point which disquiets me." + +"What is it?" + +"Passive obedience." + +"It is an essential condition." + +"So I understand; but it is sometimes difficult for persons who are +delicate on points of honor." + +"That does not concern me, M. de Carmainges." + +"But, monsieur, when an order displeases you--" + +"I read the signature of M. d'Epernon, and that consoles me." + +"And M. d'Epernon?" + +"He reads the signature of his majesty, and consoles himself as I do." + +"You are right, monsieur, and I am your humble servant;" and Ernanton +was about to retire, when De Loignac stopped him. + +"I will say to you," said he, "what I have not said to the others, for +no one else has had the courage to speak to me thus." + +Ernanton bowed. + +"Perhaps," continued De Loignac, "a great personage will come to the +Louvre this evening; if so, do not lose sight of him, and follow him +when he leaves." + +"Pardon me, monsieur; but that seems the work of a spy." + +"Do you think so? It is possible; but look here"--and he drew out a +paper which he presented to Ernanton, who read-- + +"'Have M. de Mayenne followed this evening, if he presents himself at +the Louvre.--D'EPERNON.'" + +"Well, monsieur?" + +"I will follow M. de Mayenne," said Ernanton, bowing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +THE BOURGEOIS OF PARIS. + + +M. de Mayenne, with whom they were so much occupied at the Louvre, set +out from the Hotel Guise, booted and on horseback, as though he had +just arrived. He was received by the king affectionately. + +"Well, cousin," said he, "you have, then, come to visit Paris?" + +"Yes, sire; I come in my brother's name and my own, to recall to your +majesty that you have no more faithful subjects than ourselves." + +"Mordieu!" said the king, "that is so well known that you might have +spared yourself this trouble. You must have had some other motive." + +"Sire, I feared that your regard for us might be shaken by the reports +which our enemies circulate about us." + +"What reports?" asked Henri. + +"What!" cried Mayenne, rather disconcerted; "has not your majesty heard +any reports unfavorable to us?" + +"My cousin, know once for all that I allow no one to speak ill in my +presence of the Guises." + +"Well, sire, I do not regret my visit, since I have had the pleasure of +finding my king so well disposed toward us; but I will allow that it was +needless." + +"Oh! there is always something to do in Paris." + +"Yes, sire; but we have our business at Soissons." + +"What business, duke?" + +"Your majesty's, sire." + +"Ah! true; continue, Mayenne, to do as you have done; I know how to +appreciate the conduct of my subjects." + +The duke retired, smiling. The king rubbed his hands, and De Loignac +made a sign to Ernanton, who spoke to his valet, and then followed M. de +Mayenne. There was no fear of missing him, for the news of his arrival +had spread, and some hundred leaguers had assembled to greet him. + +As the duke reached his hotel, Ernanton saw a litter pierce through the +crowd. De Mayenne approached it, and the curtains were opened, and +Ernanton thought he recognized his former page. The litter disappeared +under the gateway, and Mayenne followed; an instant after, M. de +Mayneville appeared on the balcony, and thanked the Parisians in the +duke's name, but begged them to disperse and go home. + +All went away accordingly, except ten men, who had entered after the +duke. These were the deputies of the League, who were sent to thank M. +de Mayenne for his visit, and to beg that his brothers would come also. +They had a number of plans, which only wanted the sanction and support +of the chiefs. Bussy Leclerc came to announce that he had instructed the +monks of three monasteries in the use of arms, and had enrolled 500 +bourgeois in a regiment. + +Lachapelle-Marteau had worked on the magistrates and had 200 black robes +ready for councilors. Brigard had gained the merchants of the Rue +Lombards and the Rue St. Denis. Cruce could answer for the University of +Paris, and Delbar promised for all the sailors in the port, a dangerous +body of 500 men. Each of the others had something to offer, even +Nicholas Poulain, the friend of Chicot. + +When Mayenne had heard them all, he said, "I admire your strength, but I +do not see the end you propose to yourselves." + +Bussy Leclerc answered, "We want a change, and as we are the +strongest--" + +"But how will you arrive at this change?" + +"It seems to me," replied Bussy, boldly, "that as the idea of the Union +came from our chiefs, it is for them to point out its aim." + +"You are perfectly right," said Mayenne, "but it is also for them to +judge of the proper time for action. The troops of M. de Guise may be +ready, but he does not give the signal until he thinks fit." + +"But, monseigneur, we are impatient." + +"For what?" + +"To arrive at our end. We also have our plan." + +"Ah! that is different; if you have your own plan, I say no more." + +"Yes, monseigneur; but may we count on your aid?" + +"Doubtless, if this plan be approved by my brother and myself." + +"We believe it will." + +"Let me hear it, then." + +The leaguers looked at each other, then Marteau advanced. + +"Monseigneur," said he, "we think the success of our plan certain. +There are particular points where all the strength of the city lies--the +great and the little Chatelet, the Hotel de Ville, the arsenal and the +Louvre." + +"It is true." + +"All these are guarded, but could easily be surprised." + +"I admit this also." + +"The town itself, however, is defended outside, firstly, by the +chevalier of the watch with his archers. We thought of seizing him in +his house, which could be easily done, as it is a lonely place." + +Mayenne shook his head. "However lonely," said he, "you cannot force a +door and fire twenty shots without attracting attention." + +"We have foreseen this objection, but one of the archers of the watch is +on our side. In the middle of the night, two or three of us will go and +knock at the door; the archer will open, and tell his chief that the +king wishes to speak to him, which would not appear strange, as he is +often sent for in this manner. Once the door is open, we will introduce +ten men--sailors who lodge near--who will soon finish him." + +"Murder him?" + +"Yes, monseigneur. At the same time we will force the doors of the other +functionaries who might take his place, such as M. d'O, M. de Chiverny, +and M. le Procureur Laguesle. St. Bartholomew has taught us how to +manage." + +"This is all well, gentlemen; but you have not told me if you mean, at +the same time, to force the doors of the Louvre--that strong and +well-guarded fortress. Believe me, the king is not so easily taken as +the chevalier of the watch." + +"We have chosen four thousand men, who hate the king, for this +undertaking." + +"And you think that enough?" + +"Doubtless; we shall be ten to one." + +"Why, the Swiss are four thousand strong." + +"Yes, but they are at Lagny, and that is eight leagues from Paris, and +supposing they were to send for them, it would take two hours for the +messenger to go on horseback, and eight for them to return on foot, so +that they would just arrive in time to be stopped at the gates, and in a +few hours we should be masters of Paris." + +"Very good; but supposing all this accomplished, the watch disarmed, the +authorities disappeared, and all obstacles removed, what do you mean to +do?" + +"Form a new government of honest people. As for ourselves, so long as +our commerce is successful, and we have enough for our wives and +children, we care for little else. Some among us might desire a command, +and they should have it. We are not difficult to satisfy." + +"I know you are all honest, and would not suffer a mixture in your +ranks." + +"No, no!" cried several voices. + +"Now, M. Poulain," said the duke, "are there many idlers and bad people +in the Ile de France?" + +Nicholas Poulain, who had hitherto kept in the background, was now +forced to advance. "Certainly, monseigneur, there are a great many," he +replied. + +"Could you guess at their number?" + +"About four thousand thieves, three thousand or more beggars, and four +or five hundred assassins." + +"Well, there are at least eight thousand good-for-nothings; of what +religion are they?" + +Poulain laughed. "Of all, monseigneur; or, rather, of none; gold is +their god, and blood their prophet." + +"Yes; but their politics? Are they Valois, Leaguers, Navarrais, or +what?" + +"Robbers only." + +"Monseigneur," said Cruce, "do not suppose that we mean to take these +people for allies!" + +"No, I do not suppose so; and that is what disturbs me." + +"And why so, monseigneur?" they asked with surprise. + +"Because as soon as there are no longer magistrates in Paris, as soon as +there is no longer royalty, or public force, or anything to restrain +them, they will begin to pillage your shops while you fight, and your +houses while you occupy the Louvre. Sometimes they will join the Swiss +against you, and sometimes you against the Swiss, so that they will +always be the strongest." + +"Diable!" cried the deputies, looking at each other. + +"I think this is a question for grave consideration, gentlemen," said +the duke. "I will think it over, and endeavor to find the means of +overcoming the difficulty; your interests, before our own, has ever been +our maxim." + +The deputies gave a murmur of approbation. + +"Now, gentlemen, permit a man who has traveled twenty-four leagues on +horseback in forty-eight hours to seek a little sleep." + +"We humbly take our leave, monseigneur," said Brigard; "what day shall +you fix for our next meeting?" + +"As soon as possible, gentlemen; to-morrow, or the day after. Au +revoir." + +No sooner had he disappeared than a door opened, and a woman rushed in. + +"The duchesse!" they cried. + +"Yes, gentlemen; who comes to save you from your embarrassments. What +the Hebrews could not do, Judith did; hope, then, gentlemen, for I also +have my plan;" and she disappeared through the same door as her brother. + +"Tudieu!" cried Bussy Leclerc; "I believe that is the man of the +family." + +"Oh!" murmured Nicholas Poulain, "I wish I were out of all this." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +BROTHER BORROMEE. + + +It was about ten o'clock in the evening when the deputies returned home. +Nicholas Poulain remained behind the others, reflecting on the +perplexing situation in which he found himself, and considering whether +he should report all that he had heard to M. d'Epernon, when, in the +middle of the Rue de la Pierre-au-Real, he ran right against a Jacobin +monk. They both began to swear, but, looking up, recognized each other. + +"Brother Borromee!" cried Poulain. + +"Nicholas Poulain!" exclaimed the monk. + +"How are you?" asked Nicholas cautiously. "Where in the world were you +running to in such a hurry at this time of night? Is the priory on +fire?" + +"No; I was going to the Duchesse de Montpensier's hotel, to speak to M. +de Mayneville." + +"And what for?" + +"Oh! it is very simple," said Borromee, seeking for a specious answer; +"the reverend prior was solicited by the duchesse to become her +confessor; he accepted at the time, but since then he has had scruples, +and has sent me to tell her not to rely upon him." + +"Very good; but you are going away from the Hotel Guise." + +"Exactly so; for I hear she is at the Hotel St. Denis, with her +brother." + +"Quite true; but why do you deceive me? It is not the treasurer who is +sent with these sort of messages." + +"But to a princess! Now do not detain me, or I shall miss her." + +"She will return, you might have waited for her." + +"True; but I shall not be sorry to see M. le Duc also." + +"Oh! that is more like the truth, so go on. There is something new going +on," thought Nicholas; "but why should I try to discover what it is?" + +Meanwhile the brother and sister had been conversing together, and had +settled that the king had no suspicions, and was therefore easy to +attack. They also agreed that the first thing to be done was to organize +the League more generally in the provinces, while the king abandoned his +brother, who was the only enemy they had to fear, so long as Henri of +Navarre occupied himself only with love affairs. + +"Paris is all ready, but must wait," said Mayenne. + +At this moment M. de Mayneville entered, and announced Borromee. + +"Borromee! who is he?" cried the duke. + +"The man whom you sent me from Nancy, when I asked for a man of action +and mind." + +"I remember; I told you he was both. But he was called Borroville." + +"Yes, monseigneur; but now he is a monk, and Borromee." + +"Borroville a monk! and why so?" + +"That is our secret, monseigneur; you shall know hereafter, but now let +us see him, for his visit disquiets me." + +"Why, Borroville," cried the duke, laughing, as he entered; "what a +disguise!" + +"Yes, monseigneur, I am not much at my ease in this devil of a dress, I +confess; but, as it is worn in the service of her highness, I do not +complain." + +"And what do you want so late?" + +"I could not come sooner; I have all the priory on my hands." + +"Well! now speak." + +"M. le Duc, the king is sending succors to the Duc d'Anjou." + +"Bah! we have heard that the last three years." + +"Yes; but this time it is certain. At two o'clock this morning, M. de +Joyeuse set out for Rouen; he is to take ship to Dieppe, and convey +three thousand men to Antwerp." + +"Oh! who told you that, Borroville?" + +"I heard it from a man who is going to Navarre." + +"To Navarre! to Henri?" + +"Yes, monseigneur." + +"And who sends him?" + +"The king, with a letter." + +"What is his name?" + +"Robert Briquet; he is a great friend of Gorenflot's." + +"And an ambassador of the king's?" + +"Yes; I am sure of it; for he sent one of our monks to the Louvre to +fetch the letter." + +"And he did not show you the letter?" + +"The king did not give it to him; he sent it by his own messenger." + +"We must have this letter." + +"Certainly," said the duchess. + +"How was it that this did not occur to you?" said Mayneville. + +"I did think of it, and wished to send one of my men, who is a perfect +Hercules, with M. Briquet, but he suspected, and dismissed him." + +"You must go yourself." + +"Impossible!" + +"And why?" + +"Because he knows me." + +"As a monk, but not as captain, I hope." + +"Ma foi! I do not know; he seems to know everything." + +"What is he like?" + +"He is tall--all nerves, muscles and bones; silent, but mocking." + +"Ah! ah! and clever with his sword?" + +"Marvelously." + +"A long face?" + +"Yes." + +"And an old friend of the prior's?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! I have a suspicion which I must have cleared up. Borroville, you +must go to Soissons, to my brother--" + +"But the priory?" + +"Oh! you can invent some excuse to Gorenflot; he believes all you say," +said Mayneville. + +"You will tell my brother all you know about the mission of M. de +Joyeuse." + +"Yes, monseigneur." + +"And Navarre--" said the duchess. + +"Oh! I charge myself with that," said Mayenne. "Let them saddle me a +fresh horse, Mayneville." Then he murmured to himself, "Can he be still +alive?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +CHICOT, LATINIST. + + +After the departure of the young men, Chicot went on quietly; but as +soon as they had disappeared in the valley, he stopped at the top of a +hill and looked all round him; then, seeing no one, he seated himself, +and commenced an examination. He had now two purses, for he perceived +that the packet he had received contained money, besides the letter. It +was quite a royal purse, embroidered with an "H" at each end. + +"It is pretty," said Chicot, "no one could be more generous or more +stupid. Decidedly I shall never make anything of the king. All that +astonishes me is that he did not have the letter embroidered outside +also. Now let me see how much money he has sent. One hundred crowns; +just the sum I borrowed from Gorenflot. Ah! pardon, Henri, this is good. +But the purse annoys me; if I were to keep it I should feel as if the +very birds, as they flew over my head, would denounce me as a royal +messenger." + +So saying, he drew from his pocket Gorenflot's bag, emptied the king's +money into it, then placed a stone in the purse, and threw it into the +Orge, which flowed under the bridge at his feet. + +"So much for myself--now for Henri," said Chicot; and he took up the +letter, broke the seal with the utmost tranquillity, and sent the +envelope into the river after the purse. "Now," said he, "let us read. + + "'Dear brother, the deep love which you felt for our late dear + brother and king, Charles IX., still clings to the Louvre and to my + heart; it grieves me, therefore, to have to write to you about + vexatious things. You are strong, however, against ill fortune, so + that I do not hesitate to communicate these things to you--things + which can only be told to a tried friend. Besides, I have an + interest in warning you--the honor of my name and of your own, my + brother. We resemble each other in one thing, that we are each + surrounded with enemies. Chicot will explain to you. + + "'M. de Turenne, your servant, causes daily scandal at your court; + God forbid that I should interfere in your affairs, except where + your honor is concerned; but your wife, whom to my regret I call my + sister, should be more careful than she is of your honor. I advise + you, therefore, to watch the communications of Margot with Turenne, + that she does not bring shame on the house of Bourbon. Act as soon + as you shall be sure of the fact, into which I pray you to inquire + as soon as Chicot shall have explained to you my letter. + + "'Those whom as brother and king I denounce to you, generally meet + at a little chateau called Loignac, the pretext being generally the + chase. This chateau is, besides, the focus for intrigues to which + the Guises are not strangers, and you know the strange love with + which my sister pursued Henri de Guise. I embrace you, and am ever + ready to aid you in all, and for all; meanwhile aid yourself by + the advice of Chicot, whom I send to you. Your affectionate,' etc. + +"_Age auctore Chicot_," said Chicot, "here am I, installed counselor of +the king of Navarre! This seems to me a bad commission, and in flying +one ill, I have fallen into a worse one. Really, I should almost prefer +Mayenne. But the letter is clever, and if Henriot be like other +husbands, it will embroil him at once with his wife, Turenne, the +Guises, and even with Spain. But if Henri de Valois is so well informed +of all that passes in Navarre, he must have some spy there. + +"Then, again," continued he, "this letter will lead me into mischief if +I meet a Spaniard, a Lorraine, a Bearnais, or a Fleming curious enough +to wish to know what brings me here, and I should be very foolish not to +remember that there is a chance of that. M. Borromee, above all, I +suspect may play me some trick. Besides, what did I seek in asking the +king for this mission? Tranquillity. And now I am going to embroil the +king of Navarre with his wife. However, that is not my affair, except +that I shall make mortal enemies, who will prevent me from ever reaching +the happy age of eighty. + +"Ma foi! but that is not much, for it is only worth living when you are +young. But then I might as well have waited for the knife of M. de +Mayenne. However, I will take precautions, and will translate this fine +letter into Latin, and engrave it on my memory; then I will buy a horse, +because from Juvisy to Pau I should have too often to put the right foot +before the left if I walked--but first I will destroy this letter." + +This he proceeded to do; tearing it into an infinite number of little +pieces, sending some into the river, others into the air, and burying +the rest in holes in the ground. + +"Now let me think of my Latin theme," said he; and this study occupied +him until he arrived at Corbeil, where he bestowed a glance at the +cathedral, but fixed an earnest look at a traiteur's, whence came an +appetizing smell of dinner. We will not describe either the dinner he +made or the horse he bought; suffice it to say that the dinner was long +and the horse was bad. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE FOUR WINDS. + + +Chicot, with his little horse, which ought to have been a big one to +have carried him, after having slept at Fontainebleau, made a detour to +the right, and proceeded toward the little village of Orgeval. He would +have gone further that day, but his horse failed him. He put up, +therefore, at a good hotel, and went through the rooms to select one +where the doors closed well, and chose an apartment which had just been +repaired, and the door of which was furnished with a formidable lock. + +Before going to bed, although the hotel had appeared almost empty, he +locked the door and placed a heavy table and a chest of drawers against +it. He then put his purse under his pillow, and repeated to himself +three times over the translation of the king's letter. There was an +extremely high wind blowing, and as it howled in the neighboring trees, +it was with a feeling of great satisfaction that Chicot plunged into a +very comfortable bed. + +He had a lamp by his bedside, and he occupied himself for some time in +reading a book which he had brought with him; but, although he liked the +book, in reading the third chapter he fell asleep. The wind moaned about +the house, sometimes like a child crying, and sometimes like a husband +scolding his wife; and as Chicot slept, it seemed to him, in his dreams, +that the tempest came nearer and nearer. All at once a sudden squall of +invincible force broke locks and bolts--pushed the chest of drawers, +which fell on the lamp, which it extinguished, and on the table, which +it smashed. + +Chicot had the faculty of waking quickly, and with all his senses about +him, so he jumped out of bed and got hold in an instant of his purse and +his sword. It was quite dark, but it seemed to him that the whole room +was being torn to pieces by the four winds of heaven; for the chairs +were falling, and the table breaking more and more under the weight of +the drawers. As he could do nothing against the gods of Olympus, he +contented himself with standing in one corner, with his sword held out +before him, so that if any of these mythological personages approached, +they would spit themselves upon it. + +At last he profited by a momentary cessation in the uproar to cry +loudly, "Help! help!" + +He made so much noise that it seemed to quiet the elements, as if +Neptune had pronounced the famous _Quos ego_, and, after six or seven +minutes, during which Eurus, Notus, Boreas and Aquilo seemed to beat a +retreat, the host appeared with a lantern and enlightened the scene, +which looked deplorably like a field of battle. The great chest of +drawers was overturned on the broken table; the door was held only by +one of its hinges, and the bolts were broken; three or four chairs were +on the floor with their legs in the air, and, to crown all, the +crockery, which had been on the table, lay in bits on the floor. + +"This is a regular pandemonium," cried Chicot, recognizing his host. + +"Oh! monsieur," cried the host, clasping his hands, "what has happened?" + +"Are there demons lodging here?" asked Chicot. + +"Oh! what weather," replied the host pathetically. + +"But the bolts do not hold; this house must be made of card-board. I +would rather go away;--I prefer the road." + +"Oh! my poor furniture," sighed the host. + +"But my clothes! where are they? They were on this chair." + +"If they were there, they ought to be there still," replied the host. + +"What! 'if they were there.' Do you think I came here yesterday in this +costume?" + +"Mon Dieu! monsieur," answered the host, with embarrassment, "I know you +were clothed." + +"It is lucky you confess it." + +"But--" + +"But what?" + +"The wind has dispersed everything." + +"Ah! that is a reason." + +"You see." + +"But, my friend, when the wind comes in it comes from outside, and it +must have come in here if it made this destruction." + +"Certainly, monsieur." + +"Well, the wind in coming in here should have brought with it the +clothes of others, instead of carrying mine out." + +"So it should, and yet the contrary seems to have happened." + +"But what is this? The wind must have walked in the mud, for here are +footmarks on the floor." And Chicot pointed out the traces left by a +muddy boot, on seeing which the host turned pale. + +"Now, my friend," said Chicot, "I advise you to keep a watch over these +winds which enter hotels, penetrate rooms by breaking doors, and retire, +carrying away the clothes of the guests." + +The host drew back toward the door. "You call me thief!" said he. + +"You are responsible for my clothes, and they are gone--you will not +deny that?" + +"You insult me." + +Chicot made a menacing gesture. + +"Hola!" cried the host; "hola! help!" + +Four men armed with sticks immediately appeared. + +"Ah! here are the four winds," cried Chicot, making a thrust with his +sword at one of them; but they all rapidly disappeared, not, however, +before one of them had whispered something to the host. + +"Your clothes shall be found," growled he. + +"Well! that is all I ask." + +They soon made their appearance, but visibly deteriorated. + +"Ah! there are nails in your staircase; what a devil of a wind it was," +said Chicot. + +"Now you will go to bed again?" said the host. + +"No, I thank you, I have slept enough; leave me your lantern and I will +read." + +Chicot replaced the chest of drawers against the door, dressed himself, +got into bed again, and read till daybreak, when he asked for his +horse, paid his bill, and went away, saying to himself-- + +"We shall see, to-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +HOW CHICOT CONTINUED HIS JOURNEY, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM. + + +Chicot passed his morning in congratulating himself on the sang-froid +and patience he had displayed through his night of trials. + +"But," thought he, "they never take an old wolf twice in the same snare; +therefore, it is nearly certain that they will invent some new devilry +to practice on me to-day, so I must be on my guard." + +The result of this reasoning was, that Chicot made a march that day +worthy of being immortalized by Xenophon. Every tree, rising ground, or +wall, served him for a point of observation. He also concluded on the +road alliances, if not offensive, at least defensive. Four grocers from +Paris, who were going to Orleans to order preserves, and to Limoges for +dried fruits, allowed Chicot, who called himself a hosier from Bordeaux, +returning home, to join their company, which was rendered more +formidable by four clerks, who were following their masters. It was +quite a little army, and scarcely less formidable in mind than in +number, so warlike a spirit had the League introduced among the Parisian +shopkeepers. At all events, three cowards together have less fear than +one brave man alone. At last they reached Etampes, the town fixed on for +supper and sleeping. They supped, and then each went to his room. + +Chicot, who had not been sparing during the repast, either of his fun, +which amused his companions, or of the Muscat and Burgundy, went to bed, +after having settled to travel again with the grocers on the morrow. +Chicot, therefore, thought himself guarded like a prince by the four +travelers, whose rooms were in the same corridor and close to his own. +Indeed, at this epoch, the roads being far from safe, travelers were in +the habit of promising each other mutual aid in case of need. Chicot +then, after bolting his door and striking the walls, which returned +everywhere a satisfactory sound, went to bed and to sleep. + +But there arrived, during his first sleep, an event which the Sphynx +himself, the diviner par excellence, could not have foreseen; but the +devil was mixing himself up with Chicot's affairs, and he is more +cunning than all the Sphynxes in the world. + +About half-past nine a blow was struck on the door of the room where the +clerks all slept. One of them opened in a very bad humor, and found +himself face to face with the host. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "I see with pleasure that you are sleeping all +ready dressed, for I wish to render you a great service. Your masters +grew very warm over politics at supper-time, and it seems that a sheriff +of the town heard them and reported it. Now, as we are very loyal here, +the mayor sent down the watch, and they have arrested your masters and +carried them off. The prison is near the Hotel de Ville; go, my lads, +your mules are ready for you, your masters will join you on the road." + +The four clerks shook like hares, ran downstairs, jumped on their mules, +and took the road back to Paris, telling the host to let their masters +know, if they should return to the hotel. + +Having seen them disappear, the host went to knock very gently at one of +the doors in the corridor. + +One of the merchants cried out in a loud voice, "Who is there?" + +"Silence!" replied the host, "and come quietly to the door." + +The merchant obeyed, but before opening, he said again--"Who are you?" + +"Your host; do you not recognize my voice?" + +"Mon Dieu! what is the matter?" + +"Why, it seems you talked rather too freely at table, and the mayor has +been informed by some spy, and has sent to arrest you. Luckily, I +thought of showing them your clerks' room instead of yours, so that they +are busy upstairs arresting them." + +"Can this be true?" + +"Pure and simple truth. Make haste, and escape while you can." + +"But my companions?" + +"Oh! I will tell them." + +And while the merchant dressed, the host awakened the others, and very +soon they all disappeared, walking on the points of their toes, that +they might not be heard. + +"That poor hosier!" said they; "it will all fall on him; but it is true +he said the most." + +Of course Chicot had received no warning. While the merchants were +flying, he was sleeping peacefully. + +The host now descended into the hall, where stood six armed men, one of +whom seemed to command the others. + +"Well?" said this one. + +"I have obeyed your orders, monsieur." + +"Your inn is deserted?" + +"Absolutely." + +"The person is not awakened?" + +"No." + +"You know in whose name we act, and what cause we serve: for you serve +the same." + +"Yes, certainly; therefore, I have sacrificed, to keep my oath, the +money that these men would have spent at my house; for it is said in the +oath, 'I will sacrifice my goods to the defense of the Catholic +religion.'" + +"'And my life,' you forget that," replied the officer. + +"Oh! I have a wife and children." + +"You must obey blindly what is ordered you." + +"Oh! I will obey." + +"Then go to bed, shut the doors, and whatever you see or hear, do not +come out, even if your house is burning." + +"Oh! I am ruined!" + +"I am instructed to indemnify you; here are thirty crowns." + +"My house estimated at thirty crowns!" cried the inn-keeper, piteously. + +"We shall not break even a window; complainer that you are." + +"Oh! what a champion of the Holy League." + +The host went away and did as he was told. Then the officer ordered two +men to place themselves under Chicot's window, while he himself, with +the three others, mounted to his room. + +"You know the order," said the officer. "If he opens and lets us search, +and we find what we seek, we will not do him the least harm; but if the +contrary happens, a good blow with a dagger; no pistol, you +understand--besides, it is useless, being four against one." + +The officer knocked. + +"Who is there?" cried Chicot. + +"Your friends the grocers, who have something important to tell you." + +"Oh!" cried Chicot; "how last night's wine has strengthened your voice." + +The officer lowered his voice, and said in an insinuating tone, "Open +quickly, dear companion." + +"Ventre de biche! I do not smell the grocery." + +"Ah! you will not open?" cried the officer, impatiently. "Break open the +door." + +Chicot ran to the window, but saw below two naked swords shining. + +"I am caught," said he. + +"Ah! ah!" cried the officer, who had heard the noise of the window +opening; "you fear the perilous leap, and you are right. Come, open!" + +"Ma foi! no; the door is solid, and I shall get help when you make a +noise." And he began to call for the merchants. + +The officer laughed. "Fool!" cried he. "Do you think we have left you +their help? Undeceive yourself; you are alone, so make up your mind to +it. Go on, soldiers." + +Chicot heard three blows struck on the door. + +"They have three muskets," said he; "and below there are only two +swords, and only fifteen feet to jump; I prefer the swords to the +muskets." + +And tying his bag to his belt, he got on the window-sill with his drawn +sword. The two men below stood ready with their drawn swords, but, as +Chicot guessed, on seeing him jump sword in hand, they drew back, +intending to strike him as he came to the ground. Chicot alighted on his +feet, and one of the men gave him a thrust immediately. Thanks, +however, to Gorenflot's coat of mail, the blade broke like glass. + +"He has armor!" cried the soldier. + +"Pardieu!" said Chicot, cutting open his head with a blow of his sword. + +The other began to cry out, thinking now only of defending himself, but, +at the second pass, Chicot laid him by his comrade; so that when the +door was burst open, the officer saw through the window his two +sentinels lying in their blood, and Chicot running quietly away. + +"He is a demon; he is steel proof!" cried he. + +"Yes; but not ball-proof!" cried the soldiers. + +"No firing; no noise; you will wake the city. We shall catch him +to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE THIRD DAY OF THE JOURNEY. + + +Chicot knew he was safe in the city of Etampes, where he was under the +protection of magistrates who would have arrested the officer +immediately on his complaint. It was the knowledge of this which had +induced the officer to stop his men from firing, and to abstain from +pursuit. Therefore he retired with his soldiers, leaving the two dead +men on the ground after laying their swords by them, that it might seem +as though they had killed each other. + +Chicot vainly searched for his former companions, and then determined to +stay for a time in the city; and even, after watching the officer and +his men leave the town, had the audacity to return to the inn. There he +found the host, who had not recovered from his terror, and who watched +him saddling his horse as though he had been a phantom, and never even +asked him for his money. + +Then he went and finished his night in the public room at another inn, +among all the drinkers, who were far from thinking that this tall +unknown, who looked so smiling and gracious, had just killed two men. + +At break of day he started again, but a prey to anxiety, for although +two attempts had failed, the third might be successful. He determined +when he reached Orleans to send to the king to ask for an escort. + +But as the road to Orleans was passed without accident, Chicot began to +think again that it was needless, and that the king would lose his good +opinion of him, and also that an escort would be a great trouble. He +went on, therefore, but his fears began to return as evening advanced. +All at once he heard behind him the galloping of horses, and turning +round he counted seven cavaliers, of whom four had muskets on their +shoulders. They gained rapidly on Chicot, who, seeing flight was +hopeless, contented himself with making his horse move in zig-zags, so +as to escape the balls which he expected every moment. He was right, for +when they came about fifty feet from him, they fired, but thanks to his +maneuver, all the balls missed him. He immediately abandoned the reins +and let himself slip to the ground, taking the precaution to have his +sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. + +He came to the ground in such a position that his head was protected by +the breast of his horse. + +A cry of joy came from the troop, who, seeing him fall, believed him +dead. + +"I told you so," said a man, riding up, with a mask on his face; "you +failed because you did not follow my orders. This time, here he is; +search him, and if he moves, finish him." + +Chicot was not a pious man, but at such a moment he remembered his God +and murmured a fervent prayer. + +Two men approached him sword in hand, and as he did not stir, came +fearlessly forward; but instantly Chicot's dagger was in the throat of +one, and his sword half buried in the side of the other. + +"Ah! treason!" cried the chief, "he is not dead; charge your muskets." + +"No, I am not dead," cried Chicot, attacking the speaker. + +But two soldiers came to the rescue; Chicot turned and wounded one in +the thigh. + +"The muskets!" cried the chief. + +"Before they are ready, you will be pierced through the heart," cried +Chicot. + +"Be firm, and I will aid you," cried a voice, which seemed to Chicot to +come from heaven. + +It was that of a fine young man, on a black horse. He had a pistol in +each hand, and cried again to Chicot, "Stoop! morbleu, stoop!" + +Chicot obeyed. + +One pistol was fired, and a man rolled at Chicot's feet; then the +second, and another man fell. + +"Now we are two to two," cried Chicot; "generous young man, you take +one, here is mine," and he rushed on the masked man, who defended +himself as if used to arms. + +The young man seized his opponent by the body, threw him down, and bound +him with his belt. Chicot soon wounded his adversary, who was very +corpulent, between the ribs; he fell, and Chicot, putting his foot on +his sword to prevent him from using it, cut the strings of his mask. + +"M. de Mayenne! ventre de biche, I thought so," said he. + +The duke did not reply; he had fainted from the loss of blood and the +weight of his fall. Chicot drew his dagger, and was about coolly to cut +off his head, when his arm was seized by a grasp of iron, and a voice +said: + +"Stay! monsieur; one does not kill a fallen enemy." + +"Young man," replied Chicot, "you have saved my life, and I thank you +with all my heart; but accept a little lesson very useful in the time of +moral degradation in which we live. When a man has been attacked three +times in three days--when he has been each time in danger of death--when +his enemies have, without provocation, fired four musket balls at him +from behind--as they might have done to a mad dog--then, young man, he +may do what I am about to do." And Chicot returned to his work. + +But the young man stopped him again. + +"You shall not do it, while I am here. You shall not shed more of that +blood which is now issuing from the wound you hare already inflicted." + +"Bah! do you know this wretch?" + +"That wretch is M. le Duc de Mayenne, a prince equal in rank to many +kings." + +"All the more reason. And who are you?" + +"He who has saved your life, monsieur." + +"And who, if I do not deceive myself, brought me a letter from the king +three days ago." + +"Precisely." + +"Then you are in the king's service?" + +"I have that honor." + +"And yet you save M. de Mayenne? Permit me to tell you, monsieur, that +that is not being a good servant." + +"I think differently." + +"Well, perhaps you are right. What is your name?" + +"Ernanton de Carmainges." + +"Well, M. Ernanton, what are we to do with this great carcase?" + +"I will watch over M. de Mayenne, monsieur." + +"And his follower, who is listening there?" + +"The poor devil hears nothing; I have bound him too tightly, and he has +fainted." + +"M. de Carmainges, you have saved my life to-day, but you endanger it +furiously for the future." + +"I do my duty to-day; God will provide for the future." + +"As you please, then, and I confess I dislike killing a defenseless man. +Adieu, monsieur. But first, I will choose one of these horses." + +"Take mine; I know what it can do." + +"Oh! that is too generous." + +"I have not so much need as you have to go quickly." + +Chicot made no more compliments, but got on Ernanton's horse and +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +ERNANTON DE CARMAINGES. + + +Ernanton remained on the field of battle, much embarrassed what to do +with the two men, who would shortly open their eyes. As he deliberated, +he saw a wagon coming along, drawn by two oxen, and driven by a peasant. +Ernanton went to the man and told him that a combat had taken place +between the Huguenots and Catholics, that four had been killed, but that +two were still living. The peasant, although desperately frightened, +aided Ernanton to place first M. de Mayenne and then the soldier in the +wagon. The four bodies remained. + +"Monsieur," said the peasant, "were they Catholics or Huguenots?" + +"Huguenots," said Ernanton, who had seen the peasant cross himself in +his first terror. + +"In that case there will be no harm in my searching them, will there?" + +"None," replied Ernanton, who thought it as well that the peasant should +do it, as the first passer-by. The man did not wait to be told twice, +but turned out their pockets. It seemed that he was far from +disappointed, for his face looked smiling when he had finished the +operation, and he drove on his oxen at their quickest pace, in order to +reach his home with his treasure. + +It was in the stable of this excellent Catholic, on a bed of straw, that +M. de Mayenne recovered his consciousness. He opened his eyes, and +looked at the men and the things surrounding him with a surprise easy to +imagine. Ernanton immediately dismissed the peasant. + +"Who are you, monsieur?" asked Mayenne. + +Ernanton smiled. + +"Do you not recognize me?" said he. + +"Yes, I do now; you are he who came to the assistance of my enemy." + +"Yes, but I am he who prevented your enemy from killing you." + +"That must be true, since I live; unless, indeed, he thought me dead." + +"He went away knowing you to be alive." + +"Then he thought my wound mortal." + +"I do not know; but had I not opposed him, he would have given you one +which certainly would have been so." + +"But then, monsieur, why did you aid him in killing my men?" + +"Nothing more simple, monsieur; and I am astonished that a gentleman, as +you seem to be, does not understand my conduct. Chance brought me on +your road, and I saw several men attacking one; I defended the one, but +when this brave man--for whoever he may be, he is brave--when he +remained alone with you, and would have decided the victory by your +death, then I interfered to save you." + +"You know me, then?" said Mayenne, with a scrutinizing glance. + +"I had no need to know you, monsieur; you were a wounded man, that was +enough." + +"Be frank; you knew me?" + +"It is strange, monsieur, that you will not understand me. It seems to +me that it is equally ignoble to kill a defenseless man, as six men to +attack one." + +"There may be reasons for all things." + +Ernanton bowed, but did not reply. + +"Did you not see," continued Mayenne, "that I fought sword to sword with +that man?" + +"It is true." + +"Besides, he is my most mortal enemy." + +"I believe it, for he said the same thing of you." + +"Do you think me dangerously wounded?" + +"I have examined your wound, monsieur, and I think that, although it is +serious, you are in no danger of death. I believe the sword slipped +along the ribs, and did not penetrate the breast. Breathe, and I think +you will find no pain in the lungs." + +"It is true; but my men?" + +"Are dead, all but one." + +"Are they left on the road?" + +"Yes." + +"Have they been searched?" + +"The peasant whom you must have seen on opening your eyes, and who is +your host, searched them." + +"What did he find?" + +"Some money." + +"Any papers?" + +"I think not." + +"Ah!" said Mayenne, with evident satisfaction. "But the living man; +where is he?" + +"In the barn, close by." + +"Bring him to me, monsieur; and if you are a man of honor, promise me +to ask him no questions." + +"I am not curious, monsieur; and I wish to know no more of this affair +than I know already." + +The duke looked at him uneasily. + +"Monsieur," said Ernanton, "will you charge some one else with the +commission you have just given me?" + +"I was wrong, monsieur, I acknowledge it; have the kindness to render me +the service I ask of you." + +Five minutes after, the soldier entered the stable. He uttered a cry on +seeing the duke; but he put his finger on his lip, and the man was +silent. + +"Monsieur," said Mayenne to Ernanton, "my gratitude to you will be +eternal; and, doubtless, some day we shall meet under more favorable +circumstances. May I ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?" + +"I am the Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges, monsieur." + +"You were going to Beaugency?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Then I have delayed you, and you cannot go on to-night." + +"On the contrary, monsieur, I am about to start at once."--"For +Beaugency?" + +"No, for Paris," said Ernanton; "somewhat unwillingly." + +The duke appeared astonished. + +"Pardon," said he; "but it is strange that going to Beaugency, and being +stopped by an unforeseen circumstance, you should return without +fulfilling the end of your journey." + +"Nothing is more simple, monsieur; I was going to a rendezvous for a +particular time, which I have lost by coming here with you; therefore I +return." + +"Oh! monsieur, will you not stay here with me for two or three days? I +will send this soldier to Paris for a surgeon, and I cannot remain here +alone with these peasants, who are strangers to me." + +"Then let the soldier remain with you, and I will send you a doctor." + +"Do you know the name of my enemy?" + +"No, monsieur." + +"What! you saved his life, and he did not tell you his name?" + +"I did not ask him." + +"You did not ask him?" + +"I have saved your life also, monsieur; have I asked you your name? But, +in exchange, you both know mine." + +"I see, monsieur, there is nothing to be learned from you; you are as +discreet as brave." + +"I observe that you say that in a reproachful manner; but, on the +contrary, you ought to be reassured, for a man who is discreet with one +person will be so with another." + +"You are right! your hand, M. de Carmainges." + +Ernanton did quietly as he was asked. + +"You have blamed my conduct, monsieur," said Mayenne; "but I cannot +justify myself without revealing important secrets." + +"You defend yourself, monsieur, when I do not accuse." + +"Well! I will only say that I am a gentleman of good rank, and able to +be of use to you." + +"Say no more, monsieur; thanks to the master whom I serve, I have no +need of assistance from any one." + +"Your master, who is he?" + +"I have asked no questions, monsieur." + +"It is true." + +"Besides, your wound begins to inflame; I advise you to talk less." + +"You are right; but I want my surgeon." + +"I am returning to Paris, as I told you: give me his address." + +"M. de Carmainges, give me your word of honor that if I intrust you with +a letter it shall be given to the person to whom it is addressed." + +"I give it, monsieur." + +"I believe you; I am sure I may trust you. I must tell you a part of my +secret. I belong to the guards of Madame de Montpensier." + +"Oh! I did not know she had guards." + +"In these troublous times, monsieur, every one guards himself as well as +he can, and the house of Guise being a princely one--" + +"I asked for no explanation, monsieur." + +"Well, I had a mission to Amboise; when on the road I saw my enemy; you +know the rest."--"Yes." + +"Stopped by this wound, I must report to the duchesse the reason of my +delay." + +"Well?" + +"Will you therefore put into her own hands the letter I am about to +write?" + +"I will seek for ink and paper." + +"It is needless, my soldier will get my tablets." + +He instructed the soldier to take them from his pocket, opened them by a +spring, wrote some lines in pencil, and shut them again. It was +impossible for any one who did not know the secret to open them without +breaking them. + +"Monsieur," said Ernanton, "in three days these tablets shall be +delivered." + +"Into her own hands?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +The duke, exhausted by talking, and by the effort of writing the letter, +sank back on his straw. + +"Monsieur," said the soldier, in a tone little in harmony with his +dress, "you bound me very tight, it is true, but I shall regard my +chains as bonds of friendship, and will prove it to you some day." + +And he held out a hand whose whiteness Ernanton had already remarked. + +"So be it," said he, smiling; "it seems I have gained two friends." + +"Do not despise them; one has never too many." + +"That is true," said Ernanton; and he left them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +THE STABLE-YARD. + + +Ernanton arrived at Paris on the third day. At three in the afternoon he +entered the Louvre, among his comrades. The Gascons called out in +surprise at seeing him, and M. de Loignac looked gloomy, and signed to +him to enter a little room, where he always gave his private audiences. + +"This is nice behavior, monsieur," said he; "five days and nights +absent; and you whom I thought so well of." + +"Monsieur, I did what I was told to do." + +"What were you told to do?" + +"To follow M. de Mayenne, and I have followed him." + +"For five days and nights?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Then he has left Paris?" + +"He left that same evening, and that seemed to me suspicious." + +"You are right, monsieur, go on." + +Ernanton related clearly and energetically all that had taken place. +When Ernanton mentioned the letter: + +"You have it, monsieur?" asked De Loignac. + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Diable! that deserves attention; come with me, I beg of you." + +Ernanton followed De Loignac to the courtyard of the Louvre. All was +preparing for the king's going out, and M. d'Epernon was seeing two new +horses tried, which had been sent from England, as a present from +Elizabeth to Henri, and which were that day to be harnessed to the +king's carriage for the first time. + +De Loignac approached D'Epernon. + +"Great news, M. le Duc," said he. + +"What is it?" said D'Epernon, drawing to one side. + +"M. de Carmainges has seen M. de Mayenne lying wounded in a village +beyond Orleans." + +"Wounded!" + +"Yes, and more, he has written a letter to Madame de Montpensier, which +M. de Carmainges has in his pocket." + +"Oh! oh! send M. de Carmainges to me." + +"Here he is," said De Loignac, signing to Ernanton to advance. + +"Well, monsieur, it seems you have a letter from M. de Mayenne." + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Addressed to Madame de Montpensier?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"Give it to me," and the duke extended his hand. + +"Pardon, monsieur, but did you ask me for the duke's letter?" + +"Certainly." + +"You do not know that this letter was confided to me." + +"What matters that?" + +"It matters much, monsieur; I passed my word to the duke to give it to +Madame la Duchesse herself." + +"Do you belong to the king, or M. de Mayenne?" + +"To the king." + +"Well! the king wishes to see the letter." + +"Monsieur, you are not the king." + +"I think you forget to whom you speak, M. de Carmainges." + +"I remember perfectly, monsieur, and that is why I refuse." + +"You refuse?" + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"M. de Carmainges, you forget your oath of fidelity." + +"Monsieur, I have sworn fidelity only to one person, and that is the +king; if he asks me for the letter, he must have it, but he is not +here." + +"M. de Carmainges," said the duke, growing very angry, "you are like the +rest of the Gascons; blind in prosperity, your good fortune dazzles you, +and the possession of a state secret is a weight too heavy for you to +carry." + +"The only thing I find heavy, monsieur, is the disgrace into which I +seem likely to fall; not my fortune, which my refusal to obey you +renders, I know, very precarious; but, no matter; I do what I ought to +do, and no one, excepting the king, shall see this letter, but the +person to whom it is addressed." + +"De Loignac," cried D'Epernon, "place M. de Carmainges in arrest at +once." + +"It is certain that will prevent me from delivering the letter for a +time, but once I come out--" + +"If you never do come out?" + +"I shall come out, monsieur; unless you have me assassinated. Yes, I +shall come out, the walls are less strong than my will, and then--" + +"Well?" + +"I will speak to the king." + +"To prison with him, and take away the letter," cried D'Epernon, beside +himself with rage. + +"No one shall touch it," cried Ernanton, starting back and drawing from +his breast the tablet of M. de Mayenne, "for I will break it to pieces, +since I can save it in no other way; M. de Mayenne will approve my +conduct, and the king will pardon me." + +The young man was about to execute his threat, when a touch arrested his +arm. He turned and saw the king, who, coming down the staircase behind +them, had heard the end of the discussion. + +"What is the matter, gentlemen?" said he. + +"Sire," cried D'Epernon, furiously, "this man, one of your Forty-five +Guardsmen, of which he shall soon cease to form part, being sent by me +to watch M. de Mayenne, in Paris, followed him to Orleans, and received +from him a letter for Madame de Montpensier." + +"You have received this letter?" asked the king of Ernanton. + +"Yes, sire, but M. d'Epernon does not tell you under what +circumstances." + +"Well, where is this letter?" + +"That is just the cause of the quarrel, sire. M. de Carmainges +resolutely refuses to give it to me, and determines to carry it to its +address." + +Carmainges bent one knee before the king. "Sire," said he, "I am a poor +gentleman, but a man of honor. I saved the life of your messenger, who +was about to be assassinated by M. de Mayenne and six of his followers, +for I arrived just in time to turn the fortune of the combat." + +"And M. de Mayenne?" + +"Was dangerously wounded." + +"Well, after?" + +"Your messenger, sire, who seemed to have a particular hatred of M. de +Mayenne--" + +The king smiled. + +"Wished to kill his enemy; perhaps he had the right, but I thought that +in my presence, whose sword belongs to your majesty, this vengeance +became a political assassination, and--" + +"Go on, monsieur." + +"I saved the life of M. de Mayenne, as I had saved that of your +messenger." + +D'Epernon shrugged his shoulders with a scornful smile. + +"Go on," said the king. + +"M. de Mayenne, reduced to one companion, for the four others were +killed, did not wish to separate from him, and, ignorant that I belonged +to your majesty, confided to me a letter to his sister. I have this +letter, sire, and here it is; I offer it to your majesty who has the +right to dispose of it and of me. My honor is dear to me, sire, but I +place it fearlessly in your hands." + +Ernanton, so saying, held out the tablets to the king, who gently put +them back. + +"What did you say, D'Epernon?" said he; "M. de Carmainges is an honest +man and a faithful servant?" + +"What did I say, sire." + +"Yes; I heard you pronounce the word 'prison.' Mordieu! on the contrary, +when one meets a man like M. de Carmainges, it is reward we should speak +of. A letter, duke, belongs only to the bearer and to the person to whom +it is sent. You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges." + +"But, sire," said D'Epernon, "think of what that letter may contain. Do +not play at delicacy, when, perhaps, your majesty's life is concerned." + +"You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges," said the king. + +"Thanks, sire," said Carmainges, beginning to retire. + +"Where do you take it?" + +"To Madame la Duchesse de Montpensier, I believed I had had the honor of +telling your majesty." + +"I mean, to the Hotel Guise, St. Denis, or where?" + +"I had no instructions on that subject, sire. I shall take the letter to +the Hotel Guise, and there I shall learn where Madame de Montpensier +is." + +"And when you have found her?" + +"I will deliver my letter." + +"Just so. M. de Carmainges, have you promised anything else to M. de +Mayenne than to deliver that letter to his sister?" + +"No, sire." + +"No secrecy as to the place where you find her?"--"No, sire." + +"Then I will impose only one condition on you." + +"I am your majesty's servant." + +"Deliver your letter, and then come to me at Vincennes, where I shall be +this evening." + +"Yes, sire." + +"And you will tell me where you found the duchesse?" + +"I will, sire." + +"I ask no other confidences; remember." + +"Sire, I promise." + +"What imprudence, sire!" cried D'Epernon. + +"There are men you cannot understand, duke. This one is loyal to +Mayenne, he will be loyal to me." + +"Toward you, sire, I shall be more than loyal--I shall be devoted," +cried Ernanton. + +"Now, D'Epernon, no more quarrels," said the king; "and you must at once +pardon in this brave fellow what you looked upon as a want of loyalty, +but which I regard as a proof of honesty." + +"Sire," said Ernanton, "M. le Duc is too superior a man not to have +discovered, through my disobedience (for which I confess my regret), my +respect for him; only, before all things, I must do what I believe to be +my duty." + +"Parfandious!" said the duke, changing his expression like a mask, "this +trial has done you honor, my dear Carmainges, and you are really a fine +fellow--is he not, De Loignac? However, we gave him a good fright;" and +the duke burst out laughing. + +De Loignac did not answer; he could not lie like his illustrious chief. + +"If it was a trial, so much the better," said the king, doubtfully; "but +I counsel you not to try these experiments often; too many people would +give way under them. Now, let us go, duke; you accompany me?" + +"It was your majesty's order that I should ride by the door?" + +"Yes; and who goes the other side?" + +"A devoted servant of your majesty's, M. de St. Maline," said D'Epernon, +glancing at Ernanton to see the effect of his words: but Ernanton +remained unmoved. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +THE SEVEN SINS OF MAGDALENE. + + +The king, however, on seeing his horses, did not wish to be alone in the +carriage, but desired D'Epernon to sit by him. De Loignac and St. Maline +rode on each side, and an outrider in front. The king was, as usual, +surrounded by dogs, and there was also a table in the carriage, covered +with illuminated pictures, which the king cut out with wonderful skill, +in spite of the movement of the carriage. He was just then occupied with +the life of Magdalene, the sinner. The different pictures were labeled +"Magdalene gives way to the sin of anger"--"Magdalene gives way to the +sin of gluttony," and so on through the seven cardinal sins. The one +that the king was occupied with, as they passed through the Porte St. +Antoine, represented Magdalene giving way to anger. + +The beautiful sinner, half-lying on cushions, and with no other covering +than the magnificent hair with which she was afterward to wipe the feet +of Jesus, was having a slave, who had broken a precious vase, thrown +into a pond filled with lampreys, whose eager heads were protruding from +the water: while on the other side, a woman, even less dressed than her +mistress, as her hair was bound up, was being flogged, because she had, +while dressing her mistress's head, pulled out some of those magnificent +hairs, whose profusion might have rendered her more indulgent to such a +fault. In the background were visible some dogs being whipped for having +allowed beggars to pass quietly, and some cocks being murdered for +having crowed too loudly in the morning. + +On arriving at the Croix-Faubin, the king had finished this figure, and +was passing to "Magdalene giving way to the sin of gluttony." + +This represented a beautiful woman lying on one of those beds of purple +and gold on which the ancients used to take their repasts; all that the +Romans had most recherche in meat, in fish, and in fruit, dormice in +honey, red mullets, lobsters from Stromboli, and pomegranates from +Sicily, ornamented the table, while on the ground some dogs were +disputing for a pheasant, while the air was full of birds, which had +carried off from the table, figs, strawberries, and cherries. Magdalene +held in her hand, filled with white liquor, one of those +singularly-shaped glasses which Petronius has described in his feasts. + +Fully occupied with this important work, the king merely raised his eyes +as they passed by the convent of the Jacobins, from which vespers was +sounding on every bell, and of which every window and door was closed. + +But a hundred steps further on, an attentive observer would have seen +him throw a more curious glance on a fine-looking house on his left, +which, built in the midst of a charming garden, opened on the road. This +house was called Bel-Esbat, and, unlike the convent, had every window +open with the exception of one, before which hung a blind. As the king +passed, this blind moved perceptibly; Henri smiled at D'Epernon, and +then fell to work on another picture. This was the sin of luxury. The +artist had represented this in such glowing colors, and had painted the +sin with so much courage and minuteness, that we can only describe a +small part of it, viz.:--that Magdalene's guardian angel was flying back +to heaven affrighted, and hiding his face in his hands. All this +occupied the king so much, that he never noticed an image of vanity who +rode by his carriage. It was a pity; for St. Maline was very happy and +proud on his horse, as he rode so near that he could hear the king say +to his dog, "Gently, M. Love, you get in my way;" or to M. le Duc +d'Epernon, "Duke, I believe these horses will break my neck." From time +to time, however, St. Maline glanced at De Loignac, who was too much +accustomed to these honors not to be indifferent to them; and he could +not but feel the superiority of his calm and modest demeanor, and even +would try to imitate, for a few minutes, until the thought would recur +again, "I am seen and looked at, and people say, 'Who is that happy +gentleman who accompanies the king?'" St. Maline's happiness seemed +likely to last for a long time, for the horses, covered with harness +heavy with gold and embroidery, and imprisoned in shafts like those of +David's ark, did not advance rapidly. But as he was growing too proud, +something peculiarly annoying to him came to temper it down; he heard +the king pronounce the name of Ernanton, and not once, but two or three +times. St. Maline strained his attention to hear more, but some noise or +movement always prevented him. Either the king uttered some exclamation +of regret at an unlucky cut of the scissors, or one of the dogs began to +bark. So that between Paris and Vincennes, the name of Ernanton had been +pronounced six times by the king, and four times by D'Epernon, without +St. Maline's knowing the reason. He persuaded himself that the king was +merely inquiring the cause of Ernanton's disappearance, and that +D'Epernon was explaining it. At last they arrived at Vincennes, and as +the king had still three sins to cut out, he went at once to his own +room to finish them. It was a bitterly cold day, therefore St. Maline +sat down in a chimney corner to warm himself, and was nearly falling +asleep, when De Loignac put his hand on his shoulder. + +"You must work to-day," said he; "you shall sleep some other day; so get +up, M. de St. Maline." + +"I will not sleep for a fortnight, if necessary, monsieur." + +"Oh! we shall not be so exacting as that."--"What must I do, monsieur?" + +"Get on your horse and return to Paris." + +"I am ready; my horse is standing saddled." + +"Good; go then straight to the room of the Forty-five, and awaken every +one; but excepting three, whom I will name to you, no one must know +where he is going, nor what he is about to do." + +"I will obey these instructions implicitly." + +"Here then are some more; leave fourteen of these gentlemen at the Porte +St. Antoine, fifteen others half way, and bring the rest here." + +"Yes, monsieur; but at what hour must we leave Paris?" + +"When night falls." + +"On horseback or on foot?" + +"On horseback." + +"Armed?" + +"Fully; with daggers, pistols, and swords." + +"With armor?" + +"Yes." + +"What else?" + +"Here are three letters; one for M. de Chalabre, one for M. de Biron, +and one for yourself. M. de Chalabre will command the first party, M. de +Biron the second, and yourself the third." + +"Good, monsieur." + +"These letters are only to be opened at six o'clock. M. de Chalabre will +open his at the Porte St. Antoine, M. de Biron his at the Croix Faubin, +and you yours on your return." + +"Must we come quickly?" + +"As quickly as possible, without creating suspicion. Let each troop come +out of Paris by a different gate; M. de Chalabre by the Porte Bourdelle; +M. de Biron by the Porte du Temple, and you through the Porte St. +Antoine. All other instructions are in the letters. Go quickly from here +to the Croix Faubin, but then slowly; you have still two hours before +dark, which is more than necessary. Now do you well understand your +orders?" + +"Perfectly, monsieur." + +"Fourteen in the first troop, fifteen in the second, and fifteen in the +third; it is evident they do not count Ernanton, and that he no longer +forms part of the Forty-five," said St. Maline to himself when De +Loignac was gone. + +He fulfilled all his directions punctually. When he arrived among the +Forty-five, the greater number of them were already preparing for their +supper. Thus the noble Lardille de Chavantrade had prepared a dish of +mutton stewed with carrots and spices, after the method of Gascony, to +which Militor had occasionally aided by trying the pieces of meat and +vegetable with a fork. + +Pertinax de Montcrabeau, and the singular servant who spoke to him so +familiarly, were preparing supper for themselves and six companions, +who had each contributed six sous toward it; each one, in fact, was +disposing according to his fancy of the money of his majesty Henri III. +One might judge of the character of each man by the aspect of his little +lodging. Some loved flowers, and displayed on their window-sills some +fading rose or geranium; others had, like the king, a taste for +pictures; others had introduced a niece or housekeeper; and M. d'Epernon +had told M. de Loignac privately to shut his eyes on these things. At +eight o'clock in winter, and ten in summer, they went to bed; but always +leaving fifteen on guard. As, however, it was but half-past five when +St. Maline entered, he found every one about, and, as we said, +gastronomically inclined. But with one word he put an end to all this: +"To horse, gentlemen," said he; and leaving them without another word, +went to explain his orders to MM. de Biron and Chalabre. Some, while +buckling on their belts and grasping their cuirasses, ate great +mouthfuls, washed down by a draught of wine; and others, whose supper +was less advanced, armed themselves with resignation. They called over +the names, and only forty-four, including St. Maline, answered. + +"M. Ernanton de Carmainges is missing," said De Chalabre, whose turn it +was to exercise these functions. A profound joy filled the heart of St. +Maline, and a smile played on his lips, a rare thing with this somber +and envious man. + +The forty-four therefore set off on their different routes. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +BEL-ESBAT. + + +It is needless to say that Ernanton, whom St. Maline thought ruined, +was, on the contrary, pursuing the course of his unexpected and +ascending fortunes. He had, of course, gone first to the Hotel Guise. +There, after having knocked at the great door and had it opened, he was +only laughed at when he asked for an interview with the duchess. Then, +as he insisted, they told him that he ought to know that her highness +lived at Soissons and not at Paris. Ernanton was prepared for this +reception, so it did not discourage him. + +"I am grieved at her highness's absence," said he, "for I had a +communication of great importance to deliver to her from the Duc de +Mayenne." + +"From the Duc de Mayenne! Who charged you to deliver it?" + +"The duke himself." + +"The duke! and where, pray? for he is not at Paris either!" + +"I know that, as I met him on the road to Blois." + +"On the road to Blois?" said the porter, a little more attentive. + +"Yes, and he there charged me with a message for Madame de Montpensier." + +"A message?" + +"A letter."--"Where is it?" + +"Here," said Ernanton, striking his doublet. + +"Will you let me see it?" + +"Willingly." And Ernanton drew out the letter. + +"What singular ink!" said the man. + +"It is blood," said Ernanton, calmly. + +The porter grew pale at these words, and at the idea that this blood +belonged to M. de Mayenne. At this time, when there was great dearth of +ink and abundance of blood spilled, it was not uncommon for lovers to +write to their mistresses, or absent relations to their families, in +this liquid. + +"Monsieur," said the servant, "I do not know if you will find Madame de +Montpensier in Paris or its environs; but go to a house in the Faubourg +St. Antoine, called Bel-Esbat, which belongs to the duchesse; it is the +first on the left hand going to Vincennes, after the convent of the +Jacobins. You will be sure to find some one there in the service of the +duchesse sufficiently in her confidence to be able to tell you where +Madame la Duchesse is just now." + +"Thank you," said Ernanton, who saw that the man either could or would +say no more. + +He found Bel-Esbat easily, and without more inquiries, rang, and the +door opened. + +"Enter," said a man, who then seemed to wait for some password, but as +Ernanton did not give any, he asked him what he wanted. + +"I wish to speak to Madame la Duchesse de Montpensier." + +"And why do you come here for her?" + +"Because the porter at the Hotel Guise sent me here." + +"Madame la Duchesse is not here." + +"That is unlucky, as it will prevent me from fulfilling the mission with +which M. de Mayenne charged me." + +"For Madame la Duchesse?" + +"Yes." + +"From M. le Duc de Mayenne?" + +"Yes." + +The valet reflected a moment. "Monsieur," said he, "I cannot answer; +there is some one else whom I must consult. Please to wait." + +"These people are well served," thought Ernanton. "Certainly, they must +be dangerous people who think it necessary to hide themselves in this +manner. One cannot enter a house of the Guises as you can the Louvre. I +begin to think that it is not the true king of France whom I serve." + +He looked round him; the courtyard was deserted, but all the doors of +the stables were open, as if they expected some troop to enter and take +up their quarters. He was interrupted by the return of the valet, +followed by another. + +"Leave me your horse, monsieur," said he, "and follow my comrade; you +will find some one who can answer you much better than I can." + +Ernanton followed the valet, and was shown into a little room, where a +simply though elegantly dressed lady was seated at an embroidery frame. + +"Here is the gentleman from M. de Mayenne, madame," said the servant. + +She turned, and Ernanton uttered a cry of surprise. + +"You, madame!" cried he, recognizing at once his page and the lady of +the litter. + +"You!" cried the lady in her turn, letting her work drop, and looking at +Ernanton. + +"Leave us," said she to the valet. + +"You are of the household of Madame de Montpensier, madame?" said +Ernanton. + +"Yes; but you, monsieur, how do you bring here a message from the Duc de +Mayenne?" + +"Through unforeseen circumstances, which it would take too long to +repeat," replied Ernanton, cautiously. + +"Oh! you are discreet, monsieur," said the lady, smiling. + +"Yes, madame, whenever it is right to be so." + +"But I see no occasion for your discretion here; for, if you really +bring a message from the person you say--Oh! do not look angry; if you +really do, I say, it interests me sufficiently that, in remembrance of +our acquaintance, short though it was, you should tell it to me." + +The lady threw into these words all the caressing and seductive grace +that a pretty woman can. + +"Madame," replied Ernanton, "you cannot make me tell what I do not +know." + +"And still less what you will not tell." + +"Madame, all my mission consists in delivering a letter to her +highness." + +"Well, then, give me the letter," said the lady, holding out her hand. + +"Madame, I believed I had had the honor of telling you that this letter +was addressed to the duchesse." + +"But, as the duchesse is absent, and I represent her here, you may--" + +"I cannot, madame." + +"You distrust me, monsieur?" + +"I ought to do so, madame; but," said the young man, with an expression +there was no mistaking, "in spite of the mystery of your conduct, you +have inspired me, I confess, with very different sentiments." + +"Really," said the lady, coloring a little under Ernanton's ardent gaze. + +Ernanton bowed. + +"Take care, monsieur," said she, laughing, "you are making a declaration +of love." + +"Yes, madame; I do not know if I may ever see you again, and the +opportunity is too precious for me to let it slip." + +"Then, monsieur, I understand." + +"That I love you, madame; that is easy to understand." + +"No, but how you came here." + +"Ah, pardon, madame, but now it is I who do not understand." + +"I think that, wishing to see me again, you invented a pretext to get +in." + +"I, madame! you judge me ill. I was ignorant if I should ever see you +again, and I hoped only from chance, which already had twice thrown me +in your way; but invent a pretext I could never do. I am strange, +perhaps; I do not think like all the world." + +"Oh! you say you are in love, and you have scruples as to the manner of +introducing yourself again to her you love. It is very fine, monsieur, +but I partly guessed it." + +"How, madame, if you please?" + +"The other day you met me; I was in a litter, you recognized me, and you +did not follow me." + +"Madame, you are confessing you paid some attention to me." + +"And why not? Surely the way in which we first met justified my putting +my head out of my litter to look after you when you passed. But you +galloped away, after uttering an 'Ah!' which made me tremble in my +litter." + +"I was forced to go away, madame." + +"By your scruples?" + +"No, madame, by my duty." + +"Well!" said the lady, laughing, "I see that you are a reasonable, +circumspect lover, who, above all things, fears to compromise himself." + +"If you had inspired me with certain fears, there would be nothing +astonishing in it. Is it customary that a woman should dress as a man, +force the barriers, and come to see an unfortunate wretch drawn to +pieces, using meanwhile all sorts of gesticulations perfectly +incomprehensible?" + +The lady grew rather pale, although she tried to smile. + +Ernanton went on. "Is it natural also that this lady, after this strange +announcement, fearful of being arrested, should fly as though she were a +thief, although she is in the service of Madame de Montpensier, a +powerful princess, although not much in favor at court?" + +This time the lady smiled again, but ironically. + +"You are not clear-sighted, monsieur, in spite of your pretension to be +an observer: for, with a little sense, all that seems obscure to you +would have been explained. Was it not very natural that Madame de +Montpensier should be interested in the fate of M. de Salcede, in what +he might be tempted to say, what true or false revelations he might +utter to compromise the house of Lorraine? And if that was natural, +monsieur, was it not also so, that this princess should send some one, +some safe, intimate friend, to be present at the execution, and bring +her all the details? Well, monsieur, this person was I. Now, do you +think I could go in my woman's dress? Do you think I could remain +indifferent to what was going on?" + +"You are right, madame; and now I admire as much your logic and talent +as I did before your beauty." + +"Thank you, monsieur. And now that we know each other, and that +everything is explained, give me the letter, since it does exist." + +"Impossible, madame." + +The unknown seemed trying not to grow angry. "Impossible?" repeated she. + +"Yes, impossible; for I swore to M. de Mayenne to deliver it only to the +duchesse herself." + +"Say, rather," cried the lady, giving way to her irritation, "that you +have no letter; that, in spite of your pretended scruples, it was a mere +pretext for getting in here; that you wished to see me again, and that +was all. Well, monsieur, you are satisfied; not only you have effected +your entrance, but you have seen me, and have told me you adore me." + +"In that, as in all the rest, I have told you truth, madame." + +"Well, so be it, you adore me; you wished to see me, and you have seen +me. I have procured you a pleasure in return for a service. We are +quits. Adieu!" + +"I will obey you, madame; since you send me away, I will go." + +"Yes," cried she, now really angry, "but if you know me, I do not know +you. You have too much advantage over me. Ah! you think you can enter, +on some pretext, into the house of a princess, and go away and say, 'I +succeeded in my perfidy.' Ah! monsieur, that is not the behavior of a +gallant man." + +"It seems to me, madame, that you are very hard on what would have been, +after all, only a trick of love, if it had not been, as I have already +told you, an affair of the greatest importance. I put aside all your +injurious expressions, and I will forget all I might have said, +affectionate or tender, since you are so badly disposed toward me. But I +will not go out from here under the weight of your unworthy suspicions. +I have a letter from the duke for Madame de Montpensier, and here it is; +you can see the handwriting and the address." + +Ernanton held out the letter to the lady, but without leaving go of it. + +She cast her eyes on it, and cried, "His writing! Blood!" + +Without replying, Ernanton put the letter back in his pocket, bowed low, +and, very pale and bitterly hurt, turned to go. But she ran after him, +and caught him by the skirt of his cloak. + +"What is it, madame?" said he. + +"For pity's sake, pardon me; has any accident happened to the duke?" + +"You ask me to pardon you, only that you may read this letter, and I +have already told you that no one shall read it but the duchesse." + +"Ah! obstinate and stupid that you are," cried the duchess, with a fury +mingled with majesty; "do you not recognize me?--or rather, could you +not divine that I was the mistress?--and are these the eyes of a +servant? I am the Duchesse de Montpensier; give me the letter." + +"You are the duchesse!" cried Ernanton, starting back. + +"Yes, I am. Give it to me; I want to know what has happened to my +brother." + +But instead of obeying, as the duchess expected, the young man, +recovering from his first surprise, crossed his arms. + +"How can I believe you, when you have already lied to me twice?" + +The duchess's eyes shot forth fire at these words, but Ernanton stood +firm. + +"Ah! you doubt still--you want proofs!" cried she, tearing her lace +ruffles with rage. + +"Yes, madame." + +She darted toward the bell, and rang it furiously; a valet appeared. + +"What does madame want?" said he. + +She stamped her foot with rage. "Mayneville!" cried she, "I want +Mayneville. Is he not here?" + +"Yes, madame." + +"Let him come here." + +The valet went, and, a minute after, Mayneville entered. + +"Did you send for me, madame?" said he. + +"Madame! And since when am I simply madame?" cried she angrily. + +"Your highness!" said Mayneville, in surprise. + +"Good!" said Ernanton, "I have now a gentleman before me, and if he has +lied, I shall know what to do." + +"You believe then, at last?" said the duchess. + +"Yes, madame, I believe, and here is the letter;" and, bowing, the young +man gave to Madame de Montpensier the letter so long disputed. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +THE LETTER OF M. DE MAYENNE. + + +The duchess seized the letter, opened it, and read it eagerly, while +various expressions passed over her face, like clouds over the sky. When +she had finished, she gave it to Mayneville to read. It was as follows: + + "MY SISTER--I tried to do myself the work I should have left to + others, and I have been punished for it. I have received a sword + wound from the fellow whom you know. The worst of it is, that he + has killed five of my men, and among them Boularon and Desnoises, + who are my best, after which he fled. I must tell you that he was + aided by the bearer of this letter, a charming young man, as you + may see. I recommend him to you; he is discretion itself. + + "One merit which he will have, I presume, in your eyes, my dear + sister, is having prevented my conqueror from killing me, as he + much wished, having pulled off my mask when I had fainted, and + recognized me. + + "I recommend you, sister, to discover the name and profession of + this discreet cavalier; for I suspect him, while he interests me. + To my offers of service, he replied that the master whom he served + let him want for nothing. + + "I can tell you no more about him, but that he pretends not to know + me. I suffer much, but believe my life is not in danger. Send me my + surgeon at once; I am lying like a horse upon straw, the bearer + will tell you where. + + "Your affectionate brother, + + "MAYENNE." + +When they had finished reading, the duchess and Mayneville looked at +each other in astonishment. The duchess broke the silence first. + +"To whom," said she, "do we owe the signal service that you have +rendered us, monsieur?" + +"To a man who, whenever he can, helps the weak against the strong." + +"Will you give me some details, monsieur?" + +Ernanton told all he had seen, and named the duke's place of retreat. + +Madame de Montpensier and Mayneville listened with interest. When he had +finished, the duchess said: + +"May I hope, monsieur, that you will continue the work so well begun, +and attach yourself to our house?" + +These words, said in the gracious tone that the duchess knew so well how +to use, were very flattering to Ernanton, after the avowal which he had +made; but the young man, putting vanity aside, attributed them to simple +curiosity. + +He knew well that the king, in making it a condition that he should +reveal the duchess's place of abode, had some object in view. Two +interests contended within him--his love, _that_ he might sacrifice; and +his honor, which he could not. The temptation was all the stronger, that +by avowing his position near the king, he should gain an enormous +importance in the eyes of the duchess; and it was not a light +consideration for a young man to be important in the eyes of the +Duchesse de Montpensier. St. Maline would not have resisted a minute. +All these thoughts rushed through Ernanton's mind, but ended by making +him stronger than before. + +"Madame," said he, "I have already had the honor of telling M. de +Mayenne that I serve a good master, who treats me too well for me to +desire to seek another." + +"My brother tells me in his letter, monsieur, that you seemed not to +recognize him. How, if, you did not know him, then, did you use his name +to penetrate to me?" + +"M. de Mayenne seemed to wish to preserve his incognito, madame; and I, +therefore, did not think I ought to recognize him; and it might have +been disagreeable for the peasants to know what an illustrious guest +they were entertaining. Here there was no reason for secrecy; on the +contrary, the name of M. de Mayenne opened the way to you; so I thought +that here, as there, I acted rightly." + +The duchess smiled, and said, "No one could extricate himself better +from an embarrassing question: and you are, I must confess, a clever +man." + +"I see no cleverness in what I have had the honor of telling you, +madame." + +"Well, monsieur," said the duchess, impatiently, "I see clearly that you +will tell nothing. You do not reflect that gratitude is a heavy burden +for one of my house to bear; that you have twice rendered me a service, +and that if I wished to know your name, or rather who you are--" + +"I know, madame, you would learn it easily; but you would learn it from +some one else, and I should have told nothing." + +"He is always right," cried the duchess, with a look which gave Ernanton +more pleasure than ever a look had done before. Therefore he asked no +more, but like the gourmand who leaves the table when he thinks he has +had the best bit, he bowed, and prepared to take leave. + +"Then, monsieur, that is all you have to tell me?" asked the duchess. + +"I have executed my commission, and it only remains for me to present my +humble respects to your highness." + +The duchess let him go, but when the door shut behind him, she stamped +her foot impatiently. + +"Mayneville," said she, "have that young man followed." + +"Impossible, madame; all our household are out, I myself am waiting for +the event. It is a bad day on which to do anything else than what we +have decided to do." + +"You are right, Mayneville; but afterward--" + +"Oh! afterward, if you please, madame." + +"Yes; for I suspect him, as my brother does." + +"He is a brave fellow, at all events; and really we are lucky, a +stranger coming to render us such a service." + +"Nevertheless, Mayneville, have him watched. But night is falling, and +Valois must be returning from Vincennes." + +"Oh! we have time before us; it is not eight o'clock, and our men have +not arrived." + +"All have the word, have they not?" + +"All."--"They are trustworthy?" + +"Tried, madame." + +"How many do you expect?" + +"Fifty; it is more than necessary, for besides them we have two hundred +monks, as good as soldiers, if not better." + +"As soon as our men have arrived, range your monks on the road." + +"They are all ready, madame; they will intercept the way, our men will +push the carriage toward them, the gates of the convent will be open, +and will have but to close behind the carriage." + +"Let us sup, then, Mayneville, it will pass the time. I am so impatient, +I should like to push the hands of the clock." + +"The hour will come; be easy." + +"But our men?" + +"They will be here; it is hardly eight." + +"Mayneville, my poor brother asks for his surgeon; the best surgeon, the +best cure for his wound, will be a lock of the Valois's shaved head, and +the man who should carry him that present, Mayneville, would be sure to +be welcome." + +"In two hours, madame, that man shall set out to find our dear duke in +his retreat; he who went out of Paris as a fugitive shall return +triumphantly." + +"One word more, Mayneville; are our friends in Paris warned?" + +"What friends?"--"The leaguers." + +"Heaven forbid, madame; to tell a bourgeois is to tell all Paris. Once +the deed is done, and the prisoner safe in the cloister, we can defend +ourselves against an army. Then we should risk nothing by crying from +the roof of the convent, 'We have the Valois!'" + +"You are both skillful and prudent, Mayneville. Do you know, though, +that my responsibility is great, and that no woman will ever have +conceived and executed such a project?" + +"I know it, madame; therefore I counsel you in trembling." + +"The monks will be armed under their robes?" + +"Yes." + +"Mind you kill those two fellows whom we saw pass, riding at the sides +of the carriage, then we can describe what passes as pleases us best." + +"Kill those poor devils, madame! do you think that necessary?" + +"De Loignac! would he be a great loss?" + +"He is a brave soldier." + +"A parvenu, like that other ill-looking fellow who pranced on the left, +with his fiery eyes and his black skin." + +"Oh! that one I do not care so much about; I do not know him, and I +agree with your highness in disliking his looks." + +"Then you abandon him to me?" laughed the duchess. + +"Oh! yes, madame. What I said was only for your renown, and the morality +of the party that we represent." + +"Good; Mayneville, I know you are a virtuous man, and I will sign you a +certificate of it if you like. You need have nothing to do with it; they +will defend the Valois and get killed. To you I recommend that young +man." + +"Who?" + +"He who just left us; see if he be really gone, and if he be not some +spy sent by our enemies." + +Mayneville opened the window, and tried to look out. + +"Oh! what a dark night," said he. + +"An excellent night: the darker the better. Therefore, good courage, my +captain." + +"Yes, but we shall see nothing." + +"God, whom we fight for, will see for us." + +Mayneville, who did not seem quite so sure of the intervention of +Providence in affairs of this nature, remained at the window looking +out. + +"Do you see any one?" asked the duchess. + +"No, but I hear the tramp of horses." + +"It is they; all goes well." And the duchess touched the famous pair of +golden scissors at her side. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +HOW DOM GORENFLOT BLESSED THE KING AS HE PASSED BEFORE THE PRIORY OF THE +JACOBINS. + + +Ernanton went away with a full heart but a quiet conscience; he had had +the singular good fortune to declare his love to a princess, and to get +over the awkwardness which might have resulted from it by the important +conversation which followed. He had neither betrayed the king, M. de +Mayenne, nor himself. Therefore he was content, but he still wished for +many things, and, among others, a quick return to Vincennes, where the +king expected him; then to go to bed and dream. He set off at full +gallop as soon as he left Bel-Esbat, but he had scarcely gone a hundred +yards when he came on a body of cavaliers who stretched right across the +road. He was surrounded in a minute, and half a dozen swords and pistols +presented at him. + +"Oh!" said Ernanton, "robbers on the road, a league from Paris--" + +"Silence, if you please," said a voice that Ernanton thought he +recognized. "Your sword, your arms; quick." + +And one man seized the bridle of the horse, while another stripped him +of his arms. + +"Peste! what clever thieves!" said Ernanton. "At least, gentlemen, do me +the favor to tell me--" + +"Why it is M. de Carmainges!" said the man who had seized his sword. + +"M. de Pincornay!" cried Ernanton. "Oh, fie; what a bad trade you have +taken up." + +"I said silence," cried the voice of the chief; "and take this man to +the depot." + +"But, M. de St. Maline, it is our companion, Ernanton de Carmainges." + +"Ernanton here!" cried St. Maline, angrily; "what is he doing here?" + +"Good-evening, gentlemen," said Carmainges; "I did not, I confess, +expect to find so much good company." + +"Diable!" growled St. Maline; "this is unforeseen." + +"By me also, I assure you," said Ernanton, laughing. + +"It is embarrassing; what were you doing here?" + +"If I asked you that question, would you answer?" + +"No." + +"Then let me act as you would." + +"Then you will not tell me?" + +"No." + +"Nor where you were going?" + +Ernanton did not answer. + +"Then, monsieur, since you do not explain, I must treat you like any +other man." + +"Do what you please, monsieur; only I warn you, you will have to answer +for it." + +"To M. de Loignac?" + +"Higher than that." + +"M. d'Epernon?" + +"Higher still." + +"Well, I have my orders, and I shall send you to Vincennes." + +"That is capital; it is just where I was going." + +"It is lucky that this little journey pleases you so much." + +Ernanton was then conducted by his companions to the courtyard of +Vincennes. Here he found fifty disarmed cavaliers, who, looking pale and +dispirited, and surrounded by fifty light horse, were deploring their +bad fortune, and anticipating a disastrous ending to an enterprise so +well planned. The Forty-five had taken all these men, either by force or +cunning, as they had, for precaution, come to the rendezvous either +singly, or two or three together at most. Now all this would have +rejoiced Ernanton had he understood it, but he saw without +understanding. + +"Monsieur," said he to St. Maline, "I see that you were told of the +importance of my mission, and that, fearing some accident for me, you +were good enough to take the trouble to escort me here: now I will tell +you that you were right; the king expects me, and I have important +things to say to him. I will tell the king what you have done for his +service." + +St. Maline grew red and then pale; but he understood, being clever when +not blinded by passion, that Ernanton spoke the truth, and that he was +expected. There was no joking with MM. de Loignac and d'Epernon; +therefore he said, "You are free, M. Ernanton; I am delighted to have +been agreeable to you." + +Ernanton waited for no more, but began to mount the staircase which led +to the king's room. St. Maline followed him with his eyes, and saw De +Loignac meet him on the stairs, and sign to him to come on. De Loignac +then descended to see the captives with his own eyes, and pronounced the +road perfectly safe and free for the king's return. He knew nothing of +the Jacobin convent, and the artillery and musketry of the fathers. But +D'Epernon did, being perfectly informed by Nicholas Poulain. Therefore, +when De Loignac came and said to his chief, "Monsieur, the roads are +free," D'Epernon replied: + +"Very well, the king orders that the Forty-five guards form themselves +into three compact bodies, one to go before and one on each side of the +carriage, so that if there be any firing it may not reach the carriage." + +"Very good!" said De Loignac, "only I do not see where firing is to come +from." + +"At the priory of the Jacobins, monsieur, they must draw close." + +This dialogue was interrupted by the king, who descended the staircase, +followed by several gentlemen, among whom St. Maline, with rage in his +heart, recognized Ernanton. + +"Gentlemen," said the king, "are my brave Forty-five all here?" + +"Yes, sire," said D'Epernon, showing them. + +"Have the orders been given?" + +"Yes, sire, and will be followed." + +"Let us go, then!" + +The light horse were left in charge of the prisoners, and forbidden to +address a word to them. The king got into his carriage with his naked +sword by his side, and, as nine o'clock struck, they set off. + +M. de Mayneville was still at his window, only he was infinitely less +tranquil and hopeful, for none of his soldiers had appeared, and the +only sound heard along the silent black road was now and then horses' +feet on the road to Vincennes. When this occurred, Mayneville and the +duchess vainly tried to see what was going on. At last Mayneville became +so anxious that he sent off a man on horseback, telling him to inquire +of the first body of cavaliers he met. The messenger did not return, so +the duchess sent another, but neither reappeared. + +"Our officer," said the duchess, always hopeful, "must have been afraid +of not having sufficient force, and must have kept our men to help him; +it is prudent, but it makes one anxious." + +"Yes, very anxious," said Mayneville, whose eyes never quitted the +horizon. + +"Mayneville, what can have happened?" + +"I will go myself, madame, and find out." + +"Oh, no! I forbid that. Who would stay with me, who would know our +friends, when the time comes? No, no, stay, Mayneville; one is +naturally apprehensive when a secret of this importance is concerned, +but, really, the plan was too well combined, and, above all, too secret, +not to succeed." + +"Nine o'clock!" replied Mayneville, rather to himself than to the +duchess. "Well! here are the Jacobins coming-out of their convent, and +ranging themselves along the walls." + +"Listen!" cried the duchess. They began to hear from afar a noise like +thunder. + +"It is cavalry!" cried the duchess; "they are bringing him, we have him +at last;" and she clapped her hands in the wildest joy. + +"Yes," said Mayneville, "I hear a carriage and the gallop of horses." + +And he cried out loudly, "Outside the walls, my brothers, outside!" + +Immediately the gates of the priory opened, and a hundred armed monks +marched out, with Borromee at their head, and they heard Gorenflot's +voice crying, "Wait for me, wait for me; I must be at the head to +receive his majesty." + +"Go to the balcony, prior," cried Borromee, "and overlook us all." + +"Ah! true; I forgot that I had chosen that place, but luckily you are +here to remind me." + +Borromee dispatched four monks to stand behind the prior, on the +pretense of doing him honor. + +Soon the road was illumined by a number of torches, thanks to which the +duchess and Mayneville could see cuirasses and swords shining. Incapable +of moderation, she cried--"Go down, Mayneville, and bring him to me." + +"Yes, madame, but one thing disquiets me." + +"What is it?" + +"I do not hear the signal agreed on." + +"What use is the signal, since they have him?" + +"But they were to arrest him only here, before the priory." + +"They must have found a good opportunity earlier." + +"I do not see our officer." + +"I do." + +"Where?" + +"See that red plume." + +"Ventrebleu! that red plume--" + +"Well?" + +"It is M. d'Epernon, sword in hand." + +"They have left him his sword." + +"Mordieu! he commands." + +"Our people! There has been treason." + +"Oh! madame; they are not our people." + +"You are mad, Mayneville!" + +But at that moment De Loignac, at the head of the first body of guards, +cried, brandishing his large sword, "Vive le Roi!" + +"Vive le Roi!" replied enthusiastically all the Forty-five, with their +Gascon accent. The duchess grew pale and sank down almost fainting. +Mayneville, somber, but resolute, drew his sword, not knowing but what +the house was to be attacked. The cortege advanced, and had reached +Bel-Esbat. Borromee came a little forward, and as De Loignac rode +straight up to him, he immediately saw that all was lost, and determined +on his part. + +"Room for the king!" cried De Loignac. Gorenflot, delighted with the +scene, extended his powerful arm and blessed the king from his balcony. +Henri saw him, and bowed smilingly, and at this mark of favor Gorenflot +gave out a "Vive le Roi!" with his stentorian voice. The rest, however, +remained mute: they expected a different result from their two months' +training. But Borromee, feeling certain from the absence of the +duchess's troops of the fate of the enterprise, knew that to hesitate a +moment was to be ruined, and he answered with a "Vive le Roi!" almost as +sonorous as Gorenflot's. Then all the rest took it up. + +"Thanks, reverend father, thanks," cried Henri; and then he passed the +convent, where his course was to have terminated, like a whirlwind of +fire, noise, and glory, leaving behind him Bel-Esbat in obscurity. + +From her balcony, hidden by the golden scutcheon, behind which she was +kneeling, the duchess saw and examined each face on which the light of +the torches fell. + +"Oh!" cried she, "look, Mayneville! That young man, my brother's +messenger, is in the king's service! We are lost!" + +"We must fly immediately, madame, now the Valois is conqueror." + +"We have been betrayed; it must have been by that young man, he must +have known all." + +The king had already, with all his escort, entered the Porte St. +Antoine, which had opened before him and shut behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS II. FOR HAVING INVENTED POSTING, AND +RESOLVED TO PROFIT BY IT. + + +Chicot, to whom our readers will now permit us to return, after his last +adventure, went on as rapidly as possible. Between the duke and him +would now exist a mortal struggle, which would end only with life. +Mayenne, wounded in his body, and still more grievously in his +self-love, would never forgive him. Skillful in all mimicry, Chicot now +pretended to be a great lord, as he had before imitated a good +bourgeois, and thus never prince was served with more zeal than M. +Chicot, when he had sold Ernanton's horse and had talked for a quarter +of an hour with the postmaster. Chicot, once in the saddle, was +determined not to stop until he reached a place of safety, and he went +as quickly as constant fresh relays of horses could manage. He himself +seemed made of iron, and, at the end of sixty leagues, accomplished in +twenty hours, to feel no fatigue. When, thanks to this rapidity, in +three days he reached Bordeaux, he thought he might take breath. A man +can think while he gallops, and Chicot thought much. What kind of prince +was he about to find in that strange Henri, whom some thought a fool, +others a coward, and all a renegade without firmness. But Chicot's +opinion was rather different to that of the rest of the world; and he +was clever at divining what lay below the surface. Henri of Navarre was +to him an enigma, although an unsolved one. But to know that he was an +enigma was to have found out much. Chicot knew more than others, by +knowing, like the old Grecian sage, that he knew nothing. Therefore, +where most people would have gone to speak freely, and with their hearts +on their lips, Chicot felt that he must proceed cautiously and with +carefully-guarded words. All this was impressed on his mind by his +natural penetration, and also by the aspect of the country through which +he was passing. Once within the limits of the little principality of +Navarre, a country whose poverty was proverbial in France, Chicot, to +his great astonishment, ceased to see the impress of that misery which +showed itself in every house and on every face in the finest provinces +of that fertile France which he had just left. The woodcutter who passed +along, with his arm leaning on the yoke of his favorite ox, the girl +with short petticoats and quiet steps, carrying water on her head, the +old man humming a song of his youthful days, the tame bird who warbled +in his cage, or pecked at his plentiful supply of food, the brown, thin, +but healthy children playing about the roads, all said in a language +clear and intelligible to Chicot, "See, we are happy here." + +Often he heard the sound of heavy wheels, and then saw coming along the +wagon of the vintages, full of casks and of children with red faces. +Sometimes an arquebuse from behind a hedge, or vines, or fig-trees, made +him tremble for fear of an ambush, but it always turned out to be a +hunter, followed by his great dogs, traversing the plain, plentiful in +hares, to reach the mountain, equally full of partridges and heathcocks. +Although the season was advanced, and Chicot had left Paris full of fog +and hoar-frost, it was here warm and fine. The great trees, which had +not yet entirely lost their leaves, which, indeed, in the south they +never lose entirely, threw deep shadows from their reddening tops. + +The Bearnais peasants, their caps over one ear, rode about on the +little cheap horses of the country, which seem indefatigable, go twenty +leagues at a stretch, and, never combed, never covered, give themselves +a shake at the end of their journey, and go to graze on the first tuft +of heath, their only and sufficing repast. + +"Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "I have never seen Gascony so rich. I +confess the letter weighs on my mind, although I have translated it into +Latin. However, I have never heard that Henriot, as Charles IX. called +him, knew Latin; so I will give him a free French translation." + +Chicot inquired, and was told that the king was at Nerac. He turned to +the left to reach this place, and found the road full of people +returning from the market at Condom. He learned, for Chicot, careful in +answering the questions of others, was a great questioner himself, that +the king of Navarre led a very joyous life, and was always changing from +one love to another. + +He formed the acquaintance of a young Catholic priest, a sheep-owner, +and an officer, who had joined company on the road, and were traveling +together. This chance association seemed to him to represent Navarre, +learned, commercial, and military. + +The officer recounted to him several sonnets which had been made on the +loves of the king and the beautiful La Fosseuse, daughter of Rene de +Montmorency, baron de Fosseux. + +"Oh!" said Chicot; "in Paris, we believe that the king is mad about +Mlle. de Rebours." + +"Oh! that is at Pau." + +"What! has the king a mistress in every town?" + +"Very likely; I know that he was the lover of Mlle. de Dayelle, while I +was in garrison at Castelnaudry." + +"Oh! Mlle. Dayelle, a Greek, was she not?" + +"Yes," said the priest; "a Cyprian." + +"I am from Agen," said the merchant; "and I know that when the king was +there he made love to Mlle. de Tignonville." + +"Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "he is a universal lover. But to return +to Mlle. Dayelle; I knew her family." + +"She was jealous and was always threatening; she had a pretty little +poniard, which she used to keep on her work-table, and one day, the king +went away and carried the poniard with him, saying that he did not wish +any misfortune to happen to his successor." + +"And Mlle. de Rebours?" + +"Oh! they quarreled." + +"Then La Fosseuse is the last?" + +"Oh! mon Dieu! yes; the king is mad about her." + +"But what does the queen say?" + +"She carries her griefs to the foot of the crucifix," said the priest. + +"Besides," said the officer, "she is ignorant of all these things." + +"That is not possible," said Chicot. + +"Why so?" + +"Because Nerac is not so large that it is easy to hide things there." + +"As for that, there is a park there containing avenues more than 3,000 +feet long of cypresses, plane trees, and magnificent sycamores, and the +shade is so thick it is almost dark in broad daylight. Think what it +must be at night." + +"And then the queen is much occupied." + +"Occupied?" + +"Yes." + +"With whom, pray?" + +"With God, monsieur," said the priest. + +"With God?" + +"Yes, the queen is religious." + +"Religious! But there is no mass at the palace, is there?" + +"No mass; do you take us for heathens? Learn, monsieur, that the king +goes to church with his gentlemen, and the queen hears mass in her +private chapel." + +"The queen?" + +"Yes." + +"Queen Marguerite?" + +"Yes; and I, unworthy as I am, received two crowns for officiating +there; I even preached a very good sermon on the text, 'God has +separated the wheat from the chaff.' It is in the Bible, 'God will +separate,' but as it is a long time since that was written, I supposed +that the thing was done." + +"And the king?" + +"He heard it, and applauded." + +"I must add," said the officer, "that they do something else than hear +mass at the palace; they give good dinners--and the promenades! I do not +believe in any place in France there are more mustaches shown than in +the promenades at Nerac." + +Chicot knew Queen Marguerite well, and he knew that if she was blind to +these love affairs, it was when she had some motive for placing a +bandage over her eyes. + +"Ventre de biche!" said he, "these alleys of cypresses, and 3,000 feet +of shade, make me feel uncomfortable. I am coming from Paris to tell the +truth at Nerac, where they have such deep shade, that women do not see +their husbands walking with other women. Corbiou! they will be ready to +kill me for troubling so many charming promenades. Happily I know the +king is a philosopher, and I trust in that. Besides, I am an ambassador, +and sacred." + +Chicot entered Nerac in the evening, just at the time of the promenades +which occupied the king so much. Chicot could see the simplicity of the +royal manners by the ease with which he obtained an audience. A valet +opened the door of a rustic-looking apartment bordered with flowers, +above which was the king's antechamber and sitting-room. An officer or +page ran to find the king, wherever he might be when any one wished for +an audience, and he always came at the first invitation. Chicot was +pleased with this; he judged the king to be open and candid, and he +thought so still more when he saw the king coming up a winding walk +bordered with laurels and roses, an old hat on his head, and dressed in +a dark green doublet and gray boots, and with a cup and ball in his +hand. He looked gay and happy, as though care never came near him. + +"Who wants me?" said he to the page. + +"A man who looks to me half courtier, half soldier." + +Chicot heard these words, and advanced. + +"It is I, sire." + +"What! M. Chicot in Navarre! Ventre St. Gris! welcome, dear M. Chicot!" + +"A thousand thanks, sire." + +"Quite well? Ah, parbleu! we will drink together, I am quite delighted. +Chicot, sit down there." And he pointed to a grass bank. + +"Oh no, sire!" + +"Have you come 200 leagues for me to leave you standing? No, no; sit +down; one cannot talk standing." + +"But, sire, respect--" + +"Respect! here in Navarre! You are mad, my poor Chicot." + +"No, sire, I am not mad, but I am an ambassador." + +A slight frown contracted Henri's brow, but disappeared at once. + +"Ambassador, from whom?" + +"From Henri III. I come from Paris and the Louvre, sire." + +"Oh! that is different. Come with me," said the king, rising, with a +sigh. + +"Page, take wine up to my room. Come, Chicot, I will conduct you." + +Chicot followed the king, thinking, "How disagreeable! to come and +trouble this honest man in his peace and his ignorance. Bah! he will be +philosophical." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +HOW THE KING OF NAVARRE GUESSES THAT "TURENNIUS" MEANS TURENNE, AND +"MARGOTA" MARGOT. + + +The king of Navarre's room was not very sumptuous, for he was not rich, +and did not waste the little he had. It was large, and, with his +bedroom, occupied all the right wing of the castle. It was well, though +not royally furnished, and had a magnificent view over meadows and +rivers. Great trees, willows, and planes hid the course of the stream +every here and there, which glanced between, golden in the sunlight, or +silver by that of the moon. This beautiful panorama was terminated by a +range of hills, which looked violet in the evening light. The windows on +the other side looked on to the court of the castle. + +All these natural beauties interested Chicot less than the arrangements +of the room, which was the ordinary sitting-room of Henri. + +The king seated himself, with his constant smile, in a great armchair of +leather with gilt nails, and Chicot, at his command, sat down on a stool +similar in material. Henri looked at him smilingly, but with curiosity. + +"You will think I am very curious, dear M. Chicot," began the king, "but +I cannot help it. I have so long looked on you as dead, that in spite of +the pleasure your resurrection causes me, I can hardly realize the idea. +Why did you so suddenly disappear from this world?" + +"Oh, sire!" said Chicot, with his usual freedom, "you disappeared from +Vincennes. Every one eclipses himself according to his need." + +"I recognize by your ready wit that it is not to your ghost I am +speaking." Then, more seriously, "But now we must leave wit and speak of +business." + +"If it does not too much fatigue your majesty, I am ready." + +Henri's eyes kindled. + +"Fatigue me! It is true I grow rusty here. I have to-day exercised my +body much, but my mind little." + +"Sire, I am glad of that; for, ambassador from a king, your relation and +friend, I have a delicate commission to execute with your majesty." + +"Speak quickly--you pique my curiosity." + +"Sire--" + +"First, your letters of credit. I know it is needless, since you are the +ambassador: but I must do my duty as king." + +"Sire, I ask your majesty's pardon; but all the letters of credit that I +had I have drowned in rivers, or scattered in the air." + +"And why so?" + +"Because one cannot travel charged with an embassy to Navarre as if you +were going to buy cloth at Lyons; and if one has the dangerous honor of +carrying royal letters, one runs a risk of carrying them only to the +tomb." + +"It is true," said Henri, "the roads are not very safe, and in Navarre +we are reduced, for want of money, to trust to the honesty of the +people; but they do not steal much." + +"Oh, no, sire; they behave like lambs or angels, but that is only in +Navarre; out of it one meets wolves and vultures around every prey. I +was a prey, sire; so I had both." + +"At all events, I am glad to see they did not eat you." + +"Ventre de biche! sire, it was not their faults; they did their best, +but they found me too tough, and could not get through my skin. But to +return to my letter." + +"Since you have none, dear M. Chicot, it seems to me useless to return +to it." + +"But I had one, sire, but I was forced to destroy it, for M. de Mayenne +ran after me to steal it from me." + +"Mayenne?" + +"In person." + +"Luckily he does not run fast. Is he still getting fatter?" + +"Ventre de biche! not just now, I should think." + +"Why not?" + +"Because, you understand, sire, he had the misfortune to catch me, and +unfortunately got a sword wound." + +"And the letter?" + +"He had not a glimpse of it, thanks to my precautions." + +"Bravo! your journey is interesting; you must tell me the details. But +one thing disquiets me--if the letter was destroyed for M. de Mayenne, +it is also destroyed for me. How, then, shall I know what my brother +Henri wrote?" + +"Sire, it exists in my memory." + +"How so?" + +"Sire, before destroying it I learned it by heart." + +"An excellent idea, M. Chicot. You will recite it to me, will you not?" + +"Willingly, sire." + +"Word for word." + +"Yes, sire, although I do not know the language, I have a good memory." + +"What language?" + +"Latin." + +"I do not understand you; was my brother Henri's letter written in +Latin?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"And why?" + +"Ah! sire, doubtless because Latin is an audacious language--a language +which may say anything, and in which Persius and Juvenal have +immortalized the follies and errors of kings." + +"Kings?" + +"And of queens, sire." + +The king began to frown. + +"I mean emperors and empresses," continued Chicot. + +"You know Latin, M. Chicot?" + +"Yes and no, sire." + +"You are lucky if it is 'yes,' for you have an immense advantage over +me, who do not know it, but you--" + +"They taught me to read it, sire, as well as Greek and Hebrew." + +"You are a living book, M. Chicot." + +"Your majesty has found the exact word--'a book.' They print something +on my memory, they send me where they like, I arrive, I am read and +understood." + +"Or not understood." + +"How so, sire?" + +"Why, if one does not know the language in which you are printed." + +"Oh, sire, kings know everything." + +"That is what we tell the people, and what flatterers tell us." + +"Then, sire, it is useless for me to recite to your majesty the letter +which I learned by heart, since neither of us would understand it." + +"Is Latin not very much like Italian?" + +"So they say, sire." + +"And Spanish?" + +"I believe so." + +"Then let us try. I know a little Italian, and my Gascon patois is +something like Spanish: perhaps I may understand Latin without ever +having learned it." + +"Your majesty orders me to repeat it, then?" + +"I beg you, dear M. Chicot." + +Chicot began. + +"Frater carissime, + +"Sincerus amo quo te prosequebatur germanus noster Carolus Nonus, +functus nuper, colet usque regiam nostram et pectori meo pertinaciter +adhoeret." + +"If I am not mistaken," said Henri, interrupting, "they speak in this +phrase of love, obstinacy, and of my brother, Charles IX." + +"Very likely," said Chicot; "Latin is such a beautiful language, that +all that might go in one sentence." + +"Go on," said the king. + +Chicot began again, and Henri listened with the utmost calm to all the +passages about Turenne and his wife, only at the word "Turennius," he +said: + +"Does not 'Turennius' mean Turenne?" + +"I think so, sire." + +"And 'Margota' must be the pet name which my brothers gave to their +sister Marguerite, my beloved wife." + +"It is possible," said Chicot; and he continued his letter to the end +without the king's face changing in the least. + +"Is it finished?" asked Henri, when he stopped. + +"Yes, sire." + +"It ought to be superb." + +"I think so, also, sire." + +"How unlucky that I only understood two words, 'Turennius' and +'Margota.'" + +"An irreparable misfortune, sire, unless your majesty decides on having +it translated by some one." + +"Oh! no; you yourself, M. Chicot, who were so discreet in destroying the +autograph, you would not counsel me to make this letter public?" + +"But I think that the king's letter to you, recommended to me so +carefully, and sent to your majesty by a private hand, must contain +something important for your majesty to know." + +"Yes, but to confide these important things to any one, I must have +great confidence in him." + +"Certainly." + +"Well, I have an idea. Go and find my wife. She is learned, and will +understand it if you recite it to her; then she can explain it to me." + +"That is an excellent plan." + +"Is it not? Go." + +"I will, sire." + +"Mind not to alter a word of the letter." + +"That would be impossible, sire. To do that I must know Latin." + +"Go, then, my friend." + +Chicot took leave and went, more puzzled with the king than ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +THE AVENUE THREE THOUSAND FEET LONG. + + +The queen inhabited the other wing of the castle. The famous avenue +began at her very window, and her eyes rested only on grass and flowers. +A native poet (Marguerite, in the provinces as in Paris, was always the +star of the poets) had composed a sonnet about her. + +"She wishes," said he, "by all these agreeable sights to chase away +painful souvenirs." + +Daughter, sister, and wife of a king as she was, she had indeed suffered +much. Her philosophy, although more boasted of than that of the king, +was less solid; for it was due only to study, while his was natural. +Therefore, stoical as she tried to be, time and grief had already begun +to leave their marks on her countenance. Still she was remarkably +beautiful. With her joyous yet sweet smile, her brilliant and yet soft +eyes, Marguerite was still an adorable creature. She was idolized at +Nerac, where she brought elegance, joy, and life. She, a Parisian +princess, supported patiently a provincial life, and this alone was a +virtue in the eyes of the inhabitants. Every one loved her, both as +queen and as woman. + +Full of hatred for her enemies, but patient that she might avenge +herself better--feeling instinctively that under the mask of +carelessness and long-suffering worn by Henri of Navarre he had a bad +feeling toward her--she had accustomed herself to replace by poetry, and +by the semblance of love, relations, husband, and friends. + +No one, excepting Catherine de Medicis, Chicot, or some melancholy +ghosts returned from the realms of death, could have told why +Marguerite's cheeks were often so pale, why her eyes often filled with +tears, or why her heart often betrayed its melancholy void. Marguerite +had no more confidantes; she had been betrayed too often. + +However, the bad feeling which she believed Henri to have for her was +only an instinct, and came rather from the consciousness of her own +faults than from his behavior. He treated her like a daughter of France, +always spoke to her with respectful politeness, or grateful kindness, +and was always the husband and friend. + +When Chicot arrived at the place indicated to him by Henri, he found no +one; Marguerite, they said, was at the end of the famous avenue. When he +had gone about two-thirds down it, he saw at the end, in an arbor +covered with jasmine, clematis, and broom, a group covered with ribbons, +feathers, velvets, and swords. Perhaps all this finery was slightly +old-fashioned, but for Nerac it was brilliant, and even Chicot, coming +straight from Paris, was satisfied with the coup d'oeil. A page preceded +Chicot. + +"What do you want, D' Aubiac?" asked the queen, when she saw him. + +"Madame, a gentleman from Paris, an envoy from the Louvre to the king of +Navarre, and sent by his majesty to you, desires to speak to your +majesty." + +A sudden flush passed over Marguerite's face, and she turned quickly. +Chicot was standing near; Marguerite quitted the circle, and waving an +adieu to the company, advanced toward the Gascon. + +"M. Chicot!" cried she in astonishment. + +"Here I am at your majesty's feet," said he, "and find you ever good and +beautiful, and queen here, as at the Louvre." + +"It is a miracle to see you here, monsieur; they said you were dead." + +"I pretended to be so." + +"And what do you want with us, M. Chicot? Am I happy enough to be still +remembered in France?" + +"Oh, madame," said Chicot, smiling, "we do not forget queens of your age +and your beauty. The king of France even writes on this subject to the +king of Navarre." + +Marguerite colored. "He writes?" + +"Yes, madame." + +"And you have brought the letter?" + +"I have not brought it, madame, for reasons that the king of Navarre +will explain to you, but learned it by heart and repeated it." + +"I understand. This letter was important, and you feared to lose it, or +have it stolen." + +"That is the truth, madame; but the letter was written in Latin." + +"Oh, very well; you know I know Latin." + +"And the king of Navarre, does he know it?" + +"Dear M. Chicot, it is very difficult to find out what he does or does +not know. If one can believe appearances, he knows very little of it, +for he never seems to understand when I speak to any one in that +language. Then you told him the purport of the letter?" + +"It was to him it was addressed." + +"And did he seem to understand?" + +"Only two words." + +"What were they?" + +"Turennius et Margota." + +"Turennius et Margota?" + +"Yes; those two words were in the letter." + +"Then what did he do?" + +"He sent me to you, madame." + +"To me?" + +"Yes, saying that the letter contained things of too much importance to +be confided to a stranger, and that it was better to take it to you, who +were the most beautiful of learned ladies, and the most learned of +beautiful ones." + +"I will listen to you, M. Chicot, since such are the king's orders." + +"Thank you, madame; where would you please it to be?" + +"Come to my room." + +Marguerite looked earnestly at Chicot, who, through pity for her, had +let her have a glimpse of the truth. Perhaps she felt the need of a +support, for she turned toward a gentleman in the group, and said: "M. +de Turenne, your arm to the castle. Precede us, M. Chicot." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +MARGUERITE'S ROOM. + + +Marguerite's room was fashionably furnished; and tapestries, enamels, +china, books and manuscripts in Greek, Latin and French covered all the +tables; while birds in their cages, dogs on the carpet, formed a living +world round Marguerite. + +The queen was a woman to understand Epicurus, not in Greek only, but she +occupied her life so well that from a thousand griefs she drew forth a +pleasure. + +Chicot was invited to sit down in a beautiful armchair of tapestry, +representing a Cupid scattering a cloud of flowers; and a page, handsome +and richly dressed, offered to him refreshment. He did not accept it, +but as soon as the Vicomte de Turenne had left them, began to recite his +letter. We already know this letter, having read it in French with +Chicot, and therefore think it useless to follow the Latin translation. +Chicot spoke with the worst accent possible, but Marguerite understood +it perfectly, and could not hide her rage and indignation. She knew her +brother's dislike to her, and her mind was divided between anger and +fear. But as he concluded, she decided on her part. + +"By the Holy Communion," said she, when Chicot had finished, "my brother +writes well in Latin! What vehemence! what style! I should never have +believed him capable of it. But do you not understand it, M. Chicot? I +thought you were a good Latin scholar." + +"Madame, I have forgotten it; all that I remember is that Latin has no +article, that it has a vocative, and that the head belongs to the neuter +gender." + +"Really!" said some one, entering noiselessly and merrily. It was the +king of Navarre. "The head is of the neuter gender, M. Chicot? Why is it +not masculine?" + +"Ah, sire, I do not know; it astonishes me as much as it does your +majesty." + +"It must be because it is sometimes the man, sometimes the woman that +rules, according to their temperaments." + +"That is an excellent reason, sire." + +"I am glad to be a more profound philosopher than I thought--but to +return to the letter. Madame, I burn to hear news from the court of +France, and M. Chicot brings them to me in an unknown tongue." + +"Do you not fear, sire, that the Latin is a bad prognostic?" said +Chicot. + +"M. Chicot is right, sire," said the queen. + +"What!" said Henri, "does the letter contain anything disagreeable, and +from your brother, who is so clever and polite?" + +"Even when he had me insulted in my litter, as happened near Sens, when +I left Paris to rejoin you, sire." + +"When one has a brother whose own conduct is irreproachable," said +Henri, in an indefinable tone between jest and earnest, "a brother a +king, and very punctilious--" + +"He ought to care for the true honor of his sister and of his house. I +do not suppose, sire, that if your sister, Catherine d'Albret, +occasioned some scandal, you would have it published by a captain of the +guards." + +"Oh! I am like a good-natured bourgeois, and not a king; but the letter, +the letter; since it was addressed to me, I wish to know what it +contains." + +"It is a perfidious letter, sire." + +"Bah!" + +"Oh! yes, and which contains more calumnies than are necessary to +embroil a husband with his wife, and a friend with his friends." + +"Oh! oh! embroil a husband with his wife; you and me then?" + +"Yes, sire." + +Chicot was on thorns; he would have given much, hungry as he was, to be +in bed without supper. + +"The storm is about to burst," thought he. + +"Sire," said Marguerite, "I much regret that your majesty has forgotten +your Latin." + +"Madame, of all the Latin I learned, I remember but one phrase--'Deus et +virtus oeterna'--a singular assemblage of masculine, feminine, and +neuter." + +"Because, sire, if you did understand, you would see in the letter many +compliments to me." + +"But how could compliments embroil us, madame? For as long as your +brother pays you compliments, I shall agree with him; if he speaks ill +of you, I shall understand his policy." + +"Ah! if he spoke ill of me, you would understand it?" + +"Yes; he has reasons for embroiling us, which I know well." + +"Well, then, sire, these compliments are only an insinuating prelude to +calumnious accusations against your friends and mine." + +"Come, ma mie, you have understood badly; let me hear if all this be in +the letter." + +Marguerite looked defiant. + +"Do you want your followers or not, sire?" said she. + +"Do I want them? what a question! What should I do without them, and +reduced to my own resources?" + +"Well, sire, the king wishes to detach your best servants from you." + +"I defy him." + +"Bravo, sire!" said Chicot. + +"Yes," said Henri, with that apparent candor, with which to the end of +his life he deceived people, "for my followers are attached to me +through love, and not through interest; I have nothing to give them." + +"You give them all your heart and your faith, sire; it is the best +return a king can make his friends." + +"Yes, ma mie, I shall not fail to do so till I find that they do not +merit it." + +"Well, sire, they wish to make you believe that they do not." + +"Ah! but how?" + +"I cannot tell you, sire, without compromising--" and she glanced at +Chicot. + +"Dear M. Chicot," said Henri, "pray wait for me in my room, the queen +has something particular to say to me." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE EXPLANATION. + + +To get rid of a witness whom Marguerite believed to know more of Latin +than he allowed was already a triumph, or at least a pledge of security +for her; for alone with her husband she could give whatever translation +of the Latin that she pleased. + +Henri and his wife were then left tete-a-tete. He had on his face no +appearance of disquietude or menace; decidedly he could not understand +Latin. + +"Monsieur," said Marguerite, "I wait for you to interrogate me." + +"This letter preoccupies you much, ma mie; do not alarm yourself thus." + +"Sire, because a king does not send a special messenger to another +without some reason that he believes important." + +"Well ma mie, let us leave it for the present; have you not something +like a ball this evening?" + +"Yes, sire," said Marguerite, astonished, "but that is not +extraordinary; you know we dance nearly every evening." + +"I have a great chase for to-morrow." + +"Each our pleasure, sire; you love the chase, I the dance." + +"Yes, ma mie, and there is no harm in that," said Henri, sighing. + +"Certainly not; but your majesty sighed as you said it." + +"Listen to me, madame; I am uneasy." + +"About what, sire?" + +"About a current report." + +"A report; your majesty uneasy about a report?" + +"What more simple; when this report may annoy you." + +"Me?"--"Yes, you." + +"Sire, I do not understand you." + +"Have you heard nothing?" + +Marguerite began to tremble. "I am the least curious woman in the +world," said she, "I hear nothing but what is cried in my very ears. +Besides, I think so little of reports, that I should not listen to them +if I heard them." + +"It is then your opinion, madame, that one should despise reports?" + +"Absolutely, sire; particularly kings and queens." + +"Why so, madame?" + +"Because, as every one talks of us, we should have enough to do to +listen to them all." + +"Well, I believe you are right, ma mie, and I am about to furnish you +with an excellent opportunity of exercising your philosophy." + +Marguerite believed that the decisive moment had come, and rallied all +her courage. + +"So be it, sire," said she. + +Henri began in the tone of a penitent who has some great sin to +acknowledge. + +"You know the great interest I take in Fosseuse?" + +"Ah!" cried Marguerite, triumphantly, seeing he was not about to accuse +her; "yes, yes; the little Fosseuse, your friend." + +"Yes, madame." + +"My lady in waiting."--"Yes." + +"Your passion--your love." + +"Ah! you speak now just like one of the reports you were abusing just +now." + +"It is true, sire, and I ask your pardon," said Marguerite, smiling. + +"Ma mie, you are right, public report often lies, and we sovereigns have +great reason to establish this theory;" and he laughed ironically. + +"Well; and Fosseuse?" said Marguerite. + +"She is ill, ma mie, and the doctors do not understand her malady." + +"That is strange, sire. Fosseuse, who you say is a pearl of purity, +ought to allow the doctors to penetrate into the secret of her illness." + +"Alas! it is not so." + +"What!" cried the queen; "is she not a pearl of purity?" + +"I mean that she persists in hiding the cause of her illness from the +doctors." + +"But to you, sire, her confidant, her father." + +"I know nothing, or at least wish to know nothing." + +"Then, sire," said Marguerite, who now believed that she had to confer +instead of asking a pardon; "then, sire, I do not know what you want; +and wait for you to explain." + +"Well, then, ma mie, I will tell you. I wish you--but it is asking a +great deal." + +"Speak on, sire." + +"To have the goodness to go to Fosseuse." + +"I go to visit this girl whom every one says has the honor of being your +mistress; a thing which you do not deny." + +"Gently, gently, ma mie. On my word you will make a scandal with your +exclamations; and really I believe that will rejoice the court of +France, for in the letter from my brother-in-law that Chicot repeated to +me, there was these words, 'Quotidie scandalurn,' which must mean 'daily +scandal.' It is not necessary to know Latin to understand that: it is +almost French." + +"But, sire, to whom did these words apply?" + +"Ah! that is what I want to know, but you, who know Latin, can help me +to find out." + +Marguerite colored up to her ears. + +"Well, monsieur," said she, "you wish me to take a humiliating step for +the sake of peace, and therefore I will comply." + +"Thanks, ma mie, thanks." + +"But what is the object of this visit?" + +"It is very simple, madame." + +"Still, you must tell me, for I am not clever enough to guess it." + +"Well! you will find Fosseuse among the ladies of honor, sleeping in +their room; and they, you know, are so curious and indiscreet that one +cannot tell to what extremity Fosseuse may be reduced." + +"But then she fears something," cried Marguerite, with a burst of anger +and hatred; "she wishes to hide herself." + +"I do not know; all I do know is, that she wishes to quit the room of +the maids of honor." + +"If she wishes to hide, let her not count on me. I may shut my eyes to +certain things, but I will never be an accomplice," said Marguerite. + +Henri seemed not to have heard, but he stood for a minute in a +thoughtful attitude, and then said, "Margota cum Turennio. Ah! those +were the names, madame--'Margota cum Turennio.'" + +Marguerite grew crimson. + +"Calumnies, sire!" cried she. + +"What calumnies?" replied he, with the most natural air possible. "Do +you find any calumny in it? It is a passage from my brother's +letter--'Margota cum Turennio conveniunt in castello nomine +Loignac!'--Decidedly I must get this letter translated." + +"Leave this comedy, sire," said Marguerite, tremblingly, "and tell me at +once what you want from me." + +"Well, I wish, ma mie, that you should separate Fosseuse from the other +girls, and send her a discreet doctor; your own, for example." + +"Ah! I see what it is," cried the queen, "Fosseuse, the paragon, is near +her accouchement." + +"I do not say so, ma mie; it is you who affirm it." + +"It is so, monsieur; your insinuating tone, your false humility, prove +it to me. But there are sacrifices that no man should ask of his wife. +Take care of Fosseuse yourself, sire; it is your business, and let the +trouble fall on the guilty, not on the innocent." + +"The guilty! Ah! that makes me think of the letter again." + +"How so?" + +"Guilty is 'nocens,' is it not?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, there was that word in the letter--'Margota cum Turennio, ambo +nocentes, conveniunt in castello nomine Loignac.' Mon Dieu! how I regret +that my knowledge is not as great as my memory is good." + +"Ambo nocentes," repeated Marguerite, in a low voice, and turning very +pale, "he understood it all." + +"Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes," repeated Henri. "What the devil +could my brother mean by 'ambo!' Ventre St. Gris, ma mie, it is +astonishing that you who know Latin so well have not yet explained it to +me. Ah! pardieu! there is 'Turennius' walking under your windows, and +looking up as if he expected you. I will call to him to come up; he is +very learned, and he will explain it to me." + +"Sire, sire, be superior to all the calumniators of France." + +"Oh! ma mie, it seems to me that people are not more indulgent in +Navarre than in France; you, yourself, were very severe about poor +Fosseuse just now." + +"I severe?" + +"Yes; and yet we ought to be indulgent here, we lead such a happy life, +you with your balls, and I with my chase." + +"Yes, yes, sire; you are right; let us be indulgent." + +"Oh! I was sure of your heart, ma mie." + +"You know me well, sire." + +"Yes. Then you will go and see Fosseuse?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"And separate her from the others?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"And send her your doctor?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"And if, unluckily, what you say were true, and she had been weak, for +women are frail--" + +"Well, sire, I am a woman, and know the indulgence due to my sex." + +"All! you know all things, ma mie; you are in truth a model of +perfection, and I kiss your hands." + +"But believe, sire, that it is for the love of you alone that I make +this sacrifice." + +"Oh! yes, ma mie, I know you well, madame, and my brother of France +also, he who speaks so well of you in this letter, and adds, 'Fiat sanum +exemplum statim, atque res certior eveniet.' Doubtless, ma mie, it is +you who give this good example." + +And Henri kissed the cold hand of Marguerite. Then, turning on the +threshold of the door, he said: + +"Say everything kind from me to Fosseuse, and do for her as you have +promised me. I set off for the chase; perhaps I shall not see you till +my return, perhaps never--these wolves are wicked beasts. Come, and let +me embrace you, ma mie." + +Then he embraced Marguerite, almost affectionately, and went out, +leaving her stupefied with all she had heard. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR. + + +The king rejoined Chicot, who was still agitated with fears as to the +explanation. + +"Well, Chicot," said Henri, "do you know what the queen says?" + +"No." + +"She pretends that your cursed Latin will disturb our peace." + +"Oh! sire, forget it, and all will be at an end. It is not with a piece +of spoken Latin as though it were written; the wind carries away the +one, fire cannot sometimes destroy the other." + +"I! I think of it no more." + +"That is right." + +"I have something else to do." + +"Your majesty prefers amusing yourself." + +"Oh! mon cher, here we do everything openly; love, war, and politics." + +"The first more than the two last; do you not, sire?" + +"Ma foi! yes; I confess it, my dear friend. This country is so fine, and +its women so beautiful." + +"Oh! sire, you forget the queen; can the Navarrese women be more +pleasing and beautiful than she is? If they are, I compliment them." + +"Ventre St. Gris, you are right, Chicot; and I, who forgot that you are +an ambassador, and represent King Henri III., and that he is the brother +of Marguerite, and that consequently, before you, I ought to place her +before every one--but you must excuse my imprudence, I am not accustomed +to ambassadors." + +At this moment the door of the room opened, and D'Aubiac announced, "The +ambassador from Spain." + +Chicot gave a start which made the king smile. + +"Ma foi!" said Henri, "that is a contradiction that I did not expect. +And what the devil can he want here?" + +"Yes," said Chicot, "what the devil does he want here?" + +"We shall soon know; perhaps our Spanish neighbor has some frontier +dispute to settle with us." + +"I will retire," said Chicot. "This is doubtless a real ambassador from +his majesty Philippe II., while I--" + +"Open that library door, Chicot, and go in there." + +"But from there I shall hear all, in spite of myself." + +"Oh! Never mind; I have nothing to hide. Apropos; have you nothing more +to say to me from your king?" + +"Nothing at all, sire." + +"Very well, then, you have nothing to do but to see and hear, like all +other ambassadors, and the library will do excellently for that purpose. +Look with all your eyes, and listen with all your ears, my dear Chicot. +D'Aubiac, let the ambassador enter." + +Chicot hastened to his place of concealment, and drew the tapestry +close. + +When the first preliminaries of etiquette were over, the ambassador +said: + +"Can I speak freely to your majesty?" + +"You may, monsieur." + +"Sire, I bring the answer from his Catholic majesty." + +"An answer," thought Chicot; "then there was a question." + +"An answer to what?" said Henri. + +"To your proposals of last month." + +"Ma foi! I am very forgetful! please to recall to me what they were." + +"About the invasions of the Lorraine princes." + +"Yes, I remember, particularly those of M. de Guise; go on, monsieur." + +"Sire, the king, my master, although much begged to sign a treaty of +alliance with Lorraine, prefers one with Navarre. I know my master's +intentions with regard to you." + +"May I also know them?" + +"Sire, my master will refuse nothing to Navarre." + +Chicot bit his fingers to convince himself that he was not dreaming. + +"What can I ask then?" said Henri. + +"Whatever your majesty pleases." + +"Diable!" + +"If your majesty will speak openly and frankly?" + +"Ventre St. Gris, it is embarrassing." + +"Shall I tell you his majesty the king of Spain's proposal?" + +"I listen." + +"The king of France treats the queen of Navarre as an enemy, he +repudiates her as a sister, and covers her with opprobrium. All this, +but I beg your majesty's pardon for touching on so delicate a subject--" + +"Go on." + +"All this, then, is public." + +"Well! monsieur, and what of all this?" + +"It is consequently easy for your majesty to repudiate as a wife her +whom her brother disclaims as a sister. This once done, the alliance +between the king of Navarre and the king of Spain is concluded, and the +king of Spain will give the infanta, his daughter, to your majesty, and +he himself will marry Madame Catherine de Navarre, your majesty's +sister." + +A movement of pride shook Henri, while Chicot shuddered with terror. The +one saw his star rising, radiant like the morning sun; the other saw the +scepter of the Valois ready to decline and fall. + +For an instant there was profound silence, and then Henri said: + +"The proposal, monsieur, is magnificent, and crowns me with honor." + +"His majesty," said the negotiator, who already calculated on an +enthusiastic acceptance, "proposes only one condition." + +"Ah! a condition! that is but just; let me hear it." + +"In aiding your majesty against the Lorraine princes, that is to say, in +opening to your majesty a way to the throne, my master desires to +facilitate by your alliance the safety of Flanders, which the Duc +d'Anjou is already attacking; your majesty will understand that it is +pure preference on my master's part for you over the Lorraine princes, +since MM. de Guise, his natural allies, as Catholic princes, make of +themselves a party against the Duc d'Anjou in Flanders. Now, this is the +only condition, which you must think reasonable. His majesty the king of +Spain, allied to you by a double marriage, will help you to--" the +ambassador seemed to seek for the right word, "to succeed to the king of +France, and you will guarantee Flanders to him. I may then, now, knowing +your majesty's wisdom, regard the negotiation as happily terminated." + +Henri took two or three turns up and down the room. + +"This, then," said he at last, "is the answer you were charged to bring +me?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"Nothing else?" + +"Nothing else, sire." + +"Well! I refuse the offer of the king of Spain." + +"You refuse the hand of the infanta!" cried the Spaniard, with a start, +as though he had received a sudden wound. + +"It would be a great honor, but I cannot think it a greater one than +that of having married a daughter of France." + +"No; but that alliance brought you nearly to the tomb, and this will +bring you to the throne." + +"An incomparable piece of good fortune, monsieur, I know; but I will +never buy it with the blood and honor of my future subjects. What! +monsieur. I draw the sword against the king of France, my +brother-in-law, for the Spaniards; I arrest the standard of France in +its career of glory; I kill brothers by brothers' hands; I bring the +stranger into my country! No, monsieur; I asked the king of Spain for +aid against the Guises, who wish to rob me of my inheritance, but not +against the Duc d'Anjou, my brother-in-law; not against Henri III., my +friend; not against my wife, sister of my king. You will aid the Guises, +you will say, and lend them your support. Do so, and I will let loose on +you and on them all the Protestants of Germany and France. The king of +Spain wishes to reconquer Flanders, which is slipping from him; let him +do what his father, Charles V., did, and ask a free passage to go and +claim his title of first bourgeois of Ghent, and Henri III., I am +certain, will grant it to him, as Francois I. did. I wish for the throne +of France, says his Catholic majesty; it is possible, but I do not need +him to aid me in getting it; I will do that for myself, once it is +vacant, in spite of all the kings in the world. Adieu, then, monsieur. +Tell my brother Philippe that I am grateful for his offers, but cannot +believe for a moment that he thought me capable of accepting them. +Adieu, monsieur." + +"Take care, sire," said the ambassador; "the good understanding between +two neighbors may be destroyed by a hasty word." + +"Monsieur, my crown is so light that I should scarcely feel the +difference if it slipped off; besides, I believe I can guard it. +Therefore, once more adieu, monsieur, and tell the king your master that +I have greater ambitions than he dreams of." And the Bearnais, becoming +once more, not himself, but what he generally seemed to be, conducted +the ambassador, with a courteous smile, to the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +THE POOR OF HENRI OF NAVARRE. + + +Chicot remained plunged in profound surprise. Henri lifted the tapestry, +and, striking him on the shoulder, said: + +"Well, M. Chicot, how do you think I managed?" + +"Wonderfully, sire; and really, for a king who is not accustomed to +ambassadors--" + +"It is my brother Henri who sends me such ambassadors." + +"How so, sire?" + +"If he did not incessantly persecute his poor sister, others would not +dream of it. Do you believe that if the king of Spain had not heard of +the public insult offered to the queen, when a captain of the guards +searched her litter, that he would have proposed to me to repudiate +her?" + +"I see with pleasure, sire," replied Chicot, "that all attempts will be +useless, and that nothing can interrupt the harmony that exists between +the queen and yourself." + +"Oh, my friend, the interest they have in making us quarrel is too +clear." + +"I confess to you, sire, that I am not so penetrating as you are." + +"Doubtless Henri would be delighted if I repudiated his sister." + +"How so? Pray explain to me." + +"You know they forgot to pay me my wife's dowry." + +"I guessed as much, sire." + +"This dowry was to consist of 300,000 golden crowns and some towns; +among others, Cahors." + +"A pretty town, mordieu!" + +"I have claimed, not the money, but Cahors." + +"Ventre de biche! sire, in your place, I should have done the same." + +"And that is why--do you understand now?" + +"No, indeed, sire." + +"Why they wish me to quarrel with my wife and repudiate her. No wife, no +dowry, no more 300,000 crowns, no Cahors. It is one way of eluding a +promise, and Henri is clever in laying snares." + +"You would much like to hold Cahors, sire?" + +"Doubtless; for after all, what is my principality of Bearn? A poor +little place, clipped by the avarice of my mother-in-law and +brother-in-law." + +"While Cahors--" + +"Cahors would be my rampart, the safeguard of my religion." + +"Well, sire, go into mourning for Cahors; for, whether you break with +Madame Marguerite or not, the king of France will never give it to you, +and unless you take it--" + +"Oh, I would soon take it, if it was not so strong, and, above all, if I +did not hate war." + +"Cahors is impregnable, sire." + +"Oh! impregnable! But if I had an army, which I have not--" + +"Listen, sire. We are not here to flatter each other. To take Cahors, +which is held by M. de Vesin, one must be a Hannibal or a Caesar; and +your majesty--" + +"Well?" said Henri, with a smile. + +"Has just said, you do not like war." + +Henri sighed, and his eyes flashed for a minute; then he said: + +"It is true I have never drawn the sword, and perhaps never shall. I am +a king of straw, a man of peace; but, by a singular contrast, I love to +think of warlike things--that is in my blood. St. Louis, my ancestor, +pious by education and gentle by nature, became on occasion a brave +soldier and a skillful swordsman. Let us talk, if you please, of M. +Vesin, who is a Caesar and a Hannibal." + +"Sire, pardon me if I have wounded or annoyed you. I spoke only of M. de +Vesin to extinguish all hope in your heart. Cahors, you see, is so well +guarded because it is the key of the south." + +"Alas! I know it well. I wished so much to possess Cahors, that I told +my poor mother to make it a sine qua non of our marriage. See, I am +speaking Latin now. Cahors, then, was my wife's dowry; they owe it to +me--" + +"Sire, to owe and pay--" + +"Are two different things, I know. So your opinion is, that they will +never pay me?" + +"I fear not." + +"Diable!" + +"And frankly--" + +"Well?" + +"They will be right, sire." + +"Why so?" + +"Because you did not know your part of king; you should have got it at +once." + +"Do you not, then, remember the tocsin of St. Germain l'Auxerrois?" said +Henri, bitterly. "It seems to me that a husband whom they try to murder +on the night of his marriage might think less of his dowry than of his +life." + +"Yes; but since then, sire, we have had peace; and excuse me, sire, you +should have profited by it, and, instead of making love, have +negotiated. It is less amusing, I know, but more profitable. I speak, +sire, as much for my king as for you. If Henri of France had a strong +ally in Henri of Navarre, he would be stronger than any one; and if the +Protestants and Catholics of France and Navarre would unite in a common +political interest, they would make the rest of the world tremble." + +"Oh, I do not pretend to make others tremble, so long as I do not +tremble myself. But if I cannot get Cahors, then, and you think I +cannot--" + +"I think so, sire, for three reasons." + +"Tell them to me, Chicot." + +"Willingly. The first is that Cahors is a town of good produce, which +Henri III. will like to keep for himself." + +"That is not very honest." + +"It is very royal, sire." + +"Ah! it is royal to take what you like." + +"Yes; that is called taking the lion's share, and the lion is the king +of animals." + +"I shall remember your lesson, Chicot. Now, your second reason." + +"Madame Catherine--" + +"Oh! does my good mother still mix in politics?" + +"Always; and she would rather see her daughter at Paris than at +Nerac--near her than near you." + +"You think so? Yet she does not love her daughter to distraction." + +"No; but Madame Marguerite serves you as a hostage, sire." + +"You are cunning, Chicot. Devil take me, if I thought of that! But you +may be right; a daughter of France would be a hostage in case of need. +Well, the third?" + +"Between the Duc d'Anjou, who seeks to make a throne for himself in +Flanders, between MM. de Guise, who wish for a crown, and shake that of +France, and his majesty the king of Spain, who wishes for universal +monarchy, you hold the balance and maintain a certain equilibrium." + +"I, without weight?" + +"Just so. If you became powerful, that is to say, heavy, you would turn +the scale, and would be no longer a counterpoise, but a weight." + +"Ah! I like that reason, and it is admirably argued. This is the +explanation of my situation?" + +"Complete." + +"And I, who did not see all this, and went on hoping." + +"Well, sire, I counsel you to cease to hope." + +"Then I must do for this debt what I do for those of my farmers who +cannot pay their rent; I put a P against their names." + +"Which means paid." + +"Just so." + +"Put two P's, sire, and give a sigh." + +"So be it, Chicot; you see I can live in Bearn, even without Cahors." + +"I see that, and also that you are a wise and philosophical king. But +what is that noise?" + +"Noise, where?" + +"In the courtyard, I think." + +"Look out of the window." + +"Sire, there are below a dozen of poorly-clothed people." + +"Ah! they are my poor," said the king, rising. + +"Your majesty has poor?" + +"Doubtless; does not God recommend charity? If I am not a Catholic, +Chicot, I am a Christian." + +"Bravo, sire!" + +"Come, Chicot, we will give alms together, and then go to supper." + +"Sire, I follow you." + +"Take that purse lying on the table, near my sword--do you see?" + +They went down, but Henri seemed thoughtful and preoccupied. Chicot +looked at him, and thought, "What the devil made me talk politics to +this brave prince, and make him sad? Fool that I was!" + +Once in the court, Henri approached the group of mendicants. There were +a dozen men in different costumes. Henri took the purse from the hands +of Chicot and made a sign, and then each man came forward and saluted +Henri with an air of humility, which did not preclude a glance full of +intelligence at the king. Henri replied by a motion of the head; then, +putting his fingers into the purse, which Chicot held open, he took out +a piece. + +"Do you know that it is gold, sire?" said Chicot. + +"Yes, my friend, I know." + +"Peste! you are rich." + +"Do you not see that each of these pieces serves for two? On the +contrary, I am so poor that I am forced to cut my gold in two." + +"It is true," said Chicot, with surprise: "they are half-pieces, with +fantastic designs." + +"Oh, I am like my brother Henri, who amuses himself in cutting out +images: I amuse myself with clipping my ducats." + +"Nevertheless, sire, it is an odd method of giving charity," said +Chicot, who divined some hidden mystery. + +"What would you do?" + +"Instead of cutting the gold, I would give one piece between two." + +"They would fight, and I should do harm instead of good."' + +Henry then took one of the pieces, and, placing himself before the first +beggar, looked at him inquiringly. + +"Agen," said the man. + +"How many?" asked Henri. + +"Five hundred." + +"Cahors;" and he gave him the piece and took a second. + +The man bowed and withdrew. + +The next advanced and said, "Auch." + +"How many?" + +"Three hundred and fifty." + +"Cahors;" and he gave him his piece. + +"Narbonne," said the third. + +"How many?" + +"Eight hundred." + +"Cahors;" and he gave him his piece. + +"Montauban," said the fourth. + +"How many?" + +"Six hundred."--"Cahors." + +Each one in this way pronounced a name and a number, and received a +piece of gold, and to each Henri replied, "Cahors." + +This over, there were no pieces left in the purse. + +"That is all, sire," said Chicot. + +"Yes; I have finished." + +"Sire, am I permitted to be curious?" + +"Why not? Curiosity is natural." + +"What did these beggars say, and what did you reply?" + +Henri smiled. + +"Indeed," continued Chicot, "all is mysterious here." + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes; I have never seen alms given in that way." + +"It is the custom at Nerac." + +"A singular one, sire." + +"No, nothing is more simple; each of those men came from a different +city." + +"Well, sire?" + +"Well, that I may not always give to the same, they each tell me the +name of their town, so that I can distribute my benefits equally among +all the unfortunates in my kingdom." + +"Yes, sire; but why did you answer 'Cahors'?" + +"Ah!" cried Henri, with a most natural air of surprise, "did I say +'Cahors'?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"You think so?" + +"I am sure of it." + +"It must have been because we had been talking so much about it. I wish +for it so much that I must have spoken of it without meaning to do so." + +"Hum!" said Chicot, suspiciously, "and then there was something else." + +"What! something else?" + +"A number that each one pronounced, and which, added together, made more +than eight thousand." + +"Ah! as to that, Chicot, I did not understand it myself; unless, as the +beggars are divided into corporations, they each named the number of +members, which seems to me probable." + +"Sire, sire!" + +"Come and sup, my friend, nothing enlightens the mind like eating and +drinking. Let us go to table, and you shall see that if my pistoles are +cut, my bottles are full." + +Then, passing his arm familiarly through Chicot's, the king went back to +his room, where supper was served. Passing by the queen's room, he +glanced at it, and saw no light. + +"Page," said he, "is not her majesty at home?" + +"Her majesty is gone to see Mademoiselle de Montmorency, who is ill." + +"Ah! poor Fosseuse!" said Henri: "it is true, the queen has such a good +heart. Come to supper, Chicot." + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +THE TRUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OF NAVARRE. + + +The repast was joyous. Henri seemed no longer to have any weight either +on his heart or his mind, and he was an excellent companion. As for +Chicot, he dissembled the uneasiness he had felt since the coming of the +Spanish ambassador and the scene with the mendicants. He endeavored to +drink little and keep cool, to observe everything; but this Henri would +not allow. However, Chicot had a head of iron, and as for Henri, he +said he could drink these wines of the country like milk. + +"I envy you," said Chicot to the king; "your court is delightful, and +your life pleasant." + +"If my wife were here, Chicot, I would not say what I am about to say, +but in her absence I will tell you that the best part of my life is that +which you do not see." + +"Ah! sire, they tell, indeed, fine tales of you." + +Henri leaned back in his chair to laugh. "They say I reign more over my +female than my male subjects, do they not?" said he. + +"Yes, sire, and it astonishes me." + +"Why so?" + +"Because, sire, you have much of that restless spirit which makes great +kings." + +"Ah, Chicot! you are wrong; I am lazy, and the proof of it is in my +life. If I have a love to choose, I take the nearest; if a wine, the +bottle close to my hand. To your health, Chicot." + +"Sire, you do me honor," said Chicot, emptying his glass. + +"Thus," continued the king, "what quarrels in my household!" + +"Yes, I understand; all the ladies-in-waiting adore you, sire." + +"They are my neighbors, Chicot." + +"Then, sire, it might result from this, that if you lived at St. Denis +instead of Nerac, the king might not live very tranquilly." + +"The king! what do you say, Chicot? Do you think I am a Guise? I wish +for Cahors, it is true, because it is near to me." + +"Ventre de biche, sire, this ambition for things within the reach of +your hand resembles much that of Caesar Borgia, who gathered together a +kingdom, city by city; saying that Italy was an artichoke to be eaten +leaf by leaf." + +"This Caesar Borgia was not a bad politician, it seems to me, compere." + +"No, but he was a very dangerous neighbor and a bad brother." + +"Ah! would you compare me to the son of a pope--I, a Huguenot chief?" + +"Sire, I compare you to no one." + +"Why not?" + +"I believe he would be wrong who should liken you to any other than +yourself. You are ambitious, sire." + +"Here is a man determined to make me want something," cried Henri. + +"God forbid, sire; I desire with all my heart, on the contrary, that +your majesty should want nothing." + +"Nothing calls you back to Paris, does it, Chicot?" + +"No, sire." + +"Then you will pass some days with me?" + +"If your majesty does me the honor to wish for my company, I ask no +better than to give you a week." + +"So be it; in a week you will know me like a brother. Drink, Chicot." + +"Sire, I am no longer thirsty," said Chicot, who had given up all hopes +of seeing the king take too much. + +"Then, I will leave you; a man should not stay at table when he does +nothing. Drink, I tell you." + +"Why, sire?" + +"To sleep better. Do you like the chase, Chicot?" + +"Not much, sire; and you?" + +"Passionately; since I lived at the court of Charles IX." + +"Why did your majesty do me the honor to ask me?" + +"Because I hunt to-morrow, and thought to take you with me." + +"Sire, it would be a great honor, but--" + +"Oh! this chase will rejoice all eyes; besides, I am a good hunter, and +I wish you to see me to advantage." + +"Sire, I am at your orders." + +"Good! then it is settled. Ah! here is a page to disturb us." + +"Some important business, sire?" + +"Business at table! You think you are still at the court of France, my +dear Chicot. Learn one thing; at Nerac, when we have supped, we go to +bed." + +"But this page?" + +"Well, cannot he come for anything but business?" + +"Ah! I understand: and I will go to bed." + +Chicot rose; the king did the same, and took his arm. This haste to +send him away appeared suspicious to Chicot, and he determined not to +leave the room if he could help it. + +"Oh! oh!" said he, tottering, "it is astonishing, sire." + +The king smiled. "What is astonishing?" + +"Ventre de biche! my head turns; while I sat still, it was all very +well, but when I rise--" + +"Bah!" said Henri, "we only tasted the wine." + +"You call that tasting, sire? You are a drinker, and I do you homage, as +to my superior." + +"Chicot, my friend," said Henri, endeavoring to make out by one of his +keen glances if Chicot were really drunk or pretending, "the best thing +you can do is to go to bed." + +"Yes, sire; good-night." + +"Good-evening, Chicot." + +"Yes, sire, you are right; the best thing Chicot can do is to go to +bed." And he lay down on the floor. + +Henri glanced toward the door, and then, approaching him, said, "You are +so drunk, my poor Chicot, that you have taken my floor for your bed." + +"Chicot does not mind little things." + +"But I expect some one." + +"For supper; yes, let us sup--" And Chicot made a fruitless effort to +rise. + +"Ventre St. Gris! how quickly you get drunk. But go along, mordieu! she +is getting impatient." + +"She, who?" + +"The lady I expect." + +"A lady; why did you not say, Henriquet? Ah! pardon, I thought I was +speaking--to the king of France. He has spoiled me, that good Henriquet. +Ah! I will go." + +"You are a gentleman, Chicot. Now go quickly." + +"Adieu, sire; a good night to you." + +"Adieu! and sleep well. You will find the page in the gallery, who will +show you your room." + +Chicot went out; but, after taking a few steps, returned just in time to +see Henri let in--not a woman, but a man. Chicot put his eye to the +large keyhole. + +The man took off his hat, and Chicot saw the noble but severe face of +Duplessis-Mornay, the rigid and vigilant counselor of Henri of Navarre. + +"Ah!" thought Chicot, "this will annoy our lover more than I did." + +But Henri's face showed only joy; and after locking the door, he sat +down eagerly to examine some maps, plans, and letters, which his +minister had brought him. The king then began to write and to mark the +maps. + +"Oh! this is the way Henri of Navarre makes love," thought Chicot. + +At this moment he heard steps behind him, and fearful of being +surprised, he turned hastily away, and, seeing the page, asked for his +room. + +"Come with me, if you please, monsieur," said D'Aubiac, "and I will +conduct you." + +Chicot began to understand the king of Navarre. Therefore, instead of +going to sleep, he sat somber and thoughtful on his bed, while the moon +shed its silver light over stream and meadows. + +"Henri is a real king, and he conspires," thought Chicot. "All this +palace, park, town--the whole province--is a focus of conspiracy. All +the women make love, but it is political love; and all the men live in +the hope of a future. Henri is clever, his talent borders on genius, and +he is in communication with Spain, the land of deceit. Who knows if even +his noble answer to the ambassador was not a farce, and if he did not +warn the ambassador of it by some sign unknown to me? Henri has spies; +those beggars were nothing more nor less than gentlemen in disguise. +Those pieces of gold, so artistically cut, were pledges of +recognition--rallying signs. + +"Henri feigns to care for nothing but love and pleasure, and then passes +his time working with Mornay, who never seems to sleep, and does not +know what love means. Queen Marguerite has lovers, and the king knows +it, and tolerates them, because he has need of them, or of her--perhaps +of both. Happily, God, in giving him the genius for intrigue, did not +add to it that of war; for they say he is afraid of the noise of +musketry, and that when he was taken, when quite young, to battle, he +could not stay more than a quarter of an hour in the saddle. It is +lucky, for if he had the arm, as well as the head, this man might do +anything. + +"There is certainly the Duc de Guise, who has both, but he has the +disadvantage of being known as brave and skillful, so that every one is +on their guard against him, while no one fears the Bearnais. I alone +have seen through him. Well, having seen through him, I have no more to +do here; so while he works or sleeps, I will go quietly out of the city. +There are not many ambassadors, I think, who can boast of having +fulfilled their mission in one day, as I have. So I will leave Nerac, +and gallop till I am in France." And he began to put on his spurs. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +CHICOT'S ASTONISHMENT AT FINDING HIMSELF SO POPULAR IN NERAC. + + +Chicot, having taken his resolution, began to prepare his little packet. +"How much time will it take me," thought he, as he did so, "to carry to +the king the news of what I have seen and fear? Two days to arrive at a +city whence the governor can send couriers; Cahors, for example, of +which Henri of Navarre thinks so much. Once there, I can rest, for after +all a man must rest some time. Come, then, Chicot, speed and sang froid. +You thought you had accomplished your mission, and you are but half-way +through it." + +Chicot now extinguished the light, opened his door softly, and began to +creep downstairs on tip-toe. + +He went into an antechamber, but he had hardly gone four steps before he +kicked against something. This something was D'Aubiac lying on a mat. + +"Ah! good-evening, M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, "but get out of the way a +little, I beg; I want to go for a walk." + +"Ah! but it is forbidden to walk by night near this castle." + +"Why so?" + +"Because the king fears robbers, and the queen lovers." + +"Diable!" + +"None but robbers or lovers want to walk at night, when they ought to be +sleeping." + +"However, dear M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, with his most charming smile, +"I am neither the one nor the other, but an ambassador, very tired from +having talked Latin with the queen and supped with the king; let me go +out then, my friend, for I want a walk." + +"In the city, M. Chicot?" + +"Oh no! in the gardens." + +"Peste! that is still more forbidden than in the city." + +"My little friend, you are very vigilant for your age. Have you nothing +to occupy yourself with?" + +"No." + +"You neither gamble nor fall in love." + +"To gamble one must have money, M. Chicot, and to be in love, one must +find a lady." + +"Assuredly," said Chicot, and feeling in his pocket he drew out ten +pistoles and slipped them into the page's hand, saying, "Seek well in +your memory, and I bet you will find some charming woman, to whom I beg +you to make some presents with this." + +"Oh, M. Chicot!" said the page, "it is easy to see that you come from +the court of France; you have manners to which one can refuse nothing: +go then, but make no noise." + +Chicot went on; glided like a shadow into the corridor, and down the +staircase, but at the bottom he found an officer sleeping on a chair, +placed right against the door, so that it was impossible to pass. + +"Ah! little wretch of a page," murmured Chicot, "you knew this." + +Chicot looked round him to see if he could find no other way by which he +could escape with the assistance of his long legs. At last he saw what +he wanted: it was an arched window, of which the glass was broken. +Chicot climbed up the wall with his accustomed skill, and without making +more noise than a dry leaf in the autumn wind; but unluckily, the +opening was not big enough, so when he had got his head and one shoulder +through, and had taken away his foot from its resting place on the wall, +he found himself hanging between heaven and earth, without being able +either to advance or retreat. + +He began then a series of efforts, of which the first result was to tear +his doublet and scratch his skin. What rendered his position more +difficult was his sword, of which the handle would not pass, making a +hook by which Chicot hung on to the sash. He exerted all his strength, +patience and industry, to unfasten the clasp of his shoulder-belt; but +it was just on this clasp that his body leaned, therefore he was obliged +to change his maneuver, and at last he succeeded in drawing his sword +from its sheath and pushing it through one of the interstices; the sword +therefore fell first on the flagstones, and Chicot now managed to get +through after it. All this, however, was not done without noise, +therefore Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with a soldier. + +[Illustration: CHICOT, ON RISING, FOUND HIMSELF FACE TO FACE WITH A +SOLDIER.] + +"Ah! mon Dieu! have you hurt yourself, M. Chicot?" said he. + +Chicot was surprised, but said, "No, my friend, not at all." + +"That is very lucky; there are not many people who could do such a +thing." + +"But how the devil did you know my name?" + +"I saw you to-day at the palace, and asked who was the gentleman that +was talking with the king." + +"Well! I am in a hurry; allow me to pass." + +"But no one goes out of the palace by night; those are my orders." + +"But you see they do come out, since I am here." + +"Yes, but--" + +"But what?" + +"You must go back, M. Chicot." + +"Oh! no."--"How! no?" + +"Not by that way, at all events; it is too troublesome." + +"If I were an officer instead of a soldier, I would ask you why you come +out so; but that is not my business, which is only that you should go +back again. Go in, therefore, M. Chicot, I beg you." + +And the soldier said this in such a persuasive tone, that Chicot was +touched. Consequently he put his hand in his pocket and drew out another +ten pistoles. + +"You must understand, my friend," said he, "that as I have torn my +clothes in passing through once, I should make them still worse by going +back again, and should have to go naked, which would be very indecent in +a court where there are so many young and pretty women; let me go then +to my tailor." And he put the money in his hand. + +"Go quickly then, M. Chicot," said the man. + +Chicot was in the street at last. The night was not favorable for +flight, being bright and cloudless, and he regretted the foggy nights of +Paris, where people might pass close to each other unseen. The +unfortunate fugitive had no sooner turned the corner of the street than +he met a patrol. He stopped of himself, thinking it would look +suspicious to try and pass unseen. + +"Oh, good-evening, M. Chicot!" said the chief; "shall we reconduct you +to the palace? You seem as though you had lost your way." + +"It is very strange," murmured Chicot, "every one knows me here." Then +aloud, and as carelessly as he could, "No, cornet, I am not going to the +palace." + +"You are wrong, M. Chicot," replied the officer, gravely. + +"Why so, monsieur?" + +"Because a very severe edict forbids the inhabitants of Nerac to go out +at night without permission and without a lantern." + +"Excuse me, monsieur, but this edict cannot apply to me, who do not +belong to Nerac." + +"But you are at Nerac. Inhabitant means living at; now you cannot deny +that you live at Nerac, since I see you here." + +"You are logical, monsieur. Unluckily, I am in a hurry; make an +exception to your rule, and let me pass, I beg." + +"You will lose yourself, M. Chicot; Nerac is a strange town. Allow +three of my men to conduct you to the palace." + +"But I am not going there, I tell you." + +"Where are you going, then?" + +"I cannot sleep well at night, and then I always walk. Nerac is a +charming city, and I wish to see it." + +"My men shall conduct you where you please." + +"Oh, monsieur, I would rather go alone." + +"You will be assassinated." + +"I have my sword." + +"Ah, true; then you will be arrested for bearing arms." + +Chicot, driven to despair, drew the officer aside, and said: + +"Come, monsieur, you are young; you know what love is--an imperious +tyrant." + +"Doubtless, M. Chicot." + +"Well, cornet, I have a certain lady to visit." + +"Where?" + +"In a certain place." + +"Young?" + +"Twenty-three years old." + +"Beautiful?" + +"As the graces." + +"I felicitate you, M. Chicot." + +"Then you will let me pass?" + +"It seems I must." + +"And alone; I cannot compromise--" + +"Of course not; pass on, M. Chicot." + +"You are a gallant man, cornet. But how did you know me?" + +"I saw you at the palace with the king. Apropos, which way are you +going?" + +"Toward the Porte of Agen. Am I not in the right road?" + +"Yes, go straight on; I wish you success." + +"Thank you;" and Chicot went on. But before he had taken a hundred steps +he met the watch. + +"Peste! this town is well guarded," thought Chicot. + +"You cannot pass!" cried the provost, in a voice of thunder. + +"But, monsieur, I want--" + +"Ah, M. Chicot, is it you? In the streets in this cold?" asked the +officer. + +"Ah, decidedly! It must be a bet," thought Chicot; and, bowing, he +tried to pass on. + +"M. Chicot, take care!" said the provost. + +"Take care of what?" + +"You are going wrong; you are going toward the gates." + +"Just so." + +"Then I arrest you!" + +"Not so, monsieur; you would be very wrong." + +"However--" + +"Approach, monsieur, that your soldiers may not hear." + +The man approached. + +"The king has given me a commission for the lieutenant of the Porte of +Agen." + +"Ah!" + +"That astonishes you?" + +"Yes." + +"It ought not, since you know me." + +"I know you from having seen you at the palace with the king." + +Chicot stamped his foot impatiently. "That should prove to you that I +possess the king's confidence." + +"Doubtless; go on, M. Chicot, and execute your commission." + +"Come," thought Chicot, "I advance slowly, but I do advance. Ventre de +biche! here is a gate; it must be that of Agen; in five minutes I shall +be out." + +He arrived at the gate, which was guarded by a sentinel walking up and +down, his musket on his shoulder. + +"My friend, will you open the gate for me?" said Chicot. + +"I cannot, M. Chicot," replied the man, "being only a private soldier." + +"You also know me?" cried Chicot in a rage. + +"I have that honor; I was on guard at the palace this morning, and saw +you talking with the king." + +"Well! my friend, the king has given me a very urgent message to convey +to Agen; open the postern for me." + +"I would with pleasure, but I have not the keys." + +"And who has them?" + +"The officer for the night." + +Chicot sighed. + +"And where is he?" + +The soldier rang a bell to wake his officer. + +"What is it?" said he, passing his head through a window. + +"Lieutenant, it is a gentleman who wants the gate opened." + +"Ah! M. Chicot," cried the officer, "I will be down in a moment." + +"What! does every one know me?" cried Chicot. "Nerac seems a lantern, +and I the candle." + +"Excuse me, monsieur," said the officer, approaching, "but I was +asleep." + +"Oh! monsieur, that is what night is made for; will you be good enough +to open the door. Unluckily, I cannot sleep, for the king, whom you +doubtless also saw me talking to--" + +"Yes, I did, monsieur." + +"Of course!" growled Chicot. "Well! the king has sent me on a commission +to Agen; this is the right gate, is it not?" + +"Yes, M. Chicot." + +"Will you please to have it opened?" + +"Of course. Anthenas, open the gate quickly for M. Chicot." + +Chicot began to breathe; the door creaked on its hinges, and opened, and +Chicot saw liberty through it. + +"Adieu! monsieur," said he, advancing. + +"Adieu! M. Chicot, a pleasant journey.--But stay, one moment; I have +forgotten to ask for your pass," cried he, seizing Chicot by the sleeve +to stop him. + +"How! my pass?" + +"Certainly, M. Chicot; you know what a pass is? You understand that no +one can leave a town like Nerac without a pass, particularly when the +king is in it." + +"And who must sign this pass?" + +"The king himself; so if he sent you he cannot have forgotten to give +you a pass." + +"Ah! you doubt that the king sent me?" cried Chicot, with flashing eyes, +for he saw himself on the point of failing, and had a great mind to kill +the officer and sentinel, and rush through the gate. + +"I doubt nothing you tell me, but reflect that if the king gave you this +commission--" + +"In person, monsieur." + +"All the more reason, then: if he knows you are going out, I shall have +to give up your pass to-morrow morning to the governor."--"And who is +he?" + +"M. de Mornay, who does not jest with disobedience, M. Chicot." + +Chicot put his hand to his sword, but another look showed him that the +outside of the gate was defended by a guard who would have prevented his +passing if he had killed the officer and sentinel. + +"Well!" said Chicot to himself, with a sigh; "I have lost my game," and +he turned back. + +"Shall I give you an escort, M. Chicot?" said the officer. + +"No, thank you." + +Chicot retraced his steps, but he was not at the end of his griefs. He +met the chief of the watch, who said, "What! have you finished your +commission already, M. Chicot? Peste! how quick you are!" + +A little further on the cornet cried to him, "Well, M. Chicot, what of +the lady; are you content with Nerac?" + +Finally, the soldier in the courtyard said, "Cordieu! M. Chicot, the +tailor has not done his work well; you seem more torn than when you went +out." + +Chicot did not feel inclined to climb back through the window: but by +chance, or rather by charity, the door was opened, and he returned into +the palace. Here he saw the page, who said, "Dear M. Chicot, shall I +give you the key to all this?" + +"Yes, serpent," murmured Chicot. + +"Well! the king loves you so much, he did not wish to lose you." + +"And you knew, and never told me?" + +"Oh! M. Chicot, impossible! It was a state secret." + +"But I paid you, knave." + +"Oh! dear M. Chicot, the secret was worth more than ten pistoles." + +Chicot returned to his room in a rage. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +HOW THEY HUNTED THE WOLF IN NAVARRE. + + +When Marguerite left the king, she went at once to the apartments of the +maids of honor, and performed her promise with regard to Fosseuse. When +she returned, the king thanked her warmly, and then went up to Chicot's +room, where he found him still asleep. Henri shook him to wake him. +"Come, compere," said he, "get up, it is two in the morning." + +"Ah! you make me a prisoner," cried Chicot; "I, an ambassador. Sire, you +violate the rights of nations." + +Henri began to laugh, and Chicot could not help joining him. + +"You are mad," said Henri. "Why the devil did you want to go away from +here, have you not been well treated?" + +"Too well, ventre de biche! too well. It seems to me as if I were like a +goose being fattened. Every one says to me, 'Pretty little Chicot, how +gentle he is!' but they clip my wings, and shut the doors on me." + +"Oh! reassure yourself, Chicot; you are not fat enough for my table." + +"Sire, you seem very gay this morning; what is it?" + +"I am always gay when I am setting off for the chase. Come, out of bed, +compere." + +"You want me, sire?" + +"Yes; you shall be my historian." + +"To count the shots?" + +"Just so." + +Chicot dressed murmuringly, while the king remained in the antechamber. + +"My horse," cried Henri; "and tell M. de Mornay that I am ready." + +"What! is M. de Mornay chief huntsman?" asked Chicot. + +"M. de Mornay is everything here," replied Henri. "I am so poor, than I +can afford but one man." + +"Yes; but he is a good one." + +Chicot found the preparations much less sumptuous than those of Henri +III. A dozen or fifteen gentlemen only, among whom he recognized the +Vicomte de Turenne, formed the whole suite. And as they were none of +them rich, they all wore, instead of the usual hunting dress, their +helmets and cuirasses, which made Chicot ask if the wolves in Gascony +used muskets and artillery. + +"No," said Henri; "but they are fierce beasts, who have claws and +teeth, and draw hunters into places where they are likely to tear their +clothes on the thorns, if they wear silk and velvet, or even cloth and +buff, but not if they wear cuirasses." + +"That is a reason, but not a good one, sire." + +"What would you have? I have no other." + +"Then I must be content with this." + +"You had better." + +"So be it." + +"You are angry at being disturbed for this chase." + +"Ma foi! yes." + +"So you find fault?" + +"Is it forbidden?" + +"Oh no." + +"You understand, sire, I am no hunter, and have nothing to do, so I must +amuse myself, while you are thinking of all the wolves that a dozen men +are going to kill." + +"Ah, yes, laugh away, Chicot; first it was the clothes, now the number +of wolves." + +"Oh, sire!" + +"But I must say you are not indulgent, for Bearn is not as large as +France; so the king goes there with two hundred huntsmen, I with a +dozen, as you see." + +"Yes, sire." + +"But," said Henri, "sometimes the country gentlemen, hearing I am going, +quit their chateaux and join me, which sometimes makes up a good escort +for me." + +When they had ridden about half an hour-- + +"Look," said Henri to Chicot, "are not those cavaliers that I see +there?" + +Chicot looked and said, "Yes, sire, cavaliers, but not huntsmen." + +"Why not?" + +"Because they are armed like Amadis or Rolando," replied Chicot. + +"Ah! what matters the dress, my dear Chicot? you see we are not +particular as to that." + +"But I see at least two hundred men there." + +"Ah! that is a good number." + +Chicot began to feel very curious. He had really named too low a number, +for the group before them consisted of two hundred men, who came +silently and joined their party; each man was well armed and mounted, +and they were led by a gentleman who came and kissed Henri's hand with +much devotion. + +They passed the river Gers, and then came on a second troop of one +hundred men; the chief approached, and seemed to be making excuses for +not bringing more men. Henri gave him his hand. They went on till they +came to the Garonne; this they also passed, and about half a league on +the other side, three hundred cavaliers, hidden in a pine forest, +suddenly came in sight. + +"Oh! monseigneur," said Chicot, "are not these enemies who have heard of +your chase, and wish to oppose it?" + +"No, my son, you are wrong; they are friends from Puzmirol." + +"Mordieu! sire, you will have more men in your escort than trees in your +forest." + +"Chicot, I really believe the news of your arrival must have spread +through the country, and all these people have come to welcome the +ambassador from France." + +Chicot saw he was being laughed at, and felt rather offended. + +The day finished at Muroy, where the gentlemen of the country gave a +grand supper to the king, of which Chicot took his part +enthusiastically, as it had not been deemed necessary to stop on the +road for anything so unimportant as dinner, and he had eaten nothing +since he had left Nerac. + +Henri had the best house in the town, half the troop slept within doors, +the other half in the street where the king was. + +"When are we to begin the hunt?" asked Chicot of Henri, as he was +undressing. + +"We are not yet in the territory of the wolves, my dear Chicot." + +"And when shall we be?" + +"Curious!" + +"Not so, sire; but you understand, one likes to know where one is +going." + +"You will know to-morrow; meanwhile, lie down there on those cushions +on my left; here is Mornay snoring already at my right." + +"Peste!" said Chicot, "he makes more noise asleep than awake." + +"It is true he is not very talkative; but see him at the chase." + +Day had partly appeared, when a great noise of horses awoke Chicot. They +dressed, drank some spiced wine, and took other refreshment, and then +Henri cried: + +"To horse! gentlemen, we have a long day's work before us." + +Chicot saw with astonishment that five hundred cavaliers had swelled the +train during the night. + +"Sire!" cried he, "you have an army." + +"Wait!" replied Henri. + +At Lauzerte, six hundred more men came and ranged themselves behind the +cavaliers. + +"Foot soldiers!" cried Chicot. + +"Nothing but beaters," said the king. + +Chicot frowned and spoke no more. + +Twenty times his eyes turned toward the country, and the idea of flight +presented itself to him. But Chicot had his guard of honor, doubtless as +ambassador of the king of France, and so well was he recommended to this +guard, that he could not make a movement that was not repeated by ten +men. + +This annoyed him, and he said so to the king. + +"Diable!" said Henri, "it is your own fault; you tried to run away from +Nerac, and I am afraid you will try it again." + +"Sire, if I give my word as a gentleman not to do so?" + +"That will do." + +"Besides, I should be wrong to do so." + +"How so?" + +"Yes; for if I stay, I believe I shall see curious things." + +"I am of your opinion, my dear Chicot." + +At this moment they were going through the town of Montcuq, and four +field-pieces took their place in the army. + +"I return to my first idea," said Chicot, "that the wolves in this +country are different from others, and are differently treated; with +artillery, for instance." + +"Ah!" said Henri, "it is a mania of the people of Montcuq. Since I gave +them these four pieces they take them about everywhere." + +"Well, sire, shall we arrive to-day?" + +"No, to-morrow." + +"To-morrow morning or evening?" + +"Morning." + +"Then," said Chicot, "it is at Cahors we are to hunt, is it not, sire?" + +"On that side," replied Henri. + +"But, sire, you who have infantry, cavalry, and artillery to hunt wolves +with, should also have taken the royal standard, and then the honor to +the wolves would have been complete." + +"We have not forgotten it, Chicot, ventre St. Gris! only it is left in +the case for fear of dirtying it. But if you wish to see it, and know +under whose banner you march, you shall see it." + +"No, no, it is useless; leave it where it is." + +"Well, be easy, you will see it before long." + +They passed the second night at Catus. Troops kept arriving all night. + +"It is lucky we are not going on to Paris," said Chicot, "we should +arrive with 100,000 men." + +The next morning, by eight o'clock, they were before Cahors, with 1,000 +foot soldiers and 2,000 horse. + +They found the city in a state of defense, M. de Vezin having heard +rumors of the advance. + +"Ah!" said the king, "he is warned; that is very annoying." + +"We must lay siege in due form, sire," said Mornay; "we expect still +about 2,000 men, and that is enough." + +"Let us assemble the council and begin the trenches." + +Chicot listened to all this in amazement. The pensive air of Henri alone +reassured him, for it confirmed his suspicions that he was no warrior. +He let every one speak, and said nothing. All at once he raised his +head, and said in a commanding tone: + +"Gentlemen, this is what we must do. We have 3,000 men, and you say you +expect 2,000 more, Mornay?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"That will make 5,000. In a regular siege we should lose 1,000 or 1,500 +men in two months, their death would discourage the others, and we +should lose 1,000 more in retreating. Let us sacrifice 500 men at once, +and take Cahors by assault." + +"What do you mean, sire?" asked Mornay. + +"My dear friend, we will go straight to the nearest gate. We shall find +a fosse in our way, which we will cover with fascines; we may leave two +hundred men on the road, but we shall reach the gate." + +"After, sire?" + +"Then we will break it down with petards and go in. It will not be +difficult." + +Chicot looked at Henri, astonished. + +"Oh!" growled he, "perhaps he is a coward and a boaster." + +"Let us not lose time, gentlemen," cried Henri. "Forward, and let all +who love me follow." + +Chicot approached Mornay. + +"Well! M. le Comte," said he, "do you all want to be cut to pieces?" + +"Oh! we take our chance." + +"But the king will get killed." + +"Bah! he has a good cuirass." + +"But he will not be foolish enough to fight himself, I suppose?" + +Mornay shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel. + +"After all, I like him better asleep than awake; he is more polite +snoring than speaking," said Chicot. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +HOW HENRI OF NAVARRE BEHAVED IN BATTLE. + + +The little army advanced near the town, then they breakfasted. The +repast over, two hours were given for the officers and men to rest. +Henri was very pale, and his hands trembled visibly, when at three +o'clock in the afternoon the officers appeared under his tent. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "we are here to take Cahors; therefore we must +take it--by force. Do you understand? M. de Biron, who has sworn to +hang every Huguenot, is only forty-five leagues from here, and doubtless +a messenger is already dispatched to him by M. de Vezin. In four or five +days he will be on us, and as he has 10,000 men with him, we should be +taken between the city and him. Let us, then, take Cahors before he +comes, that we may receive him well. Come, gentlemen, I will put myself +at your head, and let the blows fall as thick as hail." + +The men replied to this speech by enthusiastic cries. + +"Well said," said Chicot to himself. "It was lucky he had not to speak +with his hands, though, or he would have stammered finely. Let us see +him at the work." + +As they were setting off, the king said to Chicot: + +"Pardon me, friend Chicot, I deceived you by talking of wolves, hunting, +and such things, but you see Henri will not pay me his sister's dowry, +and Margot cries out for her dear Cahors. One must do what one's wife +wants, for peace' sake; therefore I am going to try and take Cahors." + +"Why did she not ask you for the moon, sire, as you are such a +complaisant husband?" + +"I would have tried for it, Chicot, I love my dear Margot so much!" + +"You will have quite enough to do with Cahors, and we shall see how you +will get out of it." + +"Ah! yes, the moment is critical and very disagreeable. Ah! I am not +brave, and my nature revolts at every cannonade. Chicot, my friend, do +not laugh too much at the poor Bearnais, your compatriot and friend. If +I am afraid and you find it out, tell no one." + +"If you are afraid?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you, then, afraid of being afraid?" + +"I am." + +"But then, ventre de biche, why the devil do you undertake such a +thing?" + +"I must." + +"M. de Vezin is a terrible person." + +"I know it well." + +"Who gives quarter to no one." + +"You think so, Chicot?" + +"I am sure of it; red plume or white, he will not care, but cry, Fire!" + +"You say that for my white feather, Chicot." + +"Yes, sire, and as you are the only one who wears that color--" + +"Well!" + +"I would take it off." + +"But I put it on that I might be recognized." + +"Then you will keep it?" + +"Yes, decidedly." And Henri trembled again as he said it. + +"Come, sire," said Chicot, who did not understand this difference +between words and gestures, "there is still time; do not commit a folly; +you cannot mount on horseback in that state." + +"Am I, then, very pale, Chicot?" + +"As pale as death, sire." + +"Good." + +"How good?" + +At this moment the noise of cannon and a furious fire of musketry was +heard; it was M. de Vezin's reply to the summons to surrender given by +Mornay. + +"Hem!" said Chicot, "what do you think of this music, sire?" + +"It makes me cold in the marrow of my bones," replied Henri. "Here, my +horse! my horse!" cried he. + +Chicot looked and listened, unable to understand him. Henry mounted, and +then said-- + +"Come, Chicot, get on horseback too; you are not a warrior, either, are +you?" + +"No, sire." + +"Well, come, we will be afraid together; come and see, my friend. A good +horse here, for M. Chicot." + +Henri set off at full gallop, and Chicot followed him. On arriving in +front of his little army, Henri raised his visor, and cried: + +"Out with the banner! out with the new banner!" + +They drew forth the banner, which had the double scutcheon of Navarre +and Bourbon; it was white, and had chains of gold on one side, and +fleur-de-lis on the other. + +Again the cannon from Cahors were fired, and the balls tore through a +file of infantry near the king. + +"Ventre St. Gris! did you see, Chicot?" said the king, whose teeth +chattered. + +"He will be ill," thought Chicot. + +"Cursed body," murmured Henri, "ah! you fear, you tremble; wait till you +have something to tremble for." And striking his spurs into his horse, +he rushed onward before cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and arrived at +a hundred feet from the place, red with the fire of the batteries which +thundered from above. There, he kept his horse immovable for ten +minutes, his face turned toward the gate of the city, and crying, "The +fascines! ventre St. Gris! the fascines!" + +Mornay had followed him, sword in hand, and then came Chicot; behind +them the young Huguenot gentlemen, crying, "Vive Navarre!" and each with +a fascine, which he threw in, and the fosse was soon filled. Then came +the artillery, and with the loss of thirty men succeeded in placing +their petards under the gate. The shot whistled like a whirlwind of iron +round Henri's head, and twenty men fell in an instant before his eyes. +"Forward!" cried he, and rushed on through the midst of the fire, and +arrived just as the soldiers had fired the first petard. The gate was +broken in two places; the second petard was lighted, and a new opening +was made in the wood; but twenty arquebuses immediately passed through, +vomiting balls on the soldiers and officers, and the men fell like mowed +grass. + +"Sire," cried Chicot, "in Heaven's name retire!" + +Mornay said nothing; he was proud of his pupil, but from time to time he +tried to place himself before him. Once Henri felt the damp on his brow, +and a cloud pass over his eyes. + +"Ah, cursed nature," cried he, "you shall not conquer me!" Then, jumping +off his horse, "An ax!" cried he, and with a vigorous arm he struck down +wood and iron. At last a beam gave way, and a part of the gate and a +portion of the wall fell, and one hundred men rushed to the breach, +crying, "Navarre! Navarre! Cahors is ours!" + +[Illustration: "AN AX!" CRIED HENRI, AND WITH A VIGOROUS ARM HE STRUCK +DOWN WOOD AND IRON.] + +Chicot had not quitted the king; he was with him under the gate when he +entered, one of the first, but at each discharge he saw him shudder and +lower his head. + +"Ventre St. Gris! did you ever see such a coward, Chicot?" said he. + +"No, sire, I have never seen a coward like you." + +The soldiers of M. de Vezin now tried to dislodge Henri and his advanced +guards, who received them sword in hand; but the besieged were the +strongest, and succeeded in forcing Henri and his troops back beyond the +fosse. + +"Ventre St. Gris!" cried the king, "I believe my flag retreats; I must +carry it myself." And snatching it from the hands of those who held it, +he was the first to rush forward again, half enveloped in its folds. The +balls whistled round him, and pierced the flag with a hollow sound. A +long hand-to-hand fight ensued, above all the uproar of which M. de +Vezin's voice was heard crying, "Barricade the streets! let trenches be +dug! and the houses garrisoned!" + +"Oh!" cried M. de Turenne, "the siege of the city is over, Vezin." And +as he spoke he fired at him and wounded him in the arm. + +"You are wrong, Turenne," cried M. de Vezin, "there are twenty sieges in +Cahors; so if one is over, there are nineteen to come." + +M. de Vezin defended himself during five days and nights from street to +street and from house to house. Luckily for the rising fortunes of Henri +of Navarre, he had counted too much on the walls and garrison of Cahors, +and had neglected to send to M. de Biron. + +During these five days and nights, Henri commanded like a captain and +fought like a soldier, slept with his head on a stone, and awoke sword +in hand. Each day they conquered a street or a square, which each night +the garrison tried to retake. On the fourth night the enemy seemed +willing to give some rest to the Protestant army. Then it was Henri who +attacked in his turn. He forced an intrenched position, but it cost him +seven hundred men. M. de Turenne and nearly all the officers were +wounded, but the king remained untouched. To the fear that he had felt +at first, and which he had so heroically vanquished, succeeded a +feverish restlessness, a rash audacity. All the fastenings of his armor +were broken, as much by his own efforts as by the blows of the enemy. He +struck so vigorously that he always killed his man. When this last post +was forced, the king entered into the inclosure, followed by the eternal +Chicot, who, silent and sad, had for five days seen growing at his sides +the phantom of a monarchy destined to destroy that of the Valois. + +"Well, Chicot, of what are you thinking?" said Henri to him. + +"Sire, that you are a real king." + +"And I, sire, that you are too imprudent," said Mornay, "to put up your +vizor when they are firing at you from all sides." + +As he spoke a dozen arquebuses were fired at them; one ball struck off a +plume from Henri's helmet, his horse was killed by another, and Mornay's +had his leg broken. The king fell, and there might have finished his +career; but Chicot, whirling his sword round to keep off the nearest, +helped Henri up and gave him his own horse, saying, "Sire, you will +testify to the king of France that, if I drew the sword against him, I +killed no one."--"Ventre St. Gris! you must be mine, Chicot!" cried +Henri. "You shall live and die with me." + +"Sire, I have but one service to follow--that of my king. His star +diminishes, but I shall be faithful to his adverse fortunes. Let me +serve and love him as long as I live, sire. I shall soon be alone with +him; do not envy him his last servant." + +"Chicot, you will be always dear to me, and, after Henri of France, you +will have Henri of Navarre for a friend." + +"Yes, sire," said Chicot simple, kissing his hand. + +The siege was soon over after this. M. de Vezin was taken, and the +garrison surrendered. + +Then Henri dictated to Mornay a letter, which Chicot was to carry to +the king of France. It was written in bad Latin, and finished with these +words: + +"Quod mihi dixisti profuit multum. Cognosco meos devotos; nosce tuos. +Chicotos caetera expedit." + +Which means, "What you told me was very useful. I know my faithful +followers; know yours. Chicot will tell you the rest." + +"And now, friend Chicot," said Henri, "embrace me; but take care not to +soil yourself, for, mordieu, I am as bloody as a butcher. Take my ring, +and adieu, Chicot; I keep you no longer, gallop to France, and tell all +you have seen." + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +WHAT WAS PASSING AT THE LOUVRE ABOUT THE TIME CHICOT ENTERED NERAC. + + +The necessity of following Chicot to the end of his mission has kept us +a long time away from the Louvre. The king, after having passed so +bravely through his adventurous return from Vincennes, experienced that +retrospective emotion which sometimes is felt by the bravest heart after +the danger is over. He entered the Louvre without saying anything, made +his prayers longer than usual, forgetting to thank the officers and +guards who had served him so well. Then he went to bed, astonishing his +valets by the rapidity of his toilet; and D'Epernon, who remained in his +room to the last, expecting thanks at least, went away in a very bad +humor. + +At two o'clock every one slept in the Louvre. The next day, Henri took +four bouillons in bed instead of two, and then sent for MM. de Villeguie +and D'O to come to his room, to speak about a new financial edict. The +queen received the order to dine alone, but it was added that in the +evening the king would receive. All day he played with Love, saying, +every time that the animal showed his white teeth, "Ah, rebel! you want +to bite me also; you attack your king also; but you are conquered, M. +Love--conquered, wretched leaguer--conquered." His secretaries of state +were somewhat astonished at all this, particularly as he said nothing +else, and signed everything without looking at it. At three o'clock in +the afternoon he asked for D'Epernon. They replied that he was reviewing +the light horse; then he inquired for De Loignac, but he also was +absent. He asked for lunch, and, while he ate, had an edifying discourse +read to him, which he interrupted by saying to the reader, "Was it not +Plutarch who wrote the life of Sylla?" + +"Yes, sire," said the reader, much astonished at being interrupted in +his pious reading by this profane question. + +"Do you remember that passage where the historian recounts how the +dictator avoided death?" + +The reader hesitated. + +"Not precisely, sire; it is a long time since I read Plutarch." + +At this moment, the Cardinal de Joyeuse was announced. + +"Ah! here is a learned man, he will tell me at once!" cried the king. + +"Sire," said the cardinal, "am I lucky enough to arrive apropos--it is a +rare thing in this world." + +"Ma foi! yes; you heard my question?" + +"Your majesty asked, I think, in what manner, and when, Sylla narrowly +escaped death?" + +"Just so--can you answer me, cardinal?" + +"Nothing more easy, sire." + +"So much the better." + +"Sylla, who had killed so many men, never risked his life but in +combats; did your majesty mean in one of those?" + +"Yes; in one in which I think I recollect he was very near death. Open a +Plutarch, cardinal; there should be one there translated by Amyot, and +read me the passage where he escaped the javelins of his enemies, thanks +to the swiftness of his white horse." + +"Sire, there is no need of opening Plutarch; the event took place in the +combat with Telescrius the Samnite, and Lamponius the Lucanian." + +"You are so learned, my dear cardinal." + +"Your majesty is too good." + +"Now explain to me how this Roman lion, who was so cruel, was never +annoyed by his enemies." + +"Sire, I will reply to your majesty in the words of this same Plutarch." + +"Go on, Joyeuse." + +"Carbon, the enemy of Sylla, said often, 'I have to fight at once a lion +and a fox who inhabit the soul of Sylla, but it is the fox who gives me +most trouble.'" + +"Ah! it was the fox?" + +"Plutarch says so, sire." + +"And he is right, cardinal. But apropos of combats, have you any news of +your brother?" + +"Of which brother, sire? I have two." + +"Of the Duc d'Arques, my friend." + +"Not yet, sire." + +"If M. d'Anjou, who always plays the fox, will only play the lion a +little for once." + +The cardinal did not reply, so Henri, signing to him to remain, dressed +himself sumptuously, and passed into the room where the court waited for +him. He entered, looking full of good humor, kissed the hands of his +wife and mother, paid all sorts of compliments to the ladies, and even +offered them sweetmeats. + +"We were unquiet about your health, my son," said Catherine. + +"You were wrong, madame; I have never been better." + +"And to what happy influence do you owe this amelioration, my son?" + +"To having laughed much, madame." + +Every one looked astonished. + +"Laughed! you can laugh much, my son; then you are very happy?" + +"It is true, madame." + +"And about what were you so much amused?" + +"I must tell you, mother, that yesterday I went to Vincennes." + +"I knew it." + +"Oh! you knew it; well, my people told me, before my return, of an +enemy's army whose muskets shone on the road." + +"An enemy's army on the road to Vincennes?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"And where?" + +"In front of the Jacobins, near the house of our good cousin." + +"Near Madame de Montpensier's?" + +"Precisely so, near Bel-Esbat. I approached, bravely to give battle, and +I perceived--" + +"What, sire?" cried the queen, in alarm. + +"Reassure yourself, madame, I perceived an entire priory of good monks, +who presented arms to me with acclamations." + +Every one laughed, and the king continued: + +"Yes, you are right to laugh; I have in France more than ten thousand +monks, of whom I can make, if necessary, ten thousand musketeers; then I +will create a Grand-Master of the Tonsured Musketeers, and give the +place to you, cardinal." + +"Sire, I accept." + +The ladies now, according to etiquette, rose, and, bowing to the king, +retired. The queen followed with her ladies of honor. The queen-mother +remained: the king's gayety was a mystery that she wished to fathom. + +"Cardinal," said the king, "what has become of your brother, Du +Bouchage?" + +"I do not know, sire." + +"How! you do not know?" + +"No; I never see him, now." + +A grave, sad voice from the end of the room said, "Here I am, sire." + +"Ah! it is he," cried Henri. "Approach, comte; approach." + +The young man obeyed. + +"Mon Dieu!" cried the king, "he is no longer a man, but a shade." + +"Sire, he works hard," said the cardinal, stupefied himself at the +change in his brother during the last week. He was as pale as wax, and +looked thin and wan. + +"Come here, young man," said the king. "Thanks, cardinal, for your +quotation from Plutarch; in a similar case I shall apply to you again." + +The cardinal saw that Henri wished to be left alone with his brother, +and took his leave. + +There only remained the queen-mother, D'Epernon, and Du Bouchage. The +king beckoned to the latter, and said: + +"Why do you hide thus behind the ladies; do you not know it gives me +pleasure to see you?" + +"Your kind words do me honor, sire," said the young man, bowing. + +"Then how is it that we never see you here now?" + +"If your majesty has not seen me, it is because you have not deigned to +cast an eye on the corner of the room. I am here every day regularly; I +never have failed, and never will, as long as I can stand upright: it is +a sacred duty to me." + +"And is it that that makes you so sad?" + +"Oh! your majesty cannot think so?" + +"No, for you and your brother love me, and I love you. Apropos, do you +know that poor Anne has written to me from Dieppe?" + +"I did not, sire." + +"Yes; but you know he did not like going?" + +"He confided to me his regrets at leaving Paris." + +"Yes; but do you know what he said? That there existed a man who would +have regretted Paris much more; and that if I gave you this order you +would die." + +"Perhaps, sire." + +"He said yet more, for your brother talks fast when he is not sulky; he +said that if I had given such an order you would have disobeyed it." + +"Your majesty was right to place my death before my disobedience; it +would have been a greater grief to me to disobey than to die, and yet I +should have disobeyed." + +"You are a little mad, I think, my poor comte," said Henri. + +"I am quite so, I believe." + +"Then the case is serious." + +Joyeuse sighed. + +"What is it? tell me." + +Joyeuse tried to smile. "A great king like you, sire, would not care for +such confidences." + +"Yes, Henri, yes; tell me. It will amuse me," said the king. + +"Sire, you deceive yourself; there is nothing in my grief that could +amuse a noble heart like yours." + +The king took the young man's hand. + +"Do not be angry, Du Bouchage," said he; "you know that your king also +has known the griefs of an unrequited love." + +"I know it, sire, formerly." + +"Therefore, I feel for your sufferings." + +"Your majesty is too good." + +"Not so; but when I suffered what you suffer, no one could aid me, +because no one was more powerful than myself, whereas I can aid you." + +"Sire?" + +"And, consequently, hope soon for an end of your sorrows." + +The young man shook his head. + +"Du Bouchage, you shall be happy, or I am no longer king of France!" +cried Henri. + +"Happy! alas, sire, it is impossible," said the young man with a bitter +smile. + +"And why so?" + +"Because my happiness is not of this world." + +"Henri, your brother, when he went, recommended you to my friendship. I +wish, since you consult neither the experience of your father, nor the +wisdom of your brother the cardinal, to be an elder brother to you. +Come, be confiding, and tell me all. I assure you, Du Bouchage, that for +everything except death my power and love shall find you a remedy." + +"Sire," replied the young man, falling at the king's feet, "do not +confound me by the expression of a goodness to which I cannot reply. My +misfortune is without remedy, for it is that which makes my only +happiness." + +"Du Bouchage, you are mad; you will kill yourself with fancies." + +"I know it well, sire." + +"But," cried the king, impatiently, "is it a marriage you wish for?" + +"Sire, my wish is to inspire love. You see that the whole world is +powerless to aid me in this; I alone can obtain it for myself."--"Then +why despair?" + +"Because I feel that I shall never inspire it." + +"Try, try, my child; you are young and rich. Where is the woman that can +resist at once beauty, youth and wealth? There are none, Du Bouchage." + +"Sire, your goodness is great." + +"If you wish to be discreet, and tell me nothing, do so; I will find +out, and then act. You know what I have done for your brother, I will do +as much for you; a hundred thousand crowns shall not stop me." + +Du Bouchage seized the king's hand, and pressed his lips to it. + +"May your majesty ask one day for my blood, and I will shed it to the +last drop to show you how grateful I am for the protection that I +refuse!" + +Henri III. turned on his heel angrily. + +"Really," said he, "these Joyeuses are more obstinate than a Valois. +Here is one who will bring me every day his long face and eyes circled +with black; that will be delightful." + +"Oh! sire, I will smile so, when I am here, that every one shall think +me the happiest of men." + +"Yes, but I shall know the contrary, and that will sadden me." + +"Does your majesty permit me to retire?" asked Du Bouchage. + +"Go, my child, and try to be a man." + +When he was gone the king approached D'Epernon, and said: + +"Lavalette, have money distributed this evening to the Forty-five, and +give them holiday for a night and a day to amuse themselves. By the +mass! they saved me like Sylla's white horse." + +"Saved?" said Catherine. + +"Yes, mother." + +"From what?" + +"Ah! ask D'Epernon." + +"I ask you, my son." + +"Well, madame, our dear cousin, the sister of your good friend M. de +Guise--oh! do not deny it; you, know he is your good friend--laid an +ambush for me." + +"An ambush!" + +"Yes, madame, and I narrowly escaped imprisonment or assassination." + +"By M. de Guise?" + +"You do not believe it?" + +"I confess I do not." + +"D'Epernon, my friend, relate the adventure to my mother. If I go on +speaking, and she goes on shrugging her shoulders, I shall get angry, +and that does not suit my health. Adieu, madame; cherish M. de Guise as +much as you please, but I would advise them not to forget Salcede." + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +RED PLUME AND WHITE PLUME. + + +It was eight in the evening, and the house of Robert Briquet, solitary +and sad-looking, formed a worthy companion to that mysterious house of +which we have already spoken to our readers. One might have thought that +these two houses were yawning in each other's face. Not far from there +the noise of brass was heard, mingled with confused voices, vague +murmurs, and squeaks. + +It was probably this noise that attracted a young and handsome cavalier, +with a violet cap, red plume, and gray mantle, who, after stopping for +some minutes to hear this noise, went on slowly and pensively toward the +house of Robert Briquet. Now this noise of brass was that of saucepans; +these vague murmurs, those of pots boiling on fires and spits turned by +dogs; those cries, those of M. Fournichon, host of the "Brave +Chevalier," and of Madame Fournichon, who was preparing her rooms. When +the young man with the violet hat had well looked at the fire, inhaled +the smell of the fowls, and peeped through the curtains, he went away, +then returned to recommence his examinations. He continued to walk up +and down, but never passed Robert Briquet's house, which seemed to be +the limit of his walk. Each time that he arrived at this limit he found +there, like a sentinel, a young man about his own age, with a black cap, +a white plume, and a violet cloak, who, with frowning brow and his hand +on his sword, seemed to say, "Thou shalt go no further." But the other +took twenty turns without observing this, so preoccupied was he. +Certainly he saw a man walking up and down like himself: but, as he was +too well dressed to be a robber, he never thought of disquieting himself +about him. But the other, on the contrary, looked more and more black at +each return of the red plume, till at last it attracted his attention, +and he began to think that his presence there must be annoying to the +other; and wondering for what reason, he looked first at Briquet's +house, then at the one opposite, and seeing nothing, turned round and +recommenced his walk from west to east. This continued for about five +minutes, until, as they once again came face to face, the young man in +the white plume walked straight up against the other, who, taken +unawares, with difficulty saved himself from falling. + +"Monsieur," cried he, "are you mad, or do you mean to insult me?" + +"Monsieur, I wish to make you understand that you annoy me much. It +seems to me that you might have seen that without my telling you." + +"Not at all, monsieur; I never see what I do not wish to see." + +"There are, however, certain things which would attract your attention, +I hope, if they shone before your eyes;" and he drew his sword as he +spoke, which glittered in the moonlight. + +The red plume said quietly, "One would think, monsieur, that you had +never drawn a sword before, you are in such a hurry to attack one who +does not attack you." + +"But who will defend himself, I hope." + +"Why so?" replied the other smiling. "And what right have you to prevent +me from walking in the street?" + +"Why do you walk in this street?" + +"Parbleu! because it pleases me." + +"Ah! it pleases you." + +"Doubtless; are you not also walking here? Have you a license from the +king to keep to yourself the Rue de Bussy?" + +"What is that to you?" + +"A great deal, for I am a faithful subject of the king's, and would not +disobey him." + +"Ah! you laugh!" + +"And you threaten." + +"Heaven and earth! I tell you, you annoy me, monsieur, and that if you +do not go away willingly I will make you." + +"Oh! oh! we shall see that." + +"Yes, we shall see." + +"Monsieur, I have particular business here. Now, if you will have it, I +will cross swords with you, but I will not go away." + +"Monsieur, I am Comte Henri du Bouchage, brother of the Duc de Joyeuse. +Once more, will you yield me the place, and go away?" + +"Monsieur," replied the other, "I am the Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges. +You do not annoy me at all, and I do not ask you to go away." + +Du Bouchage reflected a moment, and then put his sword back in its +sheath. + +"Excuse me, monsieur," said he; "I am half mad, being in love." + +"And I also am in love, but I do not think myself mad for that." + +Henri grew pale. + +"You are in love!" said he. + +"Yes, monsieur." + +"And you confess it?" + +"Is it a crime?" + +"But with some one in this street?" + +"Yes, for the present." + +"In Heaven's name tell me who it is!" + +"Ah! M. du Bouchage, you have not reflected on what you are asking me; +you know a gentleman cannot reveal a secret, of which only half belongs +to him." + +"It is true; pardon, M. de Carmainges; but, in truth, there is no one so +unhappy as I am under heaven." + +There was so much real grief and eloquent despair in these words, that +Ernanton was profoundly touched. + +"Oh! mon Dieu! I understand," said he; "you fear that we are rivals." + +"I do." + +"Well; monsieur, I will be frank." + +Joyeuse grew pale again. + +"I," continued Ernanton, "have a rendezvous." + +"A rendezvous?" + +"Yes." + +"In this street?" + +"Yes." + +"Written?" + +"Yes; in very good writing." + +"A woman's?" + +"No; a man's." + +"What do you mean?" + +"What I say. I have an invitation to a rendezvous with a woman, written +by a man; it seems she has a secretary." + +"Ah! go on, monsieur." + +"I cannot refuse you, monsieur. I will tell you the tenor of the note." + +"I listen." + +"You will see if it is like yours." + +"Oh! monsieur, I have no rendezvous--no note." + +Ernanton then drew out a little paper. "Here is the note, monsieur," +said he; "it would be difficult to read it to you by this obscure light: +but it is short, and I know it by heart, if you will trust to me." + +"Oh! entirely." + +"This is it, then: 'M. Ernanton, my secretary is charged by me to tell +you that I have a great desire to talk with you for an hour; your merit +has touched me.' I pass over another phrase still more flattering." + +"Then you are waited for?" + +"No; I wait, as you see." + +"Are they to open the door to you?" + +"No; to whistle three times from the window." + +Henri, trembling all over, placed one hand on Ernanton's arm and with +the other pointed to the opposite house. + +"From there?" said he. + +"Oh! no; from there," said Ernanton, pointing to the "Brave Chevalier." + +Henri uttered a cry of joy. "Oh! a thousand thanks, monsieur," said he; +"pardon my incivility--my folly. Alas! you know, for a man who really +loves, there exists but one woman, and, seeing you always return to this +house, I believed that it was here you were waited for." + +"I have nothing to pardon, monsieur; for really I half-thought you had +come on the same errand as myself." + +"And you had the incredible patience to say nothing! Ah! you do not +love, you do not love." + +"Ma foi! I have no great rights as yet; and these great ladies are so +capricious, and would, perhaps, enjoy playing me a trick." + +"Oh! M. de Carmainges, you do not love as I do; and yet--" + +"Yet what?" + +"You are more happy." + +"Ah! are they cruel in that house?" + +"M. de Carmainges, for three months I have loved like a madman her who +lives there, and I have not yet had the happiness of hearing the sound +of her voice." + +"Diable! you are not far advanced. But stay." + +"What is it?" + +"Did not some one whistle?" + +"Indeed, I think I heard something." + +A second whistle was now distinctly heard. + +"M. le Comte," said Ernanton, "you will excuse me for taking leave, but +I believe that is my signal." + +A third whistle sounded. + +"Go, monsieur," said Joyeuse; "and good luck to you." + +Ernanton made off quickly, while Joyeuse began to walk back more +gloomily than ever. + +"Now for my accustomed task," said he; "let me knock as usual at this +cursed door which never opens to me." + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +THE DOOR OPENS. + + +On arriving at the door of the house, poor Henri was seized by his usual +hesitation. + +"Courage!" said he to himself. + +But before knocking, he looked once more behind him, and saw the bright +light shining through the windows of the hotel. + +"There," said he, "enter for love and joy, people who are invited almost +without desiring; why have I not a tranquil and careless heart? Perhaps +I might enter there also, instead of vainly trying here." + +Ten o'clock struck. Henri lifted the knocker and struck once, then +again. + +"There," said he, listening, "there is the inner door opening, the +stairs creaking, the sound of steps approaching, always the same thing." + +And he knocked again. + +"There," said he, "he peeps through the trellis-work, sees my pale face, +and goes away, always without opening. Adieu, cruel house, until +to-morrow." + +And he turned to go; but scarcely had he taken two steps, when the key +turned in the lock, and, to his profound surprise, the door opened, and +a man stood bowing on the threshold. It was the same whom he had seen +before. + +"Good-evening, monsieur," said he, in a harsh voice, but whose sound +appeared to Du Bouchage sweeter than the song of birds. + +Henri joined his hands and trembled so that the servant put out a hand +to save him from falling, with a visible expression of respectful pity. + +"Come, monsieur," said he, "here I am: explain to me, I beg, what you +want." + +"I have loved so much," replied the young man; "my heart has beat so +fast, that I hardly know if it still beats." + +"Will it please you, monsieur, to sit down and talk to me?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Speak, then, monsieur, and tell me what you desire." + +"My friend, you already know. Many times, you know, I have waited for +you and surprised you at the turn of a street, and have offered you gold +enough to enrich you, had you been the greediest of men; at other times +I have threatened you, but you have never listened to me, and have +always seen me suffer without seeming to pity me. To-day you tell me to +speak--to express my wishes; what then has happened, mon Dieu?" + +The servant sighed. He had evidently a pitying heart under a rough +covering. Henry heard this sigh, and it encouraged him. + +"You know," continued he, "that I love, and how I love; you have seen me +pursue a woman and discover her, in spite of her efforts to fly me: but +never in my greatest grief has a bitter word escaped me, or have I given +heed to those violent thoughts which are born of despair and the fire of +youth." + +"It is true, monsieur; and in this my mistress renders you full +justice." + +"Could I not," continued Henri, "when you refused me admittance, have +forced the door, as is done every day by some lad, tipsy, or in love? +Then, if but for a minute, I should have seen this inexorable woman, and +have spoken to her." + +"It is true." + +"And," continued the young count, sadly, "I am something in this world; +my name is great as well as my fortune, the king himself protects me; +just now he begged me to confide to him my griefs and to apply to him +for aid." + +"Ah!" said the servant, anxiously. + +"I would not do it," continued Joyeuse; "no, no, I refused all, to come +and pray at this door with clasped hands--a door which never yet opened +to me." + +"M. le Comte, you have indeed a noble heart, and worthy to be loved." + +"Well, then, he whom you call worthy, to what do you condemn him? Every +morning my page brings a letter; it is refused. Every evening I knock +myself at the door, and I am disregarded. You let me suffer, despair, +die in the street, without having the compassion for me that you would +have for a dog that howled. Ah! this woman has no woman's heart, she +does not love me. Well! one can no more tell one's heart to love than +not to love. But you may pity the unfortunate who suffers, and give him +a word of consolation--reach out your hand to save him from falling; but +no, this woman cares not for my sufferings. Why does she not kill me, +either with a refusal from her mouth, or some blow from a poniard? Dead, +I should suffer no more." + +"M. le Comte," replied the man, "the lady whom you accuse is, believe +me, far from having the hard, insensible heart you think; she has seen +you, and understood what you suffer, and feels for you the warmest +sympathy." + +"Oh! compassion, compassion!" cried the young man; "but may that heart +of which you boast some day know love--love such as I feel, and may they +offer her compassion in exchange; I shall be well avenged." + +"M. le Comte, not to reply to love is no reason for never having loved. +This woman has perhaps felt the passion more than ever you will--has +perhaps loved as you can never love." + +"When one loves like that, one loves forever," cried Henri, raising his +eyes to heaven. + +"Did I tell you that she loved no more?" + +Henri uttered a doleful cry. + +"She loves!" cried he. "Ah! mon Dieu!" + +"Yes, she loves; but be not jealous of the man she loves, M. le Comte, +for he is no more of this world. My mistress is a widow." + +These words restored hope and life to the young man. + +"Oh!" cried he, "she is a widow, and recently; the source of her tears +will dry up in time. She is a widow, then she loves no one, or only a +shadow--a name. Ah! she will love me. Oh! mon Dieu, all great griefs are +calmed by time. When the widow of Mausole, who had sworn an eternal +grief at her husband's tomb, had exhausted her tears, she was cured. +Regrets are a malady, from which every one who survives comes out as +strong as before." + +The servant shook his head. + +"This lady, M. le Comte, has also sworn eternal fidelity to death; but I +know her, and she will keep her word better than the forgetful woman of +whom you speak." + +"I will wait ten years, if necessary; since she lives, I may hope." + +"Oh! young man, do not reckon thus. She has lived, you say; yes, so she +has, not a month, or a year, but seven years. You hope that she will +console herself; never, M. le Comte, never. I swear it to you--I, who +was but the servant of him who is dead, and yet I shall never be +consoled." + +"This man so much regretted, this husband--" + +"It was not her husband, it was her lover, M. le Comte, and a woman like +her whom you unluckily love has but one lover in her life." + +"My friend," cried Joyeuse, "intercede for me." + +"I! Listen, M. le Comte. Had I believed you capable of using violence +toward my mistress, I would have killed you long ago with my own hand. +If, on the contrary, I could have believed that she would love you, I +think I should have killed her. Now, M. le Comte, I have said what I +wished to say; do not seek to make me say more, for, on my honor--and +although not a nobleman, my honor is worth something--I have told you +all I can." + +Henri rose. + +"I thank you," said he, "for having had compassion on my misfortunes; +now I have decided." + +"Then you will be calmer for the future. M. le Comte, you will go away, +and leave us to ourselves?" + +"Yes, be easy; I will go away, and forever." + +"You mean to die?" + +"Why not? I cannot live without her." + +"M. le Comte, believe me, it is bad to die by your own hand." + +"Therefore I shall not choose that death; but there is, for a young man +like me, a death which has always been reckoned the best--that received +in defending your king and country." + +"If you suffer beyond your strength, if you owe nothing to those who +survive you, if death on the field of battle is offered to you, die, M. +le Comte; I should have done so long ago, had I not been condemned to +live." + +"Adieu, and thank you," replied Joyeuse. + +"Au revoir in another world." + +And he went away rapidly, throwing a heavy purse of gold at the feet of +the servant. + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +HOW A GREAT LADY LOVED IN THE YEAR 1586. + + +The whistles which Ernanton had heard were really his signal. Thus, when +the young man reached the door, he found Dame Fournichon on the +threshold waiting for her customers with a smile, which made her +resemble a mythological goddess painted by a Flemish painter, and in her +large white hands she held a golden crown, which another hand, whiter +and more delicate, had slipped in, in passing. + +She stood before the door, so as to bar Ernanton's passage. + +"What do you want?" said she to him. + +"Were not three whistles given from one of those windows just now?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, they were to summon me." + +"You?" + +"Yes." + +"On your honor?" + +"As a gentleman, Dame Fournichon." + +"Enter, then, monsieur, enter." + +And happy at having a client after her own heart, fit for the "Rose-tree +of love," the hostess conducted Ernanton up the stairs herself. A little +door, vulgarly painted, gave access to a sort of antechamber, which led +to a room, furnished, decorated, and carpeted with rather more luxury +than might have been expected in this remote corner of Paris; but this +was Madame Fournichon's favorite room and she had exerted all her taste +to embellish it. + +When the young man entered the antechamber, he smelled a strong aromatic +odor, the work, doubtless, of some susceptible person, who had thus +tried to overcome the smell of cooking exhaled from the kitchen. + +Ernanton, after opening the door, stopped for an instant to contemplate +one of those elegant female figures which must always command attention, +if not love. Reposing on cushions, enveloped in silk and velvet, this +lady was occupied in burning in the candle the end of a little stick of +aloes, over which she bent so as to inhale the full perfume. By the +manner in which she threw the branch in the fire, and pulled her hood +over her masked face, Ernanton perceived that she had heard him enter, +but she did not turn. + +"Madame," said the young man, "you sent for your humble servant--here he +is." + +"Ah! very well," said the lady; "sit down, I beg, M. Ernanton." + +"Pardon, madame, but before anything I must thank you for the honor that +you do me." + +"Ah! that is civil, and you are right; but I presume you do not know +whom you are thanking, M. de Carmainges." + +"Madame, you have your face hidden by a mask and your hands by gloves; I +cannot then recognize you--I can but guess." + +"And you guess who I am?" + +"Her whom my heart desires, whom my imagination paints, young, +beautiful, powerful, and rich; too rich and too powerful for me to be +able to believe that what has happened to me is real, and that I am not +dreaming." + +"Had you any trouble to enter here?" asked the lady, without replying +directly to the words which had escaped from the full heart of Ernanton. + +"No, madame; the admittance was easier than I could have thought." + +"Yes, all is easy for a man; it is so different for a woman. What were +you saying before, monsieur?" added she, carelessly, and pulling off her +glove to show a beautiful hand, at once plump and taper. + +"I said, madame, that without having seen your face, I know who you are, +and without fear of making a mistake, may say that I love you." + +"Then you are sure that I am her whom you expected to find here?" + +"My heart tells me so." + +"Then you know me?" + +"Yes." + +"Really! you, a provincial, only just-arrived, you already know the +women of Paris?" + +"In all Paris, madame, I know but one." + +"And that is me?" + +"I believe so." + +"By what do you recognize me?" + +"By your voice, your grace, and your beauty." + +"My voice, perhaps; I cannot disguise it. My grace; I may appropriate +the compliment; but as for my beauty, it is veiled." + +"It was less so, madame, on the day when, to bring you into Paris, I +held you so near to me that your breast touched my shoulders, and I felt +your breath on my neck." + +"Then, on the receipt of my letter, you guessed that it came from me?" + +"Oh! no, madame, not for a moment; I believed I was the subject of some +joke, or the victim of some error, and it is only during the last few +minutes that, seeing you, touching you--" and he tried to take her hand, +but she withdrew it. + +"Enough!" said the lady; "the fact is, that I have committed a great +folly." + +"In what, madame?" + +"In what? You say that you know me, and then ask." + +"Oh! it is true, madame, that I am very insignificant and obscure near +your highness." + +"Mon Dieu! monsieur, pray be silent. Have you no sense?" + +"What have I done?" cried Ernanton, frightened. + +"You see me in a mask, and if I wear one, it is for disguise, and yet +you call me your highness." + +"Ah, pardon me, madame," said Ernanton, "but I believed in the +discretion of these walls." + +"It appears you are credulous." + +"Alas! madame, I am in love." + +"And you are convinced that I reciprocate this love?" + +Ernanton rose piqued. + +"No, madame," replied he. + +"Then what do you believe?" + +"I believe that you have something important to say to me, and that, not +wishing to receive me at your hotel, or at Bel-Esbat, you preferred this +isolated spot." + +"You thought that?"--"Yes." + +"And what do you think I could have to say to you?" asked the lady, +rather anxiously. + +"How can I tell? Perhaps something about M. de Mayenne." + +"Had you not already told me all you knew of him?" + +"Perhaps, then, some question about last night's event." + +"What event? of what do you speak?" asked the lady, visibly agitated. + +"Of the panic experienced by M. d'Epernon and the arrest of the Lorraine +gentlemen." + +"They arrested them?" + +"Yes, those who were found on the road to Vincennes." + +"Which is also the road to Soissons, where M. de Guise holds his +garrison. Ah! M. Ernanton, you, who belong to the court, can tell me why +they arrested these gentlemen." + +"I belong to the court?" + +"Certainly." + +"You know that, madame?" + +"Ah! to find out your address, we were forced to make inquiries. But +what resulted from all this?" + +"Nothing, madame, to my knowledge." + +"Then why did you think I should wish to speak of it?" + +"I am wrong again, madame." + +"From what place are you, monsieur?" + +"From Agen." + +"What, you are a Gascon! and yet are not vain enough to suppose that +when I saw you at the Porte St. Antoine, on the day of Salcede's +execution, I liked your looks." + +Ernanton reddened, and looked confused. + +The lady went on. "That I met you in the street, and found you +handsome." + +Ernanton grew scarlet. + +"That afterward, when you brought me a message from my brother, I liked +you." + +"Madame, I never thought so, I protest." + +"Then you were wrong," said the lady, turning on him two eyes which +flashed through her mask. + +Ernanton clasped his hands. + +"Madame, are you mocking me?" cried he. + +"Ma foi! no. The truth is, that you pleased me." + +"Mon Dieu!" + +"But you yourself dared to declare your love to me." + +"But then I did not know who you were, madame; and now that I do know, I +humbly ask your pardon." + +"Oh!" cried the lady, "say all you think, or I shall regret having +come." + +Ernanton fell on his knees. + +"Speak, madame, speak, that I may be sure this is not all a dream, and +perhaps I shall dare to answer." + +"So be it. Here are my projects for you," said the lady, gently pushing +Ernanton back, while she arranged the folds of her dress; "I fancy you, +but I do not yet know you. I am not in the habit of resisting my +fancies; but I never commit follies. Had we been equals, I should have +received you at my house, and studied you before I hinted at my +feelings; but as that was impossible, I was driven to this interview; +now you know what to do; be worthy of me, it is all I ask." + +Ernanton exhausted himself in protestations. + +"Oh! less warmth, M. de Carmainges, I beg; it is not worth while," +replied she, carelessly. "Perhaps it was only your name that pleased me; +perhaps it is a caprice, and will pass away. However, do not think +yourself too far from perfection, and begin to despair. I hate perfect +people, but I adore devoted ones; remember that." + +Ernanton was beside himself. This haughty language and proud +superiority, yet this frank declaration and abandon, terrified and yet +delighted him. He seated himself near the proud and beautiful lady, and +then tried to pass his arm behind the cushions on which she reclined. + +"Monsieur," said she, "it appears you have heard, but not understood me. +No familiarity, if you please; let us each remain in our places. Some +day I shall give you the right to call me yours; but this right you have +not yet." + +Ernanton rose, pale and angry. + +"Excuse me, madame," said he, "it seems I commit nothing but follies +here; I am not yet accustomed to the habits of Paris. Among us in the +provinces, 200 leagues off, when a woman says 'I love,' she loves, and +does not hold herself aloof, or take pretexts for humiliating the man at +her feet. It is your custom as a Parisian, and your right as a princess. +I accept it, therefore, only I have not been accustomed to it. The +habit, doubtless, will come in time." + +"Ah! you are angry, I believe," said the duchess, haughtily. + +"I am, madame, but it is against myself; for I have for you, madame, +not a passing caprice, but a real love. It is your heart I seek to +obtain, and therefore I am angry with myself for having compromised the +respect that I owe you, and which I will only change into love when you +command me. From this moment, madame, I await your orders." + +"Come, come, do not exaggerate, M. de Carmainges; now you are all ice, +after being all flame." + +"It seems to me, however, madame--" + +"A truce to politeness; I do not wish to play the princess. Here is my +hand, take it; it is that of a simple woman." + +Ernanton took this beautiful hand respectfully. + +"Well, you do not kiss it!" cried the duchess; "are you mad, or have you +sworn to put me in a passion?" + +"But just now--" + +"Just now I drew it away, while now I give it to you." + +Ernanton kissed the hand, which was then withdrawn. + +"Another lesson," said he. "Assuredly you will end by killing my +passion. I may adore you on my knees; but I should have neither love nor +confidence for you." + +"Oh! I do not wish that, for you would be a sad lover, and it is not so +that I like them. No, remain natural, be yourself, M. Ernanton, and +nothing else. I have caprices. Oh! mon Dieu, you told me I was +beautiful, and all beautiful women have them. Do not fear me; and when I +say to the too impetuous Ernanton, 'Calm yourself,' let him consult my +eyes and not my voice." + +At these words she rose. + +It was time, for the young man seized her in his arms, and his lips +touched her mask; but through this mask her eyes darted such a flaming +glance that he drew back. + +"Well," said she, "we shall meet again. Decidedly you please me, M. de +Carmainges." Ernanton bowed. + +"When are you free?" asked she. + +"Alas! very rarely, madame." + +"Ah! your service is fatiguing, is it not?" + +"What service?" + +"That which you perform near the king. Are you not some kind of guard to +his majesty?" + +"I form part of a body of gentlemen, madame." + +"That is what I mean. They are all Gascons, are they not?" + +"Yes, madame." + +"How many are there? I forget." + +"Forty-five." + +"What a singular number!" + +"I believe it was chance." + +"And these forty-five gentlemen never quit the king, you say?" + +"I did not say so, madame." + +"Ah! I thought you did; at least, you said you had very little liberty." + +"It is true, I have very little; because by day we are on service near +the king, and at night we stay at the Louvre." + +"In the evening?" + +"Yes." + +"Every evening?" + +"Nearly." + +"What would have happened then this evening, if your duty had kept you? +I, who waited for you, and should have been ignorant of the cause of +your absence, should have thought my advances despised." + +"Ah! madame, to see you I will risk all, I swear to you." + +"It would be useless and absurd; I do not wish it." + +"But then--" + +"Do your duty; I will arrange, who am free and mistress of my time." + +"What goodness, madame!" + +"But you have not explained to me," said the duchess, with her +insinuating smile, "how you happened to be free this evening, and how +you came." + +"This evening, madame, I was thinking of asking permission of De +Loignac, our captain, who is very kind to me, when the order came to +give a night's holiday to the Forty-five." + +"And on what account was this leave given?" + +"As recompense, I believe, madame, for a somewhat fatiguing service +yesterday at Vincennes." + +"Ah! very well." + +"Therefore to this circumstance I owe the pleasure of seeing you +to-night at my ease." + +"Well! listen, Carmainges," said the duchess, with a gentle familiarity +which filled the heart of the young man with joy; "this is what you must +do, whenever you think you shall be at liberty--send a note here to the +hostess, and every day I will send a man to inquire." + +"Oh! mon Dieu! madame, you are too good!" + +"What is that noise?" said the duchess, laying her hand on his arm. + +Indeed, a noise of spurs, of voices, of doors shutting, and joyous +exclamations, came from the room below, like the echo of an invasion. +Ernanton looked out. + +"It is my companions," said he, "who have come here to spend their +holiday." + +"But by what chance? just where we are." + +"Because it is just here, madame, that we each had a rendezvous on our +arrival, and on the happy day of their entry in Paris my friends +conceived an affection for the wine and the cooking of M. Fournichon. +But you, how did you come to choose this place?" + +"I chose, and you will easily understand that, the most deserted part of +Paris, a place near the river, where no one was likely to recognize me, +or suspect that I could come; but, mon Dieu! how noisy your companions +are." + +Indeed, the noise was becoming a perfect storm, but all at once they +heard a sound of footsteps on the little staircase which led to their +room, and Madame Fournichon's voice, crying, from below, "M. de St. +Maline, M. de St. Maline!" + +"Well!" replied the young man. + +"Do not go up there, I beg!" + +"And why not, dear Madame Fournichon? is not all the house ours +to-night?"--"Not the turrets." + +"Bah! they are part of the house," cried five or six voices. + +"No, they are not; they are private; do not disturb my lodgers." + +"Do not disturb me, Madame Fournichon," replied St. Maline. + +"For pity's sake!" cried Madame Fournichon. + +"Madame," replied he, "it is midnight, and at nine all fires ought to be +extinguished; there is a fire now in your turret, and I must see what +disobedient subject is transgressing the king's edicts." + +And St. Maline continued to advance, followed by several others. + +"Mon Dieu! M. de Carmainges," cried the duchess, "will those people dare +to enter here?" + +"I am here, madame; have no fear." + +"Oh! they are forcing the doors," cried she. + +Indeed, St. Maline rushed so furiously against the door, that, being +very slight, it was at once broken open. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +HOW ST. MALINE ENTERED INTO THE TURRET, AND WHAT FOLLOWED. + + +Ernanton's first thought when he saw the door of the antechamber fly +open was to blow out the light. + +"M. de St. Maline," cried the hostess, "I warn you that the persons whom +you are troubling are your friends." + +"Well! all the more reason to present our compliments to them," cried +Perducas de Pincornay, in a tipsy voice. + +"And what friends are they? We will see!" cried St. Maline. + +The good hostess, hoping to prevent a collision, glided among them, and +whispered Ernanton's name in St. Maline's ear. + +"Ernanton!" cried St. Maline, aloud, for whom this revelation was oil +instead of water thrown on the fire, "that is not possible."--"And why +so?" + +"Oh! because Ernanton is a model of chastity and a melange of all the +virtues. No, you must be wrong, Madame Fournichon; it cannot be Ernanton +who is shut in there." + +And he approached the second door, to treat it as he had done the first, +when it was opened, and Ernanton appeared on the threshold, with a face +which did not announce that patience was one of the virtues which, +according to St. Maline, he possessed. + +"By what right has M. de St. Maline broken down one door, and intends +to break a second?" said he. + +"Ah! it is he, really; it is Ernanton!" cried St. Maline. "I recognize +his voice; but as to his person, devil take me if I can see it in this +darkness." + +"You do not reply to my question, monsieur," said Ernanton. + +St. Maline began to laugh noisily, which reassured some of his comrades, +who were thinking of retiring. + +"I spoke; did you not hear me, M. de St. Maline?" said Ernanton. + +"Yes, monsieur, perfectly." + +"Then what have you to say?" + +"We wished to know, my dear friend, if it was you up here." + +"Well, monsieur, now you know it, leave me in peace." + +"Cap de Bious! have you become a hermit?" + +"As for that, monsieur, permit me to leave you in doubt." + +"Ah! bah!" cried St. Maline, trying to enter, "are you really alone? you +have no light." + +"Gentlemen!" said Ernanton, "I know that you are half drunk, and I +forgive you; but there is a limit even to the patience that one owes to +men beside themselves; your joke is over, do me the favor to retire." + +"Oh! oh! retire! how you speak!" said St. Maline. + +"I speak so as you may not be deceived in my wishes, and I repeat, +gentlemen, retire, I beg." + +"Not before we have been admitted to the honor of saluting the person +for whom you desert our company. M. de Montcrabeau," continued he, "go +down and come back with a light." + +"M. de Montcrabeau," cried Ernanton, "if you do that, remember it will +be a personal offense to me." + +Montcrabeau hesitated. + +"Good," replied St. Maline, "we have our oath, and M. de Carmainges is +so strict that he will not infringe discipline; we cannot draw our +swords against each other; therefore, a light, Montcrabeau, a light!" + +Montcrabeau descended, and in five minutes returned with a light, which +he offered to St. Maline. + +"No, no," said he; "keep it; I may, perhaps, want both hands." + +And he made a step forward. + +"I take you all to witness," cried Ernanton, "that I am insulted without +reason, and that in consequence"--and he drew his sword--"I will bury +this sword in the breast of the first man who advances." + +St. Maline, furious, was about to draw his sword also; but before he had +time to do so, the point of Ernanton's was on his breast, and as he +advanced a step, without Ernanton's moving his arm, St. Maline felt the +iron on his flesh, and drew back furious, but Ernanton followed him, +keeping the sword against his breast. St. Maline grew pale; if Ernanton +had wished it, he could have pinned him to the wall, but he slowly +withdrew his sword. + +"You merit two deaths for your insolence," said he, "but the oath of +which you spoke restrains me, and I will touch you no more; let me pass. +Come, madame, I answer for your free passage." + +Then appeared a woman, whose head was covered by a hood, and her face by +a mask, and who took Ernanton's arm, tremblingly. St. Maline stood by, +stifling with rage at his merited punishment. He drew his dagger as +Ernanton passed by him. Did he mean to strike Ernanton, or only to do +what he did? No one knew, but as they passed, his dagger cut through the +silken hood of the duchess and severed the string of her mask, which +fell to the ground. This movement was so rapid that in the half light no +one saw or could prevent it. The duchess uttered a cry; St. Maline +picked up the mask and returned it to her, looking now full in her +uncovered face. + +"Ah!" cried he, in an insolent tone, "it is the beautiful lady of the +litter. Ernanton, you get on fast." + +Ernanton stopped and half-drew his sword again; but the duchess drew him +on, saying, "Come on, I beg you, M. Ernanton." + +"We shall meet again, M. de St. Maline," said Ernanton, "and you shall +pay for this, with the rest." + +And he went on without meeting with any further opposition, and +conducted the duchess to her litter, which was guarded by two servants. +Arrived there and feeling herself in safety, she pressed Ernanton's +hand, and said, "M. Ernanton, after what has just passed, after the +insult which, in spite of your courage, you could not defend me from, +and which might probably be renewed, we can come here no more; seek, I +beg of you, some house in the neighborhood to sell or to let; before +long you shall hear from me." + +"Must I now take leave of you, madame?" said Ernanton, bowing in token +of obedience to the flattering orders he had just received. + +"Not yet, M. de Carmainges; follow my litter as far as the new bridge, +lest that wretch who recognized in me the lady of the litter, but did +not know me for what I am, should follow to find out my residence." + +Ernanton obeyed, but no one watched them. When they arrived at the Pont +Neuf, which then merited the name, as it was scarcely seven years since +Ducerceau had built it, the duchess gave her hand to Ernanton, saying, +"Now go, monsieur." + +"May I dare to ask when I shall see you again, madame?" + +"That depends on the length of time which you take in executing my +commission, and your haste will be a proof to me of your desire to see +me again." + +"Oh, madame, I shall not be idle." + +"Well, then, go, Ernanton." + +"It is strange," thought the young man, as he retraced his steps; "I +cannot doubt that she likes me, and yet she does not seem the least +anxious as to whether or not I get killed by that brute of a St. Maline. +But, poor woman, she was in great trouble, and the fear of being +compromised is, particularly with princesses, the strongest of all +sentiments." + +Ernanton, however, could not forget the insult he had received, and he +returned straight to the hotel. He was naturally decided to infringe all +orders and oaths, and to finish with St. Maline; he felt in the humor +to fight ten men, if necessary. This resolution sparkled in his eyes +when he reached the door of the "Brave Chevalier." Madame Fournichon, +who expected his return with anxiety, was standing trembling in the +doorway. At the sight of Ernanton she wiped her eyes, as if she had been +crying, and throwing her arms round the young man's neck, begged for his +pardon, in spite of her husband's representations that, as she had done +no wrong, she had nothing to be pardoned for. Ernanton assured her that +he did not blame her at all--that it was only her wine that was in +fault. + +While this passed at the door, all the rest were at table, where they +were warmly discussing the previous quarrel. Many frankly blamed St. +Maline; others abstained, seeing the frowning brow of their comrade. +They did not attack with any less enthusiasm the supper of M. +Fournichon, but they discussed as they ate. + +"As for me," said Hector de Bizan, "I know that M. de St. Maline was +wrong, and that had I been Ernanton de Carmainges, M. de St. Maline +would be at this moment stretched on the ground instead of sitting +here." + +St. Maline looked at him furiously. + +"Oh, I mean what I say," continued he; "and stay, there is some one at +the door who appears to agree with me." + +All turned at this, and saw Ernanton standing in the doorway, looking +very pale. He descended from the step, as the statue of the commander +from his pedestal, and walked straight up to St. Maline, firmly, but +quietly. + +At this sight, several voices cried, "Come here, Ernanton; come this +side, Carmainges; there is room here." + +"Thank you," replied the young man; "but it is near M. de St. Maline +that I wish to sit." St. Maline rose, and all eyes were fixed on him. +But as he rose, his face changed its expression. + +"I will make room for you, monsieur," said he, gently; "and in doing so +address to you my frank and sincere apologies for my stupid aggression +just now; I was drunk; forgive me." + +This declaration did not satisfy Ernanton; but the cries of joy that +proceeded from all the rest decided him to say no more, although a +glance at St. Maline showed him that he was not to be trusted. St. +Maline's glass was full, and he filled Ernanton's. + +"Peace! peace!" cried all the voices. + +Carmainges profited by the noise, and leaning toward St. Maline, with a +smile on his lips, so that no one might suspect the sense of what he was +saying, whispered: + +"M. de St. Maline, this is the second time that you have insulted me +without giving me satisfaction; take care, for at the third offense I +will kill you like a dog." + +And the two mortal enemies touched glasses as though they had been the +best friends. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +WHAT WAS PASSING IN THE MYSTERIOUS HOUSE. + + +While the hotel of the "Brave Chevalier," the abode, apparently, of the +most perfect concord, with closed doors and open cellars, showed through +the openings of the shutters the light of its candles and the mirth of +its guests, an unaccustomed movement took place in that mysterious house +of which our readers have as yet only seen the outside. + +The servant was going from one room to another, carrying packages which +he placed in a trunk. These preparations over, he loaded a pistol, +examined his poniard, then suspended it, by the aid of a ring, to the +chain which served him for a belt, to which he attached besides a bunch +of keys and a book of prayers bound in black leather. + +While he was thus occupied, a step, light as that of a shadow, came up +the staircase, and a woman, pale and phantom-like under the folds of her +white veil, appeared at the door, and a voice, sad and sweet as the song +of a bird in the wood, said: "Remy, are you ready?" + +"Yes, madame, I only wait for your box." + +"Do you think these boxes will go easily on our horses?" + +"Oh! yes, madame, but if you have any fear, I can leave mine; I have +all I want there." + +"No, no, Remy, take all that you want for the journey. Oh! Remy! I long +to be with my father; I have sad presentiments, and it seems an age +since I saw him." + +"And yet, madame, it is but three months; not a longer interval than +usual." + +"Remy, you are such a good doctor, and you yourself told me, the last +time we quitted him, that he had not long to live." + +"Yes, doubtless; but it was only a dread, not a prediction. Sometimes +death seems to forget old men, and they live on as though by the habit +of living; and often, besides, an old man is like a child, ill to-day +and well to-morrow." + +"Alas! Remy, like the child also, he is often well to-day and dead +to-morrow." + +Remy did not reply, for he had nothing really reassuring to say, and +silence succeeded for some minutes. + +"At what hour have you ordered the horses?" said the lady, at last. + +"At two o'clock." + +"And one has just struck." + +"Yes, madame." + +"No one is watching outside?" + +"No one." + +"Not even that unhappy young man?" + +"Not even he." + +And Remy sighed. + +"You say that in a strange manner, Remy." + +"Because he also has made a resolution." + +"What is it?" + +"To see us no more; at least, not to try to see us any more." + +"And where is he going?" + +"Where we are all going--to rest.". + +"God give it him eternally," said the lady, in a cold voice, "and yet--" + +"Yet what, madame?" + +"Had he nothing to do here?" + +"He had to love if he had been loved." + +"A man of his name, rank, and age, should think of his future." + +"You, madame, are of an age, rank, and name little inferior to his, and +you do not look forward to a future." + +"Yes, Remy, I do," cried she, with a sudden flashing of the eyes; "but +listen! is that not the trot of a horse that I hear?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Can it be ours?" + +"It is possible; but it is an hour too soon." + +"It stops at the door, Remy." + +Remy ran down and arrived just as three hurried blows were struck on the +door. + +"Who is there?" said he. + +"I!" replied a trembling voice, "I, Grandchamp, the baron's valet." + +"Ah! mon Dieu! Grandchamp, you at Paris! speak low! Whence do you come?" + +"From Meridor. Alas, dear M. Remy!" + +"Well," cried the lady from the top of the stairs, "are they our horses, +Remy?" + +"No, madame, it is not them. What is it, Grandchamp?" + +"You do not guess?" + +"Alas! I do; what will she do, poor lady." + +"Remy," cried she again, "you are talking to some one?" + +"Yes, madame." + +"I thought I knew the voice." + +"Indeed, madame." + +She now descended, saying: + +"Who is there? Grandchamp?" + +"Yes, madame, it is I," replied the old man sadly, uncovering his white +head. + +"Grandchamp! you! oh! mon Dieu! my presentiments were right; my father +is dead?" + +"Indeed, madame, Meridor has no longer a master." + +Pale, but motionless and firmly, the lady listened; Remy went to her and +took her hand softly. + +"How did he die; tell me, my friend?" said she. + +"Madame, M. le Baron, who could no longer leave his armchair, was struck +a week ago by an attack of apoplexy. He muttered your name for the last +time, then ceased to speak, and soon was no more." + +Diana went up again without another word. Her room was on the first +story, and looked only into a courtyard. The furniture was somber, but +rich, the hangings, in Arras tapestry, represented the death of our +Saviour, a prie-Dieu and stool in carved oak, a bed with twisted +columns, and tapestries like the walls, were the sole ornaments of the +room. Not a flower, no gilding, but in a frame of black was contained a +portrait of a man, before which the lady now knelt down, with dry eyes, +but a sad heart. She fixed on this picture a long look of indescribable +love. It represented a young man about twenty-eight, lying half naked on +a bed; from his wounded breast the blood still flowed, his right hand +hung mutilated, and yet it still held a broken sword. His eyes were +closed as though he were about to die, paleness and suffering gave to +his face that divine character which the faces of mortals assume only at +the moment of quitting life for eternity. Under the portrait, in letters +red as blood, was written, "Aut Caesar aut nihil." The lady extended her +arm, and spoke as though it could hear her. + +"I had begged thee to wait, although thy soul must have thirsted for +vengeance; and as the dead see all, thou hast seen, my love, that I +lived only not to kill my father, else I would have died after you; and +then, you know, on your bleeding corpse I uttered a vow to give death +for death, blood for blood, but I would not do it while the old man +called me his innocent child. Thou hast waited, beloved, and now I am +free: the last tie which bound me to earth is broken. I am all yours, +and now I am free to come to you." + +She rose on one knee, kissed the hand, and then went on: "I can weep no +more--my tears have dried up in weeping over your tomb. In a few months +I shall rejoin you, and you then will reply to me, dear shade, to whom I +have spoken so often without reply." Diana then rose, and seating +herself in her chair, muttered, "Poor father!" and then fell into a +profound reverie. At last she called Remy. + +The faithful servant soon appeared. + +"Here I am, madame." + +"My worthy friend, my brother--you, the last person who knows me on this +earth--say adieu to me." + +"Why so, madame?" + +"Because the time has come for us to separate." + +"Separate!" cried the young man. "What do you mean, madame?" + +"Yes, Remy. My project of vengeance seemed to me noble and pure while +there remained an obstacle between me and it, and I only contemplated it +from afar off; but now that I approach the execution of it--now that the +obstacle has disappeared--I do not draw back, but I do not wish to drag +with me into crime a generous and pure soul like yours; therefore you +must quit me, my friend." + +Remy listened to the words of Diana with a somber look. + +"Madame," replied he, "do you think you are speaking to a trembling old +man? Madame, I am but twenty-six; and snatched as I was from the tomb, +if I still live, it is for the accomplishment of some terrible +action--to play an active part in the work of Providence. Never, then, +separate your thoughts from mine, since we both have the same thoughts, +sinister as they may be. Where you go, I will go; what you do I will aid +in; or if, in spite of my prayers, you persist in dismissing me--" + +"Oh!" murmured she, "dismiss you! What a word, Remy!" + +"If you persist in that resolution," continued the young man, "I know +what I have to do, and all for me will end with two blows from a +poniard--one in the heart of him whom you know, and the other in your +own." + +"Remy! Remy!" cried Diana, "do not say that. The life of him you +threaten does not belong to you--it is mine--I have paid for it dearly +enough. I swear to you, Remy, that on the day on which I knelt beside +the dead body of him"--and she pointed to the portrait--"on that day I +approached my lips to that open wound, and the trembling lips seemed to +say to me, 'Avenge me, Diana!--avenge me!'" + +"Madame--" + +"Therefore, I repeat, vengeance is for me, and not for you; besides, for +whom and through whom did he die? By me and through me." + +"I must obey you, madame, for I also was left for dead. Who carried me +away from the middle of the corpses with which that room was +filled?--You. Who cured me of my wounds?--You. Who concealed me?--You +always. Order, then, and I will obey, provided that you do not order me +to leave you." + +"So be it, Remy; you are right; nothing ought to separate us more." + +Remy pointed to the portrait. + +"Now, madame," said he, "he was killed by treason--it is by treason that +he must be revenged. Ah! you do not know one thing--the hand of God is +with us, for to-night I have found the secret of the 'Aqua tofana,' that +poison of the Medicis and of Rene the Florentine." + +"Really?" + +"Come and see, madame." + +"But where is Grandchamp?" + +"The poor old man has come sixty leagues on horseback; he is tired out, +and has fallen asleep on my bed." + +"Come, then," said Diana; and she followed Remy. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + +THE LABORATORY. + + +Remy led the lady into a neighboring room; and pushing a spring which +was hidden under a board in the floor, and which, opening, disclosed a +straight dark staircase, gave his hand to Diana to help her to descend. +Twenty steps of this staircase, or rather ladder, led into a dark and +circular cave, whose only furniture was a stove with an immense hearth, +a square table, two rush chairs, and a quantity of phials and iron +boxes. In the stove a dying fire still gleamed, while a thick black +smoke escaped through a pipe fastened into the wall. From a still placed +on the hearth a few drops of a liquid, yellow as gold, was dropping +into a thick white phial. Diana looked round her without astonishment or +terror; the ordinary feelings of life seemed to be unknown to her who +lived only in the tomb. Remy lighted a lamp, and then approached a well +hollowed out in the cave, attached a bucket to a long cord, let it down +into the well, and then drew it up full of a water as cold as ice and as +clear as crystal. + +"Approach, madame," said he. + +Diana drew near. In the bucket he let fall a single drop of the liquid +contained in the phial, and the entire mass of the water became +instantaneously yellow; then the color evaporated, and the water in ten +minutes became as clear as before. + +Remy looked at her. + +"Well?" said she. + +"Well, madame," said he, "now dip in that water, which has neither smell +nor color, a glove or a handkerchief; soak it in scented soap, pour some +of it into the basin where you are about to wash your hands or face, and +you will see, as was seen at the court of Charles IX., the flower kill +by its perfume, the glove poison by its contact, the soap kill by its +introduction into the pores of the skin. Pour a single drop of this pure +oil on the wick of a lamp or candle, and for an hour the candle or lamp +will exhale death, and burn at the same time like any other." + +"You are sure of what you say, Remy?" + +"All this I have tried. See these birds who can now neither drink nor +eat; they have drunk of water like this. See this goat who has browsed +on grass watered with this same water; he moves and totters; vainly now +should we restore him to life and liberty; his life is forfeited, +unless, indeed, nature should reveal to his instinct some of those +antidotes to poison which animals know, although men do not."--"Can I +see this phial, Remy?" + +"Yes, madame, presently." + +Remy then separated it from the still with infinite care, then corked it +with soft wax, tied the top up in cloth, and then presented it to Diana. + +She took it, held it up to the light, and, after looking at it, said: + +"It will do; when the time arrives we will choose gloves, lamp, soap, or +flowers, as convenient. Will the liquor keep in metal?"--"It eats it +away." + +"But then, perhaps, the bottle will break?" + +"I think not--see the thickness of the crystal; besides, we can shut it +up in a covering of gold." + +"Listen, Remy! I hear horses; I think ours have arrived." + +"Probably, madame, it is about the time; but I will go and send them +away." + +"Why so?" + +"Are they not useless?" + +"Instead of going to Meridor, we will go into Flanders. Keep the +horses." + +"Ah! I understand!" and Remy's eyes gave forth a flash of sinister joy. + +"But Grandchamp; what can we do with him?" said he. + +"He has need of repose. He shall remain here, and sell this house, which +we require no longer. But restore to liberty that unhappy animal, whom +you were forced to torture. As you say, God may care for its recovery." + +"This furnace, and these stills?" + +"Leave them here." + +"But these powders, essences, and acids?" + +"Throw them in the fire, Remy." + +"Go away, then, or put on this glass mask." + +Then, taking similar precautions for himself, he blew up the fire again, +poured in the powder, which went off in brilliant sparks, some green and +some yellow; and the essences, which, instead of being consumed, mounted +like serpents of fire into the pipe, with a noise like distant thunder. + +"Now," said Remy, "if any one now discovers this cave, he will only +think that an alchemist has been here, and though they still burn +sorcerers, they respect alchemists." + +"And besides," said the lady, "if they do burn us, provided I have only +finished my task, I should not mind that sort of death more than any +other." + +At this moment they heard knocking. + +"Here are our horses, madame," said Remy; "go up quickly, and I will +close the trap-door." + +Diana obeyed, and found Grandchamp, whom the noise had awakened, at the +door. + +The old man was not a little surprised to hear of his mistress's +intended departure, who informed him of it without telling him where she +was going. + +"Grandchamp, my friend," said she, "Remy and I are going to accomplish a +pilgrimage on which we have long determined; speak of this journey to +none, and do not mention my name to any one." + +"Oh! I promise you, madame," replied the old servant; "but we shall see +you again?" + +"Doubtless, Grandchamp; if not in this world, in the next. But, apropos, +Grandchamp, this house is now useless to us." + +Diana drew from a drawer a bundle of papers. + +"Here are the title-deeds; let or sell this house; but if, in the course +of a month, you do not find a purchaser, abandon it and return to +Meridor." + +"But if I find some one, how much am I to ask?" + +"What you please, Grandchamp." + +"Shall I take the money to Meridor?" + +"Keep it for yourself, my good Grandchamp." + +"What, madame, such a sum?" + +"Yes, I owe it to you for your services; and I have my father's debts to +pay as well as my own. Now, adieu!" + +Then Diana went upstairs, cut the picture from the frame, rolled it up, +and placed it in her trunk. + +When Remy had tied the two trunks with leather thongs, and had glanced +into the street to see that there were no lookers-on, he aided his +mistress to mount. + +"I believe, madame," said he, "that this is the last house in which we +shall live so long." + +"The last but one, Remy." + +"And what will be the other?" + +"The tomb, Remy." + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + +WHAT MONSEIGNEUR FRANCOIS, DUC D'ANJOU, DUC DE BRABANT AND COMTE DE +FLANDERS, WAS DOING IN FLANDERS. + + +Our readers must now permit us to leave the king at the Louvre, Henri of +Navarre at Cahors, Chicot on the road, and Diana in the street, to go to +Flanders to find M. le Duc d'Anjou, recently named Duc de Brabant, and +to whose aid we have sent the great admiral of France--Anne, duc de +Joyeuse. + +At eighty leagues from Paris, toward the north, the sound of French +voices was heard, and the French banner floated over a French camp on +the banks of the Scheldt. It was night; the fires, disposed in an +immense circle, bordered the stream, and were reflected in its deep +waters. + +From the top of the ramparts of the town the sentinels saw shining, by +the bivouac fires, the muskets of the French army. This army was that of +the Duc d'Anjou. What he had come to do there we must tell our readers; +and although it may not be very amusing, yet we hope they will pardon it +in consideration of the warning; so many people are dull without +announcing it. + +Those of our readers who have read "Chicot," already know the Duc +d'Anjou, that jealous, egotistical, ambitious prince, and who, born so +near to the throne, had never been able to wait with resignation until +death offered him a free passage to it. Thus he had desired the throne +of Navarre under Charles IX., then that of Charles IX. himself, then +that of his brother Henri III. For a time he had turned his eyes toward +England, then governed by a woman, and to possess this throne he was +ready to have married this woman, although she was Elizabeth, and was +twenty years older than himself. In this plan destiny was beginning to +smile on him, and he saw himself in the favor of a great queen, until +then inaccessible to all human affections. Besides this, a crown was +offered to him in Flanders. + +He had seen his brother Henri embarrassed in his quarrel with the +Guises, but had soon discovered that they had no other aim than that of +substituting themselves for the Valois. He had then separated himself +from them, although not without danger; besides, Henri III. had at last +opened his eyes, and the duke exiled, or something like it, had retired +to Amboise. + +It was then that the Flemings opened their arms to him. Tired of Spanish +rule, decimated by the Duc d'Alva, deceived by the false peace of John +of Austria, who had profited by it to retake Namur and Charlemont, the +Flemings had called in William of Nassau, prince of Orange, and had made +him governor-general of Brabant. A few words about this man, who held so +great a place in history, but who will only be named here. + +William of Nassau was then about fifty. He was the son of William called +the Old, and of Julienne de Stolberg, cousin of that Rene of Nassau +killed at the siege of Dizier. He had from his youth been brought up in +principles of reform, and had a full consciousness of the greatness of +his mission. This mission, which he believed he had received from +Heaven, and for which he died like a martyr, was to found the Republic +of Holland, in which he was successful. When very young he had been +called by Charles V. to his court. Charles was a good judge of men, and +often the old emperor, who supported the heaviest burden ever borne by +an imperial hand, consulted the child on the most delicate matters +connected with the politics of Holland. The young man was scarcely +twenty-four when Charles confided to him, in the absence of the famous +Philibert Emanuel of Savoy, the command of the army in Flanders. William +showed himself worthy of this high confidence: he held in check the Duc +de Nevers and Coligny, two of the greatest captains of the time, and +under their eyes fortified Philipville and Charlemont. On the day when +Charles V. abdicated, it was on William of Nassau that he leaned to +descend the steps of the throne, and he it was who was charged to carry +to Ferdinand the imperial throne which Charles had resigned. + +Then came Philippe II., and in spite of his father's recommendations to +him to regard William as a brother, the latter soon found a great +difference. This strengthened in his mind the great idea of freeing +Holland and Flanders, which he might never have endeavored to carry into +effect if the old emperor, his friend, had remained on the throne. + +Holland, by his advice, demanded the dismissal of the foreign troops, +and then began the bloody struggle of the Spaniards to retain the prey +which was escaping from them, and then passed over this unhappy people +the vice-royalty of Marguerite of Austria and the bloody consulship of +the Duc d'Alva, and then was organized that struggle, at once political +and religious, which began with the protest of the Hotel Culembourg, +which demanded the abolition of the Inquisition in Holland, and when +four hundred gentlemen, walking in pairs, carried to the foot of +Marguerite's throne the general desire of the people, as summed up in +that protest. At the sight of these gentlemen, so simply clothed, +Barlaimont, one of the councilors of the duchess, uttered the word +"Gueux," which, taken up by the Flemish gentlemen, so long designated +the patriot party. From this time William began to play the part which +made him one of the greatest political actors of the world. Constantly +beaten by the overwhelming power of Philippe II., he constantly rose +again, always stronger after his defeats--always organizing a new army +to replace the scattered one, and always hailed as a liberator. + +In the midst of these alternate moral triumphs and physical defeats, +William learned at Mons the news of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. It +was a terrible wound for Holland, and the Calvinist portion of Flanders +lost by it their natural allies, the Huguenots of France. + +William retreated from Mons to the Rhine, and waited for events. Some of +the Gueux was driven by a contrary wind into the port of Brille: and +seeing no escape, and pushed by despair, took the city which was +preparing to hang them. + +This done, they chased away the Spanish garrison, and sent for the +Prince of Orange. He came; and as he wished to strike a decisive blow, +he published an ordonnance forbidding the Catholic religion in Holland, +as the Protestant faith was forbidden in France. + +At this manifesto war recommenced. The Duc d'Alva sent his own son +Frederic against the revolters, who took from them Zutphen, Nardem, and +Haarlem; but this check, far from discouraging them, seemed to give them +new strength. All took up arms, from the Zuyderzee to the Scheldt. Spain +began to tremble, recalled the Duc d'Alva, and sent as his successor +Louis de Requesens, one of the conquerors at Lepanto. + +Then began for William a new series of misfortunes--Ludovic and Henri of +Nassau, who were bringing him aid, were surprised by one of the officers +of Don Louis near Nimegue, defeated and killed; the Spaniards penetrated +into Holland, besieged Leyden, and pillaged Antwerp. + +All seemed desperate, when Heaven came once more to the aid of the +infant Republic. Requesens died at Brussels. + +Then all the provinces, united by a common interest, drew up and signed, +on the 8th November, 1576, that is to say four days after the sack of +Antwerp, the treaty known under the name of the Treaty of Ghent, by +which they engaged to aid each other in delivering their country from +the yoke of the Spaniards and other foreigners. + +Don John reappeared, and with him the woes of Holland; for in less than +two months Namur and Charlemont were taken. The Flemings replied, +however, to these two checks by naming the Prince of Orange +governor-general of Brabant. + +Don John died in his turn, and Alexander Farnese succeeded him. He was a +clever prince, charming in his manners, which were at once gentle and +firm; a skillful politician, and a good general. Flanders trembled at +hearing that soft Italian voice call her friend, instead of treating her +as a rebel. William knew that Farnese would do more for Spain with his +promises than the Duc d'Alva with his punishments. On the 29th January, +1579, he made the provinces sign the Treaty of Utrecht, which was the +fundamental base of the rights of Holland. It was then that, fearing he +should never be able to accomplish alone the freedom for which he had +been fighting for fifteen years, he offered to the Duc d'Anjou the +sovereignty of the country, on condition that he should respect their +privileges and their liberty of conscience. This was a terrible blow to +Philippe II., and he replied to it by putting a price of 25,000 crowns +on the head of William. The States-General assembled at the Hague, then +declared Philippe deposed from the sovereignty of Holland, and ordered +that henceforth the oath of fidelity should be taken to them. + +The Duc d'Anjou now entered Belgium, and was well received. Philippe's +promise, however, bore its fruits; for in the midst of a fete, a pistol +shot was heard; William fell, and was believed dead; but he recovered. +The shot had been fired by Jean Jaureguy. + +The Flemings then, on William's advice, elected Francois, duc of +Brabant, sovereign prince of Flanders. Elizabeth of England saw in this +a method of reuniting the Calvinists of Flanders and France to those of +England--perhaps she dreamed of a triple crown. William, however, took +care to hold the Duc d'Anjou in check, and to counteract the execution +of any design which would have given him too much power in Flanders. +Philippe II. called the Duc de Guise to his aid, on the strength of a +treaty which had been entered into by him with Don John of Austria. +Henri of Guise consented, and it was then that Lorraine and Spain sent +Salcede to the Duc d'Anjou to assassinate him, which would have suited +the views of both; but Salcede, as we know, was arrested and executed +without having carried his project into execution. + +Francois advanced but slowly, however, in Flanders, for the people were +more than half afraid of him; he grew impatient, and determined to lay +siege to Antwerp, which had invited his aid against Farnese, but when he +wished to enter had turned its guns against him. This was the position +of the Duc d'Anjou at the time when our story rejoins him, on the day +after the arrival of Joyeuse and his fleet. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + +PREPARATIONS FOR BATTLE. + + +The camp of the new Duke of Brabant was situated on the banks of the +Scheldt, and the army, although well disciplined, was agitated by a +spirit easy to understand. + +Indeed, many Calvinists assisted the duke, not from sympathy for him, +but in order to be as disagreeable as possible to Spain and to the +Catholics of France and England; they fought rather from self-love than +from conviction or devotion, and it was certain that, the campaign once +over, they would abandon their leader or impose conditions on him. With +regard to these conditions, the duke always gave them to understand that +when the time came he should be ready, and was constantly saying, "Henri +of Navarre made himself a Catholic, why should not I become a Huguenot?" +On the opposite side, on the contrary, there existed a perfect unity of +feeling. Antwerp had intended to give entrance to him, at her own time +and on her own conditions. + +All at once they saw a fleet appear at the mouth of the Scheldt, and +they learned that this fleet was brought by the high admiral of France, +to aid the Duc d'Anjou, whom they now began to look upon as their enemy. +The Calvinists of the duke were little better pleased than the Flemings +at the sight. They were very brave, but very jealous: and they did not +wish others to come and clip their laurels, particularly swords which +had slain so many Huguenots on the day of the St. Bartholomew. From this +proceeded many quarrels, which began on the very evening of their +arrival, and continued all the next day. + +From their ramparts, the Antwerpians had every day the spectacle of a +dozen duels between Catholics and Protestants; and they threw into the +river as many dead as a combat might have cost the French. If the siege +of Antwerp, like that of Troy, had lasted nine years, the besieged need +have done nothing but look at the assailants, who would certainly have +destroyed themselves. Francois acted the part of mediator, but not +without great difficulty; he had made promises to the Huguenots, and +could not offend them without offending at the same time all Flanders. +On the other hand, to offend the Catholics sent by the king to aid him +would be most impolitic. The arrival of this re-enforcement, on which +the duke himself had not reckoned, filled the Spaniards and the Guises +with rage. However, all these different opinions interfered sadly with +the discipline of the duke's army. Joyeuse, who we know had never liked +the mission, was annoyed to find among these men such antagonistic +opinions, and felt instinctively that the time for success was past, and +both as an idle courtier and as a captain, grumbled at having come so +far only to meet with defeat. He declared loudly that the Duc d'Anjou +had been wrong in laying siege to Antwerp, and argued that to possess a +great city with its own consent was a real advantage; but that to take +by assault the second capital of his future states was to expose himself +to the dislike of the Flemings; and Joyeuse knew the Flemings too well +not to feel sure that if the duke did take Antwerp, sooner or later they +would revenge themselves with usury. This opinion Joyeuse did not +hesitate to declare in the duke's tent. + +While the council was held among his captains, the duke was lying on a +couch and listening, not to the advice of the admiral, but to the +whispers of Aurilly. This man, by his cowardly compliances, his base +flatteries, and his continual assiduities, had secured the favor of the +prince. With his lute, his love messages, and his exact information +about all the persons and all the intrigues of the court--with his +skillful maneuvers for drawing into the prince's net whatever prey he +might wish for, he had made a large fortune, while he remained to all +appearance the poor luteplayer. His influence was immense, because it +was secret. + +Joyeuse, seeing the duke talking to Aurilly, stopped short. The duke, +who had, after all, been paying more attention than he seemed to do, +asked him what was the matter. "Nothing, monseigneur; I am only waiting +until your highness is at liberty to listen to me." + +"Oh! but I do listen, M. de Joyeuse. Do you think I cannot listen to +two people at once, when Caesar dictated seven letters at a time?" + +"Monseigneur," said Joyeuse, with a glance at the musician, "I am no +singer to need an accompaniment when I speak." + +"Very good, duke; be quiet, Aurilly. Then you disapprove of a coup de +main on Antwerp?"--"Yes, monseigneur." + +"I adopted this plan in council, however." + +"Therefore, monseigneur, I speak with much hesitation, after so many +distinguished captains." + +And Joyeuse, courtier-like, bowed to all. Many voices were instantly +raised to agree with the admiral. + +"Comte de St. Aignan," said the prince to one of his bravest colonels, +"you are not of the opinion of M. de Joyeuse?" + +"Yes, monseigneur, I am." + +"Oh! I thought as you made a grimace--" + +Every one laughed but Joyeuse, who said, "If M. de St. Aignan generally +gives his advice in that manner, it is not very polite, that is all." + +"M. de Joyeuse," replied St. Aignan, "his highness is wrong to reproach +me with an infirmity contracted in his service. At the taking of +Cateau-Cambresis I received a blow on the head, and since that time my +face is subject to nervous contractions, which occasion those grimaces +of which his highness complains. This is not an excuse that I give you, +M. de Joyeuse; it is an explanation," said the count, proudly. + +"No, monsieur," said Joyeuse, "it is a reproach that you make, and you +are right." + +The blood mounted to the face of Duc Francois. + +"And to whom is this reproach addressed?" said he. + +"To me, probably, monseigneur." + +"Why should St. Aignan reproach you, whom he does not know?" + +"Because I believed for a moment that M. de St. Aignan cared so little +for your highness as to counsel you to assault Antwerp." + +"But," cried the prince, "I must settle my position in the country. I +am Duke of Brabant and Count of Flanders, in name, and I must be so in +reality. This William, who is gone I know not where, spoke to me of a +kingdom. Where is this kingdom?--in Antwerp. Where is he?--probably in +Antwerp also; therefore we must take Antwerp, and we shall know how we +stand." + +"Oh! monseigneur, you know it now, or you are, in truth, a worse +politician than I thought you. Who counseled you to take Antwerp?--the +Prince of Orange. Who disappeared at the moment of taking the +field?--the Prince of Orange. Who, while he made your highness Duke of +Brabant, reserved for himself the lieutenant-generalship of the +duchy?--the Prince of Orange. Whose interest is it to ruin the Spaniards +by you, and you by the Spaniards?--the Prince of Orange. Who will +replace you, who will succeed, if he does not do so already?--the Prince +of Orange? Oh! monseigneur, in following his counsels you have but +annoyed the Flemings. Let a reverse come, and all those who do not dare +to look you now in the face will run after you like those timid dogs who +run after those who fly." + +"What! you imagine that I can be beaten by wool-merchants and +beer-drinkers?" + +"These wool-merchants and these beer-drinkers have given plenty to do to +Philippe de Valois, the Emperor Charles V., and Philippe II., who were +three princes placed sufficiently high, monseigneur, for the comparison +not to be disagreeable to you." + +"Then you fear a repulse?" + +"Yes, monseigneur, I do." + +"You will not be there, M. de Joyeuse." + +"Why not?" + +"Because you can hardly have such doubts of your own bravery as already +to see yourself flying before the Flemings. In any case, reassure +yourself, these prudent merchants have the habit, when they march to +battle, of cumbering themselves with such heavy armor that they would +never catch you if you did run." + +"Monseigneur, I do not doubt my own courage. I shall be in the front, +but I shall be beaten there, as the others who are behind will be." + +"But your reasoning is not logical, M. de Joyeuse; you approve of my +taking the lesser places." + +"I approve of your taking those that do not defend themselves." + +"And then I am to draw back from the great city because she talks of +defending herself?" + +"Better than to march on to destruction." + +"Well, I will not retreat." + +"Your highness must do as you like; and we are here to obey." + +"Prove to me that I am wrong." + +"Monseigneur, see the army of the Prince of Orange. It was yours, was it +not? Well, instead of sitting down before Antwerp with you, it is in +Antwerp, which is very different. William, you say, was your friend and +counselor; and now you not only do not know where he is, but you believe +him to be changed into an enemy. See the Flemings--when you arrived they +were pleased to see you; now they shut their gates at your sight, and +prepare their cannon at your approach, not less than if you were the Duc +d'Alva. Well! I tell you, Flemings and Dutch, Antwerp and Orange, only +wait for an opportunity to unite against you, and that opportunity will +be when you order your artillery to fire." + +"Well, we will fight at once Flemings and Dutch, Antwerp and Orange." + +"No, monseigneur, we have but just men enough to attack Antwerp, +supposing we have only the inhabitants to deal with; and while we are +engaged in the assault, William will fall on us with his eternal eight +or ten thousand men, always destroyed and always reappearing by the aid +of which be has kept in check during ten or twelve years the Duc d'Alva, +Requesens, and the Duc de Parma." + +"Then you persist in thinking that we shall be beaten?" + +"I do." + +"Well, it is easy for you to avoid it, M. de Joyeuse," said the prince +angrily; "my brother sent you here to aid me, but I may dismiss you, +saying that I do not need aid." + +"Your highness may say so, but I would not retire on the eve of a +battle." + +"Well, my dear admiral," said the duke, trying to conciliate, "I may +have been too jealous of the honor of my name, and wished too much to +prove the superiority of the French army, and I may have been wrong. But +the evil is done; we are before armed men--before men who now refuse +what they themselves offered. Am I to yield to them? To-morrow they +would begin to retake, bit by bit, what I have already conquered. No! +the sword is drawn; let us strike, or they will strike first. That is my +opinion." + +"When your highness speaks thus," said Joyeuse, "I will say no more. I +am here to obey you, and will do so with all my heart, whether you lead +me to death or victory; and yet--but I will say no more."--"Speak." + +"No, I have said enough." + +"No, I wish to hear." + +"In private then, if it please your highness." + +All rose and retired to the other end of the spacious tent. + +"Speak," said Francois. + +"Monseigneur may care little for a check from Spain, a check which will +render triumphant those drinkers of Flemish beer, or this double-faced +Prince of Orange; but will you bear so patiently the laughter of M. de +Guise?" + +Francois frowned. + +"What has M. de Guise to do with it?" said he. + +"M. de Guise tried to have you assassinated, monseigneur; Salcede +confessed it at the torture, and, if I mistake not, he plays a great +part in all this, and he will be delighted to see you receive a check +before Antwerp, or even perhaps to obtain, for nothing, that death of a +son of France, for which he had promised to pay so dearly to Salcede. +Read the history of Flanders, monseigneur, and you will see that the +Flemings are in the habit of enriching their soil with the blood of +princes, and of the best French warriors." + +The duke shook his head. + +"Well, Joyeuse," said he, "I will give, if it must be, the cursed joy to +the Lorraines of seeing me dead, but not that of seeing me flying. I +thirst for glory, Joyeuse; for alone of all my name, I have still my +battles to win." + +"You forget Cateau Cambresis, monseigneur." + +"Compare that with Jarnac and Montcontour, Joyeuse." Then, turning to +the others, who were standing far off, he said, "Gentlemen, the assault +is still resolved on; the rain has ceased, the ground is good, we will +make the attack this night." Joyeuse bowed. + +"Will your highness give full directions? we wait for them," said he. + +"You have eight vessels, without counting the admiral's ship, have you +not, M. de Joyeuse?" + +"Yes, monseigneur." + +"You will force the line; the thing will be easy, the Antwerpians have +only merchant vessels in the port; then you will bring them to bear upon +the fort. Then, if the quay is defended, you will attempt a landing with +your 1,500 men. Of the rest of the army I will make two columns: one +commanded by M. de St. Aignan, the other by myself. Both will attempt an +escalade by surprise, at the moment when the first cannon-shot is fired. + +"The cavalry will remain in position, in case of a repulse, to protect +the retreating columns. Of these three attacks, one must surely succeed. +The first column which gains the ramparts will fire a rocket to let the +others know." + +"But one must think of everything, monseigneur," said Joyeuse; "and +supposing all three attacks should fail?" + +"Then we must gain the vessels under the protection of our batteries." + +All bowed. + +"Now, gentlemen, silence," said the duke; "wake the sleeping troops, and +embark; but let not a shot reveal our design. You will be in the port, +admiral, before the Antwerpians suspect your intention. We shall go +along the left bank, and shall arrive at the same time as yourself. Go, +gentlemen, and good courage; our former good luck will not fail to +follow us over the Scheldt." + +The captains quitted the prince's tent, and gave their orders with the +indicated precautions. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + +MONSEIGNEUR. + + +However, the Antwerpians did not quietly see the hostile preparations of +the Duc d'Anjou, and Joyeuse was not wrong in attributing to them all +the enmity possible. Antwerp was like a beehive at night, calm on the +exterior, but within full of movement and murmur. + +The Flemings in arms patroled the streets, barricaded their houses, and +fraternized with the battalions of the Prince of Orange, of whom part +were already in garrison there, while the other part entered the city in +fractions. + +When all was ready for a vigorous defense, the Prince of Orange, on a +dark and moonless night, entered the city quietly, and went to the Hotel +de Ville, where his confidants had everything ready for his reception. +There he received all the deputies of the bourgeoisie, passed in review +the officers of the paid troops, and communicated his plans to them, the +chief of which was to profit by this movement of the Duc d'Anjou to +break with him. The duke had done just what William wished to bring him +to, and he saw with pleasure this new competitor for the sovereignty +ruin himself, like so many others. + +William would have taken the offensive, but the governor objected, and +determined to wait for the arrival of monseigneur. + +Nine o'clock in the evening sounded, and the uncertainty became real +anxiety, some scouts having protested that they had seen a movement in +the French camp. A little flat boat had been sent on the Scheldt to +reconnoiter, for the Antwerpians were less unquiet as to what would +occur by land than by sea; but the bark had not returned. William became +more and more impatient, when the door of the hall opened, and a valet +appeared and announced "Monseigneur." As he spoke, a man, tall and +imperious-looking, wearing with supreme grace the cloak which entirely +enveloped him, entered the hall, and saluted courteously those who were +there. But at the first glance, his eye, proud and piercing, sought out +the prince in the midst of his officers. + +He went straight up to him and offered him his hand, which the prince +pressed with affection, and almost with respect. + +They called each other "Monseigneur." After this the unknown took off +his cloak. He was dressed in a buff doublet, and had high leather boots; +he was armed with a long sword, which seemed to make part of himself, so +easily it hung, and with a little dagger, which was passed through his +belt. His boots were covered with mud and dust, and his spurs were red +with the blood of his horse. He took his place at the table. + +"Well, where are we?" asked he. + +"Monseigneur," replied William, "you must have seen, in coming here, +that the streets were barricaded." + +"I saw that." + +"And the houses loopholed?" + +"I did not see that; but it is a good plan." + +"And the sentries doubled?" + +"Does not monseigneur approve of these preparations for defense?" said a +voice, in a tone of anxious disappointment. + +"Yes; but, however, I do not believe that in our circumstances it will +be useful; it fatigues the soldier and disquiets the bourgeois. You have +a plan of attack and defense, I suppose?" + +"We waited to communicate them to monseigneur," said the burgomaster. + +"Speak then." + +"Monseigneur arrived rather late, and I was obliged to act meanwhile," +said William. + +"And you did right, monseigneur; besides, whatever you do, you do well. +But I have not lost my time on the road, either." + +"We know by our spies," said the burgomaster, "that a movement is +preparing in the French camp; they are making ready for an attack, but +as we do not know on which side it will come, we have disposed the guns +so that they may be equally distributed over the whole rampart." + +"That is wise," replied the unknown, with a slight smile to William, who +held his tongue, and let the bourgeois speak of war. + +"We have done the same with our civic guards; they are spread over the +whole wall, and have orders to run at once to the point of attack. +However, it is the opinion of the greater number of our members that it +is impossible that the French meditate anything but a feigned attack." + +"And what purpose would that serve?" + +"To intimidate us, and induce us to admit them amicably." + +The stranger looked again at the Prince of Orange, who listened to all +this in the most careless manner, which almost amounted to disdain. + +"However," said another voice, "some fancied they could distinguish +preparations for attack in the camp this evening." + +"Mere suspicions," said the burgomaster; "I examined the camp myself +with an excellent spy-glass. The men were preparing for sleep, and the +duke was dining in his tent." + +The unknown threw a new glance at the prince, and fancied that this time +he gave a slight smile. + +"Gentlemen," said the unknown, "you are in error; a regular assault is +preparing against you, and your plans, however good, are incomplete." + +"But, monseigneur--" + +"Incomplete in this, that you expect an attack, and have prepared to +meet it." + +"Certainly." + +"Well, it is you who will make the attack, not wait for it, if you will +trust to me."--"Ah!" cried William, "that is something like speaking." + +"At this moment," said the stranger, who saw that he might reckon on the +prince's support, "the ships of M. de Joyeuse are getting ready." + +"How do you know that, monseigneur?" cried many voices together. + +"I know it," replied he. + +A murmur of doubt was half uttered, but the stranger caught it. + +"Do you doubt it?" asked he, in the tone of a man accustomed to control +all fears, prejudices, and self-loves. + +"We do not doubt it if your highness says it; but if you will permit us +to observe--" + +"Speak." + +"That if it were so we should have had tidings of it." + +"How so?"--"By our spies." + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + +MONSEIGNEUR. + + +At this moment another man entered the hall, and came forward +respectfully. + +"Ah! it is you, my friend," said the burgomaster. + +"Myself, monsieur," replied the man. + +"Monseigneur," said the burgomaster, "it is the man whom we sent to +reconnoiter." + +At the word "monseigneur," addressed not to the Prince of Orange, the +new comer made a movement of surprise and joy, and advanced quickly to +see better who was designated by this title. He was one of those Flemish +sailors, of whom the type is so recognizable, being marked, a square +head, blue eyes, short neck, and broad shoulders; he crushed in his +large hands his woolen cap, and as he advanced he left behind him a line +of wet, for his clothes were dripping with water. + +"Oh! here is a brave man who has swum back," said monseigneur, looking +at the man with his accustomed air of authority. + +"Yes, monseigneur, yes; and the Scheldt is broad and rapid," said the +sailor, eagerly. + +"Speak, Goes, speak," said monseigneur, knowing how a sailor would prize +being thus called by his name. + +Thus from that minute Goes addressed himself to the unknown exclusively; +although, having been sent by another, it was to him that he should have +given an account of his mission. + +"Monseigneur," said he, "I set out in my smallest bark and passed, by +giving the word, through all our ships, and reached those cursed French. +Ah! pardon, monseigneur." + +The stranger smiled and said, "Never mind, I am but half French, so +should be but half cursed." + +"Then monseigneur pardons me?" + +He nodded, and Goes went on. + +"While I rowed in the dark with my oars wrapped in cloth, I heard a +voice crying, 'Hola! bark, what do you want?' I thought it was to me +that the question was addressed, and was about to reply something or +other, when I heard some one cry behind me, 'Admiral's boat.'" + +Monseigneur looked at the council. + +"At the same moment," continued Gues, "I felt a shock; my bark was +swamped, and I fell into the water, but the waves of the Scheldt knew me +for an old acquaintance, and threw me up again. It was the admiral's +boat taking M. de Joyeuse on board, and which had passed over me; God +only knows how I was not crushed or drowned." + +"Thanks, brave Goes, thanks," said the Prince of Orange, putting a purse +into his hand. However, the sailor seemed to wait for his dismissal from +the stranger, who gave him a friendly nod, which he valued more than the +prince's present. + +"Well," said monseigneur to the burgomaster, "what do you say of this +report? Do you still doubt that the French are preparing, and do you +believe that it was to pass the night on board that M. de Joyeuse was +leaving the camp for his ship?" + +"But you are a diviner, then, monseigneur," cried the bourgeois. + +"Not more than Monseigneur the Prince of Orange, who is in all things of +my opinion, I am sure. But I, like him, was well informed, and know well +those on the other side, so that I should have been much astonished had +they not attacked to-night. Then be ready, gentlemen, for if you give +them time, the attack will be serious." + +"These gentlemen will do me the justice to own," said the prince, "that +before your arrival I held exactly the same language to them that you +now do." + +"But," said the burgomaster, "why does monseigneur believe that the +attack is about to commence?" + +"Here are the probabilities. The infantry is Catholic; it will fight +alone; that is, on one side. The cavalry is Calvinist; they will fight +alone on another side. The navy is under M. de Joyeuse, from Paris, who +will take his share of the combat and the glory. That is three sides." + +"Then let us form three corps," said the burgomaster. + +"Make only one, gentlemen, with all your best soldiers, and leave any of +whom you may be doubtful in close fight to guard your walls. Then with +this body make a vigorous sally when Francois least expects it. They +mean to attack; let them be forestalled, and attacked themselves. If you +wait for their assault you are lost, for no one equals the French at an +attack, as you, gentlemen, have no equals at defending your towns." + +The Flemings looked radiant. + +"What did I say, gentlemen?" said William. + +"It is a great honor," said the unknown, "to have been, without knowing +it, of the same opinion as the greatest captain of the age." + +Both bowed courteously. + +"Then," continued the unknown, "it is settled: you will make a furious +sortie on the infantry and cavalry. I trust that your officers will so +conduct it as to defeat your enemies." + +"But their vessels?" cried the burgomaster. "The wind is northeast, and +they will be in our city in two hours." + +"You have yourselves six old ships and thirty boats at St. Marie; that +is a mile off, is it not? That is your maritime barricade across the +Scheldt." + +"Yes, monseigneur, that is so. How do you know all these details?" + +Monseigneur smiled. + +"I know them, as you see; it is there that lies the fate of the battle." + +"Then," said the burgomaster, "we must send aid to our brave seamen." + +"On the contrary, you may dispose otherwise of the 400 men who are +there; twenty brave, intelligent, and devoted men will suffice." The +Antwerpians opened their eyes in surprise. + +"Will you," continued monseigneur, "destroy the French fleet at the +expense of your six old vessels and thirty boats?" + +"Hum!" said the Antwerpians, looking at each other, "our ships are not +so old." + +"Well, price them," said the stranger, "and I will pay you their value." + +"See," said William softly to him, "the men against whom I have to +contend every day. Were it not for that, I should have conquered long +ago." + +"Come, gentlemen," continued the stranger, "name your price, but name it +quickly. I will pay you in bills on yourselves, which I trust you will +find good." + +"Monseigneur," said the burgomaster, after a few minutes' deliberation +with the others, "we are merchants, and not soldiers; therefore, you +must pardon some hesitation, for our souls are not in our bodies, but in +our counting-houses. However, there are circumstances in which, for the +general good, we know how to make sacrifices. Dispose, then, of our +ships as you like." + +"Ma foi, monseigneur," said William, "you have done wonders. It would +have taken me six months to obtain what you have done in ten minutes." + +"This, then, is my plan, gentlemen," said monseigneur. "The French, with +the admiral's galley at their head, will try to force a passage. Make +your line long enough, and from all your boats let the men throw +grappling-irons; and then, having made fast the enemy's ships, set fire +to all your own boats, having previously filled them with combustible +materials, and let your men escape in one reserved for the purpose." + +"Oh!" cried William, "I see the whole French fleet burning." + +"Yes, the whole; then no more retreat by sea and none by land, for at +the same time you must open the sluices of Malines, Berchem, Lier, +Duffel, and Antwerp. Repulsed by you, pursued by your open dykes, +enveloped on all sides by these waters unexpectedly and rapidly rising, +by this sea, which will have a flow, but no ebb, the French will be +drowned--overwhelmed--destroyed." + +The officers uttered a cry of joy. + +"There is but one drawback," said the prince. + +"What is it, monseigneur?" + +"That it would take a day to send our orders to the different towns, and +we have but an hour." + +"And an hour is enough." + +"But who will instruct the fleet?" + +"It is done." + +"By whom?" + +"By me. If these gentlemen had refused to give it to me, I should have +bought it." + +"But Malines, Lier, Duffel?" + +"I passed through Malines and Lier, and sent a sure agent to Duffel. At +eleven o'clock the French will be beaten; at one they will be in full +retreat; at two Malines will open its dykes, Lier and Duffel their +sluices, and the whole plain will become a furious ocean, which will +drown houses, fields, woods, and villages, it is true, but at the same +time will destroy the French so utterly, that not one will return to +France." + +A silence of admiration and terror followed these words; then all at +once the Flemings burst into applause. William stepped forward, and, +holding out his hand, said: "Then, monseigneur, all is ready on our +side?" + +"All; and, stay--I believe on the side of the French also." + +And he pointed to an officer who was entering. + +"Gentlemen," cried the officer, "we have just heard that the French are +marching toward the city." + +"To arms!" cried the burgomaster. + +"To arms!" cried all. + +"One moment, gentlemen," cried monseigneur; "I have to give one +direction more important than all the rest." + +"Speak!" cried all. + +"The French will be surprised; it will not be a combat, nor even a +retreat, but a flight. To pursue them you must be lightly armed. No +cuirasses, morbleu! It is your cuirasses, in which you cannot move, +which have made you lose all the battles you have lost. No cuirasses, +gentlemen. We will meet again in the combat. Meanwhile, go to the place +of the Hotel de Ville, where you will find all your men in battle +array." + +"Thanks, monseigneur," said William; "you have saved Belgium and +Holland." + +"Prince, you overwhelm me." + +"Will your highness consent to draw the sword against the French?" asked +the prince. + +"I will arrange as to fight against the Huguenots," replied the unknown, +with a smile which his more somber companion might have envied. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + +FRENCH AND FLEMINGS. + + +At the moment when the members of the council left the Hotel de Ville, +the officers went to put themselves at the head of their troops, and +execute the orders they had received. At the same time the artillery +sounded. This artillery surprised the French in their nocturnal march, +by which they had hoped to surprise the town; but instead of stopping +their advance, it only hastened it. If they could not take the city by +surprise, they might, as we have seen the king of Navarre do at Cahors, +fill up the moats with fascines and burst open the gates with petards. + +The cannon from the ramparts continued to fire, but in the darkness took +scarcely any effect, and after having replied to the cries of their +adversaries, the French advanced silently toward the ramparts with that +fiery intrepidity which they always show in attack. + +But all at once, doors and posterns opened, and from all sides poured +out armed men, if not with the fierce impetuosity of the French, with a +firmness which rendered them massive as a rolling wall. + +It was the Flemings, who advanced in close ranks, and compact masses, +above which the cannon continued to thunder, although with more noise +than effect. Then the combat began hand to hand, foot to foot, sword to +sword, and the flash of pistols lighted up faces red with blood. + +But not a cry--not a murmur--not a complaint was heard, and the Flemings +and French fought with equal rage. The Flemings were furious at having +to fight, for fighting was neither their profession nor their pleasure; +and the French were furious at being attacked when they meant to have +taken the initiative. + +While the combat was raging furiously, explosions were heard near St. +Marie, and a light rose over the city, like a crest of flames. It was +Joyeuse attacking and trying to force the barrier across the Scheldt, +and who would soon penetrate into the city, at least, so the French +hoped. + +But it was not so; Joyeuse had weighed anchor and sailed, and was making +rapid progress, favored by the west wind. All was ready for action; the +sailors, armed with their boarding cutlasses, were eager for the combat; +the gunners stood ready with lighted matches; while some picked men, +hatchet in hand, stood ready to jump on the hostile ships and destroy +the chains and cords. + +The seven ships advanced in silence, disposed in the form of a wedge, of +which the admiral's galley formed the point. Joyeuse himself had taken +his first lieutenant's place, and was leaning over the bowsprit, trying +to pierce the fogs of the river and the darkness of the night. Soon, +through this double obscurity, he saw the pier extending itself darkly +across the stream; it appeared deserted, but, in that land of ambushes, +there seemed something terrifying in this desertion. + +However, they continued to advance, and soon were within sight of the +barrier, scarcely ten cable lengths off; they approached nearer and +nearer, and yet not a single "qui vive!" struck on their ears. + +The sailors only saw in this silence a carelessness which rejoiced them; +but their young admiral, more far-seeing, feared some ruse. At last the +prow of the admiral's ship touched the two ships which formed the center +of the barrier, and made the whole line, which was fastened together by +chains, tremble. + +Suddenly, as the bearers of the hatchets received the order to board and +cut the chains, a crowd of grappling irons, thrown by invisible hands, +seized hold of the French vessels. The Flemings had forestalled the +intended movement of the French. Joyeuse believed that his enemies were +offering him a mortal combat, and he accepted it with alacrity. He also +threw grappling irons, and the two lines of ships were firmly bound +together. Then, seizing a hatchet, he was the first to jump on a ship, +crying, "Board them! board them!" All his crew followed him, officers +and men, uttering the same cry; but no cry replied to them, no force +opposed their advance. + +Only they saw three boats full of men gliding silently over the water, +like three sea-birds. + +The assailants rested motionless on the ships which they had conquered +without a struggle. + +All at once Joyeuse heard under his feet a crackling sound, and a smell +of sulphur filled the air. A thought crossed his mind, and he ran and +opened a hatchway; the vessel was burning. A cry of, "To our ships!" +sounded through all the line. Each climbed back again more quickly than +he had come in; but Joyeuse, this time, was the last. Just as he reached +his galley, the flames burst out over the whole bridge of boats, like +twenty volcanoes, of which each ship or boat was the crater; the order +was instantly given to cut the ropes and break the chains and +grappling-irons, and the sailors worked with the rapidity of men who +knew that their safety depended on their exertions. But the work was +immense; perhaps they might have detached those thrown by the enemy on +their ships, but they had also to detach those which they themselves had +thrown. + +All at once twenty explosions were heard, and each of the French ships +trembled to its center. It was the cannons that defended the port, and +which, fully charged and then abandoned by the Antwerpians, exploded as +the fire gained on them, breaking everything within their reach. + +The flames mounted like gigantic serpents along the masts, rolled +themselves round the yards, then, with their forked tongues, came to +lick the sides of the French vessels. + +Joyeuse, with his magnificent armor covered with gold, giving calmly, +and in an imperious voice, his orders in the midst of the flames, looked +like a fabulous salamander covered with scales, and at every movement +threw off a shower of sparks. But the explosions became louder than +ever; the gun-room had taken fire, and the vessels were flying in +pieces. + +Joyeuse had done his best to free himself, but in vain; the flames had +reached the French ships, and showers of fire fell about him. The +Flemish barrier was broken, and the French burning ships drifted to the +shore. Joyeuse saw that he could not save his ships, and he gave orders +to lower the boats, and land on the left bank. This was quickly done, +and all the sailors were embarked to a man before Joyeuse quitted his +galley. His sang-froid kept every one in order, and each man landed with +a sword or an ax in his hand. Before he had reached the shore, the fire +reached the magazine of his ship, which blew up, lighting the whole +horizon. + +Meanwhile, the artillery from the ramparts had ceased, not that the +combat had abated, but that it was so close it was impossible to fire on +enemies without firing on friends also. + +The Calvinist cavalry had charged, and done wonders. Before the swords +of its cavaliers a pathway opened, but the wounded Flemings pierced the +horses with their large cutlasses, and in spite of this brilliant +charge, a little confusion showed itself in the French columns, and they +only kept their ground instead of advancing, while from the gates of the +city new troops continually poured out. All at once, almost under the +walls of the city, a cry of "Anjou! France!" was heard behind the mass +of the Antwerpians. This was Joyeuse and his 1,500 sailors, armed with +hatchets and cutlasses. They had to revenge their fleet in flames and +two hundred of their companions burned or drowned. + +No one could manage his long sword better than Joyeuse: every blow cut +open a head, every thrust took effect. The group of Flemings on which he +fell were destroyed like a field of corn by a legion of locusts. +Delighted with their first success, they continued to push on; but the +Calvinist cavalry, surrounded by troops, began to lose ground. M. de St. +Aignan's infantry, however, kept their place. + +The prince had seen the burning of the fleet, and heard the reports of +the cannon and the explosions, without suspecting anything but a fierce +combat, which must terminate in victory for Joyeuse; for how could a few +Flemish ships fight against the French fleet? He expected, then, every +minute a diversion on the part of Joyeuse, when the news was brought to +him that the fleet was destroyed, and Joyeuse and his men fighting in +the midst of the Flemings. He now began to feel very anxious, the fleet +being the means of retreat, and consequently the safety of the army. He +sent orders to the Calvinist cavalry to try a fresh charge, and men and +horses, almost exhausted, rallied to attack the Antwerpians afresh. The +voice of Joyeuse was heard in the midst of the melee crying, "Hold firm, +M. de St. Aignan. France! France!" and, like a reaper cutting a field of +corn, his sword flew round, and cut down its harvest of men; the +delicate favorite--the Sybarite--seemed to have put on with his cuirass +the strength of a Hercules; and the infantry, hearing his voice above +all the noise, and seeing his sword flashing, took fresh courage, and, +like the cavalry, made a new effort, and returned to the combat. + +But now the person that had been called monseigneur came out of the city +on a beautiful black horse. He wore black armor, and was followed by +three hundred well-mounted cavaliers, whom the Prince of Orange had +placed at his disposal. + +By a parallel gate came out William himself, with a picked body of +infantry who had not yet appeared. + +Monseigneur hastened where he was most wanted, that is to say, where +Joyeuse was fighting with his sailors. + +The Flemings recognized him, and opened their ranks, crying, joyfully, +"Monseigneur! monseigneur!" Joyeuse and his men saw the movement, heard +the cries, and all at once found themselves opposed to a new troop. +Joyeuse pushed his horse toward the black knight, and their swords met. +Joyeuse was confident in his armor and his science, but all his thrusts +were skillfully parried, and one of those of his adversary touched him, +and in spite of his armor, drew some drops of blood from his shoulder. + +"Ah!" cried the young admiral, "this man is a Frenchman, and what is +more, he has studied fencing under the same master as I have." + +At these words the unknown turned away, and tried to find a new +antagonist. + +"If you are French," cried Joyeuse, "you are a traitor, for you fight +against your king, your country, and your flag." + +The unknown only replied by attacking Joyeuse with fresh fury; but now +Joyeuse was on his guard, and knew with what a skillful swordsman he had +to deal. He parried two or three thrusts with as much skill as fury, and +it was now the stranger who made a step back. + +"See!" cried Joyeuse, "what one can do fighting for one's country! A +pure heart and a loyal arm suffice to defend a head without a helmet, a +face without a vizor;" and he threw his helmet far from him, displaying +his noble and beautiful head, with eyes sparkling with pride, youth and +anger. + +His antagonist forebore answer, uttered a cry, and struck at his bare +head. + +"Ah!" cried Joyeuse, parrying the blow, "I said you were a traitor, and +as a traitor you shall die. I will kill you, and carry off this helmet +which hides and defends you, and hang you to the first tree that I see." + +[Illustration: "I SAID YOU WERE A TRAITOR, AND AS A TRAITOR YOU SHALL +DIE."] + +But at this moment a cavalier cried: + +"Monseigneur, no more skirmishing; your presence is wanted over there." + +Glancing toward the point indicated, the unknown saw the Flemings giving +way before the Calvinist cavalry. + +"Yes," cried he, "those are the men I wanted." + +At this moment so many cavaliers pressed on the sailors, that they made +their first step in retreat. + +The black cavalier profited by this movement to disappear in the melee. + +A quarter of an hour after the French began to give way. M. de St. +Aignan tried to retreat in good order, but a last troop of 2,000 +infantry and 500 horse came out fresh from the city, and fell on this +harassed and already retreating army. It was the old band of the Prince +of Orange, which had fought in turns against the Duc d'Alva, Don John, +Requesens, and Alexander Farnese. In spite of the coolness of the chiefs +and the bravery of many, a frightful rout commenced. + +At this moment the unknown fell again on the fugitives, and once more +met Joyeuse with his now diminished band. The young admiral was mounted +on his third horse, two having been killed under him; his sword was +broken, and he had taken from a sailor one of their heavy hatchets, +which he whirled round his head with the greatest apparent ease. From +time to time he turned and faced his enemy, like the wild boar who +cannot make up his mind to fly, and turns desperately on his hunter. The +Flemings, who by monseigneur's advice had fought without cuirasses, were +active in the pursuit, and gave no rest to the Angevin army. Something +like remorse seized the unknown at the sight of this disaster. + +"Enough, gentlemen," cried he, in French, "to-night they are driven from +Antwerp, and in a week will be driven from Flanders; ask no more of the +God of battles." + +"Ah! he is French," cried Joyeuse; "I guessed it, traitor. Ah! be +cursed, and may you die the death of a traitor." + +This furious imprecation seemed to disconcert the unknown more than a +thousand swords raised against him; he turned, and conqueror as he was, +fled as rapidly as the conquered. But this retreat of a single man +changed nothing in the state of affairs. Fear is contagious, it seized +the entire army, and the soldiers began to fly like madmen. The horses +went fast, in spite of fatigue, for they also felt the influence of +fear; the men dispersed to seek a shelter, and in some hours the army, +as an army, existed no longer. This was the time when the dykes were to +be opened. From Lier to Termonde, from Haesdouk to Malines--each little +river, swollen by its tributaries--each canal overflowed, and spread +over the flat country its contingent of furious water. + +Thus, when the fugitive French began to stop, having tired out the +Antwerpians, whom they had seen return to the town, followed by the +soldiers of the Prince of Orange--when those who had escaped from the +carnage of the night believed themselves saved, and stopped to breathe +for an instant, some with a prayer, and others with a curse, then a new +enemy, blind and pitiless, was preparing for them. Joyeuse had commanded +his sailors, now reduced to eight hundred, to make a halt; they were the +only persons who had preserved some order, the Comte de St. Aignan +having vainly tried to rally his foot soldiers. + +The Duc d'Anjou, at the head of the fugitives, mounted on an excellent +horse, and accompanied by a single servant, pushed forward without +appearing to think of anything. + +"He has no heart," cried some. + +"His sang-froid is magnificent," said others. + +Some hours of repose, from two to six in the morning, restored to the +infantry the strength to continue their retreat; but provisions were +wanting. + +As for the horses, they seemed more fatigued than the men, and could +scarcely move, for they had eaten nothing since the day before. + +The fugitives hoped to gain Brussels, where the duke had many partisans, +although they were not free from anxiety as to their reception. At +Brussels, which was about eight leagues off, they would find food for +the famishing troops, and a place of security from whence to recommence +the campaign at a more favorable time. M. d'Anjou breakfasted in a +peasant's hut, between Heboken and Heckhout. It was empty, but a fire +still burned in the grate. + +The soldiers and officers wished to imitate their chief, and spread +themselves about the village, but found with a surprise mingled with +terror that every house was deserted and empty. + +M. de St. Aignan, who had aided them in their search, now called to the +officers: + +"March on, gentlemen." + +"But we are tired and dying with hunger, colonel." + +"Yes, but you are alive; and if you remain here another hour you will be +dead. Perhaps it is already too late." + +M. de St. Aignan knew nothing; but he suspected some great danger. They +went on; but two or three thousand men straggled from the main body, or, +worn out with fatigue, lay down on the grass, or at the foot of a tree, +wearied, desolate, and despairing. Scarcely three thousand able men +remained to the Duc d'Anjou. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + +THE TRAVELERS. + + +While these disasters, the forerunners of a still greater one, were +taking place, two travelers, mounted on excellent horses, left Brussels +on a fine night, and rode toward Mechlin. They rode side by side, +without any apparent arms but a large Flemish knife, of which the handle +appeared in the belt of one of them. They rode on, each occupied with +thoughts perhaps the same, without speaking a word. They looked like +those commercial travelers who at that time carried on an extensive +trade between France and Flanders. Whoever had met them trotting so +peaceably along the road would have taken them for honest men, anxious +to find a bed after their day's work. However, it was only necessary to +overhear a few sentences of their conversation to lose any such opinion +suggested by their appearance. They were about half a league from +Brussels, when the tallest of them said: + +"Madame, you were quite right to set off to-night; we shall gain seven +leagues by it, and shall probably arrive at Mechlin by the time the +result of the attack on Antwerp is known. In two days of short marches, +and you must take easy stages, we shall reach Antwerp." + +The person who was called madame, in spite of her male costume, replied +in a voice calm, grave, and sweet: + +"My friend, believe me, God will tire of protecting this wicked prince, +and will strike him cruelly; let us hasten to put our projects into +execution, for I am not one of those who believe in fatality, and I +think that men have perfect freedom in will and deed. If we leave his +punishment to God, and do not act ourselves, it was not worth while +living so unhappily until now." + +At this moment a blast of north wind, cold and biting, swept across the +plain. + +"You shiver, madame," said the other traveler; "take your cloak." + +"No, thank you, Remy; I no longer feel pain of body or mind." + +Remy rode on silently, only now and then stopping and looking back. + +"You see no one behind us?" asked she, after one of these halts. + +"No one, madame." + +"That cavalier whom we met at Valenciennes, and who inquired about us, +after looking at us so curiously?" + +"He is not here, madame." + +"But I fancied I saw him again near Mons." + +"And I, madame, am sure I saw him just before we entered Brussels." + +"Brussels?" + +"Yes; but he must have stopped there." + +"Remy," said Diana, drawing near him, as if even on that lonely road she +feared to be overheard, "did he not seem to you like (in figure, at +least, for I did not see his face) that unhappy young man?" + +"Oh! no, madame, not at all; and besides, how could he have guessed that +we had left Paris, and were traveling along this road?" + +"But he found us out when we changed our house in Paris." + +"No, madame, I am sure he did not follow us; and, indeed, I believe he +had resolved on a desperate course as regards himself." + +"Alas! Remy, every one has his own share of suffering. I trust God will +console this poor youth." + +Remy replied with a sigh, and they went on with no other sound than +that of their horses' feet on the hard road. Two hours passed thus. Just +as they were about to enter Vilvoide, Remy turned his head, for he heard +the sound of horses' feet behind them. He stopped and listened, but +could see nothing. His eyes uselessly tried to pierce through the +darkness of the night, and as he no longer heard any sounds, they rode +on and entered the town. + +"Madame," said he, "if you will take my advice, you will stay here; +daylight will soon appear, the horses are tired, and you yourself need +repose." + +"Remy, you are anxious about something." + +"Yes, about your health, madame. Believe me, a woman cannot support so +much fatigue; I can scarcely do so myself." + +"As you please, Remy." + +"Well, then, enter that narrow street. I see a light at the end of it, +which must proceed from an inn. Be quick, I beg you." + +"You have heard something?" + +"I thought I heard a horse's feet. I am not sure, but I will stay behind +a minute to find out." + +The lady, without replying, went on, and Remy got off his horse and let +him follow her, while he hid himself behind an immense post and waited. +The lady knocked at the door of the inn, behind which, according to the +hospitable custom of the country, watched, or rather slept, a maid +servant. The girl woke up and received the traveler with perfect +good-humor, and then opened the stable-door for the two horses. + +"I am waiting for my companion," said Diana; "let me sit by the fire; I +shall not go to bed until he comes." + +The servant threw some straw to the horses, shut the stable door, then +returned to the kitchen, put a chair by the fire, snuffed the candle +with her fingers, and went to sleep again. + +Meanwhile Remy was watching for the arrival of the traveler whose horse +he had heard. He saw him enter the town and go on slowly, and seeming +to listen; then, seeing the inn, he appeared to hesitate whether to go +there or to continue his journey. He stopped close to Remy, who laid his +hand on his knife. + +"It is he again," thought Remy, "and he is following us. What can he +want?" + +After a minute the traveler murmured in a low voice, "They must have +gone on, and so will I," and he rode forward. + +"To-morrow we will change our route," thought Remy. + +And he rejoined Diana, who was waiting impatiently for him. + +"Well," said she softly, "are we followed?" + +"There is no one, I was wrong; you may sleep in perfect safety, madame." + +"I am not sleepy, Remy." + +"At least have supper, madame; you have scarcely eaten anything." + +"Willingly, Remy." + +They reawakened the poor servant, who got up as good-humoredly as +before, and hearing what they wanted, took from the cupboard a piece of +salt pork, a cold leveret, and some sweets, which she set before them, +together with a frothing jug of Louvain beer. + +Remy sat down with Diana, who drank half a glass of beer, and ate a +piece of bread. Remy did the same, and then they both rose. + +"Are you not going to eat any more?" asked the girl. + +"No, thank you, we have done." + +"Will you not eat any meat? it is very nice." + +"I am sure it is excellent, but we are not hungry." + +The girl clasped her hands in astonishment at this strange abstinence; +it was not thus she was used to see travelers eat. + +Remy threw a piece of money on the table. + +"Oh!" said the girl, "I cannot change all that; six farthings would be +all your bill." + +"Keep it all, my girl," said Diana; "it is true my brother and I eat +little, but we pay the same as others." + +The servant became red with joy. + +"Tell me, my girl," said Remy, "is there any cross-road from here to +Mechlin?" + +"Yes, monsieur, but it is very bad, while the regular road is a very +fine one." + +"Yes, my child, I know that, but we wish to travel by the other." + +"Oh! I told you, monsieur, because, as your companion is a lady, the +road would not do for her." + +"Why not?" + +"Because to-night a great number of people will cross the country to go +to Brussels."--"To Brussels?" + +"Yes; it is a temporary emigration." + +"For what reason?" + +"I do not know; they had orders." + +"From whom--the Prince of Orange?" + +"No; from monseigneur." + +"Who is he?" + +"I do not know, monsieur." + +"And who are the emigrants?" + +"The inhabitants of the country and of the villages which have no dykes +or ramparts." + +"It is strange." + +"We ourselves," said the girl, "are to set out at daybreak, as well as +all the other people in the town. Yesterday, at eleven o'clock, all the +cattle were sent to Brussels by canals and cross-roads; therefore on the +road of which you speak there must be great numbers of horses, carts, +and people." + +"I should have thought the great road better for all that." + +"I do not know; it was the order." + +"But we can go on to Mechlin, I suppose?" + +"I should think so, unless you will do like every one else, and go to +Brussels." + +"No, no, we will go on at once to Mechlin," said Diana, rising; "open +the stable, if you please, my good girl." + +"Danger every way," thought Remy; "however, the young man is before us." +And as the horses had not been unsaddled, they mounted again, and the +rising sun found them on the banks of the Dyle. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + +EXPLANATION. + + +The danger that Remy braved was a real one, for the traveler, after +having passed the village and gone on for a quarter of a league, and +seeing no one before him, made up his mind that those whom he sought had +remained behind in the village. He would not retrace his steps, but lay +down in a field of clover; having made his horse descend into one of +those deep ditches which in Flanders serve as divisions between the +properties, he was therefore able to see without being seen. This young +man, as Remy knew, and Diana suspected, was Henri du Bouchage, whom a +strange fatality threw once more into the presence of the woman he had +determined to fly. After his conversation with Remy, on the threshold of +the mysterious house, that is to say, after the loss of all his hopes, +he had returned to the Hotel Joyeuse, quite decided to put an end to a +life which he felt to be so miserable, and as a gentleman, and one who +had his name to keep untarnished, he decided on the glorious suicide of +the field of battle. + +Therefore, as they were fighting in Flanders, and his brother had a +command there, Henri, on the following day, left his hotel twenty hours +after the departure of Diana and Remy. + +Letters from Flanders announced the intended coup de main on Antwerp, +and Henri hoped to arrive in time for it. He pleased himself with the +idea that he should die sword in hand, in his brother's arms, under a +French flag, and that his death would be talked about until the sound +even reached the solitude in which the mysterious lady lived. Noble +follies! glorious, yet sad dreams! + +Just as--full of these thoughts--he came in sight of Valenciennes, from +whose church tower eight o'clock was sounding, he perceived that they +were about to close the gates. He pushed on, and nearly overturned, on +the drawbridge, a man who was fastening the girths of his horse. Henri +stopped to make excuses to the man, who turned at the sound of his +voice, and then quickly turned away again. Henri started, but +immediately thought, "I must be mad; Remy here, whom I left four days +ago in the Rue de Bussy; here now, without his mistress. Really, grief +must be turning my brain and making me see everything in the form of my +own fancies." And he continued his way, convinced that his idea had been +pure fancy. At the first hotel that he came to he stopped, gave his +horse to a servant, and sat down on a bench before the door, while they +prepared his bed and supper. But as he sat there he saw two travelers +approaching, and this time he saw more clearly. + +"Now," murmured he, "I do not dream, and still I think I see Remy. I +cannot remain in this uncertainty; I must clear up my doubts." + +He got up and ran down the road after them, but they had disappeared. +Then he went to all the hotels and questioned the servants, and after +much search discovered that two cavaliers had been seen going toward a +small inn in the Rue de Beffroi. The landlord was just shutting the +doors when Henri entered. While the man offered him rooms and +refreshment, he looked round, and saw on the top of the staircase Remy +going up, lighted by a servant; of his companion he saw nothing. Du +Bouchage had no longer any doubts, and he asked himself, with a dreadful +sinking of the heart, why Remy had left his mistress and was traveling +without her; for Henri had been so occupied in identifying Remy, that he +had scarcely looked at his companion. The next morning when he rose, he +was much surprised to learn that the two travelers had obtained from the +governor permission to go out; and that, contrary to all custom, the +gates had been opened for them. Thus, as they had set out at one +o'clock, they had six hours' start of him. Henri put his horse to the +gallop and passed the travelers at Mons. He saw Remy; but Remy must have +been a sorcerer to know him, for he had on a soldier's great coat and +rode another horse. Nevertheless, Remy's companion, at a word from him, +turned away his head before Henri could see his face. But the young man +did not lose courage; he watched them to their hotel, and then +questioning, with the aid of an irresistible auxiliary, learned that +Remy's companion was a very handsome, but very silent and sad looking +young man. Henri trembled. "Can it be a woman?" asked he. + +"It is possible," replied the host: "many women travel thus disguised +just now, to go and rejoin their lovers in Flanders; but it is our +business to see nothing, and we never do." + +Henri felt heart-broken at this explanation. Was Remy, indeed, +accompanying his mistress dressed as a cavalier; and was she, as the +host suggested, going to rejoin her lover in Flanders? Had Remy lied +when he spoke of an eternal regret? was this fable of a past love, which +had clothed his mistress forever in mourning, only his invention to get +rid of an importunate watcher? + +"If it be so," cried Henri, "the time will come when I shall have +courage to address this woman and reproach her with all the subterfuges +which lower her whom I had placed so high above all ordinary mortals; +and seeing nearer this brilliant envelope of a common mind, perhaps I +shall fall of myself from the height of my illusions and my love." + +And the young man tore his hair in despair at the thought of losing the +love which was killing him; for a dead heart is better than an empty +one. So he continued to follow them, and to wonder at the cause which +took to Flanders, at the same time as himself, these two beings so +indispensable to his existence. + +At Brussels he gathered information as to the Duc d'Anjou's intended +campaign. The Flemings were too hostile to the duke to receive well a +Frenchman of distinction, and were too proud of their position to +refrain from humiliating a little this gentleman who came from France +and questioned them in a pure Parisian accent, which always seemed +ridiculous to the Belgians. Henri began to conceive serious fears with +reference to this expedition, in which his brother was to bear so +prominent a part, and he resolved in consequence to push on rapidly to +Antwerp. It was a constant surprise to him to see Remy and his +companion, in spite of their desire not to be seen, continue to follow +the same road as himself. + +Henri, now hidden in the clover field, felt certain of seeing the face +of the young man who accompanied Remy, and thus putting an end to all +his doubts. As they passed, unsuspicious of his vicinity, Diana was +occupied in braiding up her hair, which she had not dared to untie at +the inn. + +Henri recognized her, and nearly fainted. The travelers passed on, and +then anger took, in Henri's mind, the place of the goodness and patience +he had exercised, while he believed Remy and the lady sincere toward +him. But after the protestations of Remy, this journey seemed to him a +species of treason. + +When he had recovered a little from the blow, he rose, shook back his +beautiful light hair, and mounted his horse, determined no longer to +take those precautions that respect had made him hitherto observe, and +he began to follow the travelers openly, and with his face uncovered. No +more cloak nor hood, no more stops and hesitation; the road belonged to +him as to them, and he rode on, regulating the pace of his horse by that +of theirs. He did not mean to speak to them, but only to let them see +him. Remy soon perceived him, and, seeing him thus openly advance +without any further attempt at concealment, grew troubled; Diana noticed +it and turned also. + +"Is it not that young man following us?" + +Remy, still trying to reassure her, said, "I do not think so, madame. As +well as I can judge by the dress, it is some young Walloon soldier going +probably to Amsterdam, and passing by the theater of war to seek +adventures." + +"I feel uneasy about him, Remy." + +"Reassure yourself, madame, had he been really the Comte du Bouchage, he +would have spoken to us; you know how persevering he was." + +"I know also that he was respectful, Remy, or I should never have +troubled myself about him, but simply told you to get rid of him." + +"Well, madame, if he be so respectful, you would have no more to fear +from him on this road than in the Rue de Bussy." + +"Nevertheless, Remy, let us change our horses here at Mechlin, in order +to get on faster to Antwerp." + +"On the contrary, madame, I should say, do not let us enter Mechlin at +all; our horses are good, let us push on to that little village which +is, I think, called Villebrock; in that manner we shall avoid the town, +with its questioners and curious gazers." + +"Go on, then, Remy." + +They turned to the left, taking a road hardly made, but which visibly +led to Villebrock; Henri also quitted the road, and turned down the +lane, still keeping his distance from them. + +Remy's disquietude showed itself in his constantly turning to look +behind him. At last they arrived at Villebrock. Of 200 houses which this +village contained, not one was inhabited; some forgotten dogs and lost +cats ran wildly about the solitude, the former calling for their masters +by long howls. Remy knocked at twenty doors, but found no one. Henri on +his side, who seemed the shadow of the travelers, knocked at the first +house as uselessly as they had done, then, divining that the war was the +cause of this desertion, waited to continue his journey until the +travelers should have decided what to do. + +They fed their horses with some corn which they found in an inn, and +then Remy said-- + +"Madame, we are no longer in a friendly country, nor in an ordinary +situation; we must not expose ourselves uselessly. We shall certainly +fall in with some French, Spanish, or Flemish band, for in the present +state of Flanders, adventures of all kinds must be rife. If you were a +man I should speak differently; but you are a young and beautiful woman, +and would run a double risk for life and honor." + +"My life is nothing," said she. + +"On the contrary, madame, it is everything. You live for a purpose." + +"Well, then, what do you propose? Think and act for me, Remy." + +"Then, madame, let us remain here. I see many houses which would afford +us a sure shelter. I have arms, and we will defend or hide ourselves, +as we shall be strong or weak." + +"No, Remy, no, I must go on; nothing must stop me; and if I had fears, +they would be for you." + +"We will go on then." + +They rode on, therefore, without another word, and Henri du Bouchage +followed. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + +THE WATER. + + +As the travelers advanced, the country took an equally strange aspect, +for it was utterly deserted, as well as the towns and villages. Nowhere +were the calves to be seen grazing in the meadows, nor the goat perched +on the top of the mountain, or nibbling the green shoots of the brier or +young vine; nowhere the shepherd with his flock; nowhere the cart with +its driver; no foreign merchant passing from one country to another with +his pack on his back; no plowman singing his harsh song or cracking his +long whip. As far as the eye could see over the magnificent plains, the +little hills and the woods, not a human figure was to be seen, not a +voice to be heard. It seemed like the earth before the creation of +animals or men. The only people who animated this dreary solitude were +Remy and his companion, and Henri following behind and preserving ever +the same distance. The night came on dark and cold, and the northeast +wind whistled in the air, and filled the solitude with its menacing +sound. + +Remy stopped his companion, and putting his hand on the bridle of her +horse, said-- + +"Madame, you know how inaccessible I am to fear; you know I would not +turn my back to save my life; but this evening some strange feeling +possesses me, and forbids me to go further. Madame, call it terror, +timidity, panic, what you will, I confess that for the first time in my +life I am afraid." + +The lady turned. + +"Is he still there?" she said. + +"Oh! I was not thinking of him; think no more of him, madame, I beg of +you; we need not fear a single man. No, the danger that I fear or +rather feel, or divine with a sort of instinct, is unknown to me, and +therefore I dread it. Look, madame, do you see those willows bending in +the wind?" + +"Yes." + +"By their side I see a little house; I beg you, let us go there. If it +is inhabited, we will ask for hospitality; and if not, we will take +possession of it. I beg you to consent, madame." + +Remy's emotion and troubled voice decided Diana to yield, so she turned +her horse in the direction indicated by him. Some minutes after, they +knocked at the door. A stream (which ran into the Nethe, a little river +about a mile off), bordered with reeds and grassy banks, bathed the feet +of the willows with its murmuring waters. Behind the house, which was +built of bricks, and covered with tiles, was a little garden, encircled +by a quickset hedge. + +All was empty, solitary, and deserted, and no one replied to the blows +struck by the travelers. Remy did not hesitate; he drew his knife, cut a +branch of willow, with which he pushed back the bolt and opened the +door. The lock, the clumsy work of a neighboring blacksmith, yielded +almost without resistance. Remy entered quickly, followed by Diana, +then, closing the door again, he drew a massive bolt, and thus +intrenched, seemed to breathe more freely. Feeling about, he found a +bed, a chair, and a table in an upper room. Here he installed his +mistress, and then, returning to the lower room, placed himself at the +window, to watch the movements of Du Bouchage. + +His reflections were as somber as those of Remy. "Certainly," said he to +himself, "some danger unknown to us, but of which the inhabitants are +not ignorant, is about to fall on the country. War ravages the land; +perhaps the French have taken, or are about to assault Antwerp, and the +peasants, seized with terror, have gone to take refuge in the towns." + +But this reasoning, however plausible, did not quite satisfy him. Then +he thought, "But what are Remy and his mistress doing here? What +imperious necessity drags them toward this danger? Oh, I will know; the +time has come to speak to this woman, and to clear away all my doubts. +Never shall I find a better opportunity." + +He approached the house, and then suddenly stopped, with a hesitation +common to hearts in love. + +"No," said he, "no, I will be a martyr to the end. Besides, is she not +mistress of her own actions? And, perhaps, she does not even know what +fable was invented by Remy. Oh, it is he alone that I hate; he who +assured me that she loved no one. But still let me be just. Ought this +man for me, whom he did not know, to have betrayed his mistress's +secrets? No, no. All that remains for me now is to follow this woman to +the camp, to see her hang her arms round some one's neck and hear her +say, 'See what I have suffered, and how I love you.' Well, I will follow +her there, see what I dread to see, and die of it; it will be trouble +saved for the musket or cannon. Alas! I did not seek this; I went calmly +to meet a glorious death, and I wished to die with her name on my lips. +It is not so to be; I am destined to a death full of bitterness and +torture. Well, I accept it." + +Then, recalling his days of waiting, and his nights of anguish before +the inexorable house, he found that he was less to be pitied here than +at Paris, and he went on. + +"I will stay here, and take these trees for a shelter, and then I can +hear her voice when she speaks, and see her shadow on the window." + +He lay down, then, under the willows, listening, with a melancholy +impossible to describe, to the murmur of the water that flowed at his +side. All at once he started; the noise of cannon was brought distinctly +to him by the wind. + +"Ah!" said he, "I shall arrive too late; they are attacking Antwerp." + +His first idea was to rise, mount his horse, and ride on as quickly as +possible; but to do this he must quit the lady, and die in doubt, so he +remained. + +During two hours he lay there, listening to the reports. He did not +guess that what he heard was his brother's ships blowing up. At last, +about two o'clock, all grew quiet. + +"Now," thought Henri, "Antwerp is taken, and my brother is a conqueror; +but after Antwerp will come Ghent, and then Bruges; I shall not want an +occasion for a glorious death. But before I die I must know what this +woman wants in the French camp." + +He lay still, and had just fallen asleep, when his horse, which was +grazing quietly near him, pricked up his ears and neighed loudly. + +Henri opened his eyes. The animal had his head turned to the breeze, +which had changed to the southeast, as if listening. + +"What is it, my good horse?" said the young man; "have you seen some +animal which frightened you, or do you regret the shelter of your +stable?" + +The animal stood still, looking toward Lier, with his eyes fixed and his +nostrils distended, and listening. + +"Ah!" said Henri, "it is more serious; perhaps some troops of wolves +following the army to devour the corpses." + +The horse neighed and began to run forward to the west, but his master +caught the bridle and jumped on his back, and then was able to keep him +quiet. But after a minute, Henri himself began to hear what the horse +had heard. A long murmur, like the wind, but more solemn, which seemed +to come from different points of the compass, from south to north. + +"What is it?" said Henri; "can it be the wind? No, it is the wind which +brings this sound, and I hear the two distinctly. An army in march, +perhaps? But no; I should hear the sound of voices and of regular +marching. Is it the crackling of a fire? No, there is no light in the +horizon; the heaven seems even to grow darker." + +The noise redoubled and became distinct; it was an incessant growling +and rolling, as if thousands of cannon were being dragged over a paved +road. Henri thought of this. "But no," said he, "there is no paved road +near." + +The noise continued to increase, and Henri put his horse to the gallop +and gained an eminence. + +"What do I see?" cried he, as he attained the summit. What he saw his +horse had seen before him; for he had only been able to make him advance +by furious spurring, and when they arrived at the top of the hill he +reared so as nearly to fall backward. They saw in the horizon an +infinite body rolling over the plain, and visibly and rapidly +approaching. The young man looked in wonder at this strange phenomenon, +when, looking back to the place he had come from, he saw the plain +beginning to be covered with water, and that the little river had +overflowed, and was beginning to cover the reeds which a quarter of an +hour before had stood up stiffly on its banks. + +"Fool that I am," cried he, "I never thought of it. The water! the +water! The Flemings have broken their dykes!" + +Henri flew to the house, and knocked furiously at the door. + +"Open! open!" cried he. + +No one replied. + +"Open, Remy!" cried he, furious with terror; "it is I, Henri du +Bouchage." + +"Oh! you need not name yourself, M. le Comte," answered Remy from +within, "I recognized you long ago; but I warn you, that if you break in +the door you will find me behind it, with a pistol in each hand." + +"But you do not understand," cried Henri; "the water; it is the water!" + +"No fables, no pretexts or dishonorable ruses, M. le Comte; I tell you +that you will only enter over my body." + +"Then I will pass over it, but I will enter. In Heaven's name, in the +name of your own safety and your mistress's, will you open?"--"No." + +Henri looked round him, and perceived an immense stone. He raised it and +threw it against the door, which flew open. A ball passed over Henri's +head, but without touching him; he jumped toward Remy, and seizing his +other arm, cried, "Do you not see that I have no arms? do not defend +yourself against a man who does not attack. Look! only look!" and he +drew him to the window. + +"Well," said he, "do you see now?" and he pointed to the horizon. + +"The water!" cried Remy. + +"Yes, the water! it invades us; see, at our feet, the river overflows, +and in five minutes we shall be surrounded." + +"Madame! madame!" cried Remy. + +"Do not frighten her, Remy; get ready the horses at once." + +Remy ran to the stable, and Henri flew up the staircase. At Remy's cry +Diana had opened her door; Henri seized her in his arms and carried her +away as he would have done a child. But she, believing in treason or +violence, struggled, and clung to the staircase with all her might. + +"Tell her that I am saving her, Remy!" cried Henri. + +Remy heard the appeal, and cried: + +"Yes, yes, madame, he is saving you, or rather he will save you. Come, +for Heaven's sake!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + +FLIGHT. + + +Henri, without losing time in reasoning with Diana, carried her out of +the house, and wished to place her before him on his horse; but she, +with a movement of invincible repugnance, glided from his arms, and was +received by Remy, who placed her on her own horse. + +"Ah, madame!" cried Henri, "how little you understand my heart. It was +not, believe me, for the pleasure of holding you in my arms, or pressing +you to my heart, although for that favor I would sacrifice my life, but +that we ought to fly as quickly as the birds, and look at them, how they +fly!" + +Indeed, in the scarcely dawning light were seen large numbers of curlews +and pigeons, traversing the air with a quick and frightened flight, +which, in the night, usually abandoned to the silent bat, looked strange +to the eye, and sounded sinister to the ear. + +Diana did not reply, but rode on without turning her head. Her horse, +however, as well as that of Remy, was fatigued with their long journey, +and Henri, as he turned back each moment, saw that they could not keep +up with him. + +"See, madame!" said he, "how my horse outstrips yours, and yet I am +holding him in with all my strength; for Heaven's sake, madame, while +there is yet time, if you will not ride with me, take my horse and leave +me yours." + +"No, thank you, monsieur," replied she, in her usual calm voice. + +"But, madame," cried Henri, in despair, "the water gains on us; do you +hear! do you hear?" + +Indeed, a horrible crashing was now heard; it was the dyke of a +neighboring village giving way, to swell the inundation. Boards and +props had given way, a double row of stakes broke with a noise like +thunder, and the water, rushing over the ruins, began to invade an oak +wood, of which they saw the tops trembling, and heard the branches +cracking as though a flight of demons were passing under the leaves. + +The uprooted trees knocking against the stakes, the wood of ruined +houses floating on the waters, the distant neighings and cries of horses +and men carried away by the inundation, formed a concert of sounds so +strange and gloomy that the terror which agitated Henri began to seize +also upon Diana. She spurred her horse, and he, as if he understood the +danger, redoubled his efforts. But the water gained on them, and before +ten minutes it was evident that it would reach them. Every instant Henri +turned and cried, "Quicker, madame! for pity's sake; the water comes; +here it is!" + +It came, indeed, foaming and turbulent, carrying away like a feather the +house in which they had taken shelter; and majestic, immense, rolling +like a serpent, it arrived like a wall behind the horses of Remy and +Diana. Henri uttered a cry of terror, and turned on the water, as though +he would have fought it. + +"You see you are lost!" screamed he. "Come, madame, perhaps there is +still time; come with me." + +"No, monsieur," said she. + +"In a minute it will be too late; look!" cried he. + +Diana turned; the water was within fifty feet of her. + +"Let my fate be accomplished," said she; "you, monsieur, fly." + +Remy's horse, exhausted, fell, and could not rise again, despite the +efforts of his rider. + +"Save her in spite of herself," cried Remy. + +And at the same moment, as he disengaged himself from the stirrups, the +water passed over the head of the faithful servant. His mistress, at +this sight, uttered a terrible cry, and tried to jump off her horse to +perish with him. But Henri, seeing her intention, seized her round the +waist, and placing her before him, set off like an arrow. + +"Remy! Remy!" cried she, extending her arms. A cry was the only answer. +Remy had come up to the surface, and, with the indomitable hope which +accompanies the dying man to the last, was swimming, sustained by a +beam. By his side came his horse, beating the water desperately with his +feet, while the water gained on Diana's horse, and some twenty feet in +front Henri and Diana flew on the third horse, which was half mad with +terror. + +Remy scarcely regretted life, since he hoped that his loved mistress +would be saved. + +"Adieu, madame!" cried he. "I go first to him who waits for us, to tell +him that you live for--" + +He could not finish; a mountain of water rolled over his head. + +"Remy! Remy!" cried the lady, "I wish to die with you. I will! monsieur, +I will go to him; in the name of God, I will!" + +She pronounced these words with so much energy and angry authority, that +the young man unfolded his arms and let her slip to the ground, saying-- + +"Well, madame, we will all three die here together; it is a joy I had +not hoped for." + +As he said these words he stopped his horse, and the water reached them +almost immediately; but, by a last effort of love, the young man kept +hold of Diana's arm as she stood on the ground. The flood rolled over +them. It was a sublime spectacle to see the sang-froid of the young man, +whose entire bust was raised above the water, while he sustained Diana +with one arm, and with the other guided the last efforts of his expiring +horse. + +There was a moment of terrible struggle, during which the lady, upheld +by Henri, kept her head above water, while with his left hand he kept +off the floating wood and the corpses which would have struck against +them. + +One of the bodies floating past sighed out, "Adieu, madame!" + +"Heavens!" cried Henri, "it is Remy!" And without calculating the danger +of the additional weight, he seized him by his sleeve, drew him up, and +enabled him to breath freely. But the exhausted horse now sank in the +water to its neck, then to its eyes, and finally disappeared altogether. + +"We must die," murmured Henri. "Madame, my life and soul belonged to +you." + +As he spoke, he felt Remy slip from him, and he no longer tried to +retain him--it was useless. His only care was to sustain Diana above the +water, that she at least, might die the last, and that he might be able +to say to himself, in his last moments, that he had done his utmost to +save her. All at once, a joyful cry sounded at his side; he turned, and +saw Remy, who had found a boat, which had belonged to the little house +where they had taken shelter, and which the water had carried away. +Remy, who had regained his strength, thanks to Henri's assistance, had +seized it as it floated past. The oars were tied to it, and an iron hook +lay in the bottom. He held out the hook to Henri, who seized it, and +drawing Diana with him, raised her over his shoulders, and passed her to +Remy, and then climbed in himself. The first rays of the rising sun +showed them the plains inundated, and the boat swimming like an atom on +that ocean covered with wrecks. Toward the left rose a little hill, +completely surrounded by water, looking like an island in the midst of +the sea. Henri took the oars and rowed toward it, while Remy, with the +boat-hook, occupied himself in keeping off the beams and wrecks which +might have struck against them. Thanks to Henri's strength and Remy's +skill, they reached, or, rather, were thrown against, the hill. Remy +jumped out, and, seizing the chain, drew the boat toward him; Diana, +rising alone, followed him, and then Henri, who drew up the boat and +seated himself a little way from them. They were saved from the most +menacing danger, for the inundation, however strong, could never reach +to the summit of the hill. Below them they could see that great angry +waste of waters, which seemed inferior in power only to God himself; +and, by the increasing light, they perceived that it was covered with +the corpses of French soldiers. + +Remy had a wound in his shoulder, where a floating beam had struck +against him; but Diana, thanks to Henri's protection, was free from all +injury, although she was cold and wet. At last they noticed in the +horizon, on the eastern side, something like fires burning on a height +which the water could not reach. As well as they could judge, they were +about a league off. Remy advanced to the point of the hill, and said +that he believed he saw a jetty advancing in a direct line toward the +fires. But they could see nothing clearly, and knew not well where they +were, for though day was dawning, it came cloudily and full of fog; had +it been clear and under a pure sky, they might have seen the town of +Mechlin, from which they were not more than two leagues distant. + +"Well, M. le Comte," said Remy, "what do you think of those fires?" + +"Those fires, which seem to you to announce a hospitable shelter, appear +to me to be full of danger." + +"And why so?" + +"Remy," said Henri, lowering his voice, "look at these corpses; they are +all French--there is not one Fleming; they announce to us a great +disaster. The dykes have been broken to finish the destruction of the +French army, if it has been conquered--to nullify the victory, if they +have been victors. Those fires are as likely to have been lighted by +enemies as by friends, and may be simply a ruse to draw fugitives to +destruction." + +"Nevertheless, we cannot stay here; my mistress will die of cold and +hunger." + +"You are right, Remy; remain here with madame, and I will go to the +jetty, and return to you with news." + +"No, monsieur," said Diana, "you shall not expose yourself alone; we +have been saved together; we will live or die together. Remy, your arm. +I am ready." + +Each word which she pronounced had so irresistible an accent of +authority that no one thought of disputing it. Henri bowed, and walked +first. + +It was more calm; the jetty formed, with the hill, a kind of bay, where +the water slept. All three got into the little boat, which was once more +launched among the wrecks and floating bodies. A quarter of an hour +after, they touched the jetty. They tied the chain of the boat to a +tree, landed once more, walked along the jetty for nearly an hour, and +then arrived at a number of Flemish huts, among which, in a place +planted with lime trees, were two or three hundred soldiers sitting +round a fire, above whom floated the French flag. Suddenly a sentinel, +placed about one hundred feet from the bivouac, cried, "Qui vive?" + +"France," replied Du Bouchage. Then, turning to Diana, he said, "Now, +madame, you are saved. I recognize the standard of the gendarmes of +Aunis, a corps in which I have many friends." + +At the cry of the sentinel and the answer of the comte several gendarmes +ran to meet the new comers, doubly welcome, in the midst of this +terrible disaster, as survivors and compatriots. Henri was soon +recognized; he was eagerly questioned, and recounted the miraculous +manner in which he and his companions had escaped death. Remy and Diana +had sat down silently in a corner; but Henri fetched them and made them +come to the fire, for both were still dripping with water. + +"Madame," said he, "you will be respected here as in your own house. I +have taken the liberty of calling you one of my relations." + +And without waiting for the thanks of those whose lives he had saved, he +went away to rejoin the officers. + +The gendarmes of Aunis, of whom our fugitives were claiming +hospitality, had retired in good order after the defeat and the sauve +qui peut of the chiefs. Whereever there is similarity of position and +sentiment, and the habit of living together, it is common to find +unanimity in execution as well as in thought. It had been so that night +with the gendarmes of Aunis; for seeing their chiefs abandon them, they +agreed together to draw their ranks closer, instead of breaking them. +They therefore put their horses to the gallop, and, under the conduct of +one of the ensigns, whom they loved for his bravery and respected for +his birth, they took the road to Brussels. + +Like all the actors in this terrible scene, they saw the progress of the +inundation, and were pursued by the furious waters; but by good luck +found in this spot a position strong both against men and water. The +inhabitants, knowing themselves in safety, had not quitted their homes, +and had only sent off their women, children, and old men to Brussels; +therefore the gendarmes met with resistance when they arrived; but death +howled behind them, and they attacked like desperate men, triumphed over +all obstacles, lost ten men, but established the others, and turned out +the Flemings. + +Such was the recital which Henri received from them. + +"And the rest of the army?" asked he. + +"Look," replied the ensign; "the corpses which pass each moment answer +your question." + +"But--my brother," said Henri, in a choking voice. + +"Alas! M. le Comte, we do not know. He fought like a lion, but he +survived the battle; as to the inundation I cannot say." + +Henri shook his head sadly; then, after a minute's pause, said, "And the +duke?" + +"Comte, the duke fled one of the first. He was mounted on a white horse, +with no spot but a black star on the forehead. Well, just now we saw the +horse pass among a mass of wrecks, the foot of a rider was caught in the +stirrup and was floating on the water." + +"Great God!" + +"Good heavens!" echoed Remy, who had drawn near and heard the tale. + +"One of my men ventured down into the water and seized the reins of the +floating horse, and drew it up sufficiently to enable us to see the +white boot and gold spur that the duke wore. But the waters were rushing +past, and the man was forced to let go to save himself, and we saw no +more. We shall not even have the consolation of giving a Christian +burial to our prince." + +"Dead! he also? the heir to the crown! What a misfortune!" + +Remy turned to his mistress, and with an expression impossible to +describe, said, + +"He is dead, madame, you see." + +"I praise the Lord, who has spared us a crime," said she, raising her +eyes to heaven. + +"Yes, but it prevents our vengeance." + +"Vengeance only belongs to a man when God forgets." + +"But you, yourself, comte," said the ensign to Henri, "what are you +about to do?" + +The comte started. "I?" said he. + +"Yes." + +"I will wait here till my brother's body passes," replied he, gloomily, +"then I will try to draw him to land. You may be sure that if once I +hold him, I shall not let go." + +Remy looked pityingly at the young man; but Diana heard nothing--she was +praying. + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + +TRANSFIGURATION. + + +After her prayer Diana rose so beautiful and radiant that the comte +uttered a cry of surprise and admiration. She appeared to be waking out +of a long sleep, of which the dreams had fatigued her and weighed upon +her mind; or rather, she was like the daughter of Jairus, called from +death and rising from her funeral couch, already purified and ready for +heaven. Awakening from her lethargy, she cast around her a glance so +sweet and gentle, that Henri began to believe he should see her feel for +his pain, and yield to a sentiment of gratitude and pity. While the +gendarmes, after their frugal repast, slept about among the ruins, while +Remy himself yielded to it, Henri came and sat down close to Diana, and +in a voice so low and sweet that it seemed a murmur of the breeze, said: + +"Madame, you live. Oh! let me tell you all the joy which overflows my +heart when I see you here in safety, after having seen you on the +threshold of the tomb." + +"It is true, monsieur," replied she; "I live through you, and I wish I +could say I was grateful." + +"But, madame," replied Henri, with an immense effort, "if it is only +that you are restored to those you love?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"To those you are going to rejoin through so many perils." + +"Monsieur, those I loved are dead! those I am going to rejoin are so +also." + +"Oh, madame!" cried Henri, falling on his knees, "throw your eyes on +me--on me, who have suffered so much and loved so much. Oh, do not turn +away; you are young, and beautiful as the angels in heaven; read my +heart, which I open to you, and you will see that it contains not an +atom of that love that most men feel. You do not believe me? Examine the +past hours; which of them has given me joy, or even hope? yet I have +persevered. You made me weep; I devoured my tears. You made me suffer; I +hid my sufferings. You drove me to seek death, and I went to meet it +without a complaint. Even at this moment, when you turn away your head, +when each of my words, burning as they are, seems a drop of iced water +falling on your heart, my soul is full of you, and I live only because +you live. Just now, was I not ready to die with you? What have I asked +for? Nothing. Have I touched your hand? Never, but to draw you from a +mortal peril. I held you in my arms to draw you from the waves--nothing +more. All in me has been purified by the devouring fire of my love." + +"Oh, monsieur! for pity's sake do not speak thus to me." + +"Oh, in pity do not condemn me. He told me you loved no one; oh! repeat +to me this assurance; it is a singular favor for a man in love to ask to +be told that he is not loved, but I prefer to know that you are +insensible to all. Oh, madame, you who are the only adoration of my +life, reply to me." + +In spite of Henri's prayers, a sigh was the only answer. + +"You say nothing," continued the comte; "Remy at least had more pity for +me, for he tried to console him. Oh! I see you will not reply, because +you do not wish to tell me that you came to Flanders to rejoin some one +happier than I, and yet I am young, and am ready to die at your feet." + +"M. le Comte," replied Diana, with majestic solemnity, "do not say to me +things fit only to be said to a woman; I belong to another world, and do +not live for this. Had I seen you less noble--less good--less generous, +had I not for you in the bottom of my heart the tender feeling of a +sister for a brother, I should say, 'Rise, comte, and do not importune +with love my ears, which hold it in horror.' But I do not say so, comte, +because I suffer in seeing you suffer. I say more; now that I know you, +I will take your hand and place it on my heart, and I will say to you +willingly, 'See, my heart beats no more; live near me, if you like, and +assist day by day, if such be your pleasure, at this painful execution +of a body which is being killed by the tortures of the soul;' but this +sacrifice, which you may accept as happiness--" + +"Oh, yes!" cried Henri, eagerly. + +"Well, this sacrifice I ought to forbid. This very day a change has +taken place in my life; I have no longer the right to lean on any human +arm--not even on the arm of that generous friend, that noble creature, +who lies there, and for a time finds the happiness of forgetfulness. +Alas! poor Remy," continued she, with the first change of tone that +Henri remarked in her voice, "your waking will also be sad; you do not +know the progress of my thought; you cannot read in my eyes that you +will soon be alone, and that alone I must go to God." + +"What do you mean, madame? do you also wish to die?" + +Remy, awakened by the cry of the young count, began to listen. + +"You saw me pray, did you not?" said Diana. + +"Yes," answered Henri. + +"This prayer was my adieu to earth; the joy that you remarked on my +face--the joy that fills me even now, is the same you would see in me if +the angel of death were to come and say to me, 'Rise, Diana, and follow +me.'" + +"Diana! Diana! now I know your name; Diana, cherished name!" murmured +the young man. + +"Oh, silence!" cried she, "forget this name which escaped me; no living +person has the right to pierce my heart by pronouncing it." + +"Oh! madame, do not tell me you are going to die." + +"I do not say that," replied she in her grave voice; "I say that I am +about to quit this world of tears--of hatreds--of bad passions--of vile +interests and desires. I say that I have nothing left to do among the +creatures whom God created my fellow mortals; I have no more tears, no +more blood in my heart; no more thoughts--they are dead. I am a +worthless offering, for in renouncing the world I sacrifice nothing, +neither desires nor hopes; but such as I am I offer myself to my God, +and he will accept me--he who has made me suffer so much, and yet kept +me from sinking under it." + +Remy, who had heard this, rose slowly, and said, "You abandon me?" + +"For God," said Diana, raising her thin white hand to heaven. + +"It is true," said Remy, sadly; and seizing her hand he pressed it to +his breast. + +"Oh! what am I by these two hearts?" said Henri. + +"You are," replied Diana, "the only human creature, except Remy, on whom +I have looked twice for years." + +Henri knelt. "Thanks, madame," said he, "I bow to my destiny. You belong +to God; I cannot be jealous." + +As he rose, they heard the sound of trumpets on the plain, from which +the water was rapidly disappearing. The gendarmes seized their arms and +were on horseback at once. + +Henri listened. "Gentlemen," cried he, "those are the admiral's +trumpets; I know them. Oh, God! may they announce my brother!" + +"You see that you still wish something, and still love something; why, +then, should you choose despair, like those who desire nothing--like +those who love no one?" + +"A horse!" cried Henri; "who will lend me a horse?" + +"But the water is still all around us," said the ensign. + +"But you see that the plain is practicable; they must be advancing, +since we hear their trumpets." + +"Mount to the top of the bank, M. le Comte, the sky is clear, perhaps +you will see." + +Henri climbed up; the trumpets continued to sound at intervals, but were +seemingly stationary. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + +THE TWO BROTHERS. + + +A quarter of an hour after, Henri returned; he had seen a considerable +detachment of French troops intrenched on a hill at some distance. +Excepting a large ditch, which surrounded the place occupied by the +gendarmes of Aunis, the water had begun to disappear from the plain, the +natural slope of the ground in the immediate neighborhood making the +waters run toward the sea, and several points of earth, higher than the +rest, began to reappear. The slimy mud brought by the rolling waters had +covered the whole country, and it was a sad spectacle to see, as the +wind cleared the mist, a number of cavaliers stuck in the mud, and +trying vainly to reach either of the hills. From the other hill, on +which the flag of France waved, their cries of distress had been heard, +and that was why the trumpets had sounded. The gendarmes now sounded +their cornets, and were answered by guns in joyful recognition. About +eleven o'clock the sun appeared over this scene of desolation, drying +some parts of the plain, and rendering practicable a kind of road. +Henri, who tried it first, found that it led by a detour from where they +were to the opposite hill, and he believed that though his horse might +sink to a certain extent, he would not sink altogether. He therefore +determined to try it, and recommending Diana and Remy to the care of the +ensign, set off on his perilous way. At the same time as he started, +they could see a cavalier leave the opposite hill, and, like Henry, try +the road. All the soldiers seemed trying to stop him by their +supplications. The two men pursued their way courageously, and soon +perceived that their task was less difficult than had been feared. A +small stream of water, escaped from a broken aqueduct, washed over the +path, and little by little was clearing away the mud. The cavaliers were +within two hundred feet of each other. + +"France!" cried the one who came from the opposite hill, at the same +time raising his hat, which had a white plume in it. + +"Oh! it is you!" cried Henri, with a burst of joy. + +"You, Henri! you, my brother!" cried the other. + +And they set off as quickly as their horses could manage to go, and +soon, among the frantic acclamations of the spectators on each side, +embraced long and tenderly. Soon, all--gendarmes and light +horse--Huguenots and Catholics--rushed along the road, pioneered by the +two brothers. Soon the two camps were joined, and there, where they had +thought to find death, nearly 3,000 Frenchmen cried, "Thank God!" and +"Vive la France!" + +"Gentlemen," said a Huguenot officer, "it is 'Long live the admiral,' +you should cry, for it is to M. de Joyeuse alone that we now owe the +happiness of embracing our countrymen." + +Immense acclamations followed this speech. The two brothers talked for +some time, and then Joyeuse asked Henri if he had heard news of the +duke. + +"It appears he is dead," replied Henri. + +"Is that certain?" + +"The gendarmes saw his horse drowned, and a rider, whose head was under +water, dragged by the stirrup." + +"It has been a sad day for France," said Joyeuse. Then turning to his +men he said, "Come, gentlemen, let us not lose time. Once the waters +have retired we shall probably be attacked. Let us intrench ourselves +until the arrival of news and food." + +"But, monseigneur," said a voice, "the horses have eaten nothing since +four o'clock yesterday, and are dying with hunger." + +"We have corn in our encampment," said the ensign, "but what shall we do +for the men?" + +"Oh!" said Joyeuse, "if there be corn, that is all I ask; the men must +live like the horses." + +"Brother," said Henri, "I want a little conversation with you." + +"Go back to your place; choose a lodging for me, and wait for me there." + +Henri went back. + +"We are now in the midst of an army," said he to Remy; "hide yourselves +in the lodging I will show you, and do not let madame be seen by any +one." + +Remy installed himself with Diana in the lodging pointed out. About two +o'clock the Duc de Joyeuse entered with his trumpets blowing, lodged his +troops, and gave strict injunctions to prevent disorder. He distributed +barley to the men, and hay to the horses, and to the wounded some wine +and beer, which had been found in the cellars, and himself, in sight of +all, dined on a piece of black bread and a glass of water. Everywhere he +was received as a deliverer with cries of gratitude. + +"Now," said he to his brother, when they were alone, "let the Flemings +come, and I will beat them, and even, if this goes on, eat them, for in +truth I am very hungry, and this is miserable stuff," added he, throwing +into a corner the piece of bread, which in public he had eaten so +enthusiastically. + +"But now, Henri, tell me how it happens that I find you in Flanders when +I thought you in Paris." + +"My brother," said Henri, "life became insupportable to me at Paris, +and I set out to join you in Flanders." + +"All from love?" asked Joyeuse. + +"No, from despair. Now, Anne, I am no longer in love; my passion is +sadness." + +"My brother, permit me to tell you that you have chosen a miserable +woman. Virtue that cares not for the sufferings of others is +barbarous--is an absence of Christian charity." + +"Oh! my brother, do not calumniate virtue." + +"I do not calumniate virtue, Henri; I accuse vice, that is all. I repeat +that this is a miserable woman, and not worth all the torments she makes +you suffer. Oh! mon Dieu! in such a case you should use all your +strength and all your power, Henri. In your place, I should have taken +her house by assault, and then herself; and when she was conquered, and +came to throw her arms round your neck and say, 'Henri, I adore you,' I +should have repulsed her, and said, 'You do well, madame; it is your +turn--I have suffered enough for you--to suffer also.'" + +Henri seized his brother's hand. "You do not mean a word of what you +say," said he. + +"Yes, on my honor." + +"You, so good--so generous!" + +"Generosity with heartless people is folly." + +"Oh! Joyeuse, Joyeuse, you do not know this woman." + +"No, I do not wish to know her." + +"Why not?" + +"Because she would make me commit what others would call a crime, but +which I should call an act of justice." + +"Oh! my good brother, how lucky you are not to be in love. But, if you +please, let us leave my foolish love, and talk of other things." + +"So be it; I do not like to talk of your folly." + +"You see we want provisions." + +"Yes, and I have thought of a method of getting them." + +"What is it?" + +"I cannot leave here until I have certain news of the army--for the +position is good, and I could defend myself against five times our +number: but I may send out a body of scouts, and they will bring news +and provisions also, for Flanders is a fine country." + +"Not very, brother." + +"I speak of it as God made it, and not men, who eternally spoil the +works of God. Do you know, Henri, what folly this prince committed--what +this unlucky Francois has lost through pride and precipitation? His soul +is gone to God, so let us be silent; but in truth he might have acquired +immortal glory and one of the most beautiful kingdoms in Europe, while +he has, on the contrary, aided no one but William of Orange. But do you +know, Henri, that the Antwerpians fought well?" + +"And you also; so they say, brother." + +"Yes, it was one of my good days; and besides there was something that +excited me." + +"What was it?" + +"I met on the field of battle a sword that I knew." + +"French?" + +"Yes, French." + +"In the ranks of the Flemings?" + +"At their head, Henri; this is a secret which forms a sequel to +Salcede's business." + +"However, dear brother, here you are, safe and sound, to my great joy; +I, who have done nothing yet, must do something, also." + +"And what will you do?" + +"Give me the command of your scouts, I beg." + +"No, it is too dangerous, Henri; I would not say so before strangers, +but I do not wish you to die an obscure death. The scouts may meet with +some of those horrid Flemings who fight with flails and scythes; you +kill one thousand of them, and the last cuts you in two or disfigures +you. No, Henri; if you will die, let it be a more glorious death than +that." + +"My brother, grant me what I ask, I beg; I promise you to be prudent, +and to return here." + +"Well, I understand." + +"What?" + +"You wish to try if the fame of a brave action will not soften the +heart of this ferocious tigress. Confess that that is what makes you +insist on it." + +"I will confess it if you wish, brother." + +"Well, you are right. Women who resist a great love sometimes yield to +fame." + +"I do not hope that." + +"If you do it without this hope you are mad. Henri, seek no more reasons +for this woman's refusal than that she has neither eyes nor heart." + +"You give me the command, brother?" + +"I must, if you will have it so." + +"Can I go to-night?" + +"You must, Henri; you understand we cannot wait long." + +"How many men do you give me?" + +"A hundred; not more. I cannot weaken my force here, you know, Henri." + +"Less, if you like, brother." + +"No, I would wish to give you double. Only promise me, on your honor, +that if you meet with more than three hundred men, you will retreat and +not get killed." + +"My brother," said Henri, smiling, "you sell your glory very dear." + +"Then I will neither sell nor give it to you; and another officer shall +command." + +"My brother, give your orders and I will execute them." + +"You will only engage with equal, double, or triple forces, but not with +more?" + +"I swear it." + +"Very well; now, what men would you like to take?" + +"Let me take one hundred of the gendarmes of Aunis; I have plenty of +friends there, and can choose whom I like." + +"That will do." + +"When shall I set out?" + +"At once. Take one day's rations for the men and two for the horses. +Remember, I want speedy and certain news." + +"I go, brother; are there any other orders?" + +"Do not spread the news of the duke's death; let it be believed he is +here. Exaggerate my strength, and if you find the duke's body, although +he was a bad man and a poor general, yet, as he belonged to the royal +house of France, have it put in an oak coffin and brought back by your +men, that he may be buried at St. Denis." + +"Good, brother; now, is this all?" + +"All! but promise me once more, Henri, you are not deceiving me--you +will not seek death?" + +"No, brother; I had that thought when I came to join you, but I have it +no longer." + +"And when did it leave you?" + +"Three hours ago." + +"On what occasion?" + +"Excuse me, brother." + +"Of course, Henri, your secrets are your own." + +"Oh! how good you are, brother!" + +And the young men, once more embracing each other, separated with +smiles. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + +THE EXPEDITION. + + +Henri, full of joy, hastened to Diana and Romy. + +"Get ready; in a quarter of an hour we set out," said he. "You will find +two horses saddled at the door of the little wooden staircase leading to +this corridor: join my suite and say nothing." + +Then, going out on the balcony, he cried: + +"Trumpet of the gendarmes, sound the call." + +The call was quickly heard, and all the gendarmes ranged themselves +round the house. + +"Gendarmes," said Henri, "my brother has given me, for the time, the +command of your company, and has ordered me to set out to-night to +obtain provisions and information as to the movements of the enemy, and +one hundred of you are to accompany me; the mission is dangerous, but +necessary for the safety of all. Who are willing to go?" The whole three +hundred offered themselves. + +"Gentlemen," said Henri, "I thank you all; you have rightly been called +the example to the army, but I can but take one hundred; and as I do not +wish to choose, let chance decide. Monsieur," continued he, to the +ensign, "draw lots, if you please." + +While this was being done, Joyeuse gave his last instructions to his +brother. + +"Listen, Henri," said he; "the country is drying, and there is a +communication between Courteig and Rupelmonde; you will march between a +river and a stream--the Scheldt and the Rupel. I trust that there will +be no necessity for you to go as far as Rupelmonde to find provisions. +My men took three peasants prisoners; I give one of them to you for a +guide--but no false pity! at the least appearance of treason shoot him +without mercy." + +He then tenderly embraced his brother, and gave the order for departure. +The one hundred men drawn by lots were ready, and the guide was placed +between two, with pistols in their hands, while Remy and his companion +mixed with the rest. Henri gave no directions about them, thinking that +curiosity was already quite sufficiently aroused about them, without +augmenting it by precautions more dangerous than salutary. He himself +did not stay by them, but rode at the head of his company. Their march +was slow, for often the ground nearly gave way under them, and they sank +in the mud. Sometimes figures were seen flying over the plain; they were +peasants who had been rather too quick in returning to their homes, and +who fled at the sight of the enemy. Sometimes, however, they were +unlucky Frenchmen, half dead with cold and hunger, and who in their +uncertainty of meeting with friends or enemies, preferred waiting for +daylight to continue their painful journey. + +They traversed two leagues in three hours, which brought the adventurous +band to the banks of the Rupel, along which a stony road ran; but here +danger succeeded to difficulty, and two or three horses lost their +footing on the slimy stones, and rolled with their riders into the still +rapid waters of the river. More than once also, from some boat on the +opposite bank, shots were fired, and one man was killed at Diana's side. +She manifested regret for the man, but no fear for herself. Henri, in +these different circumstances, showed himself to be a worthy captain and +true friend; he rode first, telling all the men to follow in his steps, +trusting less to his own sagacity than to that of the horse his brother +had given him. Three leagues from Rupelmonde the gendarmes came upon six +French soldiers sitting by a turf fire; the unfortunates were cooking +some horse-flesh, the only food they had had for two days. The approach +of the gendarmes caused great trouble among the guests at this sad +feast; two or three rose to fly, but the others stopped them, saying, +"If they are enemies they can but kill us, and all will be over." + +"France! France!" cried Henri. + +On recognizing their countrymen they ran to them, and were given cloaks +to wrap round them and something to drink, and were allowed to mount en +croup behind the valets, and in this manner they accompanied the +detachment. Half a league further on they met four men of the 4th Light +Horse, with, however, only one horse between them; they were also +welcomed. At last they arrived on the banks of the Scheldt; the night +was dark, and the gendarmes found two men who were trying, in bad +Flemish, to obtain from a boatman a passage to the other side, which he +refused. The ensign, who understood Dutch, advanced softly, and heard +the boatman say, "You are French, and shall die here; you shall not +cross." + +"It is you who shall die, if you do not take us over at once," replied +one of the men, drawing his dagger. + +"Keep firm, monsieur," cried the ensign, "we will come to your aid." + +But as the two men turned at these words, the boatman loosened the rope, +and pushed rapidly from the shore. One of the gendarmes, however, +knowing how useful this boat would be, went into the stream on his horse +and fired at the boatman, who fell. The boat was left without a guide, +but the current brought it back again toward the bank. The two strangers +seized it at once and got in. This astonished the ensign. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "who are you, if you please?" + +"Gentlemen, we are marine officers, and you are gendarmes of Aunis, +apparently." + +"Yes, gentlemen, and very happy to have served you; will you not +accompany us?" + +"Willingly." + +"Get into the wagons, then, if you are too tired to ride." + +"May we ask where are you going?" said one. + +"Monsieur, our orders are to push on to Rupelmonde." + +"Take care," answered he. "We did not pass the stream sooner, because +this morning a detachment of Spaniards passed, coming from Antwerp. At +sunset we thought we might venture, for two men inspire no disquietude; +but you, a whole troop--" + +"It is true; I will call our chief." + +Henri approached, and asked what was the matter. + +"These gentlemen met this morning a detachment of Spaniards following +the same road as ourselves." + +"How many were they?" + +"About fifty." + +"And does that stop you?" + +"No, but I think it would be well to secure the boat, in case we should +wish to pass the stream; it will hold twenty men." + +"Good! let us keep the boat. There should be some houses at the junction +of the Scheldt and Rupel?" + +"There is a village," said a voice. + +"Then let two men descend the stream with the boat, while we go along +the bank." + +"We will bring the boat if you will let us," said one of the officers. + +"If you wish it, gentlemen; but do not lose sight of us, and come to us +in the village." + +"But if we abandon the boat some one will take it?" + +"You will find ten men waiting, to whom you can deliver it." + +"It is well," said one, and they pushed off from the shore. + +"It is singular," said Henri, "but I fancy I know that voice." + +An hour after they arrived at the village, which was occupied by the +fifty Spaniards, but they, taken by surprise when they least expected +it, made little resistance. Henri had them disarmed and shut up in the +strongest house in the village, and left ten men to guard them. Ten more +were sent to guard the boat, and ten others placed as sentinels, with +the promise of being relieved in an hour. Twenty of the others then sat +down in the house opposite to that in which the prisoners were, to the +supper which had been prepared for them. Henri chose a separate room for +Remy and Diana; he then placed the ensign at table with the others, +telling him to invite the two naval officers when they arrived. He next +went out to look for accommodation for the rest of the men, and when he +returned in half-an-hour he found them waiting supper for him. Some had +fallen asleep on their chairs, but his entrance roused them. The table, +covered with cheese, pork, and bread, with a pot of beer by each man, +looked almost tempting. Henri sat down and told them to begin. + +"Apropos!" said he, "have the strangers arrived?" + +"Yes, there they are at the end of the table." + +Henri looked and saw them in the darkest corner of the room. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "you are badly placed, and I think you are not +eating." + +"Thanks, M. le Comte," said one, "we are very tired, and more in need of +rest than food; we told your officers so, but they insisted, saying that +it was your orders that we should sup with you. We feel the honor, but +if, nevertheless, instead of keeping us longer you would give us a +room--" + +"Is that also the wish of your companion?" said Henri, and he looked at +this companion, whose hat was pushed down over his eyes, and who had not +yet spoken. + +"Yes, comte," replied he, in a scarcely audible voice. + +Henri rose, walked straight to the end of the table, while every one +watched his movements and astonished look. + +"Monsieur," said he, to the one who had spoken first, "do me a favor?" + +"What is it, M. le Comte?" + +"Tell me if you are not Aurilly's brother, or Aurilly himself?" + +"Aurilly!" cried all. + +"And let your companion," continued Henri, "raise his hat a little and +let me see his face, or else I shall call him monseigneur, and bow +before him." And as he spoke he bowed respectfully, hat in hand. The +officer took off his hat. + +"Monseigneur le Duc d'Anjou!" cried all. "The duke, living!" + +"Ma foi, gentlemen," replied he, "since you will recognize your +conquered and fugitive prince, I shall not deny myself to you any +longer. I am the Duc d'Anjou." + +"Vive, monseigneur!" cried all. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + +PAUL-EMILE. + + +"Oh! silence, gentlemen," said, the prince, "do not be more content than +I am at my good fortune. I am enchanted not to be dead, you may well +believe; and yet, if you had not recognized me, I should not have been +the first to boast of being alive." + +"What! monseigneur," cried Henri, "you recognized me--you found yourself +among a troop of Frenchmen, and would have left us to mourn your loss, +without undeceiving us?" + +"Gentlemen, besides a number of reasons which made me wish to preserve +my incognito, I confess that I should not have been sorry, since I was +believed to be dead, to hear what funeral oration would have been +pronounced over me." + +"Monseigneur!" + +"Yes; I am like Alexander of Macedon; I make war like an artist, and +have as much self-love; and I believe I have committed a fault." + +"Monseigneur," said Henri, lowering his eyes, "do not say such things." + +"Why not? The pope only is infallible, and ever since Boniface VIII. +that has been disputed." + +"See to what you exposed us, monseigneur, if any of us had given his +opinion on this expedition, and it had been blamed." + +"Well, why not? do you think I have not blamed myself, not for having +given battle, but for having lost it." + +"Monseigneur, this goodness frightens me; and will your highness permit +me to say that this gayety is not natural. I trust your highness is not +suffering." + +A terrible cloud passed over the prince's face, making it as black as +night. + +"No," said he, "I was never better, thank God, than now, and I am glad +to be among you all." + +The officers bowed. + +"How many men have you, Du Bouchage?" asked he. + +"One hundred, monseigneur." + +"Ah! a hundred out of ten thousand; that is like the defeat at Cannes. +Gentlemen, they will send a bushel of your rings to Antwerp, but I doubt +if the Flemish beauties could wear them, unless they had their fingers +pared by their husbands' knives, which, I must say, cut well." + +"Monseigneur," replied Henri, "if our battle was like the battle of +Cannes, at least we are more lucky than the Romans, for we have +preserved our Paulus-Emilius!" + +"On my life, gentlemen, the Paulus-Emilius of Antwerp was Joyeuse; and +doubtless, to preserve the resemblance with his heroic model to the end, +your brother is dead, is he not, Du Bouchage?" + +Henri felt wounded at this cold question. + +"No, monseigneur, he lives," replied he. + +"Ah! so much the better," said the duke, with his icy smile. "What! our +brave Joyeuse lives! Where is he, that I may embrace him?" + +"He is not here, monseigneur." + +"Ah! wounded?" + +"No, monseigneur, he is safe and sound." + +"But a fugitive like me, wandering, famished, and ashamed. Alas! the +proverb is right--'For glory, the sword; after the sword, blood; after +blood, tears.'" + +"Monseigneur, I am happy to tell your highness that my brother has been +happy enough to save three thousand men, with whom he occupies a large +village about seven leagues from here, and I am acting as scout for +him." + +The duke grew pale. + +"Three thousand men! he has saved three thousand men! he is a perfect +Xenophon, and it is very lucky for me that my brother sent him to me. It +is not the Valois who can take for their motto 'Hilariter.'" + +"Oh! monseigneur," said Henri, sadly, seeing that this gayety hid a +somber jealousy. + +"It is true, is it not, Aurilly?" continued the duke; "I return to +France like Francois after the battle of Pavia; all is lost but honor. +Ah! ah!" + +A sad silence received these laughs, more terrible than sobs. + +"Monseigneur," said Henri, "tell me how the tutelary genius of France +saved your highness." + +"Oh! dear comte, the tutelary genius of France was occupied with +something else, and I had to save myself." + +"And how, monseigneur?" + +"By my legs." + +No smile welcomed this joke, which the duke would certainly have +punished with death if made by another. + +"Yes, yes," he continued; "how we ran! did we not, my brave Aurilly?" + +"Every one," said Henri, "knows the calm bravery and military genius of +your highness, and we beg you not to distress us by attributing to +yourself faults which you have not. The best general is not invincible, +and Hannibal himself was conquered at Zama." + +"Yes, but Hannibal had won the battles of Trebia, Thrasymene, and +Cannes, while I have only won that of Cateau-Cambresis; it is not enough +to sustain the comparison." + +"But monseigneur jests when he says he ran away." + +"No, I do not. Pardieu! do you see anything to jest about, Du Bouchage?" + +"Could any one have done otherwise?" said Aurilly. + +"Hold your tongue, Aurilly, or ask the shade of St. Aignan what could +have been done." + +Aurilly hung his head. + +"Ah! you do not know the history of St. Aignan. I will tell it to you. +Imagine, then, that when the battle was declared to be lost, he +assembled 500 horse, and, instead of flying like the rest, came to me +and said. 'We must attack them, monseigneur.' 'What! attack?' said I; +'they are 100 to one.' 'Were they 1,000 to one, I would attack them,' +replied he, with a hideous grimace. 'Attack if you please,' said I; 'I +do not.' 'Give me your horse, and take mine,' said he: 'mine is +fresh--yours is not; and as I do not mean to fly, any horse is good for +me.' And then he took my white horse and gave me his black one, saying, +'Prince, that horse will go twenty leagues in four hours if you like.' +Then, turning to his men, he cried, 'Come, gentlemen, follow me--all +those who will not turn their backs;' and he rode toward the enemy with +a second grimace, more frightful than the first. He thought he should +have met men, but he met water instead, and St. Aignan and his paladins +were lost. Had he listened to me, instead of performing that act of +useless foolhardiness, we should have had him at this table, and he +would not have been making, as he probably now is, a grimace still +uglier than the first." + +A thrill of horror ran through the assembly. + +"This wretch has no heart," thought Henri. "Oh! why does his misfortune +and his birth protect him from the words I long to say to him?" + +"Gentlemen," said Aurilly, in a low voice--for he felt the effect these +words had produced--"you see how monseigneur is affected; do not heed +what he says, for since his misfortune I think he has really moments of +delirium." + +"And so," continued the duke, emptying his glass, "that is how St. +Aignan is dead and I alive. However, in dying he did me a last service, +for it was believed, as he rode my horse, that it was me, and this +belief spread not only among the French, but among the Flemings, who +consequently ceased their pursuit; but reassure yourselves, gentlemen, +we shall have our revenge, and I am mentally organizing the most +formidable army that ever existed." + +"Meanwhile, monseigneur," said Henri, "will your highness take the +command of my men? It is not fit that I should continue to do so when +you are here." + +"So be it; and, first, I order every one to sup, particularly you, Du +Bouchage--you have eaten nothing." + +"Monseigneur, I am not hungry." + +"In that case return to visit the posts. Tell the chiefs that I live, +but beg them not to rejoice too openly until we gain a better citadel, +or rejoin the army of our invincible Joyeuse, for I confess I do not +wish to be taken now, after having escaped from fire and water." + +"Monseigneur, you shall be strictly obeyed, and no one shall know +excepting ourselves that we have the honor of your company among us." + +"And these gentlemen will keep the secret?" said the duke, looking +round. + +All bowed, and Du Bouchage went out. + +It only required an hour for this fugitive, this conquered runaway, to +become again proud, careless, and imperious. To command 100 men or +100,000 men, was still to command. + +While Du Bouchage executed his orders with the best grace he could, +Francois asked questions. He was astonished that a man of the rank of Du +Bouchage had consented to take the command of this handful of men, and +of such a perilous expedition. The duke was always suspicious, and +asked, therefore, and learned that the admiral had only yielded to his +brother's earnest request. It was the ensign who gave this +information--he who had been superseded in his command by Henri himself, +as Henri had been by the duke. + +The prince fancied he detected a slight irritation in this man's mind +against Du Bouchage; therefore he continued to interrogate him. + +"But," said he, "what was the comte's reason for soliciting so earnestly +such a poor command?" + +"First, zeal for the service, no doubt." + +"First!--what else?" + +"Ah! monseigneur, I do not know." + +"You deceive me--you do know." + +"Monseigneur, I can give only, even to your highness, public reasons." + +"You see," said the duke, turning to the others, "I was quite right to +hide myself, gentlemen, since there are in my army secrets from which I +am excluded." + +"Ah! monseigneur," said the ensign, "you misunderstand me; there are no +secrets but those which concern M. du Bouchage. Might it not be, for +example, that, while serving the general interests, he might have wished +to render a service to some friend or relation by escorting him?" + +"Who here is a friend or relation of the comte? Tell me, that, I may +embrace him." + +"Monseigneur," said Aurilly, mixing in the conversation, "I have +discovered a part of the secret. This relation whom M. du Bouchage +wished to escort is--a lady." + +"Ah! ah! why did they not tell me so frankly. That dear Henri--it is +quite natural. Let us shut our eyes to the relation, and speak of her no +more." + +"You had better not, monseigneur, for there seems a great mystery." + +"How so?" + +"Yes, the lady, like the celebrated Bradamante, about whom I have so +often sung to your highness, disguises herself in the dress of a man." + +"Oh! monseigneur," cried the ensign, "M. du Bouchage seems to me to have +a great respect for this lady, and probably would be very angry at any +indiscretion.'" + +"Doubtless, monsieur; we will be mute as sepulchers--as mute as poor St. +Aignan; only, if we see the lady, we will try not to make grimaces at +her. Where is this lady, Aurilly?"--"Upstairs." + +"Upstairs! what, in this house?" + +"Yes, monseigneur; but hush! here is M. du Bouchage." + +"Hush!" said the prince, laughing. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + +ONE OF THE SOUVENIRS OF THE DUC D'ANJOU. + +Henri, as he entered, could hear the hateful laugh of the prince, but he +had not lived enough with him to know the danger that always lurked in +his laugh. Besides, he could not suspect the subject of conversation, +and no one dared to tell him in the duke's presence. Besides, the duke, +who had already settled his plan, kept Henri near him until all the +other officers were gone. He then changed the distribution of the posts. +Henri had established his quarters in that house, and had intended to +send the ensign to a post near the river, but the duke now took Henri's +place, and sent him where the ensign was to have been. Henri was not +astonished, for the river was an important point. Before going, however, +he wished to speak to the ensign, and recommend to his care the two +people under his protection, and whom he was forced for the time to +abandon. But at the first word that Henri began to speak to him the duke +interposed. "Secrets?" said he, with his peculiar smile. + +The ensign had understood, when too late, the fault he had been guilty +of. + +"No, monseigneur," replied he, "M. le Comte was only asking me how much +powder we had left fit to use." + +The answer had two aims; the first to turn away the duke's suspicions, +if he had any; and the second to let Du Bouchage know that he could +count on a friend in him. + +"Ah!" said the duke, forced to seem to believe what he was told. And as +he turned to the door the ensign whispered to Henri, "The prince knows +you are escorting some one." + +Henri started, but it was too late. The duke remarked the start, and, as +if to assure himself that his orders were executed, proposed to Henri to +accompany him to his post, which he was forced to accede to. + +Henri wished to warn Remy to be on his guard, but it was impossible; all +he could do was to say to the ensign: + +"Watch well over the powder; watch it as I would myself, will you not?" + +"Yes, M. le Comte," replied the young man. + +On the way the duke said to Du Bouchage, "Where is this powder that you +speak of?" + +"In the house we have just left, your highness." + +"Oh! be easy, then, Du Bouchage; I know too well the importance of such +an article, in our situation, to neglect it. I will watch over it +myself." + +They said no more until they arrived, when the duke, after giving Henri +many charges not to quit his post, returned. He found Aurilly wrapped in +an officer's cloak, sleeping on one of the seats in the dining-room. The +duke woke him. "Come," said he. + +"Yes, monseigneur." + +"Do you know what I mean?" + +"Yes! the unknown lady--the relation of M. du Bouchage." + +"Good; I see that the faro of Brussels and the beer of Louvain have not +clouded your intellects." + +"Oh! no, monseigneur, I am more ingenious than ever." + +"Then call up all your imagination, and guess." + +"Well! I guess that your highness is envious." + +"Ah! parbleu, I always am; but what is it about just now?" + +"You wish to know who is the brave creature who has followed the MM. de +Joyeuse through fire and water?" + +"You have just hit it, 'per mille pericula Martis!' as Margot would say. +Apropos, have you written to her, Aurilly?" + +"To whom, monseigneur?" + +"To my sister Margot." + +"Had I to write to her?" + +"Certainly." + +"About what?" + +"To tell her that we are beaten--ruined, and that she must look out for +herself; for that Spain, disembarrassed of me in the north, will fall on +her in the south." + +"Ah! true." + +"You have not written?" + +"No, monseigneur." + +"You slept?" + +"Yes, I confess it; but even if I had thought of it, with what could I +have written? I have here neither pen, paper, nor ink." + +"Well, seek. 'Quare et invenies,' as it is written." + +"How in the devil's name am I to find it in the hut of a peasant, who +probably did not know how to write?" + +"Seek, stupid! if you do not find that, you will find--" + +"What?" + +"Something else." + +"Oh! fool that I was," cried Aurilly. "Your highness is right: I am +stupid; but I am very sleepy, you see." + +"Well, keep awake for a little while, and, since you have not written, I +will write; only go and seek what is necessary. Go, Aurilly, and do not +come back till you have found it; I will remain here." + +"I go, monseigneur." + +"And if, in your researches, you discover that the house is +picturesque--you know how I admire Flemish interiors, Aurilly." + +"Yes, monseigneur." + +"Well! call me." + +"Immediately, monseigneur; be easy." + +Aurilly rose, and, with a step light as a bird, went up the staircase. +In five minutes he returned to his master. + +"Well?" asked he. + +"Well, monseigneur, if I may believe appearances, the house is +devilishly picturesque." + +"How so?" + +"Peste! monseigneur; because one cannot get in to look." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that it is guarded by a dragon." + +"What foolish joke is this?" + +"Oh! monseigneur, it is unluckily not a foolish joke, but a sad truth. +The treasure is on the first floor, in a room in which I can see light +through the door." + +"Well?" + +"Well! before this door lies a man, wrapped in a gray cloak." + +"Oh, oh! M. du Bouchage puts a gendarme at the door of his mistress." + +"It is not a gendarme, monseigneur, but some attendant of the lady's or +of the count's."--"What kind of a man?" + +"Monseigneur, it was impossible to see his face; but I could perfectly +see a large Flemish knife in his belt, and his hand, on it." + +"It is amusing; go and waken the fellow." + +"Oh, no, monseigneur." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, without counting the knife, I do not wish to amuse myself with +making a mortal enemy of MM. de Joyeuse, who stand so well at court. If +you had been king of this country, it might have passed; but now you +must be gracious, above all with those who saved you, and Joyeuse did +save you. They will say so, whether you do or not."--"You are right, +Aurilly, and yet--and yet--" + +"I understand. Your highness has not seen a woman's face for fifteen +mortal days. I do not speak of the kind of animals who live here; they +are males and females, but do not deserve to be called men and women." + +"I must see this lady, Aurilly." + +"Well, monseigneur, you may see her; but not through the door." + +"So be it; then I will see her through the window." + +"Ah! that is a good idea, and I will go and look for a ladder for you." + +Aurilly glided into the courtyard, and under a shed found what he +wanted. He maneuvered it among horses and men so skillfully as to wake +no one, and placed it in the street against the outer wall. It was +necessary to be a prince, and sovereignly disdainful of vulgar scruples, +to dare, in the presence of the sentinel, who walked up and down before +the door, to accomplish an action so audaciously insulting to Du +Bouchage. Aurilly felt this, and pointed out the sentinel, who, now +observing, called out, "Qui vive!" + +Francois shrugged his shoulders and walked up to him. + +"My friend," said he, "this place is the most elevated spot in the +village, is it not?" + +"Yes, monseigneur," said the man, recognizing him, "and were it not for +those lime trees, we could see over a great part of the country." + +"I thought so; and therefore I have brought a ladder," said the duke. +"Go up, Aurilly, or rather, let me go up; I will see for myself." + +"Where shall I place it?" said the hypocritical follower. + +"Oh, anywhere; against that wall, for instance." + +The sentinel walked off, and the duke mounted the ladder, Aurilly +standing at the foot. + +The room in which Henri had placed Diana was matted, and had a large +oaken bed with serge curtains, a table, and a few chairs. + +Diana, whose heart seemed relieved from an enormous weight since she had +heard the false news of the duke's death, had, almost for the first time +since her father's death, eaten something more substantial than bread, +and drunk a little wine. After this she grew sleepy, and Remy had left +her, and was sleeping outside her door, not from any suspicion, but +because such had been his habit ever since they had left Paris. + +Diana herself slept with her elbow on the table and her head leaning on +her hand. A little lamp burned on the table, and all looked peaceful +here, where such tempestuous emotions had raged and would soon again. In +the glass sparkled the Rhine wine, scarcely touched by Diana. She, with +her eyes closed, her eyelids veined with azure, her mouth slightly +opened, her hair thrown back, looked like a sublime vision to the eyes +that were violating the sanctity of her retreat. The duke, on perceiving +her, could hardly repress his admiration, and leaned over to examine +every detail of her ideal beauty. But all at once he frowned, and came +down two or three steps with a kind of nervous precipitation, and +leaning back against the wall, crossed his arms and appeared to reflect. +Aurilly watched him as he stood there, with a dreamy air, like a man +trying to recall some old souvenir. After a few minutes he remounted and +looked in again, but Aurilly called out, "Quick! quick! monseigneur, +come down; I hear steps." + +The duke came down, but slowly. + +"It was time," said Aurilly. + +"Whence comes the sound?" + +"From there," said Aurilly, pointing to a dark street. "But the sound +has ceased; it must have been some spy watching us." + +"Remove the ladder." + +Aurilly obeyed; however, no one appeared, and they heard no more noise. + +"Well, monseigneur, is she beautiful?" said Aurilly. + +"Very beautiful," said the prince, abstractedly. + +"What makes you sad then? Did she see you?" + +"No, she was asleep." + +"Then what is the matter?" + +"Aurilly, it is strange, but I have seen that woman somewhere." + +"You recognized her, then?" + +"No, I could not think of her name; but her face gave me a fearful +shock. I cannot tell how it is; but I believe I did wrong to look." + +"However, just on account of the impression she has made on you, we must +find out who she is." + +"Certainly we must." + +"Seek well in your memory, monseigneur; is it at court you have seen +her?" + +"No, I think not." + +"In France, Navarre, Flanders?" + +"No." + +"A Spaniard perhaps." + +"I do not think so." + +"An English lady, one of Queen Elizabeth's?" + +"No, I seem to know her more intimately, and that she appeared to me in +some terrible scene." + +"Then you would have recognized her at once; you have not seen many such +scenes." + +"Do you think so?" said the duke, with a gloomy smile. "Now," continued +he, "that I am sufficiently master of myself to analyze my sensations, I +feel that this woman is beautiful, but with the beauty of death; +beautiful as a shade, as a figure in a dream; and I have had two or +three frightful dreams in my life, which left me cold at the heart. +Well, now I am sure that it was in one of those dreams that I saw that +woman." + +"Your highness is not generally so susceptible, and but that I believe +that we are watched from that street, I would mount in my turn and +look." + +"Ma foi! you are right, Aurilly; what does it matter whether we are +watched or not? Go up and look." + +Aurilly made a move forward to obey, when a hasty step was heard, and +Henri's voice, crying, "Monseigneur!" + +"You here!" said the duke, while Aurilly bounded back to his side; "you +here, comte?--on what pretext have you quitted your post?" + +"Monseigneur," replied Henri, firmly, "your highness can punish me, if +you think proper: meanwhile, my duty was to come here, and I came." + +The duke glanced toward the window. "Your duty, comte? Explain that to +me," said he. + +"Monseigneur, horsemen have been seen on the Spanish side of the river, +and we do not know if they are friends or enemies." + +"Numerous?" asked the duke anxiously. + +"Very numerous, monseigneur." + +"Well, comte, no false bravery: you will do well to return. Awake the +gendarmes and let us decamp; it will be the most prudent plan." + +"Doubtless, monseigneur; but it will be urgent, I think, to warn my +brother." + +"Two men will do." + +"Then I will go with a gendarme." + +"No, no, Du Bouchage; you must come with us. Peste! it is not at such a +moment that I can separate from a defender like you." + +"When does your highness set out?" said Henri, bowing. + +"At once, comte." + +"Hola! some one," cried Henri. + +The young ensign came out immediately from the dark street. Henri gave +his orders, and soon the place was filled with gendarmes preparing for +departure. Among them the duke talked with his officers. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "the Prince of Orange is pursuing me, it seems; +but it is not proper that a son of France should be taken prisoner. Let +us, therefore, yield to numbers, and fall back upon Brussels. I shall be +sure of life and liberty while I remain among you." + +Then, turning to Aurilly, "You remain," said he. "This woman cannot +follow us. Joyeuse will not dare to bring her with him in my presence. +Besides, we are not going to a ball, and the race we shall run would +fatigue a lady." + +"Where are you going, monseigneur?" + +"To France. I think my business is over here." + +"But to what part of France. Does monseigneur think it prudent to return +to court?" + +"No; I shall stop at one of my castles, Chateau-Thierry, for example." + +"Has your highness decided on that?" + +"Yes; Chateau-Thierry suits me in all respects; it is a good distance +from Paris, about twenty-eight leagues, and I can watch from thence MM. +de Guise, who are half the year at Soissons. So bring the beautiful +unknown to Chateau-Thierry." + +"But, monsieur, perhaps she will not be brought." + +"Nonsense; since Du Bouchage accompanies me, and she follows him, it +will be quite natural." + +"But she may wish to go somewhere else, if she sees that I wish to bring +her to you." + +"But I repeat that it is not to me that you are to bring her, but to the +comte. Really, one would think it was the first time you had aided me in +such circumstances. Have you money?" + +"I have the two rouleaux of gold that you gave me when you left the +camp." + +"Well, by any and every method, bring me the lady to Chateau-Thierry; +perhaps when I see her nearer I shall recognize her." + +"And the man also?" + +"Yes; if he is not troublesome." + +"But if he is?" + +"Do with him what you would do with a stone which is in your way--throw +it away." + +"Good, monseigneur." + +While the two conspirators formed their plans, Henri went up and woke +Remy. He knocked at the door in a peculiar fashion, and it was almost +immediately opened by Diana. Behind Remy she perceived Henri. + +"Good-evening, monsieur," said she, with a smile which had long been +foreign to her face. + +"Oh! pardon me, madame," said Henri, "for intruding on you; but I come +to make my adieux." + +"Your adieux, comte; you are going?" + +"To France, madame." + +"And you leave us?" + +"I am forced to do so; my duty is to obey the prince." + +"The prince; is there a prince here?" asked Remy. + +"Yes, M. le Duc d'Anjou, who was believed dead, and who has been +miraculously saved, has joined us." + +Diana uttered a terrible cry, and Remy turned as pale as though he had +been suddenly struck with death. + +"The Duc d'Anjou living!" cried Diana. "The Duc d'Anjou here?" + +"Had he not been here, madame, and ordered me to follow him, I should +have accompanied you to the convent into which you tell me you are about +to retire." + +"Yes, yes," said Remy; "the convent;" and he put his finger on his lip. + +"I would have accompanied you the more willingly, madame." said Henri; +"because I fear that you may be annoyed by the prince's people."--"How +so?" + +"Yes; I believe that he knows there is a lady here, and he thinks that +she is a friend of mine." + +"And what makes you think so?" + +"Our young ensign saw him place a ladder against this window and look +in." + +"Oh!" cried Diana; "mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" + +"Reassure yourself, madame! he heard him say that he did not know you. +Besides, the duke is going to set off at once--in a quarter of an hour +you will be alone and free. Permit me to salute you with respect, and to +tell you once more, that till my last sigh, my heart will beat for you +and with you. Adieu, madame, adieu." And the comte, bowing, took two +steps back. + +"No, no!" cried Diana, wildly, "no, God cannot have done this! He cannot +have brought this man to life again; no, monsieur, you must be wrong, he +is dead." + +At this moment, as if in reply, the duke's voice was heard calling from +below: + +"Comte, we are waiting for you." + +"You hear him, madame," said Henri. "For the last time, adieu." + +And pressing Remy's hand, he flew down the staircase. Diana approached +the window trembling, and with a convulsive shudder, like the bird +fascinated by the serpent of the Antilles. She saw the duke on +horseback, and the light of the torches held by the gendarmes fell on +his face. + +"Oh! he lives! the demon lives!" murmured she; "and we must live also. +He is setting out for France; so be it, Remy, we also must go to +France." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + +HOW AURILLY EXECUTED THE COMMISSION OF THE DUC D'ANJOU. + + +To the confusion occasioned by the departure of the troops a profound +silence succeeded. When Remy believed the house to be empty, he went +down to prepare for his departure and that of Diana; but on opening the +door of the room below, he was much surprised to see a man sitting by +the fire, evidently watching him, although he pretended to look +careless. Remy approached, according to his custom, with a slow, halting +step, and uncovering his head, bald like that of an old man. He could +not, however, see the features of the man by the fire. + +"Pardon, monsieur," said he, "I thought myself alone here." + +"I also thought so," replied the man, "but I see with pleasure that I +shall have companions." + +"Oh! very sad companions, monsieur; for except an invalid young man whom +I am taking back to France--" + +"Ah!" said Aurilly, "I know whom you mean." + +"Really." + +"Yes; you mean the young lady." + +"What young lady?" + +"Oh! do not be angry, my good friend; I am the steward of the house of +Joyeuse, and I rejoined my young master by his brother's order, and at +his departure the comte recommended to my good offices a young lady and +an old servant, who were returning to France." + +As he thus spoke, he approached Remy with a smiling and affectionate +look. But Remy stepped back, and a look of horror was painted for an +instant on his face. + +"You do not reply; one would say you were afraid of me," said Aurilly, +with his most smiling face. + +"Monsieur," replied Remy, "pardon a poor old man, whom his misfortunes +and his wounds have rendered timid and suspicious." + +"All the more reason, my friend, for accepting the help and support of +an honest companion; besides, as I told you just now, I speak on the +part of a master who must inspire you with confidence." + +"Assuredly, monsieur," replied Remy, who, however, still moved back. + +"You quit me," said Aurilly. + +"I must consult my mistress; I can decide nothing, you understand." + +"Oh! that is natural; but permit me to present myself. I will explain my +directions in all their details." + +"No, no, thank you: madame is perhaps asleep, and her sleep is sacred to +me." + +"As you wish. Besides, I have told you what my master told me to say." + +"To me?" + +"To you and the young lady." + +"Your master, M. le Comte du Bouchage, you mean?" + +"Yes." + +"Thank you, monsieur." + +When he had shut the door, all the appearances of age vanished, except +the bald head, and Remy mounted the staircase with an agility more like +a young man of twenty-five, than the old man he had appeared to be a few +minutes before. + +"Madame! madame!" cried he, in an agitated voice. + +"Well, what is it, Remy; is not the duke gone?" + +"Yes, madame, but there is a worse demon here; a demon on whom, during +six years, I have daily called down Heaven's vengeance, as you have on +his master." + +"Aurilly?" + +"Yes, Aurilly; the wretch is below, forgotten by his infernal +accomplice." + +"Forgotten, do you say, Remy? Oh! you are wrong; you, who know the +duke, know that he never leaves to chance any evil deed, if he can do it +himself. No, no, Remy; Aurilly is not forgotten, but left here for some +bad design, believe me!" + +"Oh! about him, madame, I can believe anything." + +"Does he know me?" + +"I do not think so." + +"And did he recognize you?" + +"Oh! madame," said Remy, with a sad smile, "no one recognizes me." + +"Perhaps he guesses who I am?" + +"No, for he asked to see you." + +"I am sure he must have suspicions." + +"In that case nothing is more easy, and I thank God for pointing out our +path so plainly. The village is deserted, the wretch is alone. I saw a +poniard in his belt, but I have a knife in mine." + +"One moment, Remy; I do not ask the life of that wretch of you, but +before you kill him, let us find out what he wants of us; perhaps we may +make his evil intentions useful. How did he represent himself to you, +Remy?" + +"As the steward of M. du Bouchage, madame." + +"You see he lies; therefore, he has some reason for lying. Let us find +out his intentions, and conceal our own." + +"I will act as you wish, madame." + +"What does he ask now?" + +"To accompany us." + +"In what character?" + +"As the count's steward." + +"Tell him I accept." + +"Oh! madame." + +"Add that I am thinking of going to England, where I have relations, but +have not quite decided; lie like him, Remy; to conquer we must fight +with equal arms." + +"But he will see you?" + +"I will wear my mask. Besides, I suspect he knows me." + +"Then, if he knows you, there must be a snare." + +"Let us pretend to fall into it." + +"But--" + +"What do you fear, we can but die? Are you not ready to die for the +accomplishment of our vow?" + +"Yes, but not to die without vengeance." + +"Remy," cried Diana, her eyes sparkling with wild excitement, "be easy, +we will be revenged; you on the servant, and I on the master." + +"Well, madame, then, so be it." + +And Remy went down, but still hesitating. + +The brave young man had, at the sight of Aurilly, felt, in spite of +himself, that nervous shudder that one feels at the sight of a reptile; +he wished to kill him because he feared him. But as he went down, his +resolution returned, and he determined, in spite of Diana's opinion, to +interrogate Aurilly--to confound him, and if he discovered that he had +any evil intentions, to kill him on the spot. + +Aurilly waited for him impatiently. Remy advanced armed with an +unshakable resolution, but his words were quiet and calm. + +"Monsieur," said he, "my mistress cannot accept your proposal." + +"And why not?" + +"Because you are not the steward of M. du Bouchage." + +Aurilly grew pale. "Who told you so?" said he. + +"No one; but M. du Bouchage, when he left, recommended to my care the +person whom I accompany, and never spoke of you." + +"He only saw me after he left you." + +"Falsehoods, monsieur; falsehoods." + +Aurilly drew himself up--Remy looked like an old man. + +"You speak in a singular tone, my good man," said he, frowning; "take +care, you are old, and I am young; you are feeble, and I am strong." + +Remy smiled, but did not reply. + +"If I wished ill to you or your mistress," continued Aurilly. "I have +but to raise my hand." + +"Oh!" said Remy, "perhaps I was wrong, and you wish to do her good." + +"Certainly I do." + +"Explain to me then what you desire." + +"My friend, I will make your fortune at once, if you will serve me." + +"And if not?" + +"In that case, as you speak frankly, I will reply as frankly, that I +will kill you; I have full power to do so." + +"Kill me!" said Remy. "But if I am to serve you, I must know your +projects." + +"Well, you have guessed rightly, my good man; I do not belong to the +Comte du Bouchage." + +"Ah! and to whom do you belong?" + +"To a more powerful lord." + +"Take care; you are lying again." + +"Why so?" + +"There are not many people above the house of Joyeuse." + +"Not that of France?" + +"Oh! oh!" + +"And see how they pay." said Aurilly, sliding into Remy's hand one of +the rouleaux of gold. + +Remy shuddered and took a step back, but controlling himself, said: + +"You serve the king?" + +"No, but his brother, the Duc d'Anjou." + +"Oh! very well! I am the duke's most humble servant." + +"That is excellent." + +"But what does monseigneur want?" + +"Monseigneur," said Aurilly, trying again to slip the gold into Remy's +hand, "is in love with your mistress." + +"He knows her, then?" + +"He has seen her." + +"Seen her! when?" + +"This evening." + +"Impossible; she has not left her room." + +"No, but the prince, by his conduct, has shown that he is really in +love." + +"Why, what did he do?" + +"Took a ladder and climbed to the balcony."--"Ah! he did that?" + +"Yes, and it seems she is very beautiful." + +"Then you have not seen her?" + +"No; but from what he said I much wish to do so, if only to judge of the +exaggeration of his love. Thus, then, it is agreed; you will aid me?" +and he again offered him the gold. + +"Certainly I will, but I must know what part I am to play," said Remy, +repulsing his hand. + +"First tell me is the lady the mistress of M. du Bouchage, or of his +brother?" + +The blood mounted to Remy's face. + +"Of neither," said he: "the lady upstairs has no lover." + +"No lover! But then she is a wonder; morbleu! a woman who has no lover! +we have found the philosopher's stone." + +"Then," said Remy, "what does M. le Duc d'Anjou want my mistress to do?" + +"He wants her to come to Chateau-Thierry, where he is going at his +utmost speed." + +"This is, upon my word, a passion very quickly conceived." + +"That is like monseigneur." + +"I only see one difficulty," said Remy. + +"What is that?" + +"That my mistress is about to embark for England." + +"Diable! this, then, is where you must try to aid me."--"How?" + +"By persuading her to go in an opposite direction." + +"You do not know my mistress, monsieur; she is not easily persuaded. +Besides, even if she were persuaded to go to Chateau-Thierry instead of +England, do you think she would yield to the prince?" + +"Why not?" + +"She does not love the duke." + +"Bah! not love a prince of the blood." + +"But if Monseigneur the Duc d'Anjou suspects my mistress of loving M. du +Bouchage, or M. de Joyeuse, how did he come to think of carrying her off +from him she loved?" + +"My good man," said Aurilly, "you have trivial ideas, and I fear we +shall never understand each other; I have preferred kindness to +violence, but if you force me to change my plans, well! I will change +them." + +"What will you do?" + +"I told you I had full powers from the duke to kill you and carry off +the lady." + +"And you believe you could do it with impunity?" + +"I believe all my master tells me to believe. Come, will you persuade +your mistress to come to France?" + +"I will try, but I can answer for nothing." + +"And when shall I have the answer?" + +"I will go up at once and see what I can do." + +"Well, go up; I will wait. But one last word; you know that your fortune +and life hang on your answer." + +"I know it." + +"That will do; I will go and get the horses ready." + +"Do not be in too great a hurry." + +"Bah! I am sure of the answer; no one is cruel to a prince." + +"I fancied that happened sometimes." + +"Yes, but very rarely." + +While Remy went up, Aurilly proceeded to the stables without feeling any +doubt as to the result. + +"Well!" said Diana, on seeing Remy. + +"Well, madame, the duke has seen you." + +"And--" + +"And he says he loves you." + +"Loves me! but you are mad, Remy." + +"No; I tell you that he--that man--that wretch, Aurilly, told me so." + +"But, then, he recognized me?" + +"If he had, do you think that Aurilly would have dared to present +himself and talk to you of love in the prince's name? No, he did not +recognize you." + +"Yes, you must be right, Remy. So many things have passed during six +years through that infernal brain, that he has forgotten me. Let us +follow this man." + +"But this man will recognize you." + +"Why should his memory be better than his master's?" + +"Oh! it is his business to remember, while it is the duke's to forget. +How could he live if he did not forget? But Aurilly will not have +forgotten; he will recognize you, and will denounce you as an avenging +shade." + +"Remy, I thought I told you I had a mask, and that you told me you had a +knife." + +"It is true, madame; and I begin to think that God is assisting us to +punish the wicked." Then, calling Aurilly from the top of the staircase, +"Monsieur," said he. + +"Well!" replied Aurilly. + +"My mistress thanks M. du Bouchage for having provided thus for her +safety, and accepts with gratitude your obliging offer." + +"It is well," said Aurilly, "the horses are ready." + +"Come, madame, come," said Remy, offering his arm to Diana. + +Aurilly waited at the bottom of the staircase, lantern in hand, all +anxiety to see the lady. + +"Diable!" murmured he, "she has a mask. But between this and +Chateau-Thierry the silk cords will be worn out or cut." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + +THE JOURNEY. + + +They set off. Aurilly affected the most perfect equality with Remy, and +showed to Diana the greatest respect. But this respect was very +interested. Indeed, to hold the stirrup of a woman when she mounts or +dismounts, to watch each of her movements with solicitude, to let slip +no occasion of picking up her glove, is the role either of a lover, a +servant, or a spy. In touching Diana's glove Aurilly saw her hand, in +clasping her cloak he peeped under her mask, and always did his utmost +to see that face which the duke had not been able to recognize, but +which he doubted not he should be able to. But Aurilly had to deal with +one as skillful as himself; Remy claimed to perform his ordinary +services to Diana, and seemed jealous of Aurilly, while Diana herself, +without appearing to have any suspicions, begged Aurilly not to +interfere with the services which her old attendant was accustomed to +render to her. Aurilly was then reduced to hoping for rain or sun to +make her remove her mask; but neither rain nor sun had any effect, and +whenever they stopped Diana took her meals in her own room. Aurilly +tried to look through the keyholes, but Diana always sat with her back +to the door. He tried to peep through the windows, but there were always +thick curtains drawn, or if none were there, cloaks were hung up to +supply their place. Neither questions, nor attempts at corruption, +succeeded with Remy, who always declared that his mistress's will was +his. + +"But these precautions are, then, taken only on my account?" said +Aurilly. + +"No, for everybody." + +"But M. d'Anjou saw her; she was not hidden then." + +"Pure chance; but it is just because he did see her that she is more +careful than ever." + +Days passed on, and they were nearing their destination, but Aurilly's +curiosity had not been gratified. Already Picardy appeared to the eyes +of the travelers. + +Aurilly began to lose patience, and the bad passions of his nature to +gain the ascendant. He began to suspect some secret under all this +mystery. One day he remained a little behind with Remy, and renewed his +attempts at seduction, which Remy repulsed as usual. + +"But," said Aurilly, "some day or other I must see your mistress." + +"Doubtless," said Remy; "but that will be when she likes, and not when +you like." + +"But if I employ force." + +"Try," said Remy, while a lightning glance, which he could not repress, +shot from his eyes. + +Aurilly tried to laugh. "What a fool I am!" said he; "what does it +matter to me who she is? She is the same person whom the duke saw." + +"Certainly." + +"And whom he told me to bring to Chateau-Thierry." + +"Yes." + +"Well! that is all that is necessary. It is not I who am in love with +her, it is monseigneur; and provided that you do not seek to escape or +fly--" + +"Do we appear to wish to do so?" + +"No." + +"And she so little desires to do so, that were you not here we should +continue our way to Chateau-Thierry; if the duke wishes to see us, we +wish also to see him." + +"That is capital," said Aurilly. "Would your mistress like to rest here +a little while?" continued he, pointing to a hotel on the road. + +"You know," said Remy, "that my mistress never stops but in towns." + +"Well, I, who have made no such vow, will stop here a moment; ride on, +and I will follow." + +Remy rejoined Diana. + +"What was he saying?" asked she. + +"He expressed his constant desire--" + +"To see me?" + +"Yes." + +Diana smiled. + +"He is furious," continued Remy. + +"He shall not see me; of that I am determined." + +"But once we are at Chateau-Thierry, must he not see your face?" + +"What matter, if the discovery come too late? Besides, the duke did not +recognize me." + +"No, but his follower will. All these mysteries which have so annoyed +Aurilly for eight days had not existed for the prince; they had not +excited his curiosity or awakened his souvenirs, while for a week +Aurilly has been seeking, imagining, suspecting. Your face will strike +on a memory fully awakened, and he will know you at once." + +At this moment they were interrupted by Aurilly, who had taken a +cross-road and come suddenly upon them, in the hope of surprising some +words of their conversation. The sudden silence which followed his +arrival proved to him that he was in the way, and he therefore rode +behind them. + +He instinctively feared something, as Remy had said, but his floating +conjectures never for an instant approached the truth. From this moment +his plans were fixed, and in order to execute them the better he changed +his conduct, and showed himself the most accommodating and joyous +companion possible during the rest of the day. + +Remy remarked this change not without anxiety. + +The next day they started early, and at noon were forced to stop to rest +the horses. At two o'clock they set off again, and went on without +stopping until four. A great forest, that of La Fere, was visible in the +distance; it had the somber and mysterious aspect of our northern +forests, so imposing: to southern natures, to whom, beyond all things, +heat and sunshine are necessary; but it was nothing to Remy and Diana, +who were accustomed to the thick woods of Anjou and Sologne. It might +have been about six o'clock in the evening when they entered the forest, +and after half an hour's journey the sun began to go down. A high wind +whirled about the leaves and carried them toward a lake, along the shore +of which the travelers were journeying. Diana rode in the middle, +Aurilly on the right, and Remy on the left. No other human being was +visible under the somber arches of the trees. + +From the long extent of the road, one might have thought it one of those +enchanted forests, under whose shade nothing can live, had it not been +for the hoarse howling of the wolves waking up at the approach of night. +All at once Diana felt that her saddle, which had been put on by +Aurilly, was slipping. She called Remy, who jumped down, and began to +tighten the girths. At this moment Aurilly approached Diana, and while +she was occupied, cut the strings of silk which fastened her mask. +Before she had divined the movement, or had time to put up her hand, +Aurilly seized the mask and looked full at her. The eyes of these two +people met with a look so terrible, that no one could have said which +looked most pale and menacing. Aurilly let the mask and his dagger fall, +and clasping his hands, cried, "Heavens and earth! Madame de Monsoreau!" + +"It is a name which you shall repeat no more," cried Remy, seizing him +by the girdle and dragging him from his horse. Both rolled on the ground +together, and Aurilly stretched out his hand to reach his dagger. + +"No, Aurilly, no," said Remy, placing his knee on his breast. + +"Le Haudoin!" cried Aurilly; "oh, I am a dead man!" + +"That is not yet true, but will be in a moment," cried Remy; and drawing +his knife, he plunged the whole blade into the throat of the musician. + +Diana, with haggard eyes, half turned on her saddle, and leaning on the +pommel, shuddering, but pitiless, had not turned her head away from this +terrible spectacle. However, when she saw the blood spurt out from the +wound, she fell from her horse as though she were dead. + +Remy did not occupy himself with her at that terrible moment, but +searched Aurilly, took from him the two rouleaux of gold, then tied a +stone to the neck of the corpse, and threw it into the lake. He then +washed his hands in the water, took in his arms Diana, who was still +unconscious, and placed her again on her horse. That of Aurilly, +frightened by the howling of the wolves, which began to draw nearer, had +fled into the woods. + +When Diana recovered herself, she and Remy, without exchanging a single +word, continued their route toward Chateau-Thierry. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + +HOW KING HENRI III. DID NOT INVITE CRILLON TO BREAKFAST, AND HOW CHICOT +INVITED HIMSELF. + + +The day after the events that we have just related had taken place in +the forest of La Fere, the king of France left his bath at about nine in +the morning. His valet-de-chambre, after having rolled him in a blanket +of fine wool, and sponged him with that thick Persian wadding which +looks like the fleece of a sheep, had given him over to the barbers and +dressers, who in their turn gave place to the perfumers and courtiers. +When these last were gone, the king sent for his maitre d'hotel, and +ordered something more than his ordinary bouillon, as he felt hungry +that morning. This good news spread joy throughout the Louvre, and the +smell of the viands was already beginning to be perceptible, when +Crillon, colonel of the French guards, entered to take his majesty's +orders. + +"Ma foi, my good Crillon," said the king, "watch as you please over my +safety, but do not force me to play the king. I am quite joyful and gay +this morning, and feel as if I weighed but an ounce, and could fly away. +I am hungry, Crillon; do you understand that, my friend?" + +"I understand it very well, sire, for I am very hungry myself." + +"Oh! you, Crillon," said the king, laughing, "are always hungry." + +"Not always, sire; your majesty exaggerates--only three times a day." + +"And I about once a year, when I receive good news." + +"Harnibleu! it appears that you have received good news, sire? So much +the better, for they become every day more rare." + +"Not at all, Crillon; but you know the proverb." + +"Ah! yes--'no news are good news.' I do not trust to proverbs, and above +all to that one. You have no news from Navarre, then?" + +"None--a proof that there is nothing to tell." + +"And from Flanders?" + +"Nothing." + +"A proof that they are fighting. And from Paris?" + +"Nothing." + +"A proof that they are plotting." + +"But, Crillon, I believe I am going to have a child, for the queen +dreamed so last night." + +"Well! I am happy to hear that your majesty is hungry this morning. +Adieu, sire." + +"Go, my good Crillon." + +"Harnibleu! sire, since your majesty is so hungry, you ought to invite +me to breakfast with you." + +"Why so, Crillon?" + +"Because they say your majesty lives on air, and the air of the times is +very bad. Now I should have been happy to be able to say, 'These are all +pure calumnies; the king eats like every one else.'" + +"No, Crillon, no; let me believe as they do. I do not wish to eat like a +simple mortal. Remember this, Crillon--a king ought always to remain +poetical, and only show himself in a noble position. Thus, for example, +do you remember Alexander?" + +"What Alexander?" + +"Alexander Magnus. Ah! you do not know Latin, I remember. Well, King +Alexander loved to bathe before his soldiers, because he was so well +made, handsome and plump that they compared him to Apollo and even to +Antinous." + +"Oh! oh! sire, you would be devilishly in the wrong to bathe before +yours, for you are very thin, my poor king." + +"Brave Crillon, go," said Henry, striking him on the shoulder; "you are +an excellent fellow, and do not flatter me; you are no courtier, my old +friend." + +"That is why you do not invite me to breakfast," replied Crillon, +laughing good-humoredly, and taking his leave quite contentedly, for the +tap on the shoulder consoled him for not getting the breakfast. + +When he was gone, the breakfast was laid at once. The maitre d'hotel had +surpassed himself. + +A certain partridge soup, with a puree of truffles and chestnuts, +attracted the king's attention, after he had eaten some fine oysters. +Thus the ordinary broth, that faithful old friend of the king's, +implored vainly from its golden basin; it attracted no attention. The +king began to attack the partridge soup, and was at his fourth mouthful, +when a light step near him made the floor creak, and a well-known voice +behind him said sharply, + +"A plate!" + +The king turned. "Chicot!" cried he. + +"Himself." + +And Chicot, falling at once into his old habits, sat down in a chair, +took a plate and a fork, and began on the oysters, picking out the +finest, without saying a word. + +"You here! you returned!" cried Henri. + +"Hush!" said Chicot, with his mouth full; and he drew the soup toward +him. + +"Stop, Chicot! that is my dish." + +Chicot divided it equally, and gave the king back half. Then he poured +himself out some wine, passed from the soup to a pate made of tunny +fish, then to stuffed crab, swallowed as a finish the royal broth, then, +with a great sigh, said: + +"I can eat no more." + +"Par la mordieu! I hope not, Chicot." + +"Ah! good-morning, my king. How are you? You seem to me very gay this +morning." + +"Am I not, Chicot?" + +"You have quite a color; is it your own?" + +"Parbleu!" + +"I compliment you on it." + +"The fact is, I feel very well this morning." + +"I am very glad of it. But have you no little tit-bits left for +breakfast?" + +"Here are cherries preserved by the ladies of Montmartre." + +"They are too sweet." + +"Nuts stuffed with raisins." + +"Bah! they have left the stones in the raisins." + +"You are not content with anything." + +"Well! really, on my word, everything degenerates, even cooking, and you +begin to live very badly at your court." + +"Do they live better at that of the king of Navarre?" + +"Well!--I do not say no." + +"Then there must be great changes." + +"Ah! you do not know how right you are." + +"Tell me about your journey! that will amuse me." + +"Willingly; that is what I came for. Where shall I begin?" + +"At the beginning. How did you make your journey?" + +"Oh! delightfully." + +"And met with no disagreeable adventures--no bad company?" + +"Oh! who would dream of annoying an ambassador of his Most Christian +Majesty? You calumniate your subjects, my son." + +"I asked," said the king, flattered by the tranquillity that reigned in +his kingdom, "because you had no official character, and might have run +some risk." + +"I tell you, Henriquet, that you have the most charming kingdom in the +world. Travelers are nourished gratis; they are sheltered for the love +of God; they walk on flowers; and as for the wheel ruts, they are +carpeted with velvet and fringed with gold. It is incredible, but true." + +"Then you are content?" + +"Enchanted." + +"Yes, yes; my police is well organized." + +"Marvelously; I must do them justice." + +"And the road is safe?" + +"As that of Paradise." + +"Chicot, we are returning to Virgil." + +"To what part?" + +"To the Bucolics. 'O fortunatos nimium!'" + +"Ah! very well; but why this exception in favor of plowmen?" + +"Alas! because it is not the same in towns." + +"The fact is, Henri, that the towns are the centers of corruption." + +"Judge of it. You go 500 leagues without accident, while I go only to +Vincennes, three-fourths of a league, and narrowly escape assassination +by the way." + +"Oh! bah!" + +"I will tell you about it, my friend; I am having it written. Without my +Forty-five guardsmen I should have been a dead man." + +"Truly! where did it take place?" + +"You mean, where was it to have taken place?" + +"Yes." + +"At Bel-Esbat." + +"Near the convent of our friend Gorenflot?" + +"Just so." + +"And how did he behave under the circumstances?" + +"Wonderfully, as usual. Chicot, I do not know if he had heard any rumor; +but instead of snoring in bed, he was up in his balcony, while all his +convent kept the road." + +"And he did nothing else?" + +"Who?" + +"Dom Modeste." + +"He blessed me with a majesty peculiar to himself, Chicot." + +"And his monks?" + +"They cried 'Vive le Roi!' tremendously." + +"And were they not armed?" + +"They were completely armed, which was a wonderful piece of +thoughtfulness on the part of the worthy prior; and yet this man has +said nothing, and asked for nothing. He did not come the next day, like +D'Epernon, to search my pockets, crying, 'Sire, something for having +saved the king.'" + +"Oh! as for that, he is incapable of it; besides, his hands would not go +into your pockets." + +"Chicot, no jests about Dom Modeste; he is one of the greatest men of my +reign; and I declare that on the first opportunity I will give him a +bishopric." + +"And you will do well, my king." + +"Remark one thing, Chicot, that a great man from the ranks of the people +is complete; we gentlemen, you see, inherit in our blood certain vices +and virtues. Thus, the Valois are cunning and subtle, brave, but idle; +the Lorraines are ambitious, greedy, and intriguing; the Bourbons are +sensual, without ideas, force, or will. Look at Henri: when Nature, on +the contrary, draws a great man from among the people, like Gorenflot, +he is complete." + +"You think so?" + +"Yes; learned, modest, cunning, and brave, you could make of him what +you liked--minister, general, or pope." + +"Pray stop, sire. If the brave man heard you he would burst his skin, +for, in spite of what you say, Dom Modeste is very vain." + +"You are jealous, Chicot." + +"I! Heaven forbid! Jealous!" + +"I am but just; noble blood does not blind me. 'Stemmata quid faciunt?'" + +"Bravo! and you say, then, Henri, that you were nearly assassinated?" + +"Yes." + +"By whom?" + +"By the League, mordieu!" + +"How does the League get on?" + +"Just the same." + +"Which means that it grows daily." + +"Oh! political bodies never live which grow big too young. They are like +children, Chicot." + +"Then you are content, my son?" + +"Nearly so." + +"You are happy?" + +"Yes, Chicot, and I am very glad to see you return." + +"'Habemus consulem facetum,' as Cato said." + +"You bring good news, do you not?" + +"I should think so." + +"You keep me in suspense." + +"Where shall I begin?" + +"I have already said, from the beginning; but you always wander from the +point. You say that the journey was good?" + +"You see I have returned whole." + +"Yes; then let me hear of your arrival in Navarre. What was Henri doing +when you arrived?" + +"Making love." + +"To Margot?" + +"Oh! no." + +"It would have astonished me had it been so; he is always unfaithful to +his wife--the rascal! Unfaithful to a daughter of France! Luckily, she +pays him back. And when you arrived, what was the name of Margot's +rival?" + +"Fosseuse." + +"A Montmorency. Come, that is not so bad for a bear of Bearn. They spoke +here of a peasant, a gardener's daughter." + +"Oh! that is very old." + +"Then he is faithless to Margot?" + +"As much as possible." + +"And she is furious?" + +"Enraged." + +"And she revenges herself?" + +"I believe so." + +Henri rubbed his hands joyfully. + +"What will she do?" cried he. "Will she move heaven and earth--bring +Spain on Navarre--Artois and Flanders on Spain? Will she call in her +little brother Henriquet against her husband Henri?" + +"It is possible." + +"You saw her?" + +"Yes." + +"Then they execrate each other?" + +"I believe that in their hearts they do not adore each other." + +"But in appearance?" + +"They are the best friends in the world." + +"Yes, but some fine morning some new love will embroil them completely." + +"Well! this new love has come." + +"Bah!" + +"Yes, on my honor; but shall I tell you what I fear?" + +"Yes." + +"That this new love, instead of embroiling, will reconcile them." + +"Then there is a new love, really?" + +"Oh! mon Dieu! yes." + +"Of Henri's?" + +"Of Henri's." + +"For whom?" + +"You wish to know all, do you not?" + +"Yes, Chicot; tell me all about it." + +"Well, my son, then I must go back to the beginning." + +"Go back, but be quick." + +"You wrote a letter to the Bearnais?" + +"Well?" + +"And I read it." + +"What do you think of it?" + +"That if it was not delicate, at least it was cunning." + +"It ought to have embroiled them?" + +"Yes, if Henri and Margot had been an ordinary, commonplace couple." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that Henri is no fool." + +"Oh!" + +"And that he guessed." + +"Guessed what?" + +"That you wished to make him quarrel with his wife." + +"That was clear." + +"Yes; but what was less clear was your object in doing so." + +"Ah! diable! the object--" + +"Yes, this Bearnais thought your aim was to make him quarrel with his +wife, that you might not have to pay her dowry." + +"Oh!" + +"Mon Dieu, yes; that is what got into the head of that devil of a +Bearnais." + +"Go on, Chicot," said the king, beginning to look annoyed. + +"Well! scarcely had he guessed that, than he became what you look now, +sad and melancholy; so much so, that he hardly thought of Fosseuse." + +"Bah!" + +"Yes, really, and then he conceived that other love I told you of." + +"But this man is a Turk--a Pagan. And what did Margot say?" + +"This time, my son, you will be astonished. Margot was delighted." + +"But what is the name of this new mistress?" + +"Oh! she is a beautiful and strong person, capable of defending herself +if she is attacked." + +"And did she defend herself?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"So that Henri was repulsed?" + +"At first." + +"And afterward?" + +"Oh! Henri is persevering, and he returned to the charge." + +"So that?" + +"So that he won her." + +"How?" + +"By petards." + +"What the devil are you talking about?" + +"The truth." + +"Petards! Who is this belle that is taken with petards?" + +"It is Mademoiselle Cahors." + +"Mademoiselle Cahors!" + +"Yes, a large and beautiful girl, who has one foot on the Got, and the +other on the hills, and whose guardian is, or rather was, M. de Vesin, a +brave gentleman of my acquaintance." + +"Mordieu!" cried Henri, furiously, "my city! he has taken my city." + +"Why, you see, Henri, you would not give it to him, and he was obliged +to take it. But, apropos, here is a letter that he asked me to deliver +into your own hand." + +And Chicot, drawing out a letter, gave it to the king. It was the one +Henri had written after taking Cahors, and it finished with these words: +"Quod mihi dixisti profuit multum, cognosco meos devotos; nosce tuos; +Chicotus caetera expediet." + +Which meant, "What you told me was very useful; I know my friends; know +yours. Chicot will tell you the rest." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + +HOW, AFTER RECEIVING NEWS FROM THE SOUTH, HENRI RECEIVED NEWS FROM THE +NORTH. + + +The king, highly exasperated, could hardly read the letter which Chicot +gave to him. While he deciphered the Latin with every sign of +impatience, Chicot, before a great Venetian mirror, which hung over a +gilt table, was admiring the infinite grace of his own person under his +military dress. + +"Oh! I am betrayed," cried Henri, when he had finished the letter; "the +Bearnais had a plan, and I never suspected it." + +"My son," said Chicot, "you know the proverb, 'Still waters run +deepest'?" + +"Go to the devil with your proverbs." + +Chicot went to the door as if to obey. + +"No, remain." + +Chicot stopped. + +"Cahors taken!" continued Henri. + +"Yes, and very well done, too." + +"Then he has generals and engineers?" + +"No, he is too poor for that; he could not pay them; he does it all +himself." + +"He fight!" said Henri, disdainfully. + +"I do not say that he rushes into it with enthusiasm; no, he resembles +those people who try the water before they bathe; he just dips the ends +of his fingers with a little shudder, which augurs badly, then his +breast; all this takes him about ten minutes, and then he rushes into +action, and through fire, like a salamander." + +"Diable!" + +"And I assure you, Henri, the fire was hot there." + +The king rose and walked up and down the room. + +"Here is a misfortune for me," cried he; "they will laugh at it: they +will sing about it. Mordieu! it is lucky I thought of sending the +promised aid to Antwerp; Antwerp will compensate for Cahors; the north +will blot out the south." + +"Amen!" said Chicot, plunging his hands into the king's sweetmeat-box to +finish his desert. + +At this moment the door opened, and the usher announced "M. le Comte du +Bouchage." + +"Ah!" cried Henri, "I told you so; here are news. Enter, comte, enter." + +The usher opened the door, and Henri du Bouchage entered slowly and bent +a knee to the king. + +"Still pale and sad," said the king. "Come, friend, take a holiday air +for a little while, and do not tell me good news with a doleful face: +speak quickly, Du Bouchage, for I want to hear. You come from Flanders?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"And quickly?" + +"As quickly, sire, as a man can ride." + +"You are welcome. And now, what of Antwerp?" + +"Antwerp belongs to the Prince of Orange." + +"To the Prince of Orange!" + +"Yes, to William." + +"But did not my brother attack Antwerp?" + +"Yes, sire; but now he is traveling to Chateau-Thierry." + +"He has left the army?" + +"Sire, there is no longer an army." + +"Oh!" cried the king, sinking back in his armchair, "but Joyeuse--" + +"Sire, my brother, after having done wonders with his sailors, after +having conducted the whole of the retreat, rallied the few men who +escaped the disaster, and sent me home with an escort for M. le Duc +d'Anjou." + +"A defeat!" murmured the king. + +But all at once, with a strange look. + +"Then Flanders is lost to my brother?" + +"Absolutely, sire." + +"Without hope?" + +"I fear so, sire." + +The clouds gradually cleared from the king's brow. + +"That poor Francois," said he, smiling; "he is unlucky in his search for +a crown. He missed that of Navarre, he has stretched out his hand for +that of England, and has touched that of Flanders; I would wager, Du +Bouchage, that he will never reign, although he desires it so much. And +how many prisoners were taken?" + +"About two thousand." + +"How many killed?" + +"At least as many; and among them M. de St. Aignan." + +"What! poor St. Aignan dead!" + +"Drowned." + +"Drowned! Did you throw yourselves into the Scheldt?" + +"No, the Scheldt threw itself upon us." + +The comte then gave the king a description of the battle, and of the +inundations. Henri listened silently. When the recital was over, he +rose, and kneeling down on his prie-Dieu, said some prayers, and then +returned with a perfectly calm face. + +"Well," said he, "I trust I bear things like a king; and you, comte, +since your brother is saved, like mine, thank God, and smile a little." + +"Sire, I am at your orders." + +"What do you ask as payment for your services, Du Bouchage?" + +"Sire, I have rendered no service." + +"I dispute that; but at least your brother has."--"Immense, sire." + +"He has saved the army, you say, or rather, its remnants?" + +"There is not a man left who does not say that he owes his life to my +brother." + +"Well! Du Bouchage, my will is to extend my benefits to both, and I only +imitate in that Him who made you both rich, brave, and handsome; +besides, I should imitate those great politicians who always rewarded +the bearers of bad news." + +"Oh!" said Chicot, "I have known men hung for bringing bad news." + +"That is possible," said the king; "but remember the senate that thanked +Varron." + +"You cite republicans, Valois; misfortune makes you humble." + +"Come, Du Bouchage, what will you have--what would you like?" + +"Since your majesty does me the honor to speak to me so kindly, I will +dare to profit by your goodness. I am tired of life, sire, and yet have +a repugnance to shortening it myself, for God forbids it, and all the +subterfuges that a man of honor employs in such a case are mortal sins. +To get one's self killed in battle or to let one's self die of hunger +are only different forms of suicide. I renounce the idea, therefore, of +dying before the term which God has fixed for my life, and yet the world +fatigues me, and I must leave it." + +"My friend!" said the king. + +Chicot looked with interest at the young man, so beautiful, so brave, so +rich, and yet speaking in this desponding tone. + +"Sire," continued the comte, "everything that has happened to me for +some time has strengthened my resolution. I wish to throw myself into +the arms of God, who is the sovereign consoler of the afflicted, as he +is of the happy. Deign then, sire, to facilitate my entrance into a +religious life, for my heart is sad unto death." + +The king was moved at this doleful request. + +"Ah! I understand," said he; "you wish to become a monk, but you fear +the probation." + +"I do not fear the austerities, sire, but the time they leave one in +indecision. It is not to soften my life, nor to spare my body any +physical suffering, or my mind any moral privation, but it is to pass at +once from this world to the grating which separates me from it, and +which one generally attains so slowly." + +"Poor boy!" said the king. "I think he will make a good preacher; will +he not, Chicot?" + +Chicot did not reply. Du Bouchage continued: + +"You see, sire, that it is with my own family that the struggle will +take place, and with my relations that I shall meet with the greatest +opposition. My brother, the cardinal, at once so good and so worldly, +will find a thousand reasons to persuade me against it. At Rome your +majesty is all-powerful; you have asked me what I wish for, and promised +to grant it; my wish is this, obtain from Rome an authority that my +novitiate be dispensed with." + +The king rose smiling, and taking the comte's hand, said-- + +"I will do what you ask, my son. You wish to serve God, and you are +right; he is a better master than I am. You have my promise, dear +comte." + +"Your majesty overwhelms me with joy," cried the young man, kissing +Henri's hand as though he had made him duke, peer, or marshal of France. +"Then it is settled?" + +"On my word as a king and a gentleman." + +Something like a smile passed over the lips of Du Bouchage; he bowed +respectfully to the king and took leave. + +"What a happy young man," said Henri. + +"Oh!" said Chicot, "you need not envy him; he is not more doleful than +yourself." + +"But, Chicot, he is going to give himself up to religion." + +"And who the devil prevents you from doing the same? I know a cardinal +who will give all necessary aid, and he has more interest at Rome than +you have; do you not know him? I mean the Cardinal de Guise." + +"Chicot!" + +"And if the tonsure disquiets you, for it is rather a delicate +operation, the prettiest hands and the prettiest scissors--golden +scissors, ma foi!--will give you this precious symbol, which would raise +to three the number of the crowns you have worn, and will justify the +device, 'Manet ultima coelo.'" + +"Pretty hands, do you say?" + +"Yes, do you mean to abuse the hands of Madame de Montpensier? How +severe you are upon your subjects." + +The king frowned, and passed over his eyes a hand as white as those +spoken of, but more trembling. + +"Well!" said Chicot, "let us leave that, for I see that the conversation +does not please you, and let us return to subjects that interest me +personally." + +The king made a gesture, half indifferent, half approving. + +"Have you heard, Henri," continued Chicot, "whether those Joyeuses +carried off any woman?" + +"Not that I know of." + +"Have they burned anything?" + +"What?" + +"How should I know what a great lord burns to amuse himself; the house +of some poor devil, perhaps." + +"Are you mad, Chicot? Burn a house for amusement in my city of Paris!" + +"Oh! why not?" + +"Chicot!" + +"Then they have done nothing that you know of?" + +"Ma foi, no." + +"Oh! so much the better," said Chicot, drawing a long breath like a man +much relieved. + +"Do you know one thing, Chicot?" said Henri. + +"No, I do not." + +"It is that you have become wicked." + +"I?" + +"Yes, you." + +"My sojourn in the tomb had sweetened me, but your presence, great king, +has destroyed the effect." + +"You become insupportable, Chicot; and I now attribute to you ambitious +projects and intrigues of which I formerly believed you incapable." + +"Projects of ambition! I ambitious! Henriquet, my son, you used to be +only foolish, now you are mad; you have progressed." + +"And I tell you, M. Chicot, that you wish to separate from me all my old +friends, by attributing to them intentions which they have not, and +crimes of which they never thought; in fact, you wish to monopolize me." + +"I monopolize you! what for? God forbid! you are too tiresome, without +counting the difficulty of pleasing you with your food. Oh! no, indeed! +Explain to me whence comes this strange idea." + +"You began by listening coldly to my praises of your old friend, Dom +Modeste, to whom you owe much." + +"I owe much to Dom Modeste! Good." + +"Then you tried to calumniate the Joyeuses, my true friends." + +"I do not say no." + +"Then you launched a shaft at the Guises." + +"Ah! you love them now; you love all the world to-day, it seems." + +"No, I do not love them; but, as just now they keep themselves close and +quiet, and do not do me the least harm, I do not fear them, and I cling +to all old and well-known faces. All these Guises, with their fierce +looks and great swords, have never done me any harm, after all, and they +resemble--shall I tell you what?" + +"Do, Henri; I know how clever you are at comparisons." + +"They resemble those perch that they let loose in the ponds to chase +the great fish and prevent them growing too fat; but suppose that the +great fish are not afraid?" + +"Well!" + +"Then the teeth of the perch are not strong enough to get through their +scales." + +"Oh! Henri! my friend, how clever you are!" + +"While your Bearnais--" + +"Well, have you a comparison for him also?" + +"While your Bearnais, who mews like a cat, bites like a tiger." + +"Well, my son, I will tell you what to do; divorce the queen and marry +Madame de Montpensier; was she not once in love with you?" + +"Yes, and that is the source of all her menaces, Chicot; she has a +woman's spite against me, and she provokes me now and then, but luckily +I am a man, and can laugh at it." + +As Henri finished these words, the usher cried at the door, "A messenger +from M. le Duc de Guise for his majesty." + +"Is it a courier or a gentleman?" asked the king. + +"It is a captain, sire." + +"Let him enter; he is welcome." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + +THE TWO COMPANIONS. + + +Chicot, at this announcement, sat down and turned his back to the door; +but the first words pronounced by the duke's messenger made him start. +He opened his eyes. The messenger could see nothing but the eye of +Chicot peering from behind the chair, while Chicot could see him +altogether. + +"You come from Lorraine?" asked the king of the new comer, who had a +fine and warlike appearance. + +"Not so, sire; I come from Soissons, where M. le Duc, who has been a +month in that city, gave me this letter to deliver to your majesty." + +The messenger then opened his buff coat, which was fastened by silver +clasps, and drew from a leather pouch lined with silk not one letter, +but two; for they had stuck together by the wax, and as the captain +advanced to give the king one letter, the other fell on the carpet. +Chicot's eyes followed the messenger, and saw the color spread over his +cheeks as he stooped to pick up the letter he had let fall. But Henri +saw nothing, he opened his own letter and read, while the messenger +watched him closely. + +"Ah! M. Borromee," thought Chicot, "so you are a captain, are you?" + +"Good," said the king, after reading the duke's letter with evident +satisfaction. "Go, captain, and tell M. de Guise that I am grateful for +his offer." + +"Your majesty will not honor me with a written answer?" + +"No, I shall see the duke in a month or six weeks, and can thank him +myself." + +The captain bowed and went out. + +"You see, Chicot," then said the king, "that M. de Guise is free from +all machinations. This brave duke has learned the Navarre business, and +he fears that the Huguenots will raise up their heads, for he has also +ascertained that the Germans are about to send re-enforcements to Henri. +Now, guess what he is about to do." + +As Chicot did not reply, Henri went on. + +"Well! he offers me the army that he has just raised in Lorraine to +watch Flanders, and says that in six weeks it will be at my command, +with its general. What do you say to that, Chicot?" + +No answer. + +"Really, my dear Chicot," continued the king, "you are as absurdly +obstinate as a Spanish mule; and if I happen to convince you of some +error, you sulk; yes, sulk." + +Not a sound came to contradict Henri in this frank opinion of his +friend. Now silence displeased Henri more than contradiction. + +"I believe," said he, "that the fellow has had the impertinence to go to +sleep. Chicot!" continued he, advancing to the armchair; "reply when +your king speaks." + +But Chicot did not reply, for he was not there; and Henri found the +armchair empty. + +He looked all round the room, but Chicot was not to be seen. The king +gave a superstitious shudder; it sometimes came into his mind that +Chicot was a supernatural being--a diabolic incarnation, of a good kind, +it was true, but still diabolical. + +He called Nambu the usher, and questioned him, and he assured his +majesty that he had seen Chicot go out five minutes before the duke's +messenger left. + +"Decidedly," thought Henri, "Chicot was vexed at being in the wrong. How +ill-natured men are, even the best of them." + +Nambu was right; Chicot had traversed the antechambers silently, but +still he was not able to keep his spurs from sounding, which made +several people turn, and bow when they saw who it was. + +The captain came out five minutes after Chicot, went down the steps +across the court proudly and with a satisfied air; proud of his person, +and pleased that the king had received him so well, and without any +suspicions of M. de Guise. As he crossed the drawbridge, he heard behind +him steps which seemed to be the echo of his own. He turned, thinking +that the king had sent some message to him, and great was his +stupefaction to see behind him the demure face of Robert Briquet. It may +be remembered that the first feeling of these two men about one another +had not been exactly sympathetical. + +Borromee opened his mouth, and paused; and in an instant was joined by +Chicot. + +"Corboeuf!" said Borromee. + +"Ventre de biche!" cried Chicot. + +"The bourgeois!" + +"The reverend father!" + +"With that helmet!" + +"With that buff coat!" + +"I am surprised to see you." + +"I am delighted to meet you again." + +And they looked fiercely at each other, but Borromee, quickly assuming +an air of amiable urbanity, said, "Vive Dieu, you are cunning, M. Robert +Briquet." + +"I, reverend father; and why do you say so?" + +"When you were at the convent of the Jacobins, you made me believe you +were only a simple bourgeois." + +"Ah!" replied Chicot, "and what must we say of you, M. Borromee?" + +"Of me?" + +"Yes, of you." + +"And why?" + +"For making me believe you were only a monk. You must be more cunning +than the pope himself; but you took me in the snare." + +"The snare?" + +"Yes, doubtless; a brave captain like you does not change his cuirass +for a frock without grave reasons." + +"With a soldier like you, I will have no secrets. It is true that I have +certain personal interests in the convent of the Jacobins; but you?" + +"And I, also." + +"Let us chat about it." + +"I am quite ready." + +"Do you like wine?" + +"Yes, when it is good." + +"Well! I know a little inn, which I think has no rival in Paris." + +"And I know one also; what is yours called?" + +"The 'Corne d'Abondance.'" + +"Ah!" + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Nothing." + +"Do you know anything against this house?" + +"Not at all." + +"You know it?" + +"No; and that astonishes me." + +"Shall we go there, compere?" + +"Oh! yes, at once." + +"Come, then." + +"Where is it?" + +"Near the Porte Bourdelle. The host appreciates well the difference +between palates like yours and mine, and those of every thirsty +passer-by." + +"Can we talk there?" + +"Perfectly at our ease." + +"Oh! I see you are well known there." + +"Ma foi, no; this time you are wrong. M. Bonhomet sells me wine when I +want it, and I pay when I can; that is all." + +"Bonhomet! that is a name that promises well." + +"And keeps its promise. Come, compere." + +"Oh! oh!" said Chicot to himself; "now I must choose among my best +grimaces; for if Bonhomet recognizes me at once, it is all over." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + +THE CORNE D'ABONDANCE. + + +The way along which Borromee led Chicot, never suspecting that he knew +it as well as himself, recalled to our Gascon the happy days of his +youth. How many times had he in those days, under the rays of the winter +sun, or in the cool shade in summer, sought out this house, toward which +a stranger was now conducting him. Then a few pieces of gold, or even of +silver, jingling in his purse, made him happier than a king; and he gave +himself up to the delightful pleasures of laziness, having no wife nor +children starving, or scolding and suspicious, at home. Then Chicot used +to sit down carelessly on the wooden bench, waiting for Gorenflot, who, +however, was always exact to the time fixed for dinner; and then he used +to study, with intelligent curiosity, Gorenflot in all his different +shades of drunkenness. + +Soon the great street of St. Jacques appeared to his eyes, the cloister +of St. Benoit, and nearly in front of that the hotel of the Corne +d'Abondance, rather dirty, and rather dilapidated, but still shaded by +its planes and chestnuts, and embellished inside by its pots of shining +copper, and brilliant saucepans, looking like imitations of gold and +silver, and bringing real gold and silver into the pockets of the +innkeeper. Chicot bent his back until he seemed to lose five or six +inches of his height, and making a most hideous grimace, prepared to +meet his old friend Bonhomet. However, as Borromee walked first, it was +to him that Bonhomet spoke, and he scarcely looked at Chicot, who stood +behind. Time had left its traces on the face of Bonhomet, as well as on +his house. Besides the wrinkles which seem to correspond on the human +face to the cracks made by time on the front of buildings, M. Bonhomet +had assumed airs of great importance since Chicot had seen him last. +These, however, he never showed much to men of a warlike appearance, for +whom he had always a great respect. + +It seemed to Chicot that nothing was changed excepting the tint of the +ceiling, which from gray had turned to black. + +"Come, friend," said Borromee, "I know a little nook where two men may +talk at their ease while they drink. Is it empty?" continued he, turning +to Bonhomet. + +Bonhomet answered that it was, and Borromee then led Chicot to the +little room already so well known to all readers of "Chicot, the +Jester." + +"Now," said Borromee, "wait here for me while I avail myself of a +privilege granted to the habitues of this house." + +"What is that?" + +"To go to the cellar and fetch one's own wine." + +"Ah! a jolly privilege. Go, then." + +Borromee went out. Chicot watched him disappear, and then went to the +wall and raised a picture, representing Credit killed by bad paymasters, +behind which was a hole, through which you could see into the public +room. Chicot knew this hole well, for it was his own making. + +On looking through, he perceived Borromee, after placing his finger on +his lips, as a sign of caution, say something to Bonhomet, who seemed to +acquiesce by a nod of the head, after which Borromee took a light, which +was always kept burning in readiness, and descended to the cellar. Then +Chicot knocked on the wall in a peculiar manner. On hearing this knock, +which seemed to recall to him some souvenir deeply rooted in his heart, +Bonhomet started, and looked round him. Chicot knocked again +impatiently, like a man angry at his first call not being answered. +Bonhomet ran to the little room, and found Chicot standing there +upright. At this sight Bonhomet, who, like the rest of the world, had +believed Chicot dead, uttered a cry, for he believed he saw a ghost. + +"Since when," said Chicot, "has a person like me been obliged to call +twice?" + +"Oh! dear M. Chicot, is it you or your shade?" cried Bonhomet. + +"Whichever it be, since you recognize me, I hope you will obey me." + +"Oh! certainly, dear M. Chicot." + +"Then whatever noise you hear in this room, and whatever takes place +here, do not come until I call you." + +"Your directions will be the easier to obey, since they are exactly the +same as your companion has just given to me." + +"Yes, but if he calls, do not come--wait until I call."--"I will, M. +Chicot." + +"Good! now send away every one else from your inn, and in ten minutes +let us be as free and as solitary here as if we came to fast on Good +Friday." + +"In ten minutes, M. Chicot, there shall not be a soul in the hotel +excepting your humble servant." + +"Go, Bonhomet; you are not changed, I see." + +"Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" said Bonhomet, as he retired, "what is about +to take place in my poor house?" + +As he went, he met Borromee returning from the cellar with his bottles. + +We do not know how Bonhomet managed, but when the ten minutes had +expired, the last customer was crossing the threshold of the door, +muttering: + +"Oh! oh! the weather is stormy here to-day; we must avoid the storm." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + +WHAT HAPPENED IN THE LITTLE ROOM. + + +When the captain re-entered the room with a basket in his hand +containing a dozen bottles, he was received by Chicot with smiles. +Borromee was in haste to uncork his bottles, but his haste was nothing +to Chicot's; thus the preparations did not take long, and the two +companions began to drink. At first, as though their occupation was too +important to be interrupted, they drank in silence. Chicot uttered only +these words: + +"Par ma foi! this is good Burgundy." + +They drank two bottles in this way; at the third, Chicot raised his eyes +to heaven, and said: + +"Really, we are drinking as though we wished to intoxicate ourselves." + +"It is so good," replied Borromee. + +"Ah! it pleases you. Go on, friend; I have a strong head." + +And each of them swallowed another bottle. The wine produced on each of +them an opposite effect--it unloosened Chicot's tongue, and tied that of +Borromee. + +"Ah!" murmured Chicot, "you are silent; then you doubt yourself." + +"Ah!" said Borromee to himself, "you chatter; then you are getting +tipsy." Then he asked Chicot, "How many bottles does it take you?" + +"For what?" + +"To get lively." + +"About four." + +"And to get tipsy?" + +"About six." + +"And dead drunk?" + +"Double." + +"Boaster!" thought Borromee, "he stammers already, and has only drunk +four. Come, then, we can go on," said he, and he drew out a fifth for +Chicot and one for himself. + +But Chicot remarked that of the five bottles ranged beside Borromee some +were half full, and others two-thirds; none were empty. This confirmed +him in his suspicions that the captain had bad intentions with regard to +him. He rose as if to fetch his fifth bottle, and staggered as he did +so. + +"Oh!" said he, "did you feel?" + +"What?" + +"The earth trembling." + +"Bah!" + +"Yes, ventre de biche! Luckily the hotel of the Corne d'Abondance is +solid, although it is built on a pivot." + +"What! built on a pivot?" + +"Doubtless, since it turns." + +"True," said Borromee, "I felt the effects, but did not guess the +cause." + +"Because you are not a Latin scholar, and have not read the 'De Natura +Rerum.' If you had, you would know that there is no effect without a +cause." + +"Well, my dear captain, for you are a captain like me, are you not?" + +"Yes, from the points of my toes to the roots of my hair." + +"Well, then, my dear captain, tell me, since there is no effect without +a cause, as you say, what was the cause of your disguise?" + +"What disguise?" + +"That which you wore when you came to visit Dom Modeste." + +"How was I disguised?" + +"As a bourgeois." + +"Ah! true." + +"Will you tell me?" + +"Willingly, if you will tell me why you were disguised as a monk. +Confidence for confidence." + +"Agreed," said Borromee. + +"You wish to know, then, why I was disguised," said Chicot, with an +utterance which seemed to grow thicker and thicker. + +"Yes, it puzzles me." + +"And then you will tell me?" + +"Yes, that was agreed." + +"Ah! true; I forgot. Well, the thing is very simple; I was a spy for the +king." + +"A spy?" + +"Yes." + +"Is that, then, your profession?" + +"No, I am an amateur." + +"What were you spying there?" + +"Every one. Dom Modeste himself, then Brother Borromee, little Jacques, +and the whole convent." + +"And what did you discover, my friend?" + +"First, that Dom Modeste is a great fool." + +"It does not need to be very clever to find that out." + +"Pardon me; his majesty Henri the Third, who is no fool, regards him as +one of the lights of the Church, and is about to make a bishop of him." + +"So be it; I have nothing to say against that promotion; on the +contrary, it will give me a good laugh. But what else did you discover?" + +"I discovered that Brother Borromee was not a monk but a captain." + +"Ah! you discovered that?" + +"At once." + +"Anything else?" + +"I discovered that Jacques was practicing with the foils before he began +with the sword." + +"Ah! you discovered that also. Anything else." + +"Give me more to drink, or I shall remember nothing." + +"Remember that you are beginning your sixth bottle," said Borromee +laughing. + +"Did we not come here to drink?" + +"Certainly we did." + +"Let us drink then." + +"Well," said Borromee, "now do you remember?" + +"What?" + +"What else you saw in the convent." + +"Well, I saw that the monks were really soldiers, and instead of obeying +Dom Modeste, obeyed you." + +"Ah, truly: but doubtless that was not all?" + +"No; but more to drink, or my memory will fail me." + +And as his bottle was empty, he held out his glass for more. + +"Well, now do you remember?" + +"Oh, yes, I should think so." + +"Well, what else?" + +"I saw that there was a plot." + +"A plot!" cried Borromee, turning pale. + +"Yes, a plot." + +"Against whom?" + +"Against the king." + +"Of what nature?" + +"To try and carry him off." + +"When?" + +"When he was returning from Vincennes." + +"Sacre!" + +"What did you say?" + +"Nothing. And you found out that?" + +"Yes." + +"And warned the king?" + +"Parbleu! that was what I came for." + +"Then you were the cause of the attempt failing?" + +"Yes, I." + +"Hang him!" murmured Borromee. + +"What did you say?" + +"I said that you have good eyes, my friend." + +"Bah! I have seen more than that; pass me one of your bottles, and I +will tell you what I have seen." + +Borromee hastened to comply with Chicot's desire. + +"Let me hear," said he. + +"Firstly, I have seen M. de Mayenne wounded." + +"Bah!" + +"No wonder, he was on my route. And then I have seen the taking of +Cahors." + +"How? the taking of Cahors?" + +"Certainly. Ah! captain, it was a grand thing to see, and a brave man +like you would have been delighted." + +"I do not doubt it. You were, then, near the king of Navarre?" + +"Side by side, my friend, as we are now." + +"And you left him?" + +"To announce this news to the king of France." + +"Then you have been at the Louvre?" + +"Yes, just before you." + +"Then, as we have not quitted each other since, I need not ask you what +you have done." + +"On the contrary, ask; for that is the most curious of all." + +"Tell me, then." + +"Tell! oh, it is very easy to say tell." + +"Try." + +"One more glass of wine, then, to loosen my tongue. Quite full; that +will do. Well, I saw, comrade, that when you gave the king the Duc de +Guise's letter, you let another fall." + +"Another!" cried Borromee, starting up. "Yes, it is there." + +And having tried two or three times, with an unsteady hand, he put his +finger on the buff doublet of Borromee, just where the letter was. +Borromee started, as though Chicot's finger had been a hot iron, and had +touched his skin instead of his doublet. + +"Oh, oh!" said he, "there is but one thing wanting." + +"What is that?" + +"That you should know to whom the letter is addressed." + +"Oh, I know quite well; it is addressed to the Duchesse de Montpensier." + +"Good heavens! I hope you have not told that to the king." + +"No; but I will tell him." + +"When?" + +"When I have had a nap." And he let his arms fall on the table, and his +head on them. + +"Then as soon as you can walk you will go to the Louvre?" + +"I will." + +"You will denounce me." + +"I will denounce you." + +"Is it not a joke?" + +"What?" + +"That you will tell the king after your nap." + +"Not at all. You see, my dear friend," said Chicot, half raising his +head, "you are a conspirator, and I am a spy; you have a plot, and I +denounce you; we each follow our business." + +And Chicot laid his head down again, so that his face was completely +hidden by his hands, while the back of his head was protected by his +helmet. + +"Ah!" cried Borromee, "you will denounce me when you wake!" and, rising, +he made a furious blow with his dagger on the back of his companion, +thinking to pierce him through and nail him to the table. But he had not +reckoned on the shirt of mail which Chicot had carried away from the +priory. The dagger broke upon it like glass, and for the second time +Chicot owed his life to it. + +Before Borromee had time to recover from his astonishment, Chicot's +right fist struck him a heavy blow in the face, and sent him bleeding +and stunned against the wall. + +In a minute, however, he was up, and sword in hand; but this minute had +sufficed for Chicot to draw his sword also, and prepare himself. He +seemed to shake off, as if by enchantment, all the fumes of the wine, +and stood with a steady hand to receive his adversary. The table, like a +field of battle, covered with empty bottles, lay between them, but the +blood flowing down his face infuriated Borromee, who lunged at his +adversary as fiercely as the intervening table permitted. + +"Dolt!" cried Chicot, "you see that it is decidedly you who are drunk, +for you cannot reach me across the table, while my arm is six inches +longer than yours, and my sword as much longer than your sword; and here +is the proof." + +As he spoke, he stretched out his arm and wounded Borromee in the +forehead. Borromee uttered a cry, still more of rage than of pain, and +as he was brave enough, attacked with double fury. + +Chicot, however, still on the other side of the table, took a chair and +sat down, saying, "Mon Dieu! how stupid these soldiers are; they pretend +to know how to manage their swords, and any bourgeois, if he liked, +could kill them like flies. Ah! now you want to put out my eye. And now +you mount on the table; but, ventre de biche! take care, donkey." And he +pricked him with his sword in the stomach, as he had already done in the +forehead. + +Borromee roared with anger and leaped from the table to the floor. + +"That is as it should, be," said Chicot; "now we are on the same level, +and we can talk while we are fencing. Ah! captain, captain, and so we +sometimes try our hand a little at assassination in our spare moments, +do we?" + +"I do for my cause what you do for yours," said Borromee, now brought +back to the seriousness of his position, and terrified, in spite of +himself, at the smothered fire which seemed gleaming in Chicot's eyes. + +"So much for talking," said Chicot; "and yet, my friend, it is with no +little pleasure I find that I am a better hand than you are. Ah! that +was not bad." + +Borromee had just made a lunge at Chicot, which had slightly touched his +breast. + +"Not bad, but I know the thrust--it is the very same you showed little +Jacques. I was just saying, then, that I have the advantage of you, for +I did not begin this quarrel, however anxiously disposed I might have +been to do so. More than that, even, I have allowed you to carry out +your project by giving you every latitude you required, and yet at this +very moment even, I have only been acting on the defensive, and this, +because I have something to propose to you." + +"Nothing," cried Borromee, exasperated at Chicot's imperturbability, +"nothing." + +And he gave a thrust which would have run the Gascon completely through +the body, if the latter had not, with his long legs, sprung back a step, +which placed him out of his adversary's reach. + +"I am going to tell you what this arrangement is, all the same, so that +I shall have nothing left to reproach myself for." + +"Hold your tongue," said Borromee; "hold your tongue; it will be +useless." + +"Listen," said Chicot; "it is to satisfy my own conscience. I have no +wish to shed your blood, you understand, and I don't want to kill you +until I am driven to extremes." + +"Kill me, kill me, I say, if you can!" exclaimed Borromee, exasperated. + +"No, no; I have already once in my life killed another such swordsman as +you are; I will even say a better swordsman than you. Pardieu! you know +him; he, too, was one of De Guise's retainers--a lawyer, too." + +"Ah! Nicolas David!" said Borromee, terrified at the incident, and again +placing himself on the defensive. + +"Exactly so." + +"It was you who killed him?" + +"Oh! yes, with a pretty little thrust which I will presently show you, +if you decline the arrangement I propose." + +"Well, let me hear what the arrangement is." + +"You will pass from the Duc de Guise's service to that of the king, +without, however, quitting that of the duc." + +"In other words, that I should become a spy like yourself?" + +"No, for there will be a difference; I am not paid, but you will be. You +will begin by showing me the Duc de Guise's letter to Madame la Duchesse +de Montpensier; you will let me take a copy of it, and I will leave you +quiet until another occasion. Well, am I not considerate?"--"Here," said +Borromee, "is my answer." + +Borromee's reply was "un coupe sur les armes," so rapidly dealt that the +point of his sword slightly touched Chicot's shoulder. + +"Well, well," said Chicot, "I see I must positively show you Nicolas +David's thrust. It is very simple and pretty." + +And Chicot, who had up to that moment been acting on the defensive, made +one step forward and attacked in his turn. + +"This is the thrust," said Chicot; "I make a feint in quartrebasse." + +And he did so; Borromee parried by giving way; but, after this first +step backward he was obliged to stop, as he found that he was close to +the partition. + +"Good! precisely so; you parry in a circle; that's wrong, for my wrist +is stronger than yours. I catch your sword in mine, thus. I return to +the attack by a tierce haute, I fall upon you, so, and you are hit, or, +rather, you are a dead man!" + +In fact, the thrust had followed, or rather had accompanied, the +demonstration, and the slender rapier, penetrating Borromee's chest, had +glided like a needle completely through him, penetrating deeply, and +with a dull, heavy sound, the wooden partition behind him. + +Borromee flung out his arms, letting his sword fall to the ground; his +eyes became fixed and injected with blood, his mouth opened wide, his +lips were stained with a red-colored foam, his head fell on his shoulder +with a sigh, which sounded like a death-rattle; then his limbs refused +their support, and his body as it sunk forward enlarged the aperture of +the wound, but could not free itself from the partition, supported as it +was by Chicot's terrible wrist, so that the miserable wretch, like a +gigantic insect, remained fastened to the wall, which his feet kicked +convulsively. + +Chicot, cold and impassible as he always was in positions of great +difficulty, especially when he had a conviction at the bottom of his +heart that he had done everything his conscience could require of +him--Chicot, we say, took his hand from his sword, which remained in a +horizontal position, unfastened the captain's belt, searched his +doublet, took the letter, and read the address: + +"Duchesse de Montpensier." + +All this time the blood was welling copiously from the wound, and the +agony of death was depicted on the features of the wounded man. + +"I am dying, I am dying!" he murmured. "O Heaven! have pity on me." + +This last appeal to the divine mercy, made by a man who had most +probably rarely thought of it until this moment of his direst need, +touched Chicot's feeling. + +"Let us be charitable," he said; "and since this man must die, let him +at least die as quietly as possible." + +He then advanced toward the partition, and by an effort withdrew his +sword from the wall, and supporting Borromee's body, he prevented it +from falling heavily to the ground. + +This last precaution, however, was useless; the approach of death had +been rapid and certain, and had already paralyzed the dying man's limbs. +His legs gave way beneath him, he fell into Chicot's arms, and then +rolled heavily on the floor. + +The shock of his fall made a stream of blood flow from his wound, with +which the last remains of life ebbed away. + +Chicot then went and opened the door of communication, and called +Bonhomet. + +He had no occasion to call twice, for the innkeeper had been listening +at the door, and had successively heard the noise of tables and stools, +the clashing of swords, and the fall of a heavy body; besides, the +worthy M. Bonhomet had particularly, after the confidence which had been +reposed in him, too extensive an experience of the character of +gentlemen of the sword in general, and of that of Chicot in particular, +not to have guessed, step by step, what had taken place. + +The only thing of which he was ignorant was, which of the two +adversaries had fallen. + +It must, however, be said in praise of Maitre Bonhomet that his face +assumed an expression of real satisfaction when he heard Chicot's voice, +and when he saw that it was the Gascon who, safe and sound, opened the +door. + +Chicot, whom nothing escaped, remarked the expression of his +countenance, and was inwardly pleased at it. + +Bonhomet, tremblingly, entered the apartment. + +"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, as he saw the captain's body bathed in +blood. + +"Yes, my poor Bonhomet," said Chicot; "this is what we have come to; our +dear captain here is very ill, as you see." + +"Oh! my good Monsieur Chicot, my good Monsieur Chicot!" exclaimed +Bonhomet, ready to faint. + +"Well, what?" inquired Chicot. + +"It is very unkind of you to have chosen my inn for this execution; such +a handsome captain, too!" + +"Would you sooner have seen Chicot lying there, and Borromee alive?" + +"No, oh no!" cried the host, from the very bottom of his heart. + +"Well, that would have happened, however, had it not been for a miracle +of Providence."--"Really?" + +"Upon the word of Chicot, just look at my back, for it pains me a good +deal, my dear friend." + +And he stooped down before the innkeeper, so that both his shoulders +might be on a level with the host's eye. + +Between the two shoulders the doublet was pierced through, and a spot of +blood as large and round as a silver crown piece reddened the edges of +the hole. + +"Blood!" cried Bonhomet, "blood! Ah, you are wounded!" + +"Wait, wait." + +And Chicot unfastened his doublet and his shirt. "Now look!" he said. + +"Oh! you wore a cuirass! What a fortunate thing, dear Monsieur Chicot; +and you were saying that the ruffian wished to assassinate you." + +"Diable! it hardly seems likely I should have taken any pleasure in +giving myself a dagger thrust between my own shoulders. Now, what do you +see?" + +"A link broken." + +"That dear captain was in good earnest then; is there much blood?" + +"Yes, a good deal under the links." + +"I must take off the cuirass, then," said Chicot. + +Chicot took off his cuirass, and bared the upper part of his body, +which seemed to be composed of nothing else but bones, of muscles spread +over the bones, and of skin merely covering the muscles. + +"Ah! Monsieur Chicot," exclaimed Bonhomet, "you have a wound as large +as a plate." + +"Yes, I suppose the blood has spread; there is what doctors call +ecchymosis; give me some clean linen, pour into a glass equal parts of +good olive oil and wine dregs, and wash that stain for me." + +"But, dear M. Chicot, what am I to do with this body?" + +"That is not your affair." + +"What! not my affair?" + +"No. Give me some ink, a pen, and a sheet of paper." + +"Immediately, dear Monsieur Chicot," said Bonhomet, as he darted out of +the room. + +Meanwhile Chicot, who probably had no time to lose, heated at the lamp +the point of a small dagger, and cut in the middle of the wax the seal +of the letter. This being done, and as there was nothing else to retain +the dispatch, Chicot drew it from its envelope, and read it with the +liveliest marks of satisfaction. + +Just as he had finished reading it, Maitre Bonhomet returned with the +oil, the wine, the paper, and the pen. + +Chicot arranged the pen, ink, and paper before him, sat himself down at +the table, and turned his back with stoical indifference toward Bonhomet +for him to operate upon. The latter understood the pantomime, and began +to rub it. + +However, as if, instead of irritating a painful wound, some one had been +tickling him in the most delightful manner, Chicot, during the +operation, copied the letter from the Duc de Guise to his sister, and +made his comments thereon at every word. + + "DEAR SISTER--The expedition from Anvers has succeeded for + everybody, but has failed as far as we are concerned. You will be + told that the Duc d'Anjou is dead; do not believe it--he is alive. + + "_He lives_, you understand, and that is the whole question. + + "There is a complete dynasty in those words; those two words + separate the house of Lorraine from the throne of France better + than the deepest abyss could do. + + "Do not, however, make yourself too uneasy about that. I have + discovered that two persons whom I thought were dead are still + living, and there is a great chance of death for the prince while + those two persons are alive. + + "Think then only of Paris; it will be time enough for the League to + act six weeks hence. Let our Leaguers know that the moment is + approaching, and let them hold themselves in readiness. + + "The army is on foot; we number twelve thousand sure men, all well + equipped; I shall enter France with it, under the pretext of + engaging the German Huguenots, who are going to assist Henri de + Navarre. I shall defeat the Huguenots, and having entered France as + a friend, I shall act as a master." + +"Oh, oh!" cried Chicot. + +"Did I hurt you, dear Monsieur Chicot?" said Bonhomet, discontinuing his +frictions. + +"Yes, my good fellow." + +"I will rub more softly; don't be afraid." + +Chicot continued: + + "P.S.--I entirely approve of your plan with regard to the + Forty-five; only allow me to say, dear sister, that you will be + conferring a greater honor on those fellows than they deserve." + +"Ah! diable!" murmured Chicot, "this is getting obscure." + +And he read it again. + + "I entirely approve of your plan with regard to the Forty-five." + +"What plan?" Chicot asked himself. + + "Only allow me to say, dear sister, that you will be conferring a + greater honor on those fellows than they deserve." + +"What honor?" + +Chicot resumed:-- + + "Than they deserve. + + "Your affectionate brother. + + "H. DE LORRAINE." + +"At all events," said Chicot, "everything is clear, except the +postscript. Very good, We will look after the postscript, then." + +"Dear Monsieur Chicot," Bonhomet ventured to observe, seeing that Chicot +had finished writing, if not thinking, "Dear Monsieur Chicot, you have +not told me what I am to do with this corpse."--"That is a very simple +affair." + +"For you, who are full of imagination, it may be, but for me?" + +"Well! suppose, for instance, that that unfortunate captain had been +quarreling with the Swiss guards or the Reiters, and he had been brought +to your house wounded, would you have refused to receive him?" + +"No, certainly, unless indeed you had forbidden me, dear M. Chicot." + +"Suppose that, having been placed in that corner, he had, +notwithstanding the care and attention you had bestowed upon him, +departed this life while in your charge, it would have been a great +misfortune, and nothing more, I suppose?" + +"Certainly." + +"And, instead of incurring any blame, you would deserve to be commended +for your humanity. Suppose, again, that while he was dying this poor +captain had mentioned the name, which you know very well, of the prior +of Les Jacobins Saint Antoine?" + +"Of Dom Modeste Gorenflot?" exclaimed Bonhomet, in astonishment. + +"Yes, of Dom Modeste Gorenflot. Very good! You will go and inform Dom +Modeste of it; Dom Modeste will hasten here with all speed, and, as the +dead man's purse is found in one of his pockets--you understand it is +important that the purse should be found; I mention this merely by way +of advice--and as the dead man's purse is found in one of his pockets, +and this letter in the other, no suspicion whatever can be entertained." + +"I understand, dear Monsieur Chicot." + +"In addition to which you will receive a reward, instead of being +punished." + +"You are a great man, dear Monsieur Chicot; I will run at once to the +Priory of St. Antoine." + +"Wait a minute! did I not say there was the purse and the letter?" + +"Oh! yes, and you have the letter in your hand."--"Precisely." + +"I must not say that it has been read and copied?" + +"Pardieu! it is precisely on account of this letter reaching its +destination intact that you will receive a recompense." + +"The letter contains a secret, then?" + +"In such times as the present there are secrets in everything, my dear +Bonhomet." + +And Chicot, with this sententious reply, again fastened the silk under +the wax of the seal by making use of the same means as he had done +before; he then fastened the wax so artistically that the most +experienced eye would not have been able to have detected the slightest +crack. + +He then replaced the letter in the pocket of the dead man, had the +linen, which had been steeped in the oil and wine, applied to his wound +by way of a cataplasm, put on again the safety coat of mail next to his +skin, his shirt over his coat of mail, picked up his sword, wiped it, +thrust it into the scabbard, and withdrew. + +He returned again, however, saying: + +"If, after all, the story which I have invented does not seem +satisfactory to you, you can accuse the captain of having thrust his own +sword through his body." + +"A suicide?" + +"Well, that don't compromise any one, you understand." + +"But they won't bury this ill-starred fellow in holy ground." + +"Pooh," said Chicot, "will that be giving him much pleasure?" + +"Why, yes, I should think so." + +"In that case, do as you like, my dear Bonhomet; adieu." + +Then, returning a second time, he said: + +"By-the-by, I pay, since he is no more." And Chicot threw three golden +crowns on the table, and then, placing his fore-finger on his lips, in +token of silence, he departed. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + +THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER. + + +It was with no inconsiderable emotion that Chicot again recognized La +Rue des Augustins, so quiet and deserted, the angle formed by the block +of houses which preceded his own, and lastly, his own dear house itself, +with its triangular roof, its worm-eaten balcony, and its gutters +ornamented with waterspouts. + +He had been so terribly afraid that he should find nothing but an empty +space in the place of the house, and had so strongly suspected that he +should see the street blackened by the smoke of a conflagration, that +the street and the house appeared to him miracles of neatness, +loveliness, and splendor. + +Chicot had concealed the key of his beloved house in the hollow of a +stone which served as the base of one of the columns by which his +balcony was supported. At the period we are now writing about, any kind +of key belonging to a chest or piece of furniture equaled in weight and +size the very largest keys of our houses of the present day; the door +keys, therefore, following the natural proportions, were equal in size +to the keys of our modern cities. + +Chicot had consequently calculated the difficulty which his pocket would +have in accommodating the heavy key, and he accordingly determined to +hide it in the spot we have indicated. + +Chicot, therefore, it must be confessed, felt a slight shudder creeping +over him as he plunged his fingers in the hollow of the stone; this +shudder was succeeded by a feeling of the most unmixed delight when the +cold of the iron met his hand, for the key was really and truly in the +spot where he had left it. + +It was precisely the same with regard to the furniture in the first room +he came to; the same, too, with the small board which he had nailed to +the joist; and lastly, the same with the thousand crowns, which were +still slumbering in their oaken hiding-place. + +Chicot was not a miser; quite the contrary, indeed: he had very +frequently thrown gold about broadcast, thereby allowing the ideal to +triumph over the material, which is the philosophy of every man who is +of any value; but no sooner had the mind momentarily ceased to exercise +its influence over matter--in other words, whenever money was no longer +needed, nor sacrifice requisite--whenever, in a word, the senses +temporarily regained their influence over Chicot's mind, and whenever +his mind allowed the body to live and to take enjoyment, gold, that +principal, that unceasing, that eternal source of animal delights, +reassumed its value in our philosopher's eyes, and no one knew better +than he did into how many delicious particles that inestimable totality +which people call a crown is subdivided. + +"Ventre de biche!" murmured Chicot, sitting down in the middle of his +room, after he had removed the flagstone, and with the small piece of +board by his side, and his treasure under his eyes, "ventre de biche! +that excellent young man is a most invaluable neighbor, for he has made +others respect my money, and has himself respected it too; in sober +truth, such an action is wonderful in such times as the present. +Mordieux! I owe some thanks to that excellent young fellow, and he shall +have them this evening." + +Thereupon Chicot replaced the plank over the joist, the flagstone over +the plank, approached the window, and looked toward the opposite side of +the street. + +The house still retained that gray and somber aspect which the +imagination bestows as their natural color upon buildings whose +character it seems to know. + +"It cannot yet be their time for retiring to rest," said Chicot; "and +besides, those fellows, I am sure, are not very sound sleepers; so let +us see." + +He descended his staircase, crossed the road--forming, as he did so, his +features into their most amiable and gracious expression--and knocked at +his neighbor's door. + +He remarked the creaking of the staircase, the sound of a hurried +footstep, and yet he waited long enough to feel warranted in knocking +again. + +At this fresh summons the door opened, and the outline of a man appeared +in the gloom. + +"Thank you, and good-evening," said Chicot, holding out his hand; "here +I am back again, and I am come to return you my thanks, my dear +neighbor." + +"I beg your pardon," inquiringly observed a voice, in a tone of +disappointment, the accent of which greatly surprised Chicot. + +At the same moment the man who had opened the door drew back a step or +two. + +"Stay, I have made a mistake," said Chicot, "you were not my neighbor +when I left, and yet I know who you are." + +"And I know you too," said the young man. + +"You are Monsieur le Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges." + +"And you are 'The Shade.'" + +"Really," said Chicot, "I am quite bewildered." + +"Well, and what do you want, monsieur?" inquired the young man, somewhat +churlishly. + +"Excuse me, but I am interrupting you, perhaps, my dear monsieur?" + +"No, only you will allow me to ask you what you may want." + +"Nothing, except that I wished to speak to the master of this house." + +"Speak, then." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I am the master of the house, that is all." + +"You? since when, allow me to ask?" + +"Diable! since the last three days." + +"Good! the house was for sale then?" + +"So it would seem, since I have bought it." + +"But the former proprietor?" + +"No longer lives here, as you see." + +"Where is he?" + +"I don't know." + +"Come, come, let us understand each other," said Chicot. + +"There is nothing I should like better," replied Ernanton, with visible +impatience, "only let us do so without losing any time." + +"The former proprietor was a man between five-and-twenty and thirty +years of age, but who looked as if he were forty." + +"No; he was a man of about sixty-five or sixty-six years old, who looked +his age quite." + +"Bald?" + +"No, on the contrary, a perfect forest of white hair." + +"With an enormous scar on the left side of the head, had he not?" + +"I did not observe the scar, but I did a good number of furrows." + +"I cannot understand it at all," said Chicot. + +"Well," resumed Ernanton, after a moment's silence, "what did you want +with that man, my dear Monsieur l'Ombre?" + +Chicot was on the point of acknowledging what had just happened; +suddenly, however, the mystery of the surprise which Ernanton had +exhibited, reminded him of a certain proverb very dear to all discreet +people. + +"I wished to pay him a neighborly visit," he said, "that is all." + +In this way, Chicot did not tell a falsehood, and yet admitted nothing. + +"My dear monsieur," said Ernanton politely, but reducing considerably +the opening of the door which he held half-closed, "I regret I am unable +to give you more precise information." + +"Thank you, monsieur," said Chicot, "I must look elsewhere, then." + +"But," continued Ernanton, as he gradually closed the door, "that does +not interfere with my congratulating myself upon the chance which has +brought me again into personal communication with you." + +"You would like to see me at the devil, I believe," murmured Chicot, as +he returned bow for bow. + +However, as, notwithstanding this mental reply, Chicot, in his +preoccupation, forgot to withdraw, Ernanton, shutting his face between +the door and the doorway, said to him: + +"I wish you a very good-evening, monsieur."--"One moment, Monsieur de +Carmainges," said Chicot. + +"Monsieur, I exceedingly regret I am unable to wait," replied Ernanton, +"but the fact is, I am expecting some one who will come and knock at +this very door, and this person will be angry with me if I do not show +the greatest possible discretion in receiving him." + +"That is quite sufficient, monsieur, I understand," said Chicot; "I am +sorry to have been so importunate, and I now retire."--"Adieu, dear +Monsieur l'Ombre." + +"Adieu, excellent Monsieur Ernanton." + +And as Chicot drew back a step, he saw the door quietly shut in his +face. + +He listened to satisfy himself if the suspicious young man was watching +his departure, but he heard Ernanton's footsteps as he ascended the +staircase; Chicot could therefore return to his own house without +uneasiness, and shut himself up in it, thoroughly determined not to +interfere with his new neighbor's habits, but, in accordance with his +usual custom, equally resolved not to lose sight of him altogether. + +In fact, Chicot was not a man to slumber on a circumstance which, in his +opinion, seemed to be important, without having handled and dissected +it, with the patience of a first-rate anatomist; in spite of all he +could do (and it was a privilege or defect of his organization), every +material impression that his mind received presented itself for +analysis, by its most prominent features, in such a manner that poor +Chicot's brain suffered considerably on account of such peculiarity, +called upon as it was for an immediate investigation of its master's +thought. + +Chicot, whose mind up to that moment had been occupied with that phrase +of the Duc de Guise's letter, namely, "I entirely approve of your plan +with regard to the Forty-five," consequently abandoned that phrase, the +examination of which he promised himself to return to at a later period, +in order that he might forthwith thoroughly exhaust this fresh subject +of preoccupation, which had just taken the place of the older one. + +Chicot reflected, that nothing could possibly be more singular than the +fact of Ernanton installing himself, as if he were its master, in that +mysterious house whose inhabitants had suddenly disappeared. + +And the more so, since to these original inhabitants a phrase of the Duc +de Guise's letter relative to the Duc d'Anjou might possibly have some +reference. + +That was a chance which deserved attentive consideration, and Chicot +was in the habit of believing in providential chances. + +He developed, even, whenever he was begged to do so, some very ingenious +theories on the subject. + +The basis of these theories was an idea, which, in our opinion, was +quite as good as any other; it was as follows: + +Chance is a kind of reserve held in bond by the Deity. Heaven never +communicates that reserve except in momentous circumstances, +particularly since He has observed that men are sagacious enough to +study and foresee the chances which may befall them in accordance with +natural causes and regularly organized principles of existence. + +Moreover, Heaven likes to counteract the combinations of those proud +members of the human race whose pride in by-gone times He has already +punished by drowning them, and whose future pride He surely will punish +in destroying them by fire. + +Heaven, therefore we say, or Chicot said, Heaven is pleased to +counteract the combinations of those proud and haughty human beings by +means with which they are unacquainted, and whose intervention they +cannot foresee. + +This theory, as may be perceived, includes some very specious arguments, +and might possibly furnish some very brilliant theses; but the reader, +anxious, as Chicot was, to know what Carmainges' object was in that +house, will feel obliged to us by tracing the development of them. + +Chicot, accordingly, began to think, that it was strange to see Ernanton +in the very house where he bad seen Remy. + +He considered it was strange for two reasons; the first, because of the +perfect ignorance in which the two men lived with respect to each other, +which led to the supposition that there must have been an intermediary +between them unknown to Chicot; and the second reason, because the house +must have been sold to Ernanton, who possessed no means of purchasing +it. + +"It is true," said Chicot, as he installed himself as comfortably as he +could on his gutter, which was his usual place of observation; "it is +true that the young man pretends he is expecting a visit, and that the +visit is from a lady; in these days, ladies are wealthy, and allow +themselves an indulgence in fancies of all kinds. Ernanton is handsome, +young, and graceful; Ernanton has taken some one's fancy, a rendezvous +has been arranged, and he has been directed to purchase this house; he +has bought the house, and she has accepted the rendezvous. + +"Ernanton," continued Chicot, "lives at court; it must be some lady +belonging to the court, then, with whom he has this affair. Poor fellow, +will he love her? Heaven preserve him from such a thing! he is going to +fall headlong into that gulf of perdition. Very good! ought I not to +read him a moral lecture thereupon? + +"A moral lecture, which would be both useless and absurd, doubly so the +former, and tenfold the latter. + +"Useless, because he won't understand it, and, even if he did understand +it, would refuse to listen to it. + +"Absurd, because I should be doing far better to go to bed, and to think +a little about that poor Borromee. + +"On this latter subject," continued Chicot, who had suddenly become +thoughtful, "I perceive one thing; namely, that remorse does not exist, +and is only a relative feeling; the fact is, I do not feel any remorse +at all for having killed Borromee, since the manner in which Monsieur de +Carmainges' affair occupies my mind makes me forget that I have killed +the man; and if he, on his side, had nailed me to the table as I nailed +him to the wainscot, he would certainly have had no more remorse than I +have about it myself, at the present moment." + +Chicot had reached so far in his reasonings, his inductions, and his +philosophy, which had consumed a good hour and a half altogether, when +he was drawn from his train of thought by the arrival of a litter +proceeding from the direction of the inn of the "Brave Chevalier." + +This litter stopped at the threshold of the mysterious house. + +A veiled lady alighted from it, and disappeared within the door which +Ernanton held half open. + +"Poor fellow!" murmured Chicot, "I was not mistaken; and it was indeed +a lady he was waiting for, and so now I shall go to bed." + +Whereupon Chicot rose, but remained motionless, although standing up. + +"I am mistaken," he said, "I shall not be able to go to sleep; but I +maintain what I was saying, that if I don't sleep it will not be remorse +which will prevent me, it will be curiosity; and that is so true what I +say in that respect, that if I remain here in my observatory, my mind +will only be occupied about one thing, and that is to learn which of our +noble ladies honors the handsome Ernanton with her affection. + +"Far better, then, to remain where I am; since, if I went to bed, I +should certainly get up again to return here." + +And thereupon Chicot resumed his seat. + +An hour had nearly passed away without our being able to state whether +Chicot was engaged in thinking of the unknown lady or Borromee, or +whether he was occupied by curiosity or tormented by feelings of +remorse, when he fancied he heard the gallop of a horse at the end of +the street. + +Such was indeed the case, for soon after a cavalier, wrapped in his +cloak, made his appearance. + +The cavalier drew up in the middle of the street, and seemed to be +looking about him to see where he was. + +The cavalier then perceived the group which was formed by the litter and +its bearers. + +He drove his horse against them. He was armed, for the rattling of his +sword against his spurs could be distinctly heard. + +The bearers of the litter seemed desirous of barring his passage, but he +addressed a few words to them in a low tone of voice, and not only did +they withdraw with every mark of respect, but one of them, as he sprang +to the ground from his horse, even received the bridle from his hand. +The unknown advanced toward the door and knocked loudly. + +"Well," said Chicot, "I was right in remaining, after all; my +presentiments, which told me that something was going to take place, +have not deceived me. Here is the husband, poor Ernanton; we shall +presently be witness of something serious. + +"If, however, it be the husband he is very kind to announce his return +in so riotous a manner." + +Notwithstanding the magisterial manner in which the unknown thundered at +the door, some hesitation seemed to be shown in opening it. + +"Open!" cried he who was knocking. + +"Open! open!" repeated the bearers. + +"There is no doubt it is the husband," resumed Chicot; "he has +threatened the men that he will have them whipped or hanged, and they +have declared themselves on his side. + +"Poor Ernanton, he will be flayed alive. + +"Oh! oh! I shall not suffer such a thing, however," added Chicot. + +"For in fact," he resumed, "he assisted me; and consequently, when an +opportunity presents itself, I ought to help him. And it seems to me +that the opportunity has now arrived, or it never will do so." + +Chicot was resolute and generous, and curious into the bargain; he +unfastened his long sword, placed it under his arm, and hurriedly ran +down the staircase. + +He could open his door noiselessly, which is an indispensable piece of +knowledge for any one who may wish to listen with advantage. + +Chicot glided under the balcony, then behind a pillar, and waited. + +Hardly had he installed himself there, when the door opposite was opened +immediately the unknown had whispered a word through the keyhole, and +yet he did not venture beyond the threshold. + +A moment afterward the lady appeared within the doorway. + +She took hold of the cavalier's arm, who led her to the litter, closed +the door of it, and then mounted his horse. + +"There is no doubt on the subject," said Chicot, "it is the husband, a +good-natured fellow of a husband after all, since he does not think it +worth his while to explore the house in order to be revenged on my +friend Carmainges." + +The litter then moved off, the cavalier walking his horse beside the +door of it. + +"Pardieu!" said Chicot, "I must follow those people and learn who they +are, and where they are going; I shall at all events draw some solid +counsel from my discovery for my friend Carmainges." + +Chicot accordingly followed the cortege, observing the precaution, +however, of keeping in the shadow of the walls, and taking care that the +noise made by the footsteps of the men and of the horses should render +the sound of his own inaudible. + +Chicot's surprise was by no means slight when he saw the litter stop at +the door of the "Brave Chevalier." + +Almost immediately afterward, as if some one had been on the watch, the +door was opened. + +The lady, still veiled, alighted; entered and mounted to the turret, the +window of the first story of which was lighted. + +The husband followed her, both being respectfully preceded by Dame +Fournichon, who carried a flambeau in her hand. + +"Decidedly," said Chicot, crossing his arms on his chest, "I cannot +understand a single thing of the whole affair." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + +SHOWING HOW CHICOT BEGAN TO UNDERSTAND THE PURPORT OF MONSIEUR DE +GUISE'S LETTER. + + +Chicot fancied that he had already certainly seen, somewhere or another, +the figure of this courteous cavalier; but his memory, having become a +little confused during his journey from Navarre, where he had met with +so many different figures, did not, with its usual facility, furnish him +with the cavalier's name on the present occasion. + +While, concealed in the shade, he was interrogating himself, with his +eyes fixed upon the lighted window, as to the object of this lady and +gentleman's tete-a-tete at the "Brave Chevalier," our worthy Gascon, +forgetting Ernanton in the mysterious house, observed the door of the +hostelry open, and in the stream of light which escaped through the +opening, he perceived something resembling the dark outline of a monk's +figure. + +The outline in question paused for a moment to look up at the same +window at which Chicot had been gazing. + +"Oh! oh!" he murmured; "if I am not mistaken, that is the frock of a +Jacobin friar. Is Maitre Gorenflot so lax, then, in his discipline as to +allow his sheep to go strolling about at such an hour of the night as +this, and at such a distance from the priory?" + +Chicot kept his eye upon the Jacobin, who was making his way along the +Rue des Augustins, and something seemed instinctively to assure him that +he should, through this monk, discover the solution of the problem which +he had up to that moment been vainly endeavoring to ascertain. + +Moreover, in the same way that Chicot had fancied he had recognized the +figure of the cavalier, he now fancied he could recognize in the monk a +certain movement of the shoulder, and a peculiar military movement of +the hips, which only belong to persons in the habit of frequenting +fencing-rooms and gymnastic establishments. + +"May the devil seize me," he murmured, "if that frock yonder does not +cover the body of that little miscreant whom I wished them to give me +for a traveling companion, and who handles his arquebuse and sword so +cleverly." + +Hardly had the idea occurred to Chicot, when, to convince himself of its +value, he stretched out his long legs, and in a dozen strides rejoined +the little fellow, who was walking along holding up his frock above his +thin and sinewy legs in order to be able to get along all the faster. + +This was not very difficult, however, inasmuch as the monk paused every +now and then to glance behind him, as if he was going away with great +difficulty and with feelings of profound regret. + +His glance was invariably directed toward the brilliantly-lighted +windows of the hostelry. + +Chicot had not gone many steps before he felt sure that he had not been +mistaken in his conjectures. + +"Hallo! my little master," he said; "hallo! my little Jacquot; hallo! my +little Clement. Halt!" + +And he pronounced this last word in so thoroughly military a tone, that +the monk started at it. + +"Who calls me?" inquired the young man rudely, with something rather +antagonistic than cordial in his tone of voice. + +"I!" replied Chicot, drawing himself up in front of the monk; "I! don't +you recognize me?" + +"Oh! Monsieur Robert Briquet!" exclaimed the monk. + +"Myself, my little man. And where are you going like that, so late, +darling child?" + +"To the priory, Monsieur Briquet." + +"Very good; but where do you come from?" + +"I?" + +"Of course, little libertine." + +The young man started. + +"I don't know what you are saying, Monsieur Briquet," he replied; "on +the contrary, I have been sent with a very important commission by Dom +Modeste, who will himself assure you that such is the case, if there be +any occasion for it." + +"Gently, gently, my little Saint Jerome; we take fire like a match, it +seems." + +"And not without reason, too, when one hears such things said as you +were saying just now." + +"Diable! when one sees a frock like yours leaving a tavern at such an +hour--" + +"A tavern, I!" + +"Oh! of course not; the house you left just now was not the 'Brave +Chevalier,' I suppose? Ah! you see I have caught you!" + +"You were right in saying that I left that house, but it was not a +tavern I was leaving." + +"What!" said Chicot; "is not the hostelry of the sign of the 'Brave +Chevalier' a tavern?" + +"A tavern is a house where people drink, and as I have not been drinking +in that house, that house is not a tavern for me." + +"Diable! that is a subtle distinction, and I am very much mistaken if +you will not some day become a very forcible theologian; but, at all +events, if you did not go into that house to drink there, what did you +go there for?" + +Clement made no reply, and Chicot could read in his face, +notwithstanding the darkness of the night, a resolute determination not +to say another word. + +This resolution annoyed our friend extremely, for it had almost grown a +habit with him to become acquainted with everything. + +It must not be supposed that Clement showed any ill-feeling in his +silence; for, on the contrary, he had appeared delighted to meet, in so +unexpected a manner, his learned fencing-master, Maitre Robert Briquet, +and had given him the warmest reception that could be expected from the +close and rugged character of the youth. + +The conversation had completely ceased. Chicot, for the purpose of +starting it again, was on the point of pronouncing the name of Frere +Borromee; but, although Chicot did not feel any remorse, or fancied he +did not feel any, he could not summon up courage to pronounce that name. + +His young companion, still preserving the same unbroken silence, seemed +as if he were awaiting something; it seemed, too, as if he considered it +a happiness to remain as long as possible in the neighborhood of the +hostelry of the "Brave Chevalier." + +Robert Briquet tried to speak to him about the journey which the boy had +for a moment entertained the hope of making with him. + +Jacques Clement's eyes glistened at the words space and liberty. + +Robert Briquet told him that in the countries through which he had just +been traveling, the art of fencing was held greatly in honor; he added, +with an appearance of indifference, that he had even brought away with +him several wonderful passes and thrusts. + +This was placing Jacques upon slippery ground. He wished to know what +these passes were; and Chicot, with his long arm, indicated a few of +them upon the little monk's arm. + +But all these delicacies and refinements on Chicot's part in no way +affected little Clement's obstinate determination; and while he +endeavored to parry these unknown passes, which his friend Maitre Robert +Briquet was showing him, he preserved an obstinate silence with respect +to what had brought him into that quarter. + +Thoroughly annoyed, but keeping a strong control over himself, Chicot +resolved to try the effect of injustice; injustice is one of the most +powerful provocatives ever invented to make women, children, and +inferiors speak, whatever their nature or disposition may be. + +"It does not matter," he said, as if he returned to his original idea; +"it does not matter, you are a delightful little monk; but that you +visit hostelries is certain, and what hostelries too! Those where +beautiful ladies are to be found, and you stop outside in a state of +ecstasy before the window, where you can see their shadow. Oh! little +one, little one, I shall tell Dom Modeste all about it." + +The bolt hit its mark, more truly so even than Chicot had supposed; for +when he began, he did not suspect that the wound had been so deep. + +Jacques turned round like a serpent that had been trodden on. + +"That is not true," he cried, crimson with shame and anger, "I don't +look at women." + +"Yes, yes," pursued Chicot; "on the contrary, there was an exceedingly +pretty woman at the 'Brave Chevalier' when you left it, and you turned +round to look at her again; and I know that you were waiting for her in +the turret, and I know, too, that you spoke to her." + +Chicot proceeded by the inductive process. + +Jacques could not contain himself any longer. + +"I certainty have spoken to her!" he exclaimed; "is it a sin to speak to +women?" + +"No, when one does not speak to them of one's own accord, and yielding +to the temptation of Satan." + +"Satan has nothing whatever to do with the matter; it was absolutely +necessary that I should speak to that lady, since I was desired to hand +her a letter." + +"Desired by Dom Modeste!" cried Chicot. + +"Yes, go and complain to him now, if you like." + +Chicot, bewildered, and feeling his way as it were in the dark, +perceived, at these words, a gleam of light traversing the obscurity of +his brain. + +"Ah!" he said, "I knew it perfectly well." + +"What did you know?" + +"What you did not wish to tell me." + +"I do not tell my own secrets, and, for a greater reason, the secrets of +others." + +"Yes, but to me." + +"Why should I to you?" + +"You should tell them to me because I am a friend of Dom Modeste, and, +for another reason, you should tell them to me because--" + +"Well?" + +"Because I know beforehand all you could possibly have to tell me." + +Jacques looked at Chicot and shook his head with an incredulous smile. + +"Very good!" said Chicot, "would you like me to tell you what you do not +wish to tell me?" + +"I should indeed." + +Chicot made an effort. + +"In the first place," he said, "that poor Borromee--" + +A dark expression passed across Jacques' face. + +"Oh!" said the boy, "if I had been there--" + +"Well! if you had been there?" + +"The affair would not have turned out as it did." + +"Would you have defended him against the Swiss with whom he got into a +quarrel?" + +"I would have defended him against every one." + +"So that he would not have been killed?" + +"Either that, or I should have got myself killed along with him." + +"At all events, you were not there, so that the poor devil breathed his +last in an obscure tavern, and in doing so pronounced Dom Modeste's +name; is not that so?" + +"Yes." + +"Whereupon the people there informed Dom Modeste of it?" + +"A man, seemingly scared out of his wits, who threw the whole convent +into consternation." + +"And Dom Modeste sent for his litter, and hastened to 'La Corne +d'Abondance.'" + +"How do you know that?" + +"Oh! you don't know me yet, my boy; I am somewhat of a sorcerer, I can +tell you." + +Jacques drew back a couple of steps. + +"That is not all," continued Chicot, who, as he spoke, began to see +clearer by the light of his own words; "a letter was found in the dead +man's pocket." + +"A letter--yes, precisely so." + +"And Dom Modeste charged his little Jacques to carry that letter to its +address." + +"Yes." + +"And the little Jacques ran immediately to the Hotel de Guise." + +"Oh!" + +"Where he found no one." + +"Bon Dieu!" + +"But Monsieur de Mayneville." + +"Good gracious!" + +"And which same Monsieur de Mayneville conducted Jacques to the hostelry +of the 'Brave Chevalier.'" + +"Monsieur Briquet! Monsieur Briquet!" cried Jacques, "if you know +that--" + +"Eh! ventre de biche! you see very well that I do know it," exclaimed +Chicot, feeling triumphant at having disentangled this secret, which was +of such importance for him to learn, from the provoking intricacies in +which it had been at first involved. + +"In that case," returned Jacques, "you see very well, Monsieur Briquet, +that I am not guilty." + +"No," said Chicot, "you are not guilty in act, nor in omission, but you +are guilty in thought." + +"I!" + +"I suppose there is no doubt you think the duchesse very beautiful?" + +"I!!" + +"And you turned round to look at her again through the window." + +"I!!!" + +The young monk colored and stammered out: "Well, it is true, she is +exactly like a Virgin Mary which was placed over the head of my mother's +bed." + +"Oh!" muttered Chicot, "how much those people lose who are not curious!" + +And thereupon he made little Clement, whom from this moment he held in +his power, tell him all he had himself just told him, but this time with +the details, which he could not possibly otherwise have known. + +"You see," said Chicot, when he had finished, "what a poor +fencing-master you had in Frere Borromee." + +"Monsieur Briquet," said little Jacques, "one ought not to speak ill of +the dead." + +"No; but confess one thing." + +"What?" + +"That Borromee did not make such good use of his sword as the man who +killed him."--"True." + +"And now that is all I had to say to you. Good-night, Jacques; we shall +meet again soon, and if you like--" + +"What, Monsieur Briquet?" + +"Why, I will give you lessons in fencing for the future." + +"Oh! I shall be most thankful." + +"And now off with you, my boy, for they are waiting for you impatiently +at the priory." + +"True, true. Thank you, Monsieur Briquet, for having reminded me of it." + +And the little monk disappeared, running as fast as he could. + +Chicot had a reason for dismissing his companion. He had extracted from +him all he wished to know, and, on the other hand, there still remained +something further for him to learn. He returned, therefore, as fast as +he could to his own house. The litter, the bearers, and the horse were +still at the door of the "Brave Chevalier." + +He regained his gutter without making a noise. + +The house opposite to his own was still lighted up, and from that +moment all his attention was directed toward it. + +In the first place, he observed, by a rent in the curtain, Ernanton +walking up and down, apparently waiting with great impatience. + +He then saw the litter return, saw Mayneville leave, and, lastly, he saw +the duchess enter the room in which Ernanton, palpitating, and throbbing +rather than breathing, impatiently awaited her return. + +Ernanton kneeled before the duchess, who gave him her white hand to +kiss. She then raised the young man from the ground, and made him sit +down before her at a table which was most elegantly served. + +"This is very singular," said Chicot; "It began like a conspiracy, and +finishes by a rendezvous. + +"Yes," continued Chicot, "but who appointed this rendezvous? + +"Madame de Montpensier." + +And then, as a fresh light flashed through his brain, he murmured, "I +entirely approve of your plan with regard to the Forty-five; only allow +me to say, dear sister, that you will be conferring a greater honor on +those fellows than they deserve." + +"Ventre de biche!" exclaimed Chicot, "I return to my original idea,--it +is not a love affair, but a conspiracy. + +"Madame la Duchesse de Montpensier is in love with Monsieur Ernanton de +Carmainges; let us watch over this love affair of Madame la Duchesse." + +And Chicot watched until midnight had long passed, when Ernanton +hastened away, his cloak concealing his face, while Madame la Duchesse +de Montpensier returned to her litter. + +"Now," murmured Chicot, as he descended his own staircase, "what is that +chance of death which is to deliver the Duc de Guise from the +presumptive heir of the crown? who are those defunct persons who were +thought to be dead, but are still living? + +"Mordioux! I shall trace them before long." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + +LE CARDINAL DE JOYEUSE. + + +Youth has its obstinate resolutions, both as regards good and evil in +the world, which are by no means inferior to the inflexibility of +purpose of maturer years. + +When directed toward good purposes, instances of this dogged obstinacy +of character produce what are termed the great actions of life, and +impress on the man who enters life an impulse which bears him onward, by +a natural course, toward a heroism of character of some kind or another. + +In this way Bayard and Du Gueselin became great captains, from having +been the most ill-tempered and most intractable children that ever +existed; in the same way, too, the swineherd, whom nature had made the +herdsman of Montalte, and whose genius had converted him into +Sexte-Quinte, became a great pope, because he had persisted in +performing his duties as a swineherd in an indifferent manner. + +Again, in the same way were the worst Spartan natures displayed in a +heroic sense, after they had commenced life by a persistence in +dissimulation and cruelty. + +All we have now to sketch is the portrait of a man of an ordinary stamp; +and yet, more than one biographer would have found in Henri du Bouchage, +at twenty years of age, the materials for a great man. + +Henri obstinately persisted in his affection and in his seclusion from +the world; as his brother had begged and as the king had required him to +do, he remained for some days closeted alone with his one enduring +thought; and then, when that thought had become more and more fixed and +unchangeable in its nature, he one morning decided to pay a visit to his +brother the cardinal, an important personage, who, at the age of +twenty-six, had already for two years past been a cardinal, and who, +from the archbishopric of Narbonne, had passed to the highest degrees of +ecclesiastical dignity, a position to which he was indebted as much to +his noble descent as to his powerful intellect. + +Francois de Joyeuse, whom we have already introduced with the object of +enlightening Henri de Valois respecting the doubt he had entertained +with regard to Sylla--Francois de Joyeuse, young and worldly-minded, +handsome and witty, was one of the most remarkable men of the period. +Ambitious by nature, but circumspect by calculation and position, +Francois de Joyeuse could assume as his device, "Nothing is too much," +and justify his device. + +The only one, perhaps, of all those who belonged to the court--and +Francois de Joyeuse was attached to the court in a very especial +manner--he had been able to create for himself two means of support out +of the religious and lay thrones to which he in some measure +approximated as a French gentleman, and as a prince of the church; +Sixtus protected him against Henri III., Henri III. protected him +against Sixtus. He was an Italian at Paris, a Parisian at Rome, +magnificent and able everywhere. + +The sword alone of Joyeuse, the high admiral, gave the latter more +weight in the balance; but it might be noticed from certain smiles of +the cardinal, that if those temporal arms failed him, which the hand of +his brother, refined and admired as he was, wielded so successfully, he +himself knew not only how to use, but also how to abuse, the spiritual +weapons which had been intrusted to him by the sovereign head of the +Church. + +The Cardinal Francois de Joyeuse had very rapidly become a wealthy man, +wealthy in the first place from his own patrimony, and then from his +different benefices. At that period the Church was richly endowed--very +richly endowed even, and when its treasures were exhausted, it knew the +sources, which at the present day are exhausted, where and whence to +renew them. + +Francois de Joyeuse, therefore, lived in the most magnificent manner. +Leaving to his brother all the pageantry and glitter of a military +household, he crowded his salons with priests, bishops and archbishops; +he gratified his own individual peculiar fancies. On his attaining the +dignity of cardinal, as he was a prince of the church, and consequently +superior to his brother, he had added to his household pages according +to the Italian fashion, and guards according to that which prevailed at +the French court. But these guards and pages were used by him as a still +greater means of enjoying liberty of action. He frequently ranged his +guards and pages round a huge litter, through the curtains of which his +secretary passed his gloved hand, while he himself on horseback, his +sword by his side, rode through the town disguised with a wig, an +enormous ruff round his neck, and horseman's boots, the sound of which +delighted him beyond measure. + +The cardinal lived, therefore, in the enjoyment of the greatest +consideration, for, at certain elevated positions in life, human +fortunes are absorbing in their nature, and, as if they were composed of +nothing else but of adhesive particles, oblige all other fortunes to +attend on and follow them like satellites; and on that account, +therefore, the recent and marvelous successes of his brother Anne +reflected on him all the brilliancy of those achievements. Moreover, as +he had scrupulously followed the precept of concealing his mode of life, +and of dispensing and diffusing his mental wealth, he was only known by +the better sides of his character, and in his own family was accounted a +very great man, a happiness which many sovereigns, laden with glory and +crowned with the acclamations of a whole nation, have not enjoyed. + +It was to this prelate that the Comte du Bouchage betook himself after +his explanation with his brother, and after his conversation with the +king of France; but, as we have already observed, he allowed a few days +to elapse in token of obedience to the injunction which had been imposed +on him by his elder brother, as well as by the king. + +Francois resided in a beautiful mansion in that part of Paris called La +Cite. The immense courtyard was never quite free from cavaliers and +litters; but the prelate, whose garden was immediately contiguous to the +bank of the river, allowed his courtyards and his antechambers to +become crowded with courtiers; and as he had a mode of egress toward the +river-bank, and a boat close thereto, which conveyed him without any +disturbance as far and as quietly as he chose, it not unfrequently +happened that the courtiers uselessly waited to see the prelate, who +availed himself of the pretext of a serious indisposition, or a rigid +penance, to postpone his reception for the day. For him it was a +realization of Italy in the bosom of the capital of the king of France, +it was Venice embraced by the two arms of the Seine. + +Francois was proud, but by no means vain; he loved his friends as +brothers, and his brothers nearly as much as his friends. Five years +older than Du Bouchage, he withheld from him neither good nor evil +counsel, neither his purse nor his smile. + +But as he wore his cardinal's costume with wonderful effect, Du Bouchage +thought him handsome, noble, almost formidable, and accordingly +respected him more, perhaps, than he did the elder of them both. Henri, +with his beautiful cuirass, and the glittering accessories of his +military costume, tremblingly confided his love affairs to Anne, while +he would not have dared to confess himself to Francois. + +However, when he proceeded to the cardinal's hotel, his resolution was +taken, and he accosted, frankly enough, the confessor first, and the +friend afterward. + +He entered the courtyard, which several gentlemen were at that moment +quitting, wearied at having solicited without having obtained the favor +of an audience. + +He passed through the antechambers, salons, and then the more private +apartments. He had been told, as others had, that his brother was +engaged in conference; but the idea of closing any of the doors before +Du Bouchage never occurred to any of the attendants. + +Du Bouchage, therefore, passed through all the apartments until he +reached the garden, a true garden of a Roman prelate, luxurious in its +shade, coolness, and perfume, such as, at the present day, may be found +at the Villa Pamphile or the Palais Borghese. + +Henri paused under a group of trees: at this moment the gate close to +the river side rolled on its hinges, and a man shrouded in a large brown +cloak passed through, followed by a person in a page's costume. The man, +perceiving Henri, who was too absorbed in his reverie to think of him, +glided through the trees, avoiding the observation either of Du Bouchage +or of any one else. + +Henri paid no attention to this mysterious entry; and it was only as he +turned round that he saw the man entering the apartments. + +After he had waited about ten minutes, and as he was about to enter the +house, for the purpose of interrogating one of the attendants with the +view of ascertaining at what hour precisely his brother would be +visible, a servant, who seemed to be in search of him, observed his +approach, and advancing in his direction, begged him to have the +goodness to pass into the library, where the cardinal awaited him. + +Henri complied with this invitation, but not very readily, as he +conjectured that a fresh contest would result from it; he found his +brother the cardinal engaged, with the assistance of a valet-de-chambre, +in trying on a prelate's costume, a little worldly-looking, perhaps, in +its shape and fashion, but elegant and becoming in its style. + +"Good-morning, comte," said the cardinal; "what news have you?" + +"Excellent news, as far as our family is concerned," said Henri. "Anne, +you know, has covered himself with glory in that retreat from Anvers, +and is alive." + +"Heaven be praised! and are you too, Henri, safe and sound?" + +"Yes, my brother." + +"You see," said the cardinal, "that Heaven holds us in its keeping." + +"I am so full of gratitude to Heaven, my brother, that I have formed the +project of dedicating myself to its service. I am come to talk seriously +to you upon this project, which is now well matured, and about which I +have already spoken to you." + +"Do you still keep to that idea, Du Bouchage?" said the cardinal, +allowing a slight exclamation to escape him, which was indicative that +Joyeuse would have a struggle to encounter. + +"I do." + +"But it is impossible, Henri," returned the cardinal; "have you not been +told so already?" + +"I have not listened to what others have said to me, my brother, because +a voice stronger than mine, which speaks within me, prevents me from +listening to anything which would turn me aside from my purpose." + +"You cannot be so ignorant of the things of this world, Henri," said the +cardinal, in his most serious tone of voice, "to believe that the voice +you allude to was really that of Heaven; on the contrary--I assert it +positively, too--it is altogether a feeling of a worldly nature which +addresses you. Heaven has nothing to do in this affair; do not abuse +that holy name, therefore, and, above all, do not confound the voice of +Heaven with, that of earth." + +"I do not confound, my brother; I only mean to say that something +irresistible in its nature hurries me toward retreat and solitude." + +"So far, so good, Henri; we are now making use of proper expressions. +Well, my dear brother, I will tell you what is to be done. Taking what +you say for granted, I am going to render you the happiest of men." + +"Thank you, oh! thank you, my brother." + +"Listen to me, Henri. You must take money, a couple of attendants, and +travel through the whole of Europe, in a manner befitting a son of the +house to which we belong. You will see foreign countries; Tartary, +Russia, even the Laplanders, those fabulous nations whom the sun never +visits; you will become absorbed in your thoughts, until the devouring +germ which is at work in you becomes either extinct or satiated; and, +after that, you will return to us again." + +Henri, who had been seated, now rose, more serious than his brother had +been. + +"You have not understood me, monseigneur," he said. + +"I beg your pardon, Henri; you made use of the words 'retreat and +solitude.'" + +"Yes, I did so; but by retreat and solitude, I meant a cloister, and not +traveling; to travel is to enjoy life still. I wish almost to suffer +death, and if I do not suffer it, at least to feel it." + +"That is an absurd thought, allow me to say, Henri; for whoever, in +point of fact, wishes to isolate himself, is alone everywhere. But the +cloister, let it be. Well, then, I understand that you have come to talk +to me about this project. I know of some very learned Benedictines, and +some very clever Augustines, whose houses are cheerful, adorned with +flowers, attractive, and agreeable in every respect. Amid the works of +science and art you will pass a delightful year, in excellent society, +which is of no slight importance, for one should avoid lowering one's +self in this world; and if at the end of the year you persist in your +project, well, then, my dear Henri, I will not oppose you any further, +and will myself open the door which will peacefully conduct you to +everlasting rest." + +"Most certainly you still misunderstand me, my brother," replied Du +Bouchage, shaking his head, "or I should rather say your generous +intelligence will not comprehend me. I do not wish for a cheerful +residence or a delightful retreat, but a rigorously strict seclusion, as +gloomy as the grave itself. I intend to pronounce my vows, vows which +will leave me no other thought or occupation than a grave to dig for +myself, or constant prayer." + +The cardinal frowned, and rose from his seat. + +"Yes," he said, "I did perfectly understand you; and I endeavored by +opposition, without set phrases or discussion, to combat the folly of +your resolutions, but you oblige me to do so; and now listen to me." + +"Ah!" said Henri, despondently, "do not try to convince me; it is +impossible." + +"Brother, I will speak to you in the name of Heaven, in the first place; +of Heaven, which you offend in saying that this wild resolution is of +its inspiration. Heaven does not accept sacrifices hastily made. You are +weak, since you allow yourself to be conquered by a first +disappointment; how can Heaven be pleased to accept a victim as unworthy +as that you offer?" + +Henri started at his brother's remark. + +"Oh! I shall no longer spare you. Henri, you, who never consider any of +us," returned the cardinal; "you, who forget the grief which you will +cause our elder brother, and will cause me too--" + +"Forgive me," interrupted Henri, whose cheeks were dyed with crimson, +"forgive me, monseigneur; but is the service of Heaven then so gloomy +and so dishonorable a career that all the members of a family are to be +thrown into distress by it? You, for instance, my brother, whose +portrait I observe suspended in this room, with all this gold, and +diamonds, and purple around you, are you not both the delight and honor +of our house, although you have chosen the service of Heaven, as my +eldest brother has chosen that of the kings of the earth?" + +"Boy, boy!" exclaimed the cardinal impatiently, "you will make me +believe your brain is turned. What! will you venture to compare my +residence to a cloister? my hundred attendants, my outriders, the +gentlemen of my suite, and my guards, to a cell and a broom, which are +the only arms and the sole wealth of a cloister? Are you mad? Did you +not just now say that you repudiate these superfluities--these pictures, +precious vases, pomp and distinction, which I cannot do without? Have +you, as I have, the desire and hope of placing on your brow the tiara of +St. Peter? That, indeed, is a career, Henri; one presses onward toward +it, struggles for it, lives in it. But as for you! it is the miner's +pick, the trappist's spade, the gravedigger's tomb, that you desire; +utter abandonment of life, of pleasure, of hope; and all that--I blush +with shame for you, a man--all that, I say, because you love a woman who +loves you not. You do foul injustice to your race, Henri, most truly." + +"Brother!" exclaimed the young man, pale as death, while his eyes blazed +with kindling fire, "would you sooner have me blow out my brains, or +plunge in my heart the sword I have the honor to wear by my side? +Pardieu, monseigneur, if you, who are cardinal and prince besides, will +give me absolution for so mortal a sin, the affair will be so quickly +done that you shall have no time to complete your odious and unworthy +thought that I am capable of dishonoring my race, which, Heaven be +praised, a Joyeuse will never do." + +"Come, come, Henri," said the cardinal, drawing his brother toward him, +and pressing him in his arms; "come, forget what has passed, and think +of those who love you. I have personal motives for entreating you. +Listen to me; a rare occurrence in this world of ours, we are all happy, +some from feelings of gratified ambition, the others from blessings of +every kind with which Heaven has bedecked our existence. Do not, I +implore you, Henri, cast the mortal poison of the retreat you speak of +upon our family happiness; think how our father would be grieved at it; +think, too, how all of us would bear on our countenances the dark +reflection of the bitter mortification you are about to inflict upon us. +I beseech yon, Henri, to allow yourself to be persuaded; the cloister +will not benefit you. + +"I do not say that you will die there, for, misguided man, your answer +will be a smile, which alas, would be only too intelligible for me. No, +believe me that the cloister is more fatal to you than the tomb. The +tomb annihilates but life itself, the cloister annihilates intelligence; +the cloister bows the head, instead of raising it to heaven; the cold, +humid atmosphere of the vaults passes by degrees into the blood, and +penetrates the very marrow of the bones, changing the cloistered recluse +into another granite statue in the convent. My brother, my dear brother, +take heed; our time here below is but brief; youth visits us but once in +our lives. The bright years of our earlier days will pass away too, for +you are under the influence of a deep-seated grief; but at thirty years +of age you will have become a man, the vigor of maturity will have then +arrived; it will hurry away with it all that remains of your wornout +sorrow, and then you will wish to live over again; but it will be too +late. Then, too, you will have grown melancholy in thought, plain in +person, suffering in feeling; passion will have been extinguished in +your heart, the bright light of your eye will have become quenched. They +whose society you seek will flee you as a whited sepulcher, whose +darksome depths repel every glance. Henri, I speak as a friend, +seriously, wisely; listen to me." + +The young man remained unmoved and silent. The cardinal hoped that he +had touched his feelings, and had shaken his resolution. + +"Try some other resource, Henri. Carry this poisoned shaft, which +rankles in your bosom, about with you wherever you may go, in the +turmoil of life; cherish its companionship at our fetes and banquets; +imitate the wounded deer, which flees through the thickets and brakes +and forests, in its efforts to draw out from its body the arrow which is +rankling in the wound; sometimes the arrow falls." + +"For pity's sake," said Henri, "do not persist any more; what I solicit +is not the caprice of a moment, or the reflection of an hour; it is the +result of a laborious and painful determination. In Heaven's name, +therefore, my brother, I adjure you to accord me the favor I solicit." + +"And what is the favor you ask?" + +"A dispensation, monseigneur." + +"For what purpose?" + +"To shorten my noviciate." + +"Ah! I knew it, Du Bouchage. You are worldly-minded even in your +rigorousness, my poor boy. Oh! I know very well what reason you are +going to give me. Yes, you are, indeed, a man of the world; you resemble +those young men who offer themselves as volunteers, and are eagerly +desirous for fire, balls, and blows, but care not for working in the +trenches, or for sweeping out the tents. There is some resource left +yet, Henri; so much the better, so much the better." + +"Give me the dispensation I ask; I entreat you on my knees." + +"I promise it to you; I will write to Rome for it. It will be a month +before the answer arrives; but, in exchange, promise me one thing." + +"Name it." + +"That you will not, during this month's postponement, reject any +pleasure or amusement which may be offered to you; and if, in a month +hence, you still entertain the same projects, Henri, I will give you +this dispensation with my own hand. Are you satisfied now, and have you +nothing further to ask me?" + +"No. I thank you; but a month is a long time, and the delay will kill +me." + +"In the meantime, and in order to change your thoughts, will you object +to breakfast with me? I have some agreeable companions this morning." + +And the prelate smiled in a manner which the most worldly disposed +favorites of Henri III. would have envied. + +"Brother," said De Bouchage, resisting. + +"I will not accept any excuse; you have no one but myself here, since +you have just arrived from Flanders, and your own house cannot be in +order just yet." + +With these words the cardinal rose, and drawing aside a _portiere_, +which hung before a large cabinet sumptuously furnished, he said: + +"Come, comtesse, let us persuade Monsieur le Comte du Bouchage to stay +with us." + +At the very moment, however, when the count drew aside the _portiere_, +Henri had observed, half reclining upon the cushions, the page who had +with the gentleman entered the gate adjoining the banks of the river, +and in this page, before even the prelate had announced her sex, he had +recognized a woman. + +An indefinable sensation, like a sudden terror, or an overwhelming +feeling of dread, seized him, and while the worldly cardinal advanced to +take the beautiful page by the hand, Henri du Bouchage darted from the +apartment, and so quickly, too, that when Francois returned with the +lady, smiling with the hope of winning a heart back again to the world, +the room was perfectly empty. + +Francois frowned; then, seating himself before a table covered with +papers and letters, he hurriedly wrote a few lines. + +"May I trouble you to ring, dear countess," he said, "since you have +your hand near the bell." + +And as the page obeyed, a valet-de-chambre in the confidence of the +cardinal appeared. + +"Let a courier start on horseback, without a moment's loss of time," +said Francois, "and take this letter to Monsieur le Grand-amiral a +Chateau-Thierry." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + +NEWS FROM AURILLY. + + +On the following day the king was working at the Louvre with the +superintendent of finances, when an attendant entered to inform his +majesty that Monsieur de Joyeuse, the eldest son of that family, had +just arrived, and was waiting for him in the large audience chamber, +having come from Chateau-Thierry, with a message from Monsieur le Duc +d'Anjou. + +The king precipitately left the business which occupied him, and ran to +meet a friend whom he regarded with so much affection. + +A large number of officers and courtiers crowded the cabinet; the +queen-mother had arrived that evening, escorted by her maids of honor, +and these light-hearted girls were, like suns, always attended by their +satellites. + +The king gave Joyeuse his hand to kiss, and glanced with a satisfied +expression around the assembly. + +In the angle of the entrance door, in his usual place, stood Henry du +Bouchage, rigorously discharging his service and the duties which were +imposed on him. + +The king thanked him, and saluted him with a friendly recognition, to +which Henri replied by a profound reverence. + +This good intelligence which prevailed between them made Joyeuse turn +his head and smilingly look at his brother, without, however, saluting +him in too marked a manner, from the fear of violating etiquette. + +"Sire," said Joyeuse, "I am sent to your majesty by Monsieur le Duc +d'Anjou, recently returned from the expedition to Flanders." + +"Is my brother well, Monsieur l'Amiral?" inquired the king. + +"As well, sire, as the state of his mind will permit; however, I will +not conceal from your majesty that he appears to be suffering greatly." + +"He must need something to change the current of his thoughts after his +misfortune," said the king, delighted at the opportunity of proclaiming +the check which his brother had met with, while appearing to pity him. + +"I believe he does, sire." + +"We have been informed that the disaster had been most severe." + +"Sire--" + +"But that, thanks to you, a great portion of the army had been saved; +thanks, Monsieur l'Amiral, thanks. Does poor Monsieur d'Anjou wish to +see us?" + +"Most anxiously so, sire." + +"In that case we will see him. Are not you of that opinion, madame?" +said Henri, turning toward Catherine, whose heart was wrung with +feelings, the expression of which her face determinedly concealed. + +"Sire," she replied, "I should have gone alone to meet my son; but since +your majesty condescends to join with me in this mark of kind +consideration, the journey will be a party of pleasure for me." + +"You will accompany us, messieurs," said the king to the courtiers; "we +will set off to-morrow, and I shall sleep at Meaux." + +"Shall I at once announce this excellent news to monseigneur, sire?" + +"Not so; what! leave me so soon, Monsieur l'Amiral? not so, indeed. I +can well understand that a Joyeuse must be loved and sought after by my +brother, but we have two of the same family, thank Heaven. Du Bouchage, +you will start for Chateau-Thierry, if you please." + +"Sire," said Henri, "may I be permitted, after having announced your +majesty's arrival to Monseigneur le Duc d'Anjou, to return to Paris?" + +"You may do as you please, Du Bouchage," said the king. + +Henri bowed and advanced toward the door. Fortunately Joyeuse was +watching him narrowly. + +"Will you allow me to say one word to my brother?" he inquired. + +"Do so; but what is it?" said the king in an undertone. + +"The fact is, that he wishes to use the utmost speed to execute the +commission, and to return again immediately, which happens to interfere +with my projects, sire, and with those of the cardinal." + +"Away with you, then, and rate this love-sick swain most roundly." + +Anne hurried after his brother, and overtook him in the antechambers. + +"Well!" said Joyeuse; "you are setting off very eagerly, Henri." + +"Of course, my brother!" + +"Because you wish to return here soon again?" + +"That is quite true." + +"You do not intend, then, to stay any time at Chateau-Thierry?" + +"As little as possible." + +"Why so?" + +"Where others are amusing themselves is not my place." + +"On the contrary, Henri, it is precisely because Monseigneur le Duc +d'Anjou is about to give some fetes that you should remain at +Chateau-Thierry." + +"It is impossible." + +"Because of your wish for retirement, and of the austere projects you +have in view?"--"Yes." + +"You have been to the king to solicit a dispensation?" + +"Who told you so?" + +"I know it to be the case." + +"It is true, then, for I have been to him." + +"You will not obtain it." + +"Why so, my brother?" + +"Because the king has no interest in depriving himself of such a devoted +servant as you are." + +"My brother, the cardinal, will therefore do what his majesty will be +disinclined to do." + +"And all that for a woman?" + +"Anne, I entreat you, do not persist any further." + +"Ah! do not fear that I shall begin over again; but, once for all, let +us to the point. You set off for Chateau-Thierry; well, instead of +returning as hurriedly as you seem disposed to do, I wish you to wait +for me in my apartments there; it is a long time since we have lived +together. I particularly wish to be with you again, you understand." + +"You are going to Chateau-Thierry to amuse yourself, Anne, and if I were +to remain there I should poison all your pleasures." + +"Oh! far from that, I do not care for them; I am of a happy temperament, +and quite fitted to drive away all your fits of melancholy." + +"Brother--" + +"Permit me, comte," said the admiral, with an imperious air of command, +"I am the representative of our father here, and I enjoin you to wait +for me at Chateau-Thierry. You will find out my apartment, which will be +your own also; it is on the ground floor, looking out on the park." + +"If you command me to do so, my brother," said Henri, with a resigned +air. + +"Call it by what name you please, comte, desire or command; but await my +arrival." + +"I will obey you, my brother." + +"And I am persuaded that you will not be angry with me for it," added +Joyeuse, pressing the young man in his arms. + +The latter withdrew from the fraternal embrace, somewhat ungraciously, +perhaps, ordered his horses, and immediately set off for +Chateau-Thierry. He hurried thither with the anger of a vexed and +disappointed man; that is to say, he pressed his horses to the top of +their speed. + +The same evening, he was slowly ascending, before nightfall, the hill on +which Chateau-Thierry is situated, with the river Marne flowing at its +feet. + +At his name, the doors of the chateau flew open before him, but, as far +as an audience was concerned, he was more than an hour before he could +obtain it. + +The prince, some told him, was in his apartments; others said he was +asleep; he was practicing music, the valet-de-chambre supposed. No one, +however, among the attendants could give a positive reply. + +Henri persisted, in order that he might no longer have to think of his +service on the king, so that he might abandon himself from that moment +to his melancholy thoughts unrestrained. + +Won over by his perseverance, it being well known too that he and his +brother were on the most intimate terms with the duke, Henri was ushered +into one of the salons on the first floor, where the prince at last +consented to receive him. + +Half an hour passed away, and the shades of evening insensibly closed +in. + +The heavy and measured footsteps of the Duc d'Anjou resounded in the +gallery, and Henri, on recognizing them, prepared to discharge his +mission with the accustomed formal ceremonies. But the prince, who +seemed very much pressed, quickly dispensed with these formalities on +the part of his ambassador, by taking him by the hand and embracing him. + +"Good-day, comte," he said; "why should they have given you the trouble +to come and see a poor defeated general?" + +"The king has sent me, monseigneur, to inform you that he is exceedingly +desirous of seeing your highness, and that in order to enable you to +recover from your fatigue, his majesty will himself come and pay a visit +to Chateau-Thierry, to-morrow at the latest." + +"The king will be here to-morrow!" exclaimed Francois, with a gesture of +impatience, but recovering himself immediately afterward. + +"To-morrow, to-morrow," he resumed; "why, the truth is, that nothing +will be in readiness, either here or in the town, to receive his +majesty." + +Henri bowed, as one whose duty it had been to transmit an order, but +whose province it was not to comment upon it. + +"The extreme haste which their majesties have to see your royal +highness has not allowed them to think of the embarrassment they may be +the means of occasioning." + +"Well, well," said the prince, hurriedly, "it is for me to make the best +use of the time I have at my disposal. I leave you, therefore, Henri; +thanks for the alacrity you have shown, for you have traveled fast, I +perceive. Go and take some rest." + +"Your highness has no other orders to communicate to me?" Henri +inquired, respectfully. + +"None. Go and lie down. You shall dine in your own apartment. I hold no +reception this evening; I am suffering and ill at ease; I have lost my +appetite, and cannot sleep, which makes my life a sad, dreary one, and +which, you understand, I do not choose to inflict upon any one else. +By-the-by, you have heard the news?" + +"No, monseigneur; what news?" + +"Aurilly has been eaten up by the wolves--" + +"Aurilly!" exclaimed Henri, with surprise. + +"Yes, yes--devoured! It is singular how every one who comes near me dies +a violent death. Good-night, count; may you sleep well!" + +And the prince hurried away rapidly. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + +DOUBT. + + +Henri descended the staircase, and as he passed through the +antechambers, observed many officers of his acquaintance, who ran +forward to meet him, and, with many marks of friendship, offered to show +him the way to his brother's apartments, which were situated at one of +the angles of the chateau. It was the library that the duke had given +Joyeuse to reside in during his residence at Chateau-Thierry. + +Two salons, furnished in the style of Francois the First, communicated +with each other, and terminated in the library, the latter apartment +looking out on the gardens. + +His bed had been put up in the library. Joyeuse was of an indolent, yet +of a cultivated turn of mind. If he stretched out his arm he laid his +hand on science; if he opened the windows he could enjoy the beauties of +nature. Finer and superior organizations require more satisfying +enjoyments; and the morning breeze, the song of birds, or the perfumes +of flowers, added fresh delight to the triplets of Clement Marot, or to +the odes of Rousard. + +Henri determined to leave everything as it was, not because he was +influenced by the poetic sybaritism of his brother, but, on the +contrary, from indifference, and because it mattered little to him +whether he was there or elsewhere. + +But as the count, in whatever frame of mind he might be, had been +brought up never to neglect his duty or respect toward the king or the +princes of the royal family of France, he inquired particularly in what +part of the chateau the prince had resided since his return. + +By mere accident, in this respect, Henri met with an excellent cicerone +in the person of the young ensign, who, by some act of indiscretion or +another, had, in the little village in Flanders where we represented the +personages in this tale as having halted for a moment, communicated the +count's secret to the prince. This ensign had not quitted the prince's +side since his return, and could inform Henri very accurately on the +subject. + +On his arrival at Chateau-Thierry, the prince had at first entered upon +a course of reckless dissipation. At that time he occupied the state +apartments of the chateau, had receptions morning and evening, and was +engaged during the day stag-hunting in the forest; but since the +intelligence of Aurilly's death, which had reached the prince without +its being known from what source, the prince had retired to a pavilion +situated in the middle of the park. This pavilion, which was an almost +inaccessible retreat except to the intimate associates of the prince, +was hidden from view by the dense foliage of the surrounding trees, and +could hardly be perceived above their lofty summits, or through the +thick foliage of the hedges. + +It was to this pavilion that the prince had retired during the last few +days. Those who did not know him well said that it was Aurilly's death +which had made him betake himself to this solitude; while those who were +well acquainted with his character pretended that he was carrying out in +this pavilion some base or infamous plot, which some day or another +would be revealed to light. + +A circumstance which rendered either of these suppositions much more +probable was, that the prince seemed greatly annoyed whenever a matter +of business or a visit summoned him to the chateau; and so decidedly was +this the case, that no sooner had the visit been received, or the matter +of business been dispatched, than he returned to his solitude, where he +was waited upon only by the two old valets-de-chambre who had been +present at his birth. + +"Since this is the case," observed Henri, "the fetes will not be very +gay if the prince continue in this humor." + +"Certainly," replied the ensign, "for every one will know how to +sympathize with the prince's grief, whose pride as well as whose +affections had been so smitten." + +Henri continued his interrogatories without intending it, and took a +strange interest in doing so. The circumstance of Aurilly's death, whom +he had known at the court, and whom he had again met in Flanders; the +kind of indifference with which the prince had announced the loss he had +met with; the strict seclusion in which it was said the prince had lived +since his death--all this seemed to him, without his being able to +assign a reason for his belief, as part of that mysterious and darkened +web wherein, for some time past, the events of his life had been woven. + +"And," inquired he of the ensign, "it is not known, you say, how the +prince became acquainted with the news of the death of Aurilly?" + +"No." + +"But surely," he insisted, "people must talk about it?" + +"Oh! of course," said the ensign; "true or false, you know, people +always will talk." + +"Well, then, tell me what it is." + +"It is said that the prince was hunting under the willows close beside +the river, and that he had wandered away from the others who were +hunting also, for everything he does is by fits and starts, and he +becomes as excited in the field as at play, or under fire, or under the +influence of grief, when suddenly he was seen returning with a face +scared and as pale as death. + +"The courtiers questioned him, thinking that it was nothing more than a +mere incident of the hunting-field. + +"He held two rouleaux of gold in his hand. + +"'Can you understand this, messieurs?' he said, in a hard dry voice; +'Aurilly is dead; Aurilly has been eaten by the wolves.' + +"Every one immediately exclaimed. + +"'Nay, indeed,' said the prince; 'may the foul fiend take me if it be +not so; the poor lute-player had always been a far better musician than +a horseman. It seems that his horse ran away with him, and that he fell +into a pit, where he was killed; the next day a couple of travelers who +were passing close to the pit discovered his body half eaten by the +wolves; and a proof that the affair actually did happen, as I have +related it, and that robbers have nothing whatever to do with the whole +matter is, that here are two rouleaux of gold which he had about him, +and which have been faithfully restored.' + +"However, as no one had been seen to bring these two rouleaux of gold +back," continued the ensign, "it is supposed that they had been handed +to the prince by the two travelers who, having met and recognized his +highness on the banks of the river, had announced the intelligence of +Aurilly's death." + +"It is very strange," murmured Henri. + +"And what is more strange still," continued the ensign, "is, that it is +said--can it be true, or is it merely an invention?--it is said, I +repeat, that the prince was seen to open the little gate of the park +close to the chestnut trees, and that something like two shadows passed +through that same gate. The prince then introduced two persons into the +park--probably the two travelers; it is since that occasion that the +prince has retired into his pavilion, and we have only been able to see +him by stealth." + +"And has no one seen these two travelers?" asked Henri. + +"As I was proceeding to ask the prince the password for the night, for +the sentinels on duty at the chateau, I met a man who did not seem to me +to belong to his highness's household, but I was unable to observe his +face, the man having turned aside as soon as he perceived me, and having +let down the hood of his cloak over his eyes." + +"The hood of his cloak, do you say?" + +"Yes; the man looked like a Flemish peasant, and reminded me, I hardly +know why, of the person by whom you were accompanied when we met out +yonder." + +Henri started; the observation seemed to him in some way connected with +the profound and absorbing interest with which the story inspired him; +to him, too, who had seen Diana and her companion confided to Aurilly, +the idea occurred that the two travelers who had announced to the prince +the death of the unfortunate lute-player were acquaintances of his own. + +Henri looked attentively at the ensign. + +"And when you fancied you recognized this man, what was the idea that +occurred to you, monsieur?" he inquired. + +"I will tell you what my impression was," replied the ensign; "however, +I will not pretend to assert anything positively; the prince has not, in +all probability, abandoned all idea with regard to Flanders; he +therefore maintains spies in his employ. The man with the woolen +overcoat is a spy, who, on his way here, may possibly have learned the +accident which had happened to the musician, and may thus have been the +bearer of two pieces of intelligence at the same time." + +"That is not improbable," said Henri, thoughtfully; "but what was this +man doing when you saw him?" + +"He was walking beside the hedge which borders the parterre--you can see +the hedge from your windows--and was making toward the conservatories." + +"You say, then, that the two travelers, for I believe you stated there +were two--" + +"Others say that two persons were seen to enter, but I only saw one, the +man in the overcoat." + +"In that case, then, you have reason to believe that the man in the +overcoat, as you describe him, is living in the conservatories." + +"It is not unlikely." + +"And have these conservatories a means of exit?" + +"Yes, count, toward the town." + +Henri remained silent for some time; his heart was throbbing most +violently, for these details, which were apparently matters of +indifference to him, who seemed throughout the whole of this mystery as +if he were gifted with the power of prevision, were, in reality, full of +the deepest interest for him. + +Night had in the meantime closed in, and the two young men were +conversing together without any light in Joyeuse's apartment. + +Fatigued by his journey, oppressed by the strange events which had just +been related to him, unable to struggle against the emotions which they +had aroused in his breast, the count had thrown himself on his brother's +bed, and mechanically directed his gaze toward the deep blue heavens +above him, which seemed set as with diamonds. + +The young ensign was seated on the ledge of the window, and voluntarily +abandoned himself to that listlessness of thought, to that poetic +reverie of youth, to that absorbing languor of feeling, which the balmy +freshness of evening inspires. + +A deep silence reigned throughout the park and the town; the gates were +closed, the lights were kindled by degrees, the dogs in the distance +were barking in their kennels at the servants, on whom devolved the duty +of shutting up the stables in the evening. + +Suddenly the ensign rose to his feet, made a sign of attention with his +head, leaned out of the window, and then, calling in a quick, low tone +to the count, who was reclining on the bed, said: + +"Come, come!" + +"What is the matter?" Henri inquired, arousing himself by a strong +effort from his reverie. + +"The man! the man!" + +"What man?" + +"The man in the overcoat, the spy!" + +"Oh!" exclaimed Henri, springing from the bed to the window, and leaning +on the ensign. + +"Stay," continued the ensign; "do you see him yonder? He is creeping +along the hedge; wait a moment, he will show himself again. Now look +toward that spot which is illuminated by the moon's rays, there he is; +there he is." + +"Yes." + +"Do you not think he is a sinister-looking fellow?" + +"Sinister is the very word," replied Du Bouchage, in a gloomy voice. + +"Do you believe he is a spy?" + +"I believe nothing, and yet I believe everything." + +"See, he is going from the prince's pavilion to the conservatories." + +"The prince's pavilion is in that direction, then?" inquired Du +Bouchage, indicating with his finger the direction from which the +stranger appeared to be proceeding. + +"Do you see that light whose rays are trembling through the leaves of +the trees."--"Well?" + +"That is the dining-room." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Henri, "see, he makes his appearance again." + +"Yes, he is no doubt going to the conservatories to join his companion? +Did you hear that?" + +"What?" + +"The sound of a key turning in the lock." + +"It is singular," said Du Bouchage; "there is nothing unusual in all +this, and yet--" + +"And yet you are trembling, you were going to say?" + +"Yes," said the count; "but what is that?" + +The sound of a bell was heard. + +"It is the signal for the supper of the prince's household; are you +going to join us at supper, count?" + +"No, I thank you, I do not require anything; and, if I should feel +hungry, I will call for what I may need." + +"Do not wait for that, monsieur; but come and amuse yourself in our +society." + +"Nay, nay, it is impossible." + +"Why so?" + +"His royal highness almost directed me to have what I should need served +to me in my own apartment; but do not let me delay you." + +"Thank you, count, good-evening; do not lose sight of our phantom." + +"Oh! rely upon me for that; unless," added Henri, who feared he might +have said too much, "unless, indeed, I should be overtaken by sleep, +which seems more than probable, and a far more healthy occupation than +that of watching shadows and spies." + +"Certainly," said the ensign, laughingly, as he took leave of Henri du +Bouchage. + +Hardly had he quitted the library than Henri darted into the garden. + +"Oh!" he murmured, "it is Remy! it is Remy! I should know him again in +the darkness of hell itself." + +And the young man, as he felt his knees tremble beneath him, buried his +burning forehead in his cold damp hands. + +"Great Heaven!" he cried, "is not this rather a phantasy of my poor +fevered brain, and is it not written that in my slumbering and in my +waking moments, day and night, I should ever see those two figures who +have made so deep and dark a furrow in my life? + +"Why," he continued, like a man aware of the need that exists of +convincing himself, "why, indeed, should Remy be here in this chateau, +while the Duc d'Anjou is here? What is his motive in coming here? What +can the Duc d'Anjou possibly have to do with Remy? And why should he +have quitted Diana--he, who is her eternal companion? No; it is not he." + +Then, again, a moment afterward, a conviction, thorough, profound, +almost instinctive in its nature, seemed to overcome all the doubts he +had entertained. + +"It is he! it is he!" he murmured, in utter despair, and leaning against +the wall to save himself from falling. As he finished giving utterance +to this overpowering, overwhelming thought, which seemed to crush all +others in his mind, the sharp sound of the lock was again heard, and, +although the sound was almost imperceptible, his overexcited senses +detected it instantly. An indefinable shudder ran through the young +man's whole frame; again he listened with eager attention. So profound a +silence reigned around him on every side that he could hear the +throbbings of his own heart. A few minutes passed away without anything +he expected making its appearance. In default of his eyes, however, his +ears told him that some one was approaching, for he heard the sound of +the gravel under the advancing footsteps. Suddenly the straight black +line of the hedge seemed broken; he imagined he saw upon this dark +background a group still darker moving along. + +"It is he returning again," murmured Henri. "Is he alone, or is some one +with him?" + +The objects advanced from the side where the silver light of the moon +had illuminated a space of open ground. It was at the very moment when, +advancing in the opposite direction, the man in the overcoat crossed +this open space, that Henri fancied he recognized Remy. This time Henri +observed two shadows very distinctly; it was impossible he could be +mistaken. A death-like chill struck to his heart, and seemed to have +turned it to marble. + +The two shadows walked quickly along, although with a firm step; the +former was dressed in a woolen overcoat, and at the appearance of the +second apparition, as at that of the first, the count fancied he +recognized Remy. + +The second, who was completely enveloped in a large man's cloak, seemed +to defy every attempt at recognition. + +And yet, beneath that cloak, Henri fancied he could detect what no human +eye could have possibly seen. + +He could not control a deep bitter groan of despair, and no sooner had +the two mysterious personages disappeared behind the hedge than the +young man darted after them, and stealthily glided from one group of +trees to another, in the wake of those whom he was so anxious to +discover. + +"Oh!" he murmured, as he stole along, "do I not indeed deceive myself? +Oh! Heaven, can it really be possible?" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. + +CERTAINTY. + + +Henri glided along the hedge on the side which was thrown into deep +shade, taking care to make no noise either on the gravel or against the +trees. + +Obliged to walk carefully, and while walking to watch carefully over +every movement he made, he could not perceive anything. And yet, by his +style, his dress, his walk, he still fancied he recognized Remy in the +man who wore the overcoat. + +Mere conjectures, more terrifying for him than realities, arose in his +mind with regard to this man's companion. + +The road which they were following, and which was bounded by a row of +elms, terminated in a high hawthorn hedge, which separated from the rest +of the park the pavilion of the Duc d'Anjou, and enveloped it as with a +curtain of verdure, in the midst of which, as has been already observed, +it entirely disappeared in a remote corner of the grounds of the +chateau. There were several beautiful sheets of water, dark underwood, +through which winding paths had been cut, and venerable trees, over the +summits of which the moon was shedding its streams of silver light, +while underneath the gloom was thick, dark, and impenetrable. + +As he approached this hedge, Henri felt that his heart was on the point +of failing him. In fact, to transgress so boldly the prince's orders, +and to abandon himself to a course of conduct as indiscreet as it was +rash, was the act, not of a loyal and honorable man, but of a mean and +cowardly spy, or of a jealous man driven to extremities. But as, while +opening the gate, which separated the greater from the smaller park, the +man he followed moved in such a way that his features were revealed, and +as he perceived that these features were indeed those of Remy, the +count's scruples vanished, and he resolutely advanced at all hazards. +Henri found the gate again closed; he leaped over the railings, and then +continued his pursuit of the prince's two strange visitors, who still +seemed to be hurrying onward. Another cause of terror was soon added; +for the duke, on hearing the footsteps of Remy and his companion upon +the gravel walk, made his appearance from the pavilion. Henri threw +himself behind the largest of the trees, and waited. + +He could not see anything, except that he observed that Remy made a very +low salutation, that Remy's companion courtesied like a woman, instead +of bowing like a man, and that the duke, seemingly transported with +delight, offered his arm to the latter, in the same way as he would have +done to a woman. Then all three advanced toward the pavilion, +disappeared under the vestibule, and the door closed behind them. + +"This must end," said Henri, "and I must seek a more convenient place, +where I can see everything that may pass without being seen." + +He decided in favor of a clump of trees situated between the pavilion +and the wall, from the center of which the waters of a fountain gushed +forth, thus forming an impenetrable place of concealment; for it was not +likely that in the night-time, with the freshness and humidity which +would naturally be found near this fountain, the prince would seek the +vicinity of the water and the thickets. Hidden behind the statue with +which the fountain was ornamented, and standing at his full height +behind the pedestal, Henri was enabled to see what was taking place in +the pavilion, the principal window of which was quite open before him. + +As no one could, or rather, as no one would, venture to penetrate so +far, no precautions had been taken. + +A table was laid, sumptuously served with the richest viands, and with +rare wines in bottles of costly Venetian glass. + +Two seats only at this table seemed to be awaiting two guests. + +The duke approached one of the chairs; then, leaving the arm of Remy's +companion, and pointing to the other seat, he seemed to request that the +cloak might be thrown aside, as, although it might be very serviceable +for an evening stroll, it became very inconvenient when the object of +the stroll was attained, and when that object was a supper. + +Thereupon the individual to whom the invitation had been addressed threw +the cloak upon a chair, and the dazzling blaze of the flambeaux lighted +up, without a shadow on their loveliness, the pale and +majestically-beautiful features of a woman whom the terrified eyes of +Henri immediately recognized. It was the lady of the mysterious house in +the Rue des Augustins, the wanderer in Flanders; in one word, it was +that Diana whose gaze was as mortal as the thrust of a dagger. On this +occasion she wore the apparel of her own sex, and was richly dressed in +brocaded silk; diamonds blazed on her neck, in her hair, and on her +wrists, and thereby made the extreme pallor of her face more remarkable +than ever, and in the light which shone from her eyes, it almost seemed +as if the duke had, by the employment of some magical means, evoked the +ghost of this woman, rather than the woman herself. Had it not been for +the support afforded by the statue round which he had thrown his arms, +colder even than the marble itself, Henri would have fallen backward +headlong into the basin of the fountain. + +The duke seemed intoxicated with delight; he fixed his passionate gaze +upon this beautiful creature, who had seated herself opposite to him, +and who hardly touched the dishes which had been placed before her. From +time to time Francois leaned across the table to kiss one of the hands +of his silent guest, who, as pale as death, seemed as insensible to his +kisses as if her hand had been sculptured in alabaster, which, for +transparency and perfect whiteness, it so much resembled. From time to +time Henri started, raised his hand to his forehead, and with it wiped +away the death-like sweat which rose on it, and asked himself: "Is she +alive, or dead?" + +The duke tried his utmost efforts and displayed all his powers of +eloquence to unbend the rigid beauty of her face. + +Remy, the only attendant, for the duke had sent every one away, waited +on them both, and, occasionally, lightly touching his mistress with his +elbow as he passed behind her chair, seemed to revive her by the +contact, and to recall her to life, or rather to the position in which +she was placed. + +Thereupon, a bright flush spread over her whole face, her eyes sparkled, +she smiled as if some magician had touched a spring unknown to this +automaton-like figure, seemingly endowed with intelligence, and the +mechanism of which had drawn the lightning glance from her eyes, the +glowing flush on her cheek, and the sparkling smile to her lips. The +moment after, she again subsided into her calm and statue-like +stillness. The prince, however, approached her, and by the passionate +tone of his conversation, seemed as if he had succeeded in warming into +animation his new conquest. Thereupon Diana, who occasionally glanced at +the face of a magnificent clock suspended over the prince's head, +against the opposite side of the wall to where she was seated, seemed to +make an effort over herself, and with her lips bedecked with smiles took +a more active part in the conversation. + +Henri, concealed in his leafy covert, wrung his hands in despair, and +cursed the whole creation in the utter wretchedness of his sore +distress. It seemed to him monstrous, almost iniquitous, that this +woman, so pure and rigidly inflexible, should yield herself so +unresistingly to the prince, because he was a prince, and abandon +herself to love because it was offered within the precincts of a palace. +His horror at Remy was so extreme that he could have slain him without +remorse, in order to see whether so great a monster had the blood and +heart of a man in him. In such paroxysms of rage and contempt did Henri +pass the time during the supper, which to the Duc d'Anjou was so full of +rapture and delight. + +Diana sang. The prince, inflamed by wine, and by his passionate +discourse, rose from the table for the purpose of embracing Diana. Every +drop of blood seemed to curdle in Henri's veins. He put his hand to his +side to see if his sword were there, and then thrust it into his breast +in search of a dagger. Diana, with a strange smile, which most assuredly +had never, until that moment, had its counterpart on any face, stopped +the duke as he was approaching her. + +"Will you allow me, monseigneur," she said, "before I rise from the +table, to share with your royal highness one of those tempting-looking +peaches." + +And with these words she stretched out her hand toward a basket of gold +filagree work, in which twenty peaches were tastefully arranged, and +took one. + +Then, taking from her girdle a beautiful little dagger, with a silver +blade and a handle of malachite, she divided the peach into two +portions, and offered one of them to the prince, who seized it and +carried it eagerly to his lips, as though he would thus have kissed +Diana's. + +This impassioned action produced so deep an impression on himself, that +a cloud seemed to obscure his sight at the very moment he bit into the +fruit. Diana looked at him with her clear steady gaze, and her fixed +immovable smile. + +Remy, leaning his back against a pillar of carved wood, also looked on +with a gloomy expression of countenance. + +The prince passed one of his hands across his forehead, wiped away the +perspiration which had gathered there, and swallowed the piece that he +had bitten. + +This perspiration was most probably the symptom of a sudden +indisposition; for while Diana ate the other half of the peach, the +prince let fall on his plate what remained of the portion he had taken, +and with difficulty rising from his seat, seemed to invite his beautiful +companion to accompany him into the garden in order to enjoy the cool +night air. + +Diana rose, and without pronouncing a single word, took the duke's arm, +which he offered her. + +Remy gazed after them, particularly after the prince, whom the air +seemed completely to revive. + +As she walked along, Diana wiped the small blade of her knife on a +handkerchief embroidered with gold, and restored it to its shagreen +sheath. + +In this manner they approached the clump of trees where Henri was +concealed. + +The prince, with a passionate gesture, pressed his companion's arm +against his heart. + +"I feel better," he said, "and yet I hardly know what heavy weight seems +to press down on my brain; I love too deeply, madame, I perceive." + +Diana plucked several sprigs of jasmine and of clematis, and two +beautiful roses which bordered the whole of one side of the pedestal of +the statue behind which Henri was shrinking terrified. + +"What are you doing, madame?" inquired the prince. + +"I have always understood, monseigneur," she said, "that the perfume of +flowers was the best remedy for attacks of giddiness; I am gathering a +bouquet with the hope that this bouquet, if presented by me, will have +the magical influence which I wish it to possess." + +But, while she was arranging the flowers, she let a rose fall from her +hand, which the prince eagerly hastened to pick up. + +The movement that Francois made was rapid, but not so rapid, however, +but that it gave Diana sufficient time to pour upon the other rose a few +drops of a liquid contained in a small gold bottle which she drew from +her bosom. + +She then took from his hand the rose which the prince had picked up, and +placing it in her girdle, said-- + +"That one is for me, let us change." + +And in exchange for the rose which she received from the prince's hand, +she held out the bouquet to him. + +The prince seized it eagerly, inhaled its perfume with delight, and +passed his arm around Diana's waist. But this latter action, in all +probability, completely overwhelmed the already troubled senses of the +prince, for his knees trembled under him, and he was obliged to seat +himself on a bank of green turf, beside which he happened to be +standing. + +Henri did not lose sight of these two persons, and yet he had a look for +Remy also, who in the pavilion awaited the termination of this scene, or +rather seemed to devour every minute incident of it. + +When he saw the prince totter, he advanced toward the threshold of the +pavilion. Diana, on her side, perceiving Francois stagger, sat herself +down beside him on the bank. + +The giddiness from which Francois suffered continued on this occasion +longer than on the former; the prince's head was resting on his chest. +He seemed to have lost all connection in his ideas, and almost the +perception of his own existence; and yet the convulsive movement of his +fingers on Diana's hand seemed to indicate that he was instinctively +pursuing his wild dream of love. At last he slowly raised his head, and +his lips being almost on a level with Diana's face, he made an effort to +touch those of his lovely guest, but as if unobservant of the movement, +she rose from her seat. + +"You are suffering, monseigneur," she said; "it would be better if we +were to go in." + +"Oh! yes, let us go in," exclaimed the prince in a transport of joy. + +And he arose, staggering, to his feet; then, instead of Diana leaning on +his arm, it was he who leaned on Diana's arm; and thanks to this +support, walking with less difficulty, he seemed to forget fever and +giddiness too, for suddenly drawing himself up, he, in an unexpected +manner, pressed his lips on her neck. She started as if, instead of a +kiss, she had received the impression of a red hot iron. + +"Remy!" she exclaimed, "a flambeau, a flambeau!" + +Remy immediately returned to the salle-a-manger, and lighted, by the +candle on the table, a flambeau which he took from a small round table, +and then, hurrying to the entrance to the pavilion, and holding the +torch in his hand, he cried out: + +"Here is one, madame." + +"Where is your highness going to?" inquired Diana, seizing hold of the +flambeau and turning her head aside. + +"Oh! we will return to my own room, and you will lead me, I venture to +hope, madame?" replied the prince, in a frenzy of passion. + +"Willingly, monseigneur," replied Diana, and she raised the torch in the +air, and walked before the prince. + +Remy opened, at the end of the pavilion, a window through which the +fresh air rushed inward, in such a manner that the flame and smoke of +the flambeau, which Diana held, were carried back toward Francois' face, +which happened to be in the very current of the air. The two lovers, as +Henri considered them to be, proceeded in this manner, first crossing a +gallery to the duke's own room, and disappeared behind the +fleur-de-lized hangings, which served the purpose of a portiere. + +Henri had observed everything that had passed with increasing fury, and +yet this fury was such that it almost deprived him of life. It seemed as +if he had no strength left except to curse the fate which had imposed so +cruel a trial upon him. He had quitted his place of concealment, and in +utter despair, his arms hanging by his side, and with a haggard gaze, he +was on the point of returning, with life ebbing fast, to his apartment +in the chateau, when suddenly the hangings behind which he had seen +Diana and the prince disappear were thrown aside, and Diana herself +rushed into the supper-room, and seized hold of Remy, who, standing +motionless and erect, seemed only to be waiting her return. + +"Quick! quick!" she said to him; "all is finished." + +And they both darted into the garden as if they had been drunk, or mad, +or raging with passion. + +No sooner did Henri observe them, however, than he seemed to have +recovered all his strength; he hastened to place himself in their way, +and they came upon him suddenly in the middle of the path, standing +erect, his arms crossed, and more terrible in his silence than any one +could ever have been in his loudest menaces. Henri's feelings had +indeed arrived at such a pitch of exasperation, that he would readily +have slain any man who would have ventured to maintain that women were +not monsters sent from hell to corrupt the world. He seized Diana by the +arm, and stopped her suddenly, notwithstanding the cry of terror which +she uttered, and notwithstanding the dagger which Remy put to his +breast, and which even grazed his flesh. + +"Oh! doubtless you do not recognize me," he said furiously, gnashing his +teeth; "I am that simple-hearted young man who loved you, and whose love +you would not return, because for you there was no future, but merely +the past. Ah! beautiful hypocrite that you are, and you, foul liar, I +know you at last--I know and curse you. To the one I say, I despise and +contemn you: to the other, I shrink from you with horror." + +"Make way!" cried Remy, in a strangled voice; "make way, young fool, or +if not--" + +"Be it so," replied Henri; "finish your work, and slay my body, wretch, +since you have already destroyed my soul." + +"Silence!" muttered Remy, furiously, pressing the blade of his dagger +more and more against Henri's breast. + +Diana, however, violently pushed Remy aside, and seizing Du Bouchage by +the arm, she drew him straight before her. She was lividly pale; her +beautiful hair streamed over her shoulders; the contact of the hand on +Henri's wrist seemed to the latter cold and damp as the dews of death. + +"Monsieur," she said, "do not rashly judge of matters of which Heaven +alone can judge. I am Diana de Meridor, the mistress of Monsieur de +Bussy, whom the Duc d'Anjou miserably allowed to perish when he could +have saved him. Eight days since Remy slew Aurilly, the duke's +accomplice, and the prince himself I have just poisoned with a peach, a +bouquet, and a torch. Move aside, monsieur--move aside, I say, for Diana +de Meridor, who is on her way to the Convent des Hospitalieres." + +With these words, and letting Henri's arm fall, she took hold of that +of Remy, as he waited by her side. + +Henri fell on his knees, following the retreating figures of the two +assassins, who disappeared behind the thick copse, as though it had been +a vision from hell. It was not till fully an hour afterward that Du +Bouchage, overpowered with fatigue and overwhelmed with terror, with his +brain on fire, was able to summon sufficient strength to drag himself to +his apartment, nor was it until after he had made the attempt nearly a +dozen times that he succeeded in escalading the window. He walked to and +fro in his room several times, and then staggered toward the bed, on +which he threw himself. Every one was sleeping quietly in the chateau. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII. + +FATALITY. + + +The next morning, about nine o'clock, the beautiful rays of the sun were +glistening like gold on the graveled walks of Chateau-Thierry. Numerous +gangs of workmen, who had the previous evening been directed to be in +attendance, had been actively at work from daybreak upon the +preparations in the park, as well as in the decoration of the apartments +destined to receive the king, whose arrival was momentarily expected. As +yet nothing was stirring in the pavilion where the duke reposed, for he +had on the previous evening forbidden his two old servants to awaken +him. They were to wait until he summoned them. Toward half-past nine two +couriers rode at full speed into the town, announcing his majesty's near +arrival. The civic authorities, the governor, and the garrison formed +themselves in ranks on either side of the road, leaving a passage for +the royal procession. At ten o'clock the king appeared at the foot of +the hill; he had mounted his horse when they had taken their last +relays. He never neglected an opportunity of doing so, especially when +entering towns, as he rode admirably. The queen-mother followed him in a +litter; fifty gentlemen belonging to the court, richly clad and +admirably mounted, followed in their suite. A company of the guards, +followed by Crillon himself, a hundred and twenty of the Swiss, and as +many of the Scotch guards, commanded by Larchant, and all the members of +the royal household who accompanied the king in his excursions, mules, +coffers, and domestic servants, formed a numerous army, the files of +which followed the windings of the road leading from the river to the +summit of the hill. Lastly, the cortege entered the town amid the +ringing of the church bells, the roar of cannon, and bursts of music. +The acclamations of the inhabitants were enthusiastic; for a visit from +the king was of such rare occurrence at that time that, seen thus +closely, he seemed to be a living embodiment of divine right. The king, +as he progressed through the crowd, looked on all sides for his brother, +but in vain. He only found Henri du Bouchage waiting for him at the gate +of the chateau. + +When once within the chateau, Henri III. inquired after the health of +the Duc d'Anjou from the officer who had assumed the high distinction of +receiving the king. + +"Sire," replied the latter, "his highness, during the last few days, has +been residing in the pavilion in the park, and we have not yet seen him +this morning. It is most probable, however, that as he was well +yesterday, he is well also to-day." + +"This pavilion is in a very retired part of the park, it seems," said +Henri, in a tone of displeasure, "since the sound of the cannon does not +seem to have been heard." + +"Sire," one of the duke's two aged attendants ventured to remark, "his +highness did not, perhaps, expect your majesty so soon." + +"Old fool," growled Henri, "do you think, then, that a king presents +himself in this way at other people's residences without informing them +of it? Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou has been aware of my intended arrival +since yesterday." + +And then, afraid of casting a gloom over those around him by a grave or +sullen countenance, Henri, who wished to appear gentle and amiable at +the expense of his brother Francois, exclaimed, "Well, then, since he +has not come to meet us, we will go to meet him." + +"Show us the way there," said Catherine, from the litter. + +All the escort followed the road leading to the old park. + +At the very moment that the guards, who were in advance, approached the +hedge, a shrill and piercing cry rent the air. + +"What is that?" said the king, turning toward his mother. + +"Great Heaven!" murmured Catherine, endeavoring to read the faces of +those around her, "it sounded like a cry of distress or despair." + +"My prince! my poor master!" cried Francois' other aged attendant, +appearing at the window, and exhibiting signs of the most passionate +grief. + +Every one hastened toward the pavilion, the king himself being hurried +along with the others. He arrived at the very moment when they were +raising from the floor the Duc d'Anjou's body, which his +valet-de-chambre, having entered without authority, in order to announce +the king's arrival, had just perceived lying on the carpet of the +bedroom. The prince was cold, stiff, and perfectly inanimate, and it was +only by a strange movement of the eyelids and a nervous contraction of +the lips that it could be observed he was still alive. The king paused +at the threshold of the door, and those behind him followed his example. + +[Illustration: THE PRINCE WAS COLD, STIFF, AND PERFECTLY INANIMATE.] + +"This is an ugly omen," he murmured. + +"Do not enter, my son, I implore you," said Catherine to him. + +"Poor Francois!" said Henri, delighted at being sent away, and thus +being spared the spectacle of this agonizing scene. + +The crowd, too, followed the king as he withdrew. + +"Strange! strange!" murmured Catherine, kneeling down by the side of the +prince, or rather of the corpse, no one being in the room, with her but +the two old servants; and while the messengers were dispatched in every +quarter of the town to find the prince's physician, and while a courier +galloped off to Paris in order to hasten the attendance of the king's +physicians, who had remained at Meaux with the queen, Catherine, with +less knowledge, very probably, but not with less perspicacity than Miron +himself could possibly have shown, examined the diagnostics of that +singular malady which had struck down her son so suddenly. + +Her experience was by no means indifferent; in the first place, +therefore, she interrogated calmly, and without confusing them, the two +attendants, who were tearing their hair and wringing their hands in the +wildest despair. + +Both of them replied that the prince had returned on the previous +evening about nightfall, after having been disturbed at an inconvenient +hour by Monsieur du Bouchage, who had arrived with a message from the +king. + +They then added that when the audience had terminated, which had been +held in the chateau itself, the prince had ordered supper to be +prepared, and had desired that no one should venture to approach the +pavilion without being summoned; and lastly, that he had given the +strictest injunctions not to be awakened in the morning, and that no one +should enter without a positive summons. + +"He probably expected a visit from a lady?" observed the queen-mother, +inquiringly. + +"We think so, madame," replied the valet respectfully, "but we could not +discreetly assure ourselves of the fact." + +"But in removing the things from the table, you must have seen whether +my son had supped alone?" + +"We have not yet removed the things, madame, since the orders of +monseigneur were that no one should enter the pavilion." + +"Very good," said Catherine; "no one, therefore, has been here?" + +"No one, madame." + +"You may go." + +And Catherine was now left quite alone in the room. Leaving the prince +lying on the bed where he had been placed, she immediately commenced the +minutest investigation of each symptom or of each of the traces to +which her attention was directed, as the result of her suspicions or +apprehensions. + +She had remarked that Francois' forehead was stained or dyed of a bister +color, his eyes were bloodshot and encircled with blue lines, his lips +marked with furrows, like the impression which burning sulphur leaves on +living flesh. + +She observed the same sign upon his nostrils and upon the sides of the +nose. + +"Now let me look carefully," she said, gazing about her on every side. + +The first thing she remarked was the candlestick in which the flambeau +which Remy had lighted the previous evening had burned away. + +"This candle has burned for a length of time," she said, "and shows that +Francois was a long time in this room. Ah! here is a bouquet lying on +the carpet." + +Catherine picked it up eagerly, and then, remarking that all its flowers +were still fresh, with the exception of a rose, which was blackened and +dried up: + +"What does this mean?" she said; "what has been poured on the leaves of +this flower? If I am not mistaken, I know a liquid which withers roses +in this manner." She threw aside the bouquet, shuddering as she did so. + +"That explains to me the state of the nostrils and the manner in which +the flesh of the face is affected; but the lips?" + +Catherine ran to the dining-room. The valets had spoken the truth, for +there was nothing to indicate that anything on the table had been +touched since the previous evening's repast had been finished. + +Upon the edge of the table lay the half of a peach, in which the +impression of a row of teeth was still visible. Catherine's attention +was drawn to this in a particular manner, for the fruit, usually of a +rich crimson near the core, had become as black as the rose, and was +discolored by violet and brown spots. The corrosive action was more +especially visible upon the part which had been cut, and particularly so +where the knife must have passed. + +"This explains the state of the lips," she said; "but Francois had only +bitten one piece out of this peach. He did not keep the bouquet long in +his hand, for the flowers are still fresh; the evil may yet be repaired, +for the poison cannot have penetrated very deeply. + +"And yet, if the evil be merely superficial, why should this paralysis +of the senses be so complete, and why indeed should the decomposition of +the flesh have made so much progress? There must be more that I have not +seen." + +And as she spoke Catherine again looked all round her, and observed, +hanging by a silver chain to its pole, the red and blue parrot to which +Francois was so attached. + +The bird was dead, stiff, and the feathers of its wings rough and erect. + +Catherine again looked closely and attentively at the torch which she +had once before already narrowly inspected, to satisfy herself that, by +its having burned out completely, the prince had returned early in the +evening. + +"The smoke," said Catherine to herself; "the smoke! the wick of that +torch was poisoned; my son is a dead man." + +She called out immediately, and the chamber was in a minute filled with +attendants and officers of the household. + +"Miron, Miron!" cried some of them. + +"A priest!" exclaimed the others. + +But Catherine had, in the meantime, placed to the lips of Francois one +of the small bottles which she always carried in her alms-bag, and +narrowly watched her son's features to observe the effect of the +antidote she applied. + +The duke immediately opened his eyes and mouth, but no glance of +intelligence gleamed in his eyes, no voice or sound escaped from his +lips. + +Catherine, in sad and gloomy silence, quitted the apartment, beckoning +to the two attendants to follow her, before they had as yet had an +opportunity of communicating with any one. + +She then led them into another chamber, where she sat down, fixing her +eyes closely and watchfully on their faces. + +"Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou," she said, "has been poisoned some time during +his supper last evening; and it was you who served the supper." + +At these words the two men turned as pale as death. + +"Torture us, kill us, if you will," they said; "but do not accuse us." + +"Fools that you are; do you suppose that if I suspected you, that would +have already been done? You have not yourselves, I know, assassinated +your master, but others have killed him; and I must know who the +murderers are. Who has entered the pavilion?" + +"An old man, wretchedly clothed, whom monseigneur has seen during the +last two days." + +"But the woman--" + +"We have not seen her--what woman does your majesty mean?" + +"A woman has been here, who made a bouquet--" + +The two attendants looked at each other with an expression of such +simple surprise that Catherine perceived, by this glance alone, how +perfectly innocent they were. + +"Let the governor of the town and the governor of the chateau be sent +for," she said. The two valets hurried to the door. + +"One moment!" exclaimed Catherine, fixing them in their places by this +single word as they approached the threshold. "You only and myself are +aware of what I have just told you; I shall not breathe a word about it; +if any one learns it, therefore, it will be from or through one of you; +on that very day both your lives shall be forfeited. Now, go!" + +Catherine interrogated the two governors with more reserve. She told +them that the duke had received from some person or persons a +distressing intelligence which had deeply affected him; that that alone +was the cause of his illness, and that if the duke had an opportunity of +putting a few further questions to the persons again, he would in all +probability soon recover from the alarm into which he had been thrown. + +The governors instituted the minutest search in the town, the park, the +environs, but no one knew what had become of Remy and Diana. + +Henri alone knew the secret, and there was no danger of his betraying +it. + +Throughout the whole day, the terrible news, commented upon, +exaggerated, and mutilated, circulated through Chateau-Thierry and the +province; every one explained, according to his own individual character +and disposition, the accident which had befallen the duke. + +But no one, except Catherine and Du Bouchage, ventured to acknowledge +that the chance of saving the duke's life was hopeless. + +The unhappy prince did not recover either his voice or his senses, or +rather, he ceased to give any sign of intelligence. + +The king, who was immediately beset with the gloomiest fancies, which he +dreaded more than anything, would very willingly have returned to Paris; +but the queen-mother opposed his departure, and the court was obliged to +remain at the chateau. + +Physicians arrived in crowds; Miron alone guessed the cause of the +illness, and formed an opinion upon its serious nature and extent; but +he was too good a courtier to confess the truth, especially after he had +consulted Catherine's looks. + +He was questioned on all sides, and he replied that Monsieur le Duc +d'Anjou must certainly have suffered from some seriously-disturbing +cause, and had been subjected to some violent mental shock. + +In this way he avoided compromising himself, therefore, which is a very +difficult matter in such a case. + +When Henri III. required him to answer affirmatively or negatively to +his question, "Whether the duke would live?" he replied, + +"I will answer your majesty in three days." + +"And when will you tell me?" said Catherine, in a low voice. + +"You, madame, are very different; I answer you unhesitatingly."--"Well?" + +"Your majesty has but to interrogate me." + +"On what day will my son die, Miron?" + +"To-morrow evening, madame." + +"So soon?" + +"Ah! madame," murmured the physician, "the dose was by no means a slight +one." + +Catherine placed one of her fingers on her lips, looked at the dying +man, and repeated in an undertone this sinister word, "Fatality!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIX. + +LES HOSPITALIERES. + + +The count had passed a terrible night, in a state bordering on delirium +and verging on death. + +Faithful, however, to his duty, as soon as he had heard the king's +arrival announced, he rose and received him at the gate, as we have +described; but no sooner had he presented his homage to his majesty, +saluted respectfully the queen-mother, and pressed the admiral's hand, +than he shut himself up in his own room, not to die, but to carry +determinedly into execution his long cherished project, which nothing +could any longer interfere with. + +Toward eleven o'clock in the morning, therefore--that is to say, as soon +as, immediately after the terrible news had circulated that the Duc +d'Anjou's life was in imminent danger, every one had dispersed, leaving +the king completely bewildered by this fresh event--Henri went and +knocked at his brother's door, who, having passed a part of the previous +night traveling, had just retired to his own room. + +"Ah! is that you?" asked Joyeuse, half asleep; "what is the matter?" + +"I have come to bid you farewell, my brother," replied Henri. + +"Farewell! What do you mean? Are you going away?" + +"Yes, I am going away, brother, and nothing need keep me here any +longer, I presume." + +"Why nothing?" + +"Of course, since the fetes at which you wished me to be present will +not take place, I may now consider myself as freed from my promise." + +"You are mistaken, Henri," replied the grand-admiral; "I have no greater +reason for permitting you to leave to-day than I had yesterday." + +"I regret that it is so; but in that case, for the first time in my +life, I shall have the misfortune to disobey your orders, and to fail +in the respect I owe you; for from this very moment I declare to you, +Anne, that nothing shall restrain me any longer from taking religious +vows." + +"But the dispensation which is expected from Rome?" + +"I can await it in a convent." + +"You must positively be mad to think of such a thing." exclaimed +Joyeuse, as he rose, with stupefaction depicted on his countenance. + +"On the contrary, my dear and honored brother, I am the wisest of you +all, for I alone know what I am about."' + +"Henri, you promised us a month." + +"Impossible." + +"A week, then, longer." + +"Not an hour." + +"You are suffering so much, then, poor boy?" + +"On the contrary, I have ceased to suffer, and that is why the evil is +without a remedy." + +"But, at all events, this woman is not made of bronze; her feelings can +be worked upon; I will undertake to persuade her." + +"You cannot do impossibilities, Anne; besides, even were she to allow +herself to be persuaded now, it is I who could no longer consent to love +her." + +"Well, that is quite another matter." + +"Such is the case, however, my brother." + +"What! if she were now willing, would you be indifferent? Why, this is +sheer madness." + +"Oh! no! no!" exclaimed Henri, with a shudder of horror, "nothing can +any longer exist between that woman and myself." + +"What does this mean?" inquired Joyeuse, with marked surprise; "and who +can this woman really be? Come, tell me, Henri; you know very well that +we have never had any secrets from each other." + +Henri trembled lest he had said too much, and that, in yielding to the +feeling which he had just exhibited, he had opened a channel by means of +which his brother would be able to penetrate the terrible secret which +he kept imprisoned in his breast. He therefore fell into an opposite +extreme; and, as it happens in such cases, and in order to recall the +imprudent words which had escaped him, he pronounced others which were +more imprudent still. + +"Do not press me further," he said; "this woman will never be mine, +since she belongs to Heaven." + +"Folly!--mere idle tales! This woman a nun! She has deceived you." + +"No, no, this woman has not spoken falsely; she is now an Hospitaliere. +Do not let us speak any further of her, but rather let us respect those +who throw themselves at the feet of Heaven." + +Anne had sufficient power over himself not to show the delight this +revelation gave him. + +He continued: "This is something new, for you have never spoken to me +about it." + +"It is indeed quite new, for she has only recently taken the veil; but I +am sure that her resolution, like my own, is irrevocable. Do not +therefore seek to detain me any longer, but embrace me, as you love me. +Permit me to thank you for all your kindness, for all your patience, and +for your unceasing affection for a poor heart-broken man, and farewell!" + +Joyeuse looked his brother full and steadily in the face; he looked at +him like one whose feelings had overcome him, and who relied upon a +display of feeling to work upon the feelings of others. But Henri +remained unmoved at this exhibition of emotion on his brother's part, +and replied in no other way but by the same mournful smile. + +Joyeuse embraced his brother, and allowed him to depart. + +"Go," he said to himself, "all is not yet finished, and, however great +your hurry may be, I shall not be long before I shall have overtaken +you." + +He went to the king, who was taking his breakfast in bed, with Chicot +sitting by his side. + +"Good-day! good-day!" said the king to Joyeuse. "I am very glad to see +you, Anne; I was afraid you would lie in bed all day, you indolent +fellow. How is my brother?" + +"Alas! sire, I do not know; I am come to speak to you about mine." + +"Which one?"--"Henri." + +"Does he still wish to become a monk?" + +"More so than ever." + +"And will he take the vows?" + +"Yes, sire." + +"He is quite right, too." + +"How so, sire?" + +"Because men go straight to heaven that way." + +"Oh!" said Chicot to the king, "men go much faster still by the way your +brother is taking." + +"Will your majesty permit me to ask a question?" + +"Twenty, Joyeuse, twenty. I am as melancholy as I can possibly be at +Chateau-Thierry, and your questions will distract my attention a +little." + +"You know all the religious houses in the kingdom, sire, I believe?" + +"As well as I do a coat of arms." + +"Is there one which goes by the name of Les Hospitalieres, sire?" + +"It is a very small, highly distinguished, excessively strict, and +severe order, composed of twenty ladies, canonesses of Saint Joseph." + +"Do they take the vows there?" + +"Yes, as a matter of favor, and upon a presentation from the queen." + +"Should I be indiscreet if I were to ask your majesty where this order +is situated?" + +"Not at all; it is situated in the Rue de Chevet Saint-Laudry, in the +Cite, behind Le Cloitre Notre-Dame." + +"At Paris?"--"Yes." + +"Thank you, sire." + +"But what the devil do you ask me that for? Has your brother changed his +mind, and, instead of turning a Capuchin friar, does he now wish to +become one of the Hospitalieres?" + +"No, sire, I should not think he would be so mad, after what your +majesty has done me the honor to tell me; but I suspect he has had his +head turned by some one belonging to that order, and I should +consequently like to discover who this person is, and speak to her." + +"Par la mordieu!" said the king, with a self-satisfied expression, +"some seven years ago I knew the superior of that convent, who was an +exceedingly beautiful woman." + +"Well, sire, it may perhaps be the very one." + +"I cannot say; since that time, I too, Joyeuse, have assumed religious +vows myself, or nearly so, indeed." + +"Sire," said Joyeuse, "I entreat you to give me, at any rate, a letter +to this lady, and my leave of absence for a couple of days." + +"You are going to leave me!" exclaimed the king; "to leave me all alone +here?"--"Oh! ungrateful king," said Chicot, shrugging his shoulders, "am +I not here?" + +"My letter, if you please, sire," said Joyeuse. The king sighed, but +wrote it notwithstanding. + +"But you cannot have anything to do at Paris?" said Henri, handing the +note to Joyeuse. + +"I beg your pardon, sire, I ought to escort, or at least, to watch over, +my brothers." + +"You are right; away with you, but return as quickly as you can." + +Joyeuse did not wait for this permission to be repeated; he quietly +ordered his horses, and having satisfied himself that Henri had already +set off, galloped all the way until he reached his destination. + +Without even changing his dress, the young man went straight to the Rue +de Chevet Saint-Laudry. At the end of this street was the Rue d'Enfer, +and parallel with it the Rue des Marmouzets. + +A dark and venerable-looking house, behind whose walls the lofty summits +of a few trees could be distinguished, the windows of which were few, +bad, barred, and a wicket at the side, completed the exterior appearance +of the Convent des Hospitalieres. + +Upon the keystone of the arch of the porch an artisan had rudely +engraved these Latin words with a chisel:-- + +MATRONAE HOSPITES. + +Time had partially destroyed both the inscription and the stone. + +Joyeuse knocked at the wicket, and had his horses led away to the Rue +des Marmouzets, fearing that their presence in the street might attract +too much attention. + +Then, knocking at the entrance gate, he said, "Will you be good enough +to go and inform Madame la Superieure that Monsieur le Duc de Joyeuse, +Grand Amiral de France, is desirous of speaking to her on behalf of the +king." + +The face of the nun who had made her appearance behind the gate blushed +beneath her veil, and she shut the gate. + +Five minutes afterward a door was opened, and Joyeuse entered a room, +set apart for the reception of visitors. A beautiful woman, of lofty +stature, made Joyeuse a profound reverence, which the admiral returned +gracefully and respectfully. + +"Madame," said he, "the king is aware that you are about to admit, or +that you have already admitted, among the number of the inmates here, a +person with whom I require to speak. Will you be good enough to place me +in communication with that person?" + +"Will you tell me the name of the lady you wish to see, monsieur?" + +"I am not aware of it." + +"In that case, then, how can I possibly accede to your request?" + +"Nothing is easier. Whom have you admitted during the last month?" + +"You either tell me too precisely, or with not sufficient precision, who +this person is," said the superior, "and I am unable to comply with your +wish." + +"Why so?" + +"Because, during the last month I have received no one here until this +morning." + +"This morning?" + +"Yes, Monsieur le Duc, and you can understand that your own arrival, two +hours after hers, has too much the appearance of a pursuit to enable me +to grant you permission to speak to her." + +"I implore you, madame." + +"Impossible, monsieur." + +"Will you merely let me see this lady?" + +"Impossible, I repeat. Although your name was sufficient for the doors +of this house to be thrown open before you, yet in order to speak to +any one here, except indeed to myself, a written order from the king is +necessary." + +"Here is the order you require, madame," replied Joyeuse, producing the +letter that Henri had signed. + +The superior read it and bowed. + +"His majesty's will shall be obeyed," she said, "even when it is +contrary to the will of Heaven." + +And she advanced toward the courtyard of the convent. + +"You now perceive, madame," said Joyeuse, courteously stopping her, +"that I have right on my side; but I fear I may be under a mistake, and +therefore may be abusing the permission I have received from the king. +Perhaps the lady may not be the one I am in search of; will you be kind +enough to tell me how she came here, why she came, and by whom she was +accompanied?" + +"All that is useless, Monsieur le Duc," replied the superior, "you are +under no misapprehension for the lady, who arrived only this morning, +after having been expected for the last fifteen days; this lady, I say, +who was recommended by one who possesses the greatest authority over me, +is indeed the very person with whom Monsieur le Duc de Joyeuse must wish +to speak." + +With these words the superior made another low courtesy to the duke and +disappeared. + +Ten minutes afterward she returned, accompanied by an hospitaliere, +whose veil completely covered her face. It was Diana, who had already +assumed the dress of the order. + +The duke thanked the superior, offered a chair to her companion, himself +sat down, and the superior quitted the room, closing with her own hands +the doors of the deserted and gloomy-looking apartment. + +"Madame," said Joyeuse, without any preface, "you are the lady of the +Rue des Augustins; that mysterious person with whom my brother, Monsieur +le Comte du Bouchage, is so passionately and madly in love." + +The hospitaliere bowed her head in reply, but did not open her lips. + +This affectation appeared to Joyeuse almost like an act of rudeness; he +was already very indifferently disposed to his companion, and continued: + +"You cannot have supposed, madame, that it is sufficient to be +beautiful, or to appear beautiful; to have no heart lying hidden beneath +that beauty, to inspire a wretched and despairing passion in the heart +and mind of a young man of my name, and then one day calmly to tell him, +'So much the worse for you if you possess a heart. I have none; nor do I +wish for any.'" + +"That was not my reply, monsieur, and you have been incorrectly +informed," said the hospitaliere, in so noble and touching a tone of +voice that Joyeuse's anger was in a moment subdued. + +"The actual words are immaterial, madame, when their sense has been +conveyed. You have rejected my brother, and have reduced him to +despair." + +"Innocently, monsieur: for I have always endeavored to keep Monsieur du +Bouchage at a distance." + +"That is termed the art of coquetry, madame; and the result proves the +fault." + +"No one has the right to accuse me, monsieur; I am guilty of nothing. +Your feelings of irritation are aroused against me; I shall say no +more." + +"Oh, oh!" said Joyeuse, gradually working himself into a passion, "you +have been the ruin of my brother, and you fancy you can justify yourself +with this irritating majesty of demeanor. No, no! the steps I have taken +must show you what my intentions are. I am serious, I assure you, and +you see by the trembling of my hands and lips that you will need some +good arguments to move me." + +The hospitaliere rose. + +"If you come here to insult a woman," she said, with the same calm +self-possession, "insult me, monsieur; if, however, you have come to +induce me to change my opinion, you are wasting your time, and can +withdraw." + +"Ah! you are no human creature!" exclaimed Joyeuse, exasperated. "You +are possessed by an evil spirit." + +"I have answered already; I will reply no further. Since that is not +sufficient, I shall withdraw." And the hospitaliere advanced toward the +door. + +Joyeuse stopped her. + +"One moment! I have sought you for too long a period to allow you to +leave me in this manner; and, since I have succeeded in meeting with +you--since your insensibility has confirmed me in the idea which had +already occurred to me, that you are possessed by the foul fiend +himself, sent hither by the enemy of mankind to destroy my brother--I +wish to see that face whereon the bottomless pit has written its +blackest traces; I wish to behold the fire of that fatal gaze which +bewilders men's minds. Avaunt thee, Satan!" + +And Joyeuse, making the sign of the cross with one hand, as if he were +exorcising her, with the other tore aside the veil which covered the +face of the hospitaliere; the latter, silent and impassible, free from +anger or ill-feeling, fixed her sweet and gentle gaze upon him who had +so cruelly outraged her, and said: "Oh! Monsieur le Duc, what you have +just done is unworthy a gentleman." + +Joyeuse's heart was smitten by her reply. + +"Oh! madame," he murmured after a long silence, "you are indeed +beautiful, and truly must Henri have loved you. Surely Heaven can only +have bestowed upon you loveliness such as you possess to cast it like +perfume upon an existence devoted to your own." + +"Monsieur, have you not conversed with your brother? or, if you have +done so, he cannot have thought it expedient to make you his confidant; +had not that been the case, he would have told you that I have done what +you say--I have loved; I shall never love again; I have lived and must +die." + +Joyeuse had never taken his eyes from Diana's face, and the soft and +gentle expression of her gaze penetrated the inmost recesses of his +being. + +Her look had destroyed all the baser material in the admiral's heart: +the pure metal was alone left, and his heart seemed rent asunder, like +a crucible which had been riven by the fusion of metal. + +"Yes, yes," he repeated, in a still lower voice, and continuing to fix +upon her a gaze from which the fire of his fierce anger had +disappeared--"yes, yes, Henri must have loved you. Oh! madame, for +pity's sake, on my knees I implore you to love my brother." + +Diana remained cold and silent. + +"Do not reduce a family to despair, do not sacrifice the future +prospects of our race; be not the cause of the death of one from +despair, of the others from regret." + +Diana, still silent, continued to look sorrowfully on the suppliant +bending before her. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Joyeuse, madly pressing his hand against his heart, +"have mercy on my brother, have mercy on me!" + +He sprung to his feet like a man bereft of his senses, unfastened, or +rather tore open the door of the room where they had been conversing, +and, bewildered and almost beside himself, fled from the house toward +his attendants, who were awaiting him at the corner of the Rue d'Enfer. + + + + +CHAPTER XC. + +HIS HIGHNESS MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC DE GUISE. + + +On Sunday the 10th of June, toward eleven o'clock in the day, the whole +court were assembled in the apartment leading to the cabinet in which, +since his meeting with Diana de Meridor, the Duc d'Anjou was dying by +slow but sure degrees. Neither the science of the physicians, nor his +mother's despair, nor the prayers which the king had desired to be +offered up, had been successful in averting the fatal termination. +Miron, on the morning of this same 10th of June, assured the king that +all chance of recovery was hopeless, and that Francois d'Anjou would not +outlive the day. The king pretended to display extreme grief, and +turning toward those who were present, said, "This will fill my enemies +full of hope." + +To which remark the queen-mother replied: "Our destiny is in the hands +of Heaven, my son." + +Whereupon Chicot, who was standing humbly and reverently near Henri +III., added in a low voice: + +"Let us help Heaven when we can, sire." + +Nevertheless, the dying man, toward half-past eleven, lost both color +and sight; his mouth, which, up to that moment, had remained open, +became closed; the flow of blood which for several days past had +terrified all who were near him, as the bloody sweat of Charles IX. had +similarly done at an earlier period, had suddenly ceased, and hands and +feet became icy cold. Henri was sitting beside the head of the couch +whereon his brother was extended. Catherine was standing in the recess +in which the bed was placed, holding her dying son's hand in hers. + +The bishop of Chateau-Thierry and the Cardinal de Joyeuse repeated the +prayers for the dying, which were joined in by all who were present, +kneeling, and with their hands clasped reverently together. Toward +mid-day, the dying man opened his eyes; the sun's rays broke through a +cloud and inundated the bed with a flood of light. Francois, who, up to +that moment, had been unable to move a single finger, and whose mind had +been obscured like the sun which had just re-appeared, raised one of his +arms toward heaven with a horror-stricken gesture. + +He looked all round the room, heard the murmuring of the prayers, grew +conscious of his illness as well as of his weakness, became aware of his +critical position, perhaps because he already caught a glimpse of that +unseen and terrible future, the abode of certain souls after they have +quitted their earthly prison. + +He thereupon uttered a loud and piercing cry, and struck his forehead +with a force which made every one tremble. + +Then, knitting his brows, as if one of the mysterious incidents of his +life had just recurred to him, he murmured: + +"Bussy! Diana!" + +This latter name had been overheard by none but Catherine, so weakened +had the dying man's voice become before pronouncing it. + +With the last syllable of that name Francois d'Anjou breathed his last +sigh. + +At this very moment, by a singular coincidence, the sun, which had +gilded with its rays the royal arms of France, and the golden +fleurs-de-lis, was again obscured: so that the fleurs-de-lis which had +been so brilliantly illumined but a moment before, became as dark and +gloomy as the azure ground which they had but recently studded with +constellations almost as resplendent as those whereon the eye of the +dreamer rests in his upward gaze toward heaven. + +Catherine let her son's hand fall. + +Henri III. shuddered, and leaned tremblingly on Chicot's shoulder, who +shuddered too, but from a feeling of awe which every Christian feels in +the presence of the dead. + +Miron placed a golden spatula on Francois' lips; after a few seconds, he +looked at it carefully and said: + +"Monseigneur is dead." + +Whereupon a deep prolonged groan arose from the antechamber, like an +accompaniment to the psalm which the cardinal murmured: "Cedant +iniquitates meae ad vocem deprecationis meae." + +"Dead," repeated the king, making the sign of the cross as he sat in his +fauteuil; "my brother, my brother!" + +"The sole heir of the throne of France," murmured Catherine, who, having +quitted the bed whereon the corpse was lying, had placed herself beside +the only son who now remained to her. + +"Oh!" said Henri, "this throne of France is indeed large for a king +without issue; the crown is indeed large for a single head. No children! +no heirs! Who will succeed me?" + +Hardly had he pronounced these words when a loud noise was heard on the +staircase and in the apartments. + +Nambu hurriedly entered the death chamber, and announced--"His Highness +Monseigneur le Duc de Guise." + +Struck by this reply to the question which he had addressed to himself, +the king turned pale, rose, and looked at his mother. Catherine was +paler than her son. At the announcement of the horrible misfortune +which mere chance had foretold to his race, she grasped the king's hand, +and pressed it, as if to say-- + +"There lies the danger; but fear nothing, I am near you." + +The son and mother, under the influence of the same terror and the same +menace, had comprehended each other. + +The duke entered, followed by his officers. He entered, holding his head +loftily erect, although his eyes ranged from the king to the death-bed +of his brother with a glance not free from a certain embarrassment. + +Henri III. stood up, and with that supreme majesty of carriage which, on +certain occasions, his singularly poetic nature enabled him to assume, +checked the duke's further progress by a kingly gesture, and pointed to +the royal corpse upon the bed, the covering of which was in disorder +from his brother's dying agonies. The duke bowed his head, and slowly +fell on his knees. All around him, too, bowed their heads and bent their +knees. Henri III., together with his mother, alone remained standing, +and bent a last look, full of pride, upon those around him. Chicot +observed this look, and murmured in a low tone of voice, "Dejiciet +potentes de sede et exaltabit humiles"--"He hath put down the mighty +from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek." + + + + +POSTSCRIPT. + + +A few words with reference to the principal characters in the novel of +the "Forty-five Guardsmen" are necessary to complete the story. + +Diana de Monsoreau, having taken the vows at the Convent des +Hospitalieres, survived the Duc d'Anjou only two years. Of Remy, her +faithful companion, we hear no more: he disappeared without leaving a +trace behind him. + +History, however, informs us more fully as to the others. The Duc de +Guise, having at last broken into open rebellion against Henri III., was +so far successful, that with the aid of the League he compelled the king +to fly from Paris. A hollow reconciliation was, however, patched up +between them, the Duc de Guise stipulating that he should be appointed +lieutenant-general of the kingdom; but no sooner had the king returned +to the Louvre than he determined on the assassination of the duke. He +sounded Crillon, the leader of the "Forty-five," on the subject, but +this noble soldier refused to have anything to do with it, offering, +however, to challenge him to single combat. De Loignac was less +scrupulous, and we know the result; the Duc de Guise and his brother the +cardinal were both murdered. Ten days after this event, Catherine de +Medicis, the queen-mother, died, regretted by none. + +The Parisians, exasperated by the murder of the Duc de Guise, declared +his brother, the Duc de Mayenne, the head of the League, and rose +against the king, who was again obliged to fly. He begged the king of +Navarre for aid, who promptly responded to the call, and they were +shortly before Paris with a united army of Catholics and Huguenots. +Henri III. was, however, pursued by the relentless hate of the clever +and unscrupulous Duchesse de Montpensier. She worked so skillfully on +the fanatical mind of the young Jacobin friar, Jacques Clement, that he +undertook the death of the king. He entered the camp with letters for +Henri, whom he stabbed while reading them. The king died on the 2d +August, 1589, after having declared Henri of Navarre his successor. + +Of the subsequent life and adventures of Chicot, unfortunately nothing +authentic is known. 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