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diff --git a/old/7426-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/7426-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..122cc3e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7426-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,30853 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Chicot the Jester, by Alexandre Dumas + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chicot the Jester, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere + +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: Chicot the Jester + An Abridged Translation of "La dame de Monsoreau" + +Author: Alexandre Dumas, Pere + + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7426] +This file was first posted on April 28, 2003 +Last Updated: November 21, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHICOT THE JESTER *** + + + + +Produced by Robert J. Hall and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CHICOT THE JESTER + </h1> + <h3> + Abridged translation of “La dame de Monsoreau” + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Alexandre Dumas + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER LI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER LII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER LIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER LIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER LV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER LVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER LVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER LVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER LIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER LX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER LXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER LXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER LXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER LXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0065"> CHAPTER LXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0066"> CHAPTER LXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0067"> CHAPTER LXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0068"> CHAPTER LXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0069"> CHAPTER LXIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0070"> CHAPTER LXX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0071"> CHAPTER LXXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0072"> CHAPTER LXXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0073"> CHAPTER LXXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0074"> CHAPTER LXXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0075"> CHAPTER LXXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0076"> CHAPTER LXXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0077"> CHAPTER LXXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0078"> CHAPTER LXXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0079"> CHAPTER LXXIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0080"> CHAPTER LXXX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0081"> CHAPTER LXXXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0082"> CHAPTER LXXXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0083"> CHAPTER LXXXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0084"> CHAPTER LXXXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0085"> CHAPTER LXXXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0086"> CHAPTER LXXXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0087"> CHAPTER LXXXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0088"> CHAPTER LXXXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0089"> CHAPTER LXXXIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0090"> CHAPTER XC. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0091"> CHAPTER XCI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0092"> CHAPTER XCII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0093"> CHAPTER XCIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0094"> CHAPTER XCIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0095"> CHAPTER XCV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0096"> CHAPTER XCVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0097"> CHAPTER XCVII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <h3> + THE WEDDING OF ST. LUC. + </h3> + <p> + On the evening of a Sunday, in the year 1578, a splendid fête was given in + the magnificent hotel just built opposite the Louvre, on the other side of + the water, by the family of Montmorency, who, allied to the royalty of + France, held themselves equal to princes. This fête was to celebrate the + wedding of François d’Epinay de St. Luc, a great friend and favorite of + the king, Henri III., with Jeanne de Crossé-Brissac, daughter of the + marshal of that name. + </p> + <p> + The banquet had taken place at the Louvre, and the king, who had been with + much difficulty induced to consent to the marriage, had appeared at it + with a severe and grave countenance. His costume was in harmony with his + face; he wore that suit of deep chestnut, in which Clouet described him at + the wedding of Joyeuse; and this kind of royal specter, solemn and + majestic, had chilled all the spectators, but above all the young bride, + at whom he cast many angry glances. The reason of all this was known to + everyone, but was one of those court secrets of which no one likes to + speak. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely was the repast finished, when the king had risen abruptly, + thereby forcing everyone to do the same. Then St. Luc approached him, and + said: “Sire, will your majesty do me the honor to accept the fête, which I + wish to give to you this evening at the Hôtel Montmorency?” This was said + in an imploring tone, but Henri, with a voice betraying both vexation and + anger, had replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, we will go, although you certainly do not merit this proof + of friendship on our part.” + </p> + <p> + Then Madame de St. Luc had humbly thanked the king, but he turned his back + without replying. + </p> + <p> + “Is the king angry with you?” asked the young wife of her husband. + </p> + <p> + “I will explain it to you after, mon amie, when this anger shall have + passed away.” + </p> + <p> + “And will it pass away?” + </p> + <p> + “It must.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle de Brissac was not yet sufficiently Madame de St. Luc to + insist further; therefore she repressed her curiosity, promising herself + to satisfy it at a more favorable time. + </p> + <p> + They were, therefore, expecting St. Luc at the Hôtel Montmorency, at the + moment in which our story commences. St. Luc had invited all the king’s + friends and all his own; the princes and their favorites, particularly + those of the Duc d’Anjou. He was always in opposition to the king, but in + a hidden manner, pushing forward those of his friends whom the example of + La Mole and Coconnas had not cured. Of course, his favorites and those of + the king lived in a state of antagonism, which brought on rencontres two + or three times a month, in which it was rare that some one was not killed + or badly wounded. + </p> + <p> + As for Catherine, she was at the height of her wishes; her favorite son + was on the throne, and she reigned through him, while she pretended to + care no more for the things of this world. St. Luc, very uneasy at the + absence of all the royal family, tried to reassure his father-in-law, who + was much distressed at this menacing absence. Convinced, like all the + world, of the friendship of Henri for St. Luc, he had believed he was + assuring the royal favor, and now this looked like a disgrace. St. Luc + tried hard to inspire in them a security which he did not feel himself; + and his friends, Maugiron, Schomberg, and Quelus, clothed in their most + magnificent dresses, stiff in their splendid doublets, with enormous + frills, added to his annoyance by their ironical lamentations. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! mon Dieu! my poor friend,” said Jacques de Levis, Comte de Quelus, “I + believe now that you are done for. The king is angry that you would not + take his advice, and M. d’Anjou because you laughed at his nose.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Quelus, the king does not come, because he has made a pilgrimage to + the monks of the Bois de Vincennes; and the Duc d’Anjou is absent, because + he is in love with some woman whom I have forgotten to invite.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Maugiron, “did you see the king’s face at dinner? And as for + the duke, if he could not come, his gentlemen might. There is not one + here, not even Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! gentlemen,” said the Duc de Brissac, in a despairing tone, “it looks + like a complete disgrace. Mon Dieu! how can our house, always so devoted + to his majesty, have displeased him?” + </p> + <p> + The young men received this speech with bursts of laughter, which did not + tend to soothe the marquis. The young bride was also wondering how St. Luc + could have displeased the king. All at once one of the doors opened and + the king was announced. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the marshal, “now I fear nothing; if the Duc d’Anjou would but + come, my satisfaction would be complete.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” murmured St. Luc; “I have more fear of the king present than + absent, for I fear he comes to play me some spiteful tricks.” + </p> + <p> + But, nevertheless, he ran to meet the king, who had quitted at last his + somber costume, and advanced resplendent in satin, feathers, and jewels. + But at the instant he entered another door opened just opposite, and a + second Henri III., clothed exactly like the first, appeared, so that the + courtiers, who had run to meet the first, turned round at once to look at + the second. + </p> + <p> + Henri III. saw the movement, and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + A burst of laughter was the reply. The king, not naturally patient, and + less so that day than usual, frowned; but St. Luc approached, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Sire, it is Chicot, your jester, who is dressed exactly like your + majesty, and is giving his hand to the ladies to kiss.” + </p> + <p> + Henri laughed. Chicot enjoyed at his court a liberty similar to that + enjoyed thirty years before by Triboulet at the court of François I., and + forty years after by Longely at the court of Louis XIII. Chicot was not an + ordinary jester. Before being Chicot he had been “De Chicot.” He was a + Gascon gentleman, who, ill-treated by M. de Mayenne on account of a + rivalry in a love affair, in which Chicot had been victorious, had taken + refuge at court, and prayed the king for his protection by telling him the + truth. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, M. Chicot,” said Henri, “two kings at a time are too much.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” replied he, “let me continue to be one, and you play Duc d’Anjou; + perhaps you will be taken for him, and learn something of his doings.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Henri, looking round him, “Anjou is not here.” + </p> + <p> + “The more reason for you to replace him. It is settled, I am Henri, and + you are François. I will play the king, while you dance and amuse yourself + a little, poor king.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Chicot, I will dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly,” thought De Brissac, “I was wrong to think the king angry; he + is in an excellent humor.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile St. Luc had approached his wife. She was not a beauty, but she + had fine black eyes, white teeth, and a dazzling complexion. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said she to her husband, “why did they say that the king was + angry with me; he has done nothing but smile on me ever since he came?” + </p> + <p> + “You did not say so after dinner, dear Jeanne, for his look then + frightened you.” + </p> + <p> + “His majesty was, doubtless, out of humor then, but now—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, it is far worse; he smiles with closed lips. I would rather he + showed me his teeth. Jeanne, my poor child, he is preparing for us some + disagreeable surprise. Oh! do not look at me so tenderly, I beg; turn + your back to me. Here is Maugiron coming; converse with him, and be + amiable to him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a strange recommendation, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + But St. Luc left his wife full of astonishment, and went to pay his court + to Chicot, who was playing his part with a most laughable majesty. + </p> + <p> + The king danced, but seemed never to lose sight of St. Luc. Sometimes he + called him to repeat to him some pleasantry, which, whether droll or not, + made St. Luc laugh heartily. Sometimes he offered him out of his comfit + box sweetmeats and candied fruits, which St. Luc found excellent. If he + disappeared for an instant, the king sent for him, and seemed not happy if + he was out of his sight. All at once a voice rose above all the tumult. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Henri, “I think I hear the voice of Chicot; do you hear, St. + Luc?—the king is angry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire, it sounds as though he were quarreling with some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and see what it is, and come back and tell me.” + </p> + <p> + As St. Luc approached he heard Chicot crying: + </p> + <p> + “I have made sumptuary laws, but if they are not enough I will make more; + at least they shall be numerous, if they are not good. By the horn of + Beelzebub, six pages, M. de Bussy, are too much.” + </p> + <p> + And Chicot, swelling out his cheeks, and putting his hand to his side, + imitated the king to the life. + </p> + <p> + “What does he say about Bussy?” asked the king, when St. Luc returned. St. + Luc was about to reply, when the crowd opening, showed to him six pages, + dressed in cloth of gold, covered with chains, and bearing on their + breasts the arms of their masters, sparkling in jewels. Behind them came a + young man, handsome and proud; who walked with his head raised and a + haughty look, and whose simple dress of black velvet contrasted with the + splendor of his pages. This was Bussy d’Amboise. Maugiron, Schomberg, and + Quelus had drawn near to the king. + </p> + <p> + “See,” said Maugiron, “here is the servant, but where is the master? Are + you also in disgrace with him, St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should he follow Bussy?” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not remember that when his majesty did M. de Bussy the honor to + ask him if he wished to belong to him, he replied that, being of the House + of Clermont, he followed no one, and belonged to himself.” + </p> + <p> + The king frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Maugiron, “whatever you say, he serves the Duc d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is because the duke is greater than the king.” + </p> + <p> + No observation could have been more annoying to the king than this, for he + detested the Duc d’Anjou. Thus, although he did not answer, he grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, gentlemen,” said St. Luc, trembling, “a little charity for my + guests, if you please; do not spoil my wedding day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the king, in a mocking tone; “do not spoil St. Luc’s + wedding-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Schomberg, “is Bussy allied to the Brissacs?—since St. + Luc defends him.” + </p> + <p> + “He is neither my friend nor relation, but he is my guest,” said St. Luc. + The king gave an angry look. “Besides,” he hastened to add, “I do not + defend him the least in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy approached gravely behind his pages to salute the king, when Chicot + cried: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, la! Bussy d’Amboise, Louis de Clermont, Comte de Bussy, do you not + see the true Henri, do you not know the true king from the false? He to + whom you are going is Chicot, my jester, at whom I so often laugh.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy continued his way, and was about to bow before the king, when he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Do you not hear, M. de Bussy, you are called?” and, amidst shouts of + laughter from his minions, he turned his back to the young captain. Bussy + reddened with anger, but he affected to take the king’s remark seriously, + and turning round towards Chicot: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! pardon, sire,” said he, “there are kings who resemble jesters so + much, that you will excuse me, I hope, for having taken a jester for a + king.” + </p> + <p> + “Hein,” murmured Henri, “what does he say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, sire,” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, M. Bussy,” said Chicot; “it was unpardonable.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I was preoccupied.” + </p> + <p> + “With your pages, monsieur,” said Chicot; “you ruin yourself in pages, + and, par la mordieu, it is infringing our prerogatives.” + </p> + <p> + “How so? I beg your majesty to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “Cloth of gold for them, while you a gentleman, a colonel, a Clermont, + almost a prince, wear simple black velvet.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said Bussy, turning towards the kings’ minions, “as we live in a + time when lackeys dress like princes, I think it good taste for princes to + dress like lackeys.” + </p> + <p> + And he returned to the young men in their splendid dress the impertinent + smiles which they had bestowed on him a little before. They grew pale with + fury, and seemed only to wait the king’s permission to fall upon Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Is it for me and mine that you say that?” asked Chicot, speaking like the + king. + </p> + <p> + Three friends of Bussy’s now drew near to him. These were Charles + d’Antragues, François, Vicomte de Ribeirac, and Livarot. Seeing all this, + St. Luc guessed that Bussy was sent by Monsieur to provoke a quarrel. He + trembled more than ever, for he feared the combatants were about to take + his house for a battle-field. He ran to Quelus, who already had his hand + on his sword, and said, “In Heaven’s name be moderate.” + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu, he attacks you as well as us.” + </p> + <p> + “Quelus, think of the Duc d’Anjou, who supports Bussy; you do not suppose + I fear Bussy himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! Mordieu, what need we fear; we belong to the king. If we get into + peril for him he will help us.” + </p> + <p> + “You, yes; but me,” said St. Luc, piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah dame, why do you marry, knowing how jealous the king is in his + friendships?” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” thought St. Luc, “everyone for himself; and as I wish to live + tranquil during the first fortnight of my marriage, I will make friends + with M. Bussy.” And he advanced towards him. After his impertinent speech, + Bussy had looked round the room to see if any one would take notice of it. + Seeing St. Luc approach, he thought he had found what he sought. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said he, “is it to what I said just now, that I owe the honor + of the conversation you appear to desire?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what you have just said, I heard nothing. No, I saw you, and wished to + salute you, and thank you for the honor you have done me by your presence + here.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy, who knew the courage of St. Luc, understood at once that he + considered the duties of a host paramount, and answered him politely. + </p> + <p> + Henri, who had seen the movement said, “Oh, oh! I fear there is mischief + there; I cannot have St. Luc killed. Go and see, Quelus; no, you are too + rash—you, Maugiron.” + </p> + <p> + But St. Luc did not let him approach Bussy, but came to meet him and + returned with him to the king. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been saying to that coxcomb?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “I, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you.” + </p> + <p> + “I said, good evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! was that all?” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc saw he was wrong. “I said, good evening; adding, that I would have + the honor of saying good morning to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I suspected it.” + </p> + <p> + “Will your majesty keep my secret?” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! parbleu, if you could get rid of him without injury to yourself——” + </p> + <p> + The minions exchanged a rapid glance, which Henri III. seemed not to + notice. + </p> + <p> + “For,” continued he, “his insolence is too much.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said St. Luc, “but some day he will find his master.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the king, “he manages the sword well. Why does he not get bit + by some dog?” And he threw a spiteful glance on Bussy, who was walking + about, laughing at all the king’s friends. + </p> + <p> + “Corbleu!” cried Chicot, “do not be so rude to my friends, M. Bussy, for I + draw the sword, though I am a king, as well as if I was a common man.” + </p> + <p> + “If he continue such pleasantries, I will chastise Chicot, sire,” said + Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Maugiron, Chicot is a gentleman. Besides, it is not he who most + deserves punishment, for it is not he who is most insolent.” + </p> + <p> + This time there was no mistaking, and Quelus made signs to D’O and + D’Epernon, who had been in a different part of the room, and had not heard + what was going on. “Gentlemen,” said Quelus, “come to the council; you, + St. Luc, go and finish making your peace with the king.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc approached the king, while the others drew back into a window. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said D’Epernon, “what do you want? I was making love, and I warn + you, if your recital be not interesting I shall be very angry.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to tell you that after the ball I set off for the chase.” + </p> + <p> + “For what chase?” + </p> + <p> + “That of the wild boar.” + </p> + <p> + “What possesses you to go, in this cold, to be killed in some thicket?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, I am going.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No, with Maugiron and Schomberg. We hunt for the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, I understand,” said Maugiron and Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “The king wishes a boar’s head for breakfast to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “With the neck dressed à l’Italienne,” said Maugiron, alluding to the + turn-down collar which Bussy wore in opposition to their ruffs. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah,” said D’Epernon, “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked D’O, “for I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! look round you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “Did any one laugh at us here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is the wild boar the king wants.” + </p> + <p> + “You think the king——” + </p> + <p> + “He asks for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, so be it. But how do we hunt?” + </p> + <p> + “In ambush; it is the surest.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy remarked the conference, and, not doubting that they were talking of + him, approached, with his friends. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Antragues, look, Ribeirac,” said he, “how they are grouped; it is + quite touching; it might be Euryale and Nisus, Damon and Pythias, Castor + and——. But where is Pollux?” + </p> + <p> + “Pollux is married, so that Castor is left alone.” + </p> + <p> + “What can they be doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I bet they are inventing some new starch.” + </p> + <p> + “No, gentlemen,” said Quelus, “we are talking of the chase.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Signor Cupid,” said Bussy; “it is very cold for that. It will + chap your skin.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Maugiron, politely, “we have warm gloves, and doublets + lined with fur.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that reassures me,” said Bussy; “do you go soon?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case I must warn the king; what will he say to-morrow, if he + finds his friends have caught cold?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not give yourself that trouble, monsieur,” said Quelus, “his majesty + knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hunt larks?” asked Bussy, with an impertinent air. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, we hunt the boar. We want a head. Will you hunt with us, M. + Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, really, I cannot. To-morrow I must go to the Duc d’Anjou for the + reception of M. de Monsoreau, to whom monseigneur has just given the place + of chief huntsman.” + </p> + <p> + “But, to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! To-night, I have a rendezvous in a mysterious house of the Faubourg + St. Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” said D’Epernon, “is the Queen Margot here, incognito, M. de + Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Who expects you in the Faubourg St. Antoine?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so, indeed I will ask your advice, M. de Quelus.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so, although I am not a lawyer, I give very good advice.” + </p> + <p> + “They say the streets of Paris are unsafe, and that is a lonely place. + Which way do you counsel me to take?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I advise you to take the ferry-boat at the Pré-aux-Clercs, get out + at the corner, and follow the quay until you arrive at the great Châtelet, + and then go through the Rue de la Tixanderie, until you reach the + faubourg. Once at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine, if you pass the Hôtel + des Tournelles without accident, it is probable you will arrive safe and + sound at your mysterious house.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for your route, M. de Quelus, I shall be sure to follow it.” And + saluting the five friends, he went away. + </p> + <p> + As Bussy was crossing the last saloon where Madame de St. Luc was, her + husband made a sign to her. She understood at once, and going up, stopped + him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! M. de Bussy,” said she, “everyone is talking of a sonnet you have + made.” + </p> + <p> + “Against the king, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “No, in honor of the queen; do tell it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, madame,” and, offering his arm to her, he went off, repeating + it. + </p> + <p> + During this time, St. Luc drew softly near his friends, and heard Quelus + say: + </p> + <p> + “The animal will not be difficult to follow; thus then, at the corner of + the Hôtel des Tournelles, opposite the Hôtel St. Pol.” + </p> + <p> + “With each a lackey?” asked D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Nogaret, let us be alone, and keep our own secret, and do our own + work. I hate him, but he is too much a gentleman for a lackey to touch.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go out all six together?” + </p> + <p> + “All five if you please,” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is true, we forgot your wife.” + </p> + <p> + They heard the king’s voice calling St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said he, “the king calls me. Good sport, au revoir.” + </p> + <p> + And he left them, but instead of going straight to the king, he ran to + where Bussy stood with his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! monsieur, how hurried you seem,” said Bussy. “Are you going also to + join the chase; it would be a proof of your courage, but not of your + gallantry.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I was seeking you.” + </p> + <p> + “Really.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was afraid you were gone. Dear Jeanne, tell your father to try and + stop the king, whilst I say a few words tête-à-tête to M. Bussy.” Jeanne + went. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to say to you, monsieur,” continued St. Luc, “that if you have any + rendezvous to-night, you would do well to put it off, for the streets are + not safe, and, above all, to avoid the Hôtel des Tournelles, where there + is a place where several men could hide. This is what I wished to say; I + know you fear nothing, but reflect.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment they heard Chicot’s voice crying, “St. Luc, St. Luc, do not + hide yourself, I am waiting for you to return to the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am, sire,” cried St. Luc, rushing forward. Near Chicot stood the + king, to whom one page was giving his ermine mantle, and another a velvet + mask lined with satin. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said St. Luc, “I will have the honor of lighting your majesties to + your litters.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Henri, “Chicot goes one way, and I another. My friends are + good-for-nothings, who have run away and left me to return alone to the + Louvre. I had counted on them, and you cannot let me go alone. You are a + grave married man, and must take me back to the queen. Come, my friend, my + litter is large enough for two.” + </p> + <p> + Madame de St. Luc, who had heard this, tried to speak, and to tell her + father that the king was carrying away her husband, but he, placing his + fingers on his month, motioned her to be silent. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready, sire,” said he, “to follow you.” + </p> + <p> + When the king took leave, the others followed, and Jeanne was left alone. + She entered her room, and knelt down before the image of a saint to pray, + then sat down to wait for her husband’s return. M. de Brissac sent six men + to the Louvre to attend him back. But two hours after one of them + returned, saying, that the Louvre was closed and that before closing, the + captain of the watch had said, “It is useless to wait longer, no one will + leave the Louvre to-night; his majesty is in bed.” + </p> + <p> + The marshal carried this news to his daughter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW IT IS NOT ALWAYS HE WHO OPENS THE DOOR, WHO ENTERS THE HOUSE. + </h3> + <p> + The Porte St. Antoine was a kind of vault in stone, similar to our present + Porte St. Denis, only it was attached by its left side to buildings + adjacent to the Bastile. The space at the right, between the gate and the + Hôtel des Tournelles, was large and dark, little frequented by day, and + quite solitary at night, for all passers-by took the side next to the + fortress, so as to be in some degree under the protection of the sentinel. + Of course, winter nights were still more feared than summer ones. + </p> + <p> + That on which the events which we have recounted, and are about to recount + took place, was cold and black. Before the gate on the side of the city, + was no house, but only high walls, those of the church of St. Paul, and of + the Hôtel des Tournelles. At the end of this wall was the niche of which + St. Luc had spoken to Bussy. No lamps lighted this part of Paris at that + epoch. In the nights when the moon charged herself with the lighting of + the earth, the Bastile rose somber and majestic against the starry blue of + the skies, but on dark nights, there seemed only a thickening of the + shadows where it stood. On the night in question, a practised eye might + have detected in the angle of the wall of the Tournelles several black + shades, which moved enough to show that they belonged to poor devils of + human bodies, who seemed to find it difficult to preserve their natural + warmth as they. stood there. The sentinel from the Bastile; who could not + see them on account of the darkness, could not hear them either, for they + talked almost in whispers. However, the conversation did not want + interest. + </p> + <p> + “This Bussy was right,” said one; “it is a night such as we had at Warsaw, + when Henri was King of Poland, and if this continues we shall freeze.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Maugiron, you complain like a woman,” replied another: “it is not + warm, I confess; but draw your mantle over your eyes, and put your hands + in your pockets, and you will not feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Schomberg,” said a third, “it is easy to see you are German. As + for me, my lips bleed, and my mustachios are stiff with ice.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my hands,” said a fourth; “on my honor, I would not swear I had + any.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have taken your mamma’s muff, poor Quelus,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! mon Dieu, have patience,” said a fifth voice; “you will soon be + complaining you are hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I see some one coming through the Rue St. Paul,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be him; he named another route.” + </p> + <p> + “Might he not have suspected something, and changed it?” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know Bussy; where he said he should go, he would go, if he + knew that Satan himself were barring his passage.” + </p> + <p> + “However, here are two men coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us charge,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said D’Epernon; “do not let us kill good bourgeois, or poor + women. Hold! they stop.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, they had stopped, and looked as if undecided. “Oh, can they have + seen us?” + </p> + <p> + “We can hardly see ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + “See, they turn to the left; they stop before a house they are seeking—they + are trying to enter; they will escape us!” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not him, for he was going to the Faubourg St. Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! how do you know he told you right?” + </p> + <p> + At this supposition they all rushed out, sword in hand, towards the + gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + One of the men had just introduced a key into the lock; the door had + yielded and was about to open, when the noise of their assailants made + them turn. + </p> + <p> + “What is this? Can it be against us, Aurilly?” said one. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monseigneur,” said the other, who had opened the door, “it looks like + it. Will you name yourself, or keep incognito?” + </p> + <p> + “Armed men—an ambush!” + </p> + <p> + “Some jealous lover; I said the lady was too beautiful not to be watched.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us enter quickly, Aurilly; we are safer within doors.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur, if there are not enemies within; but how do you know——” + </p> + <p> + He had not time to finish. The young men rushed up; Quelus and Maugiron + made for the door to prevent their entering, while Schomberg, D’O, and + D’Epernon prepared to attack in front. But he who had been called + monseigneur turned towards Quelus, who was in front, and crossing his arms + proudly, said: + </p> + <p> + “You attack a son of France, M. Quelus!” + </p> + <p> + Quelus drew back, trembling, and thunderstruck. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur le Duc d’Anjou!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “The Duc d’Anjou!” repeated the others. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” cried the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” stammered D’Epernon, “it was a joke; forgive us.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said D’O, “we did not dream of meeting your highness here!” + </p> + <p> + “A joke!” said the duke; “you have an odd manner of joking, M. d’Epernon. + Since it was not intended for me, whom did your jest menace?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said Schomberg; “we saw St. Luc quit the Hôtel Montmorency + and come this way; it seemed strange to us, and we wished to see what took + him out on his wedding night.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc—you took me for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc is a head taller then I am.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, monseigneur; but he is just the height of M. Aurilly.” + </p> + <p> + “And seeing a man put a key in a lock, we took him for the principal,” + added D’O. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur cannot suppose that we had the shadow of an ill-will towards + him, even to disturb his pleasures?” + </p> + <p> + As he listened, the duke, by a skilful movement, had, little by little, + quitted the door, followed by Aurilly, and was now at some distance off. + </p> + <p> + “My pleasures!” said he, angrily; “what makes you think I was seeking + pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monseigneur, in any case pardon us, and let us retire,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “It is well; adieu, gentlemen; but first listen. I was going to consult + the Jew Manasses, who reads the future; he lives, as you know, in Rue de + la Tournelle. In passing, Aurilly saw you and took you for the watch, and + we, therefore, tried to hide ourselves in a doorway. And now you know what + to believe and say; it is needless to add, that I do not wish to be + followed,” and he turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, “I am sure these men have bad intentions; it + is near midnight, and this is a lonely quarter; let us return home, I + beg.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; let us profit by their departure.” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness is deceived; they have not gone, but have returned to their + retreat: look in the angle of the Hôtel des Tournelles.” + </p> + <p> + François looked, and saw that Aurilly was right; it was evident that they + waited for something, perhaps to see if the duke were really going to the + Jew. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Monseigneur,” continued Aurilly, “do you not think it will be more + prudent to go home?” + </p> + <p> + “Mordieu! yet it is annoying to give up.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but it can be put off. I told your highness that the house is taken + for a year; we know the lady lodges on the first story. We have gained her + maid, and have a key which opens the door: you may wait safely.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure that the door yielded?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at the third key I tried.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you shut it again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly did not feel sure, as he said, but he did not choose to admit it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will go; I shall return some other time.” And the duke went away, + promising to payoff the gentlemen for their interruption. + </p> + <p> + They had hardly disappeared, when the five companions saw approach a + cavalier wrapped in a large cloak. The steps of his horse resounded on the + frozen ground, and they went slowly and with precaution, for it was + slippery. + </p> + <p> + “This time,” said Quelus, “it is he.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is alone, and we left him with Livarot, Antragues, and + Ribeirac, who would not have let him run such a risk.” + </p> + <p> + “It is he, however; do you not recognize his insolent way of carrying his + head?” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said D’O, “it is a snare.” + </p> + <p> + “In any case, it is he; and so to arms!” + </p> + <p> + It was, indeed, Bussy, who came carelessly down the Rue St. Antoine, and + followed the route given him by Quelus; he had, as we have seen, received + the warning of St. Luc, and, in spite of it, had parted from his friends + at the Hôtel Montmorency. It was one of those bravadoes delighted in by + the valiant colonel, who said of himself, “I am but a simple gentleman, + but I bear in my breast the heart of an emperor; and when I read in + Plutarch the exploits of the ancient Romans, I think there is not one that + I could not imitate.” And besides, he thought that St. Luc, who was not + ordinarily one of his friends, merely wished to get him laughed at for his + precautions; and Bussy feared ridicule more than danger. + </p> + <p> + He had, even in the eyes of his enemies, earned a reputation for courage, + which could only be sustained by the rashest adventures. Therefore, alone, + and armed only with a sword and poniard, he advanced towards the house + where waited for him no person, but simply a letter, which the Queen of + Navarre sent him every month on the same day, and which he, according to + his promise to the beautiful Marguerite, went to fetch himself, alone, and + at night. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived at the Rue St. Catherine, his active eye discerned in the + shade the forms of his adversaries. He counted them: “Three, four, five,” + said he, “without counting the lackeys, who are doubtless within call. + They think much of me, it seems; all these for one man. That brave St. Luc + did not deceive me; and were his even the first sword to pierce me I would + cry, ‘Thanks for your warning, friend.’” So saying, he continued to + advance, only his arm held his sword under his cloak, of which he had + unfastened the clasp. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Quelus cried, “To arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, gentlemen,” said Bussy, “it appears you wish to kill me: I am the + wild boar you had to hunt. Well, gentlemen, the wild boar will rip up a + few of you; I swear it to you, and I never break my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” said Schomberg; “but it is not right, M. Bussy d’Amboise, that + you should be on horseback and we on foot.” And as he spoke, the arm of + the young man, covered with white satin, which glistened in the moonlight, + came from under his cloak, and Bussy felt his horse give way under him. + Schomberg had, with an address peculiar to himself, pierced the horse’s + leg with a kind of cutlass, of which the blade was heavier than the handle + and which had remained in the wound. The animal gave a shrill cry and fell + on his knees. Bussy, always ready, jumped at once to the ground, sword in + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried he, “my favorite horse, you shall pay for this.” And as + Schomberg approached incautiously, Bussy gave him a blow which broke his + thigh. Schomberg uttered a cry. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Bussy, “have I kept my word? one already. It was the wrist of + Bussy, and not his horse’s leg, you should have cut.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant, while Schomberg bound up his thigh with his handkerchief, + Bussy presented the point of his long sword to his four other assailants, + disdaining to cry for help, but retreating gradually, not to fly, but to + gain a wall, against which to support himself, and prevent his being + attacked behind, making all the while constant thrusts, and feeling + sometimes that soft resistance of the flesh which showed that his blows + had taken effect. Once he slipped for an instant. That instant sufficed + for Quelus to give him a wound in the side. + </p> + <p> + “Touched,” cried Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in the doublet,” said Bussy, who would not even acknowledge his + hurt. And rushing on Quelus, with a vigorous effort, he made his sword fly + from his hand. But he could not pursue his advantage, for D’O, D’Epernon, + and Maugiron attacked him, with fresh fury. Schomberg had bound his wound, + and Quelus picked up his sword. Bussy made a bound backwards, and reached + the wall. There he stopped, strong as Achilles, and smiling at the tempest + of blows which rained around him. All at once he felt a cloud pass over + his eyes. He had forgotten his wound, but these symptoms of fainting + recalled it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you falter!” cried Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Judge of it!” cried Bussy. And with the hilt of his sword he struck him + on the temple. Quelus fell under the blow. Then furious—wild, he + rushed forward, uttering a terrible cry. D’O and D’Epernon drew back, + Maugiron was raising Quelus, when Bussy broke his sword with his foot, and + wounded the right arm of D’Epernon. For a moment he was conqueror, but + Quelus recovered himself, and four swords flashed again. Bussy felt + himself lost. He gathered all his strength to retreat once more step by + step. Already the perspiration was cold on his brow, and the ringing in + his ears and the cloud over his eyes warned him that his strength was + giving way. He sought for the wall with his left hand; to his + astonishment, it yielded. It was a door not quite closed. Then he regained + hope and strength for a last effort. For a second his blows were rapid and + violent. Then he let himself glide inside the door, and pushed it to with + a violent blow. It shut, and Bussy was saved. He heard the furious blows + of his enemies on the door, their cries of rage, and wrathful + imprecations. Then, the ground seemed to fail under his feet, and the + walls to move. He made a few steps forward, and fell on the steps of a + staircase. He knew no more, but seemed to descend into the silence and + obscurity of the tomb. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW IT IS SOMETIMES DIFFICULT TO DISTINGUISH A DREAM FROM THE REALITY. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy had had time, before falling, to pass his handkerchief under his + shirt, and to buckle the belt of his sword over it, so as to make a kind + of bandage to the open wound whence the blood flowed, but he had already + lost blood enough to make him faint. However, during his fainting fit, + this is what Bussy saw, or thought he saw. He found himself in a room with + furniture of carved wood, with a tapestry of figures, and a painted + ceiling. These figures, in all possible attitudes, holding flowers, + carrying arms, seemed to him to be stepping from the walls. Between the + two windows a portrait of a lady was hung. He, fixed to his bed, lay + regarding all this. All at once the lady of the portrait seemed to move, + and an adorable creature, clothed in a long white robe, with fair hair + falling over her shoulders, and with eyes black as jet, with long lashes, + and with a skin under which he seemed to see the blood circulate, advanced + toward the bed. This woman was so beautiful, that Bussy made a violent + effort to rise and throw himself at her feet. But he seemed to be confined + in there by bonds like those which keep the dead body in the tomb, while + the soul mounts to the skies. This forced him to look at the bed on which + he was lying, and it seemed to him one of those magnificent beds + sculptured in the reign of Francis I., to which were suspended hangings of + white damask, embroidered in gold. + </p> + <p> + At the sight of this woman, the people of the wall and ceiling ceased to + occupy his attention; she was all to him, and he looked to see if she had + left a vacancy in the frame. But suddenly she disappeared; and an opaque + body interposed itself between her and Bussy, moving slowly, and + stretching its arms out as though it were playing blindman’s buff. Bussy + felt in such a passion at this, that, had he been able, he would certainly + have attacked this importunate vision; but as he made a vain effort, the + newcomer spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “have I arrived at last?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur,” said a voice so sweet that it thrilled through Bussy, + “and now you may take off your bandage.” Bussy made an effort to see if + the sweet voice belonged to the lady of the portrait, but it was useless. + He only saw the pleasant face of a young man, who had just, as he was + told, taken off his bandage, and was looking curiously about him. + </p> + <p> + “To the devil with this man,” thought Bussy, and he tried to speak, but + fruitlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I understand now,” said the young man, approaching the bed; “you are + wounded, are you not, my dear sir? Well, we will try to cure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the wound mortal?” asked the sweet voice again, with a sad accent, + which brought tears into the eyes of Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know yet, I am going to see; meanwhile, he has fainted.” + </p> + <p> + This was all Bussy heard, he seemed to feel a red-hot iron in his side, + and then lost all consciousness. Afterwards, it was impossible for Bussy + to fix the duration of this insensibility. + </p> + <p> + When he woke, a cold wind blew over his face, and harsh voices sounded in + his ears; he opened his eyes to see if it were the people of the tapestry + speaking, and hoping to see the lady again, looked round him. But there + was neither tapestry nor ceiling visible, and the portrait had also + disappeared. He saw at his right only a man with a white apron spotted + with blood; at his left, a monk, who was raising his head; and before him, + an old woman mumbling her prayers. His wondering eyes next rested on a + mass of stone before him, in which he recognized the Temple, and above + that, the cold white sky, slightly tinted by the rising sun. He was in the + street. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, thank you, good people,” said he, “for the trouble you have taken in + bringing me here. I wanted air, but you might have given it to me by + opening the window, and I should have been better on my bed of white + damask and gold than on the bare ground. But never mind, there is in my + pocket, unless you have paid yourselves, which would have been prudent, + some twenty golden crowns; take, my friends, take.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my good gentleman,” said the butcher, “we did not bring you here, + but found you here as we passed.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, diable! and the young doctor, was he here?” + </p> + <p> + The bystanders looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “It is the remains of delirium,” said the monk. Then, turning to Bussy, “I + think you would do well to confess,” said he, “there was no doctor, poor + young man; you were here alone, and as cold as death.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy then remembered having received a sword stroke, glided his hand + under his doublet, and felt his handkerchief in the same place, fixed over + his wound by his sword-belt. + </p> + <p> + “It is singular,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Already profiting by his permission, the lookers-on were dividing his + purse. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my friends,” said he, “will you take me to my hôtel?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, certainly,” said the old woman, “poor dear young man, the butcher is + strong, and then he has his horse, on which you can ride.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my gentleman, my horse and I are at your service.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, my son,” said the monk, “I think you would do well to + confess.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you called?” asked Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + “Well Brother Gorenflot, I trust my hour has not yet arrived and as I am + cold, I wish to get quickly home and warm myself.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your hotel called?” + </p> + <p> + “Hôtel de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “How!” cried all, “you belong to M. de Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “I am M. de Bussy himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy,” cried the butcher, “the brave Bussy, the scourge of the minions!” + And raising him, he was quickly carried home, whilst the monk went away, + murmuring, “If it was that Bussy, I do not wonder he would not confess!” + </p> + <p> + When he got home, Bussy sent for his usual doctor, who found the wound not + dangerous. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Bussy, “has it not been already dressed?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi,” said the doctor, “I am not sure.” + </p> + <p> + “And was it serious enough to make me delirious?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought Bussy, “was that tapestry, that frescoed ceiling, that bed, + the portrait between the windows, the beautiful blonde woman with black + eyes, the doctor blindfolded, was this all delirium? Is nothing true but + my combat? Where did I fight? Ah, yes, I remember; near the Bastile, by + the Rue St. Paul. I leaned against a door, and it opened; I shut it—and + then I remember no more. Have I dreamed or not? And my horse! My horse + must have been found dead on the place. Doctor, pray call some one.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor called a valet. Bussy inquired, and heard that the animal, + bleeding and mutilated, had dragged itself to the door of the hotel, and + had been found there. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been a dream,” thought he again: “how should a portrait come + down from the wall and talk to a doctor with a bandage on his eyes? I am a + fool; and yet when I remember she was so charming,” and he began to + describe her beauties, till he cried out, “It is impossible it should have + been a dream; and yet I found myself in the street, and a monk kneeling by + me. Doctor,” said he, “shall I have to keep the house a fortnight again for + this scratch, as I did for the last?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see; can you walk?” + </p> + <p> + “I seem to have quicksilver in my legs.” + </p> + <p> + “Try.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy jumped out of bed, and walked quickly round his room. + </p> + <p> + “That will do,” said the doctor, “provided that you do not go on + horseback, or walk ten miles the first day.” + </p> + <p> + “Capital! you are a doctor; however, I have seen another to-night. Yes, I + saw him, and if ever I meet him, I should know him.” + </p> + <p> + “I advise you not to seek for him, monsieur; one has always a little fever + after a sword wound; you should know that, who have had a dozen.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon Dieu!” cried Bussy, struck with a new idea, “did my dream begin + outside the door instead of inside? Was there no more a staircase and a + passage, than there was a bed with white and gold damask, and a portrait? + Perhaps those wretches, thinking me dead, carried me to the Temple, to + divert suspicion, should any one have seen them hiding. Certainly, it must + be so, and I have dreamed the rest. Mon Dieu! if they have procured for me + this dream which torments me so, I swear to make an end of them all.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear seigneur,” said the doctor, “if you wish to get well, you must + not agitate yourself thus.” + </p> + <p> + “Except St. Luc,” continued Bussy, without attending; “he acted as a + friend, and my first visit shall be to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Not before five this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish it; but, I assure you, it is not going out and seeing people + which will make me ill, but staying quietly at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is possible; you are always a singular patient; act as you + please, only I recommend you not to get another wound before this one is + healed.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy promised to do his best to avoid it, and, after dressing, called for + his litter to take him to the Hôtel Montmorency. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC HAD PASSED THE NIGHT. + </h3> + <p> + Louis de Clermont, commonly called Bussy d’Amboise, was a perfect + gentleman, and a very handsome man. Kings and princes had sought for his + friendship; queens and princesses had lavished on him their sweetest + smiles. He had succeeded La Mole in the affections of Queen Marguerite, + who had committed for him so many follies, that even her husband, + insensible so long, was moved at them; and the Duke François would never + have pardoned him, had it not gained over Bussy to his interests, and once + again he sacrificed all to his ambition. But in the midst of all his + successes of war, ambition, and intrigue, he had remained insensible; and + he who had never known fear, had never either known love. + </p> + <p> + When the servants of M. de St. Luc saw Bussy enter, they ran to tell M. de + Brissac. + </p> + <p> + “Is M. de St. Luc at home?” asked Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I find him?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, monsieur. We are all very anxious about him, for he has + not returned since yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “But Madame de St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she is here.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her I shall be charmed if she will allow me to pay my respects to + her.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes after, the messenger returned, saying Madame de St. Luc would + be glad to see M. de Bussy. + </p> + <p> + When Bussy entered the room, Jeanne ran to meet him. She was very pale, + and her jet black hair made her look more so; her eyes were red from her + sleepless night, and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome, M. de Bussy,” said she, “in spite of the fears your + presence awakens.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, madame? how can I cause you fear?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there was a meeting last night between you and M. de St. Luc? confess + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Between me and St. Luc!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he sent me away to speak to you; you belong to the Duc d’Anjou, he + to the king. You have quarrelled—do not hide it from me. You must + understand my anxiety. He went with the king, it is true—but + afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, this is marvelous. I expected you to ask after my wound——” + </p> + <p> + “He wounded you; he did fight, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame; not with me at least; it was not he who wounded me. Indeed, + he did all he could to save me. Did he not tell you so?” + </p> + <p> + “How could he tell me? I have not seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not seen him? Then your porter spoke the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen him since eleven last night.” + </p> + <p> + “But where can he be?” + </p> + <p> + “I should rather ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pardieu, tell me about it, it is very droll.” + </p> + <p> + The poor woman looked at him with astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is very sad, I mean. I have lost much blood, and scarcely know + what I am saying. Tell me this lamentable story, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne told all she knew; how the king had carried him off, the shutting + of the doors of the Louvre, and the message of the guards. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! very well, I understand,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “How! you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; his majesty took him to the Louvre and once there he could not come + out again.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is a state secret.” + </p> + <p> + “But my father went to the Louvre, and I also, and the guards said they + did not know what we meant.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason that he should be there.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it, and if you wish to be so also——” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By seeing.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I go there, they win send me away, as they did before.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to go in?” + </p> + <p> + “But if he is not there?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you he is there. Come; but they will not let in the wife of St. + Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “You laugh at me, and it is very cruel in my distress.” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear lady, listen. You are young, you are tall, and have black eyes; + you are like my youngest page, who looked so well in the cloth of gold + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah I what folly, M. Bussy,” cried Jeanne, blushing. + </p> + <p> + “I have no other method but this. If you wish to see St. Luc——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I would give all the world to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I promise that you shall without giving anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but——” + </p> + <p> + “I told you how.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will do it; shall I send for the dress?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will send you a new one I have at home; then you must join me this + evening at the Rue St. Honoré. and we will go together to the Louvre.” + Jeanne began to laugh, and gave her hand to Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon my suspicions,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Willingly,” and taking leave he went home to prepare. + </p> + <p> + Bussy and Madame de St. Luc met at the appointed time; Jeanne looked + beautiful in her disguise. At the end of the Rue St. Germain-l’Auxerrois + they met a large party in which Bussy recognized the Duc d’Anjou and his + train. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said he, “we will make a triumphal entry into the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! monseigneur,” cried he to the duke. + </p> + <p> + The prince turned. “You, Bussy!” cried he joyfully, “I heard you were + badly wounded, and I was going to your hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, monseigneur, if I am not dead, it is thanks to no one but myself. + You get me into nice situations; that ball at St. Luc’s was a regular + snare, and they have nearly drained all the blood out of my body.” + </p> + <p> + “They shall pay for it, Bussy; they shall pay dearly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you say so,” said Bussy, with his usual liberty, “and you will smile + on the first you meet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! accompany me to the Louvre, and you shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I see, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “How I will speak to my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “You promise me reparation?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you shall be content. You hesitate still, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I know you so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “This is good for you,” whispered Bussy to Jeanne. “There will be a + quarrel between the brothers, and meanwhile you can find St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he to the prince, “I follow you; if I am insulted, at least I + can always revenge myself.” + </p> + <p> + And he took his place near the duke, while his page kept close to him. + </p> + <p> + “Revenge yourself; no, Bussy,” said the prince, “I charge myself with it. + I know your assassins,” added he, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “What! your highness has taken the trouble to inquire?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw them.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” cried Bussy, astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I had business myself at the Porte St. Antoine. They barely missed + killing me in your place. Ah! I did not know it was you they were waiting + for, or else——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Had you this new page with you?” asked the prince, without finishing his + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “No, I was alone, and you?” + </p> + <p> + “I had Aurilly with me; and why were you alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I wish to preserve my name of the brave Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “And they wounded you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to give them the pleasure of knowing it, but I had a severe + wound in the side.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the wretches; Aurilly said he was sure they were bent on mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “How! you saw the ambush, you were with Aurilly, who uses his sword as + well as his lute, you thought they had bad intentions, and you did not + watch to give aid?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know who they were waiting for.” + </p> + <p> + “Mort diable! when you saw the king’s friends, you might have known it was + against some friends of yours. Now, as there is hardly any one but myself + who has courage to be your friend, you might have guessed that it was I.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! perhaps you are right, my dear Bussy, but I did not think of all + that.” + </p> + <p> + When they entered, “Remember your promise,” said Bussy, “I have some one + to speak to.” + </p> + <p> + “You leave me, Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must, but if I hear a great noise I will come to you, so speak + loud.” + </p> + <p> + Then Bussy, followed by Jeanne, took a secret staircase, traversed two or + three corridors, and arrived at an antechamber. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here for me,” said he to Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon Dieu! you leave me alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I must, to provide for your entrance.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC PASSED THE SECOND NIGHT OF HER MARRIAGE. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy went straight to the sleeping-room of the king. There were in it two + beds of velvet and satin, pictures, relics, perfumed sachets from the + East, and a collection of beautiful swords. Bussy knew the king was not + there, as his brother had asked to see him, but he knew that there was + next to it a little room which was occupied in turn by all the king’s + favorites, and which he now expected to find occupied by St. Luc, whom the + king in his great affection had carried off from his wife. Bussy knocked + at the antechamber common to the two rooms. The captain of the guards + opened. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, myself, dear M. de Nancey; the king wishes to speak to M. de St. + Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, tell M. de St. Luc the king wants him.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he doing?” + </p> + <p> + “He is with Chicot, waiting for the king’s return from his brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you permit my page to wait here?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Enter, Jean,” said Bussy, and he pointed to the embrasure of a window, + where she went to hide herself. St. Luc entered, and M. de Nancey retired. + </p> + <p> + “What does the king want now?” cried St. Luc, angrily; “ah! it is you, M. + de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “I, and before everything, let me thank you for the service you rendered + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it was quite natural; I could not bear to see a brave gentleman + assassinated: I thought you killed.” + </p> + <p> + “It did not want much to do it, but I got off with a wound, which I think + I repaid with interest to Schomberg and D’Epernon. As for Quelus, he may + thank the bones of his head: they are the hardest I ever knew.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! tell me about it, it will amuse me a little.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no time now, I come for something else. You are ennuyé——” + </p> + <p> + “To death.” + </p> + <p> + “And a prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Completely. The king pretends no one can amuse him but me. He is very + good, for since yesterday I have made more grimaces than his ape, and been + more rude than his jester.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is my turn to render you a service: can I do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, go to the Marshal de Brissac’s, and reassure my poor little wife, + who must be very uneasy, and must think my conduct very strange.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Morbleu! tell her what you see; that I am a prisoner, and that the king + talks to me of friendship like Cicero, who wrote on it; and of virtue like + Socrates, who practised it. It is in vain I tell him I am ungrateful for + the first, and incredulous as to the last: he only repeats it over again.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon Dieu! I fear so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is done.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “I guessed all this, and told your wife so.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “At first she would not believe; but I trust now,” continued he, glancing + towards the window, “she will yield to evidence. Ask me something more + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, bring here the griffin of Signor Astolfo, and let me mount en + croupe, and go to my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “A more simple thing would be to take the griffin to your wife and bring + her here.” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, here.” + </p> + <p> + “To the Louvre, that would be droll.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so. Then you would be ennuyé no longer?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! no, but if this goes on much longer, I believe I shall kill + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! shall I give you my page?” + </p> + <p> + “To me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is a wonderful lad.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, but I detest pages.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! try him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy, you mock me.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me leave him.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, you will like him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, a hundred times, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Hola, page, come here.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne came forward, blushing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried St. Luc, recognizing her, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Well! shall I send him away?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Ah Bussy, I owe you an eternal friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, you cannot be heard, but you can be seen.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said St. Luc, retreating from his wife. Indeed, M. de Nancey + was beginning to wonder what was going on, when a great noise was heard + from the gallery. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Nancey, “there is the king quarreling with + some one.” + </p> + <p> + “I really think so,” replied Bussy, affecting inquietude; “can it be with + the Duc d’Anjou, who came with me?” + </p> + <p> + The captain of the guard went off in the direction of the gallery. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not managed well?” said Bussy to St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “M. d’Anjou and the king are quarrelling; I must go to them. You profit by + the time to place in safety the page I have brought you; is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; luckily I declared I was ill and must keep my room.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, adieu, madame, and remember me in your prayers.” And Bussy + went off to the gallery, where the king, red with fury, swore to the duke, + who was pale with anger, that in the scene of the preceding night Bussy + was the aggressor. + </p> + <p> + “I affirm to you, sire,” cried the duke, “that D’Epernon, Schomberg and + Quelus were waiting for him at the Hôtel des Tournelles.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you so?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw them with my own eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “In that darkness! The night was pitch dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew their voices.” + </p> + <p> + “They spoke to you?” + </p> + <p> + “They did more, they took me for Bussy, and attacked me.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I.” + </p> + <p> + “And what were you doing there?” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to know; I am curious to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to Manasses.” + </p> + <p> + “A Jew?” + </p> + <p> + “You go to Ruggieri, a poisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “I go where I like: I am the king. Besides, as I said, Bussy was the + aggressor.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At St. Luc’s ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy provoked five men? No, no, he is brave, but he is not mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Par la mordieu! I tell you I heard him. Besides, he has wounded Schomberg + in the thigh, D’Epernon in the arm, and half killed Quelus.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! really I did not know; I compliment him on it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will make example of this brawler.” + </p> + <p> + “And I, whom your friends attack, in his person and in my own, will know + if I am your brother, and if——” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Bussy, dressed in pale-green satin, entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Sire!” said he, “receive my humble respects.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! here he is,” cried Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Your majesty, it seems, was doing me the honor of speaking of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I am glad to see that, in spite of what they told me, your look + shows good health.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, blood drawn improves the complexion, so mine ought to be good this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, since they have wounded you, complain, and I will do you justice.” + </p> + <p> + “I complain of nothing, sire.” + </p> + <p> + Henri looked astonished. “What did you say?” said he to the duke. + </p> + <p> + “I said that Bussy had received a wound in his side.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true, Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “The first prince of the blood would not lie, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you do not complain?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never complain, sire, until they cut off my right-hand, and + prevent my revenging myself, and then I will try to do it with the left.” + </p> + <p> + “Insolent,” murmured Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said the duke, “do justice; we ask no better. Order an inquiry, + name judges, and let it be proved who prepared the ambush and the intended + murder.” + </p> + <p> + Henri reddened. “No,” said he, “I prefer this time to be ignorant where + the wrong lies, and to pardon everyone. I wish these enemies to make + peace, and I am sorry that Schomberg and D’Epernon are kept at home by + their wounds. Say, M. d’Anjou, which do you call the most forward to fight + of all my friends, as you say you saw them?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, it was Quelus.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! yes,” said Quelus, “his highness is right.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Henri, “let MM. Bussy and Quelus make peace in the name of + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh!” said Quelus, “what does that mean, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “It means that you are to embrace here, before me.” Quelus frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, signor,” cried Bussy, imitating a pantaloon, “will you not do me this + favor?” + </p> + <p> + Even the king laughed. Then, approaching Quelus, Bussy threw his arms + round his neck, saying, “The king wishes it.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it engages us to nothing,” whispered Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Be easy,” answered Bussy, “we will meet soon.” + </p> + <p> + Quelus drew back in a rage, and Bussy, making a pirouette, went out of the + gallery. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <h3> + LE PETIT COUCHER OF HENRI III. + </h3> + <p> + After this scene, beginning in tragedy and ending in comedy, the king, + still angry, went to his room, followed by Chicot, who asked for his + supper. + </p> + <p> + “I am not hungry,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “It is possible, but I am.” + </p> + <p> + The king did not seem to hear. He unclasped his cloak, took off his cap, + and, advancing to the passage which led to St. Luc’s room, said to Chicot, + “Wait here for me till I return.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do not be in a hurry,” said Chicot. No sooner was the king gone, than + Chicot opened the door and called “Hola!” + </p> + <p> + A valet came. “The king has changed his mind,” said Chicot, “he wishes a + good supper here for himself and St. Luc, above all, plenty of wine, and + despatch.” + </p> + <p> + The valet went to execute the orders, which he believed to be the king’s. + Henri meanwhile had passed into St. Luc’s room. He found him in bed, + having prayers read to him by an old servant who had followed him to the + Louvre, and shared his captivity. In a corner, on an armchair, his head + buried in his hands, slept the page. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that young man?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Did not your majesty authorize me to send for a page.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have profited by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Does your majesty repent of having allowed me this little indulgence?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, on the contrary, amuse yourself, my son. How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I have a fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, your face is red; let me feel your pulse, I am half a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc held out his hand with visible ill-humor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the king, “intermittent—agitated.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire, I am very ill.” + </p> + <p> + “I will send you my doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sire, but I hate Miron.” + </p> + <p> + “I will watch you myself. You shall have a bed in my room, and we will + talk all night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried St Luc, “you see me ill, and you want to keep me from + sleeping. That is a singular way to treat your patient, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot be left alone, suffering as you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I have my page, Jean.” + </p> + <p> + “But he sleeps.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I like best, then he will not disturb me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, come and assist at my going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall be free to come back to bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so be it. But I shall make a bad courtier, I assure you; I am dying + with sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall yawn at your ease.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, if your majesty will leave me, I will be with you in five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, five minutes, but no longer.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as the door was shut, the page jumped up. “Ah! St. Luc,” cried + she, “you are going to leave me again. Mon Dieu! I shall die of fright + here, if they discover me.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Jeanne, Gaspard here will protect you.” + </p> + <p> + “Had I not better go back?” + </p> + <p> + “If you really wish it, Jeanne,” said St. Luc, sadly, “you shall. But if + you are as good as you are beautiful, if you have any feeling in your + heart for me, you will wait here a little. I shall suffer so much from my + head and nerves that the king will not long keep so sad a companion.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, then,” said Jeanne, “and I will wait.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Jeanne, you are adorable. Trust me to returns as soon as + possible, Besides, I have an idea, which I will tell you when I return.” + </p> + <p> + “An idea which will restore your liberty?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go,” + </p> + <p> + “Gaspard,” said St. Luc, “prevent any one from entering here, and in a + quarter of an hour lock the door, and bring me the key to the king’s room. + Then go home, and tell them not to be uneasy about Madame la Comtesse, and + come back to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Then St. Luc kissed his wife’s hand, and went to the king, who was already + growing impatient. Jeanne, alone and trembling, hid behind the curtains of + the bed. When St. Luc entered he found the king amidst a perfect carpet of + flowers, of which the stalks had been cut off-roses, jasmine, violets, and + wall-flowers, in spite of the severe weather, formed an odorous carpet for + Henry III. The chamber, of which the roof was painted, had in it two beds, + one of which was so large as to occupy a third of the room. It was hung + with gold and silk tapestry, representing mythological figures and the + windows had curtains to match. From the center of the ceiling hung, + suspended by a golden chain, a silver gilt lamp, in which burned a + perfumed oil. At the side of the bed was a golden satyr, holding in his + hand a candelabrum, containing four rose-color wax candles, also perfumed. + </p> + <p> + The king, with his naked feet resting on the flowers, was seated on a + chair of ebony inlaid with gold; he had on his knees seven or eight young + spaniels, who were licking his bands. Two servants were curling his hair, + his mustachios, and beard, a third was covering his face with a kind of + cream, which had a most delightful scent. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” cried Chicot, “the grease and the combs, I will try them too.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot,” said Henri, “your skin is too dry, and will use too much cream, + and your beard is so hard, it will break my combs. Well, my son,” said he, + turning to St. Luc, “how is your head?” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc put his hand to his head and groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Imagine!” continued Henri, “I have seen Bussy d’Amboise.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy!” cried St. Luc, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, those fools! five of them attacked him, and let him escape. If you + had been there, St. Luc——” + </p> + <p> + “I should probably have been like the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no, I wager you are as good as Bussy. We will try to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I am too ill for anything.” + </p> + <p> + Henri, hearing a singular noise, turned round, and saw Chicot eating up + all the supper that had been brought for two. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you doing, M. Chicot?” cried Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Taking my cream internally, since you will not allow me to do it + outwardly.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and fetch my captain of the guards,” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Chicot, emptying a porcelain cup of chocolate. + </p> + <p> + “To pass his sword through your body.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! let him come, we shall see!” cried Chicot, putting himself in such a + comical attitude of defense that every one laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But I am hungry,” cried the king; “and the wretch has eaten up all the + supper.” + </p> + <p> + “You are capricious, Henri; I offered you supper and you refused. However, + your bouillon is left; I am no longer hungry, and I am going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “And I also,” said St. Luc, “for I can stand no longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, St. Luc,” said the king, “take these,” and he offered him a handful + of little dogs. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To sleep with you; they will take your illness from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, sire,” said St. Luc, putting them back in their basket, “but I + have no confidence in your receipt.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come and visit you in the night, St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray do not, sire, you will only disturb me,” and saluting the king, he + went away. Chicot had already disappeared, and there only remained with + the king the valets, who covered his face with a mask of fine cloth, + plastered with the perfumed cream, in which were holes for the eyes, nose, + and mouth; a cap of silk and silver fixed it on the forehead and ears. + They next covered his arms with sleeves made of wadded silk, and then + presented him with kid gloves, also greased inside. + </p> + <p> + These mysteries of the royal toilet finished, they presented to him his + soup in a golden cup. Then Henri said a prayer, a short one that night, + and went to bed. + </p> + <p> + When settled there, he ordered them to carry away the flowers, which were + beginning to make the air sickly, and to open the window for a moment. + Then the valet closed the doors and curtains, and called in Narcissus, the + king’s favorite dog, who, jumping on the bed, settled himself at once on + the king’s feet. The valet next put out the wax-lights, lowered the lamp, + and went out softly. + </p> + <p> + Already, more tranquil and nonchalant than the lazy monks of his kingdom + in their fat abbeys, the King of France no longer remembered that there + was a France.—He slept. + </p> + <p> + Every noise was hushed, and one might have heard a bat fly in the somber + corridors of the Louvre. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW, WITHOUT ANY ONE KNOWING WHY, THE KING WAS CONVERTED BEFORE THE NEXT + DAY. + </h3> + <p> + Three hours passed thus. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, a terrible cry was heard, which came from the king’s room. + </p> + <p> + All the lights in his room were out, and no sound was to be heard except + this strange call of the king’s. For it was he who had cried. + </p> + <p> + Soon was heard the noise of furniture falling, porcelain breaking, steps + running about the room, and the barking of dogs-mingled with new cries. + Almost instantly lights burned, swords shone in the galleries, and the + heavy steps of the Guards were heard. + </p> + <p> + “To arms!” cried all, “the king calls.” + </p> + <p> + And the captain of the guard, the colonel of the Swiss, and some + attendants, rushed into the king’s room with flambeaux. + </p> + <p> + Near an overturned chair, broken cups, and disordered bed, stood Henri, + looking terrified and grotesque in his night-dress. His right hand was + extended, trembling like a leaf in the wind, and his left held his sword, + which he had seized mechanically. + </p> + <p> + He appeared dumb through terror, and all the spectators, not daring to + break the silence, waited with the utmost anxiety. + </p> + <p> + Then appeared, half dressed and wrapped in a large cloak, the young queen, + Louise de Lorraine, blonde and gentle, who led the life of a saint upon + earth, and who had been awakened by her husband’s cries. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” cried she, also trembling, “what is the matter? Mon Dieu! I heard + your cries, and I came.” + </p> + <p> + “It—it is nothing,” said the king, without moving his eyes, which + seemed to be looking up the air for some form invisible to all but him. + </p> + <p> + “But your majesty cried out; is your majesty suffering?” asked the queen. + </p> + <p> + Terror was so visibly painted on the king’s countenance, that it began to + gain on the others. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sire!” cried the queen again, “in Heaven’s name do not leave us in + this suspense. Will you have a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “A doctor, no,” cried Henri, in the same tone, “the body is not ill, it is + the mind; no doctor—a confessor.” + </p> + <p> + Everyone looked round; nowhere was there to be seen any traces of what had + so terrified the king. However, a confessor was sent for; Joseph Foulon, + superior of the convent of St. Généviève, was torn from his bed, to come + to the king. With the confessor, the tumult ceased, and silence was + reestablished; everyone conjectured and wondered—the king was + confessing. + </p> + <p> + The next day the king rose early, and began to read prayers then he + ordered all his friends to be sent for. They sent to St. Luc, but he was + more suffering than ever. His sleep, or rather his lethargy, had been so + profound, that he alone had heard nothing of the tumult in the night, + although he slept so near. He begged to be left in bed. At this deplorable + recital, Henri crossed himself, and sent him a doctor. + </p> + <p> + Then he ordered that all the scourges from the convent should be brought + to him, and, going to his friends, distributed them, ordering them to + scourge each other as hard as they could. + </p> + <p> + D’Epernon said that as his right arm was in a sling, and he could not + return the blows he received, he ought to be exempt, but the king replied + that that would only make it the more acceptable to God. + </p> + <p> + He himself set the example. He took off his doublet, waistcoat, and shirt, + and struck himself like a martyr. Chicot tried to laugh, as usual, but was + warned by a terrible look, that this was not the right time, and he was + forced to take a scourge like the others. + </p> + <p> + All at once the king left the room, telling them to wait for him. + Immediately the blows ceased, only Chicot continued to strike D’O, whom he + hated, and D’O returned it as well as he could. It was a duel with whips. + </p> + <p> + The king went to the queen, gave her a pearl necklace worth 25,000 crowns, + and kissed her, which he had not done for a year. Then he asked her to put + off her royal ornaments and put on a sack. + </p> + <p> + Louise, always good, consented, but asked why her husband gave her a + necklace, and yet made such a request. + </p> + <p> + “For my sins,” replied he. + </p> + <p> + The queen said no more, for she knew, better than any one, how many he had + to repent of. + </p> + <p> + Henri returned, which was a signal for the flagellation to recommence. In + ten minutes the queen arrived, with her sack on her shoulders. Then tapers + were distributed to all the court, and barefooted, through the snow, all + the courtiers and fine ladies went to Montmartre, shivering. At five + o’clock the promenade was over, the convents had received rich presents, + the feet of all the court were swollen, and the backs of the courtiers + sore. There had been tears, cries, prayers, incense, and psalms. Everyone + had suffered, without knowing why the king, who danced the night before, + scourged himself to-day. As for Chicot, he had escaped at the Porte + Montmartre, and, with Brother Gorenflot, had entered a public-house, where + he had eaten and drank. Then he had rejoined the procession and returned + to the Louvre. + </p> + <p> + In the evening the king, fatigued with his fast and his exercise, ordered + himself a light supper, had his shoulders washed, and then went to visit + St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried he, “God has done well to render life so bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “Because then man, instead of fearing death, longs for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak for yourself, sire, I do not long for it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, St. Luc, will you follow my example?” + </p> + <p> + “If I think it a good one.” + </p> + <p> + “I will leave my throne, and you your wife, and we will enter a cloister. + I will call myself Brother Henri——” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, sire, if you do not care for your crown, of which you are tired, + I care very much for my wife, whom I know so little. Therefore I refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you are better.” + </p> + <p> + “Infinitely better, sire; I feel quite joyous, and disposed for happiness + and pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor St. Luc!” cried the king, clasping his hands. + </p> + <p> + “You should have asked me yesterday, sire, then I was ill and cross. I + would have thrown myself into a well for a trifle. But this evening it is + quite a different thing. I have passed a good night and a charming day. + Mordieu, vive la joie!” + </p> + <p> + “You swear, St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I, sire? but I think you swear sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “I have sworn, St. Luc, but I shall swear no more.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say that; I will not swear more than I can help, and God is + merciful.” + </p> + <p> + “You think he will pardon me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I speak for myself, not for you, sire. You have sinned as a king, I + as a private man, and we shall, I trust, be differently judged.” + </p> + <p> + The king sighed. “St. Luc,” said he, “will you pass the night in my room?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what should we do?” + </p> + <p> + “We will light all the lamps, I will go to bed, and you shall read prayers + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not?” + </p> + <p> + “On no account.” + </p> + <p> + “You abandon me, St. Luc!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will stay with your majesty, if you will send for music and ladies, + and have a dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, St. Luc, St. Luc!” + </p> + <p> + “I am wild to-night, sire, I want to dance and drink.” + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc,” said the king, solemnly, “do you ever dream?” + </p> + <p> + “Often, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe in dreams?” + </p> + <p> + “With reason.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Dreams console for the reality. Last night I had a charming dream.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed that my wife——” + </p> + <p> + “You still think of your wife?” + </p> + <p> + “More than ever, sire; well, I dreamed that she, with her charming face—for + she is pretty, sire——” + </p> + <p> + “So was Eve, who ruined us all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my wife had procured wings and the form of a bird, and so, braving + locks and bolts, she passed over the walls of the Louvre, and came to my + window, crying, ‘Open, St. Luc, open, my husband.’” + </p> + <p> + “And you opened?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Worldly.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you woke?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, the dream was too charming; and I hope to-night to dream + again; therefore I refuse your majesty’s obliging offer. If I sit up, let + me at least have something to pay me for losing my dream. If your majesty + will do as I said——” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, St. Luc. I trust Heaven will send you a dream to-night which will + lead you to repentance.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it, sire, and I advise you to send away this libertine St. Luc, + who is resolved not to amend.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I hope, before to-morrow, grace will have touched you as it has + me. Good night, I will pray for you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE KING WAS AFRAID OF BEING AFRAID. + </h3> + <p> + When the king left St. Luc, he found the court, according to his orders, + in the great gallery. Then he gave D’O, D’Epernon and Schomberg an order + to retire into the provinces, threatened Quelus and Maugiron to punish + them if they quarreled anymore with Bussy, to whom he gave his hand to + kiss, and then embraced his brother François. + </p> + <p> + As for the queen, he was prodigal in politeness to her. + </p> + <p> + When the usual time for retiring approached, the king seemed trying to + retard it. At last ten o’clock struck. + </p> + <p> + “Come with me, Chicot,” then said he, “good night, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, gentlemen,” said Chicot, “we are going to bed. I want my + barber, my hairdresser, my valet de chambre, and, above all, my cream.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the king, “I want none of them to-night; Lent is going to + begin.” + </p> + <p> + “I regret the cream,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + The king and Chicot entered the room, which we already know. + </p> + <p> + “Ah ça! Henri,” said Chicot, “I am the favorite to-night. Am I handsomer + than that Cupid, Quelus?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Chicot, and you, gentlemen of the toilette, go out.” + </p> + <p> + They obeyed, and the king and Chicot were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you send them away?” asked Chicot, “they have not greased us yet. + Are you going to grease me with your own royal hand? It would be an act of + humility.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us pray,” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, that is not amusing. If that be what you called me here for, I + prefer to return to the bad company I have left. Adieu, my son. Good + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! this is tyranny. You are a despot, a Phalaris, a Dionysius. All day + you have made me tear the shoulders of my friends with cow-hide, and now + we are to begin again. Do not let us do it, Henri, when there’s but two, + every blow tells.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, miserable chatterer, and think of repentance.” + </p> + <p> + “I repent! And of what? Of being jester to a monk. Confiteor—I + repent, mea culpa, it is a great sin.” + </p> + <p> + “No sacrilege, wretch.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I would rather he shut up in a cage with lions and apes, than with a + mad king. Adieu, I am going.” + </p> + <p> + The king locked the door. + </p> + <p> + “Henri, you look sinister; if you do not let me go, I will cry, I will + call, I will break the window, I will kick down the door.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot,” said the king, in a melancholy tone, “you abuse my sadness.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand, you are afraid to be alone. Tyrants always are so. Take + my long sword, and let me take the scabbard to my room.” + </p> + <p> + At the word “afraid,” Henri shuddered, and he looked nervously around, and + seemed so agitated and grew so pale, that Chicot began to think him really + ill, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Come, my son, what is the matter, tell your troubles to your friend + Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + The king looked at him and said, “Yes, you are my friend, my only friend.” + </p> + <p> + “There is,” said Chicot, “the abbey of Valency vacant.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Chicot, you are discreet.” + </p> + <p> + “There is also that of Pithiviers, where they make such good pies.” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of your buffooneries, you are a brave man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do not give me an abbey, give me a regiment.” + </p> + <p> + “And even a wise one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do not give me a regiment, make me a counselor; but no, when I think + of it, I should prefer a regiment, for I should be always forced to be of + the king’s opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, Chicot, the terrible hour approaches.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are beginning again.” + </p> + <p> + “You will hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear what?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, and the event will show you. Chicot, you are brave!” + </p> + <p> + “I boast of it, but I do not wish to try. Call your captain of the guard, + your Swiss, and let me go away from this invisible danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, I command you to stay.” + </p> + <p> + “On my word, a nice master. I am afraid, I tell you. Help!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, drôle, if I must, I will tell you all.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Chicot, drawing his sword, “once warned, I do not care; tell, + my son, tell. Is it a crocodile? my sword is sharp, for I use it every + week to cut my corns.” And Chicot sat down in the armchair with his drawn + sword between his legs. + </p> + <p> + “Last night,” said Henri, “I slept——” + </p> + <p> + “And I also,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Suddenly a breath swept over my face.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the dog, who was hungry, and who licked your cream.” + </p> + <p> + “I half woke, and felt my beard bristle with terror under my mask.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you make me tremble deliciously.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” continued the king, in a trembling voice, “then a voice sounded + through the room, with a doleful vibration.” + </p> + <p> + “The voice of the crocodile! I have read in Marco Polo, that the crocodile + has a voice like the crying of children; but be easy, my son, for if it + comes, we will kill it.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Listen! miserable sinner,’ said the voice——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it spoke; then it was not a crocodile.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Miserable sinner,’ said the voice, ‘I am the angel of God.’” + </p> + <p> + “The angel of God!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Chicot, it was a frightful voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it like the sound of a trumpet?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Are you there?’ continued the voice, ‘do you hear, hardened sinner; are + you determined to persevere in your iniquities?’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, really; he said very much the same as other people, it seems to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Chicot, followed many other reproaches, which I assure you were + most painful.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me what he said, that I may see if he was well informed?” + </p> + <p> + “Impious! do you doubt?” + </p> + <p> + “I? all that astonishes me is, that he waited so long to reproach you. So, + my son, you were dreadfully afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, the marrow seemed to dry in my bones.” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite natural; on my word, I do not know what I should have done in + your place. And then you called?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And they came?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And there was no one here?” + </p> + <p> + “No one.” + </p> + <p> + “It is frightful.” + </p> + <p> + “So frightful, that I sent for my confessor.” + </p> + <p> + “And he came?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, be frank, my son; tell the truth for once. What did he think of your + revelation?” + </p> + <p> + “He shuddered.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “He ordered me to repent, as the voice told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. There can be no harm in repenting. But what did he think of + the vision?” + </p> + <p> + “That it was a miracle, and that I must think of it seriously. Therefore, + this morning——” + </p> + <p> + “What have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave 100,000 livres to the Jesuits.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “And scourged myself and my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfect! but after?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think of it, Chicot? It is not to the jester I speak, + but to the man of sense, to my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sire, I think your majesty had the nightmare.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was a dream, which will not be renewed, unless your majesty + thinks too much about it.” + </p> + <p> + “A dream? No, Chicot, I was awake, my eyes were open.” + </p> + <p> + “I sleep like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but then you do not see, and I saw the moon shining through my + windows, and its light on the amethyst in the hilt of my sword, which lay + in that chair where you are.” + </p> + <p> + “And the lamp?” + </p> + <p> + “Had gone out.” + </p> + <p> + “A dream, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not believe, Chicot? It is said that God speaks to kings, when + He wishes to effect some change on the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he speaks, but so low that they never hear Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you know why I made you stay?—that you might hear as well + as I.” + </p> + <p> + “No one would believe me if I said I heard it.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, it is a secret which I confide to your known fidelity.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I accept. Perhaps it will also speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what must I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Go to bed, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “But——” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that sitting up will keep it away?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you remain.” + </p> + <p> + “I said so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I will go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Good.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will not?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, I will stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not go to sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that I cannot promise; sleep is like fear, my son, a thing + independent of will.” + </p> + <p> + “You will try, at least?” + </p> + <p> + “Be easy; I will pinch myself. Besides, the voice would wake me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not joke about the voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + The king sighed, looked round anxiously, and glided tremblingly into bed. + Then Chicot established him in his chair, arranging round him the pillows + and cushions. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel, sire?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well; and you?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; good night, Henri.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Chicot; do not go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said Chicot, yawning fit to break his jaws. + </p> + <p> + And they both closed their eyes, the king to pretend to sleep, Chicot to + sleep really. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE ANGEL MADE A MISTAKE AND SPOKE TO CHICOT, THINKING IT WAS THE + KING. + </h3> + <p> + The king and Chicot remained thus for some time. All at once the king + jumped up in his bed. Chicot woke at the noise. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked he in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “The breath on my face.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, one of the wax lights went out, then the other, and the rest + followed. Then the lamp also went out, and the room was lighted only by + the rays of the moon. At the same moment they heard a hollow voice, + saying, apparently from the end of the room,— + </p> + <p> + “Hardened sinner, art thou there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Henri, with chattering teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” thought Chicot, “that is a very hoarse voice to come from heaven; + nevertheless, it is dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear?” asked the voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I am bowed down to the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe you obeyed me by all the exterior mummeries which you + performed yesterday, without your heart being touched?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well said,” thought Chicot. He approached the king softly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe now?” asked the king, with clasped hands. + </p> + <p> + “Wait.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! leave your bed quietly, and let me get in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “That the anger of the Lord may fall first on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think He will spare me for that?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us try,” and he pushed the king gently out and got into his place. + </p> + <p> + “Now, go to my chair, and leave all to me.” + </p> + <p> + Henri obeyed; he began to understand. + </p> + <p> + “You do not reply,” said the voice; “you are hardened in sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! pardon! pardon!” cried Chicot, imitating the king’s voice. Then he + whispered to Henri, “It is droll that the angel does not know me.” + </p> + <p> + “What can it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Wretch!” said the voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I confess,” said Chicot; “I am a hardened sinner, a dreadful + sinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Then acknowledge your crimes, and repent.” + </p> + <p> + “I acknowledge to have been a great traitor to my cousin Condé, whose wife + I seduced.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! hush,” said the king, “that is so long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I acknowledge,” continued Chicot, “to have been a great rogue to the + Poles, who chose me for king, and whom I abandoned one night, carrying + away the crown jewels. I repent of this.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” whispered Henri again: “that is all forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! let me speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the voice. + </p> + <p> + “I acknowledge having stolen the crown from my brother D’Alençon, to whom + it belonged of right, as I had formerly renounced it on accepting the + crown of Poland.” + </p> + <p> + “Knave!” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the voice. + </p> + <p> + “I acknowledge having joined my mother, to chase from France my + brother-in-law, the King of Navarre, after having destroyed all his + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” whispered the king, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, do not let us offend God, by trying to hide what He knows as well + as we do.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave politics,” said the voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Chicot, with a doleful voice, “is it my private life I am to + speak of?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I acknowledge, then, that I am effeminate, idle, and hypocritical.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “I have ill-treated my wife—such a worthy woman.” + </p> + <p> + “One ought to love one’s wife as one’s self, and prefer her to all + things,” said the voice, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Chicot, “then I have sinned deeply.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have made others sin by your example.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially that poor St. Luc; and if you do not send him home to-morrow + to his wife, there will be no pardon for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Chicot to the king, “the voice seems to be friendly to the + house of Cossé.” + </p> + <p> + “And you must make him a duke, to recompense him for his forced stay.” + </p> + <p> + “Peste!” said Chicot; “the angel is much interested for M. de St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried the king, without listening, “this voice from on high will + kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “Voice from the side, you mean,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “How! a voice from the side?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; can you not hear that the voice comes from that wall, Henri?—the + angel lodges in the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Blasphemer!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it is honorable for you; but you do not seem to recognize it. Go and + visit him; he is only separated from you by that partition.” + </p> + <p> + A ray of the moon falling on Chicot’s face, showed it to the king so + laughing and amused, that he said, “What! you dare to laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and so will you in a minute. Be reasonable, and do as I tell you. Go + and see if the angel be not in the next room.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he speak again?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am here to answer. He is vastly credulous. For the last quarter + of an hour I have been talking, and he has not recognized me. It is not + clever!” + </p> + <p> + Henri frowned. “I begin to believe you are right, Chicot,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Go, then.” + </p> + <p> + Henri opened softly the door which led into the corridor. He had scarcely + entered it, when he heard the voice redoubling its reproaches, and Chicot + replying. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the voice, “you are as inconstant as a woman, as soft as a + Sybarite, as irreligious as a heathen.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” whined Chicot, “is it my fault if I have such a soft skin—such + white hands—such a changeable mind? But from to-day I will alter—I + will wear coarse linen——” + </p> + <p> + However, as Henri advanced, he found that Chicot’s voice grew fainter, and + the other louder, and that it seemed to come from St. Luc’s room, in which + he could see a light. He stooped down and peeped through the keyhole, and + immediately grew pale with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Par la mordieu!” murmured he, “is it possible that they have dared to + play such a trick?” + </p> + <p> + This is what he saw through the keyhole. St. Luc, in a dressing-gown, was + roaring through a tube the words which he had found so dreadful, and + beside him, leaning on his shoulder, was a lady in white, who every now + and then took the tube from him, and called through something herself, + while stifled bursts of laughter accompanied each sentence of Chicot’s, + who continued to answer in a doleful tone. + </p> + <p> + “Jeanne de Cossé in St. Luc’s room! A hole in the wall! such a trick on + me! Oh! they shall pay dearly for it!”. And with a vigorous kick he burst + open the door. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne rushed behind the curtains to hide herself, while St. Luc, his face + full of terror, fell on his knees before the king, who was pale with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Chicot, from the bed, “Ah! mercy!—Holy Virgin! I am + dying!” + </p> + <p> + Henri, seizing, in a transport of rage, the trumpet from the hands of St. + Luc, raised it as if to strike. But St. Luc jumped up and cried— + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I am a gentleman; you have no right to strike me!” + </p> + <p> + Henri dashed the trumpet violently on the ground. Some one picked it up; + it was Chicot, who, hearing the noise, judged that his presence was + necessary as a mediator. He ran to the curtain, and, drawing out poor + Jeanne, all trembling— + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said he, “Adam and Eve after the Fall. You send them away, Henri, do + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will be the exterminating angel.” + </p> + <p> + And throwing himself between, the king and St. Luc, and waving the trumpet + over the heads of the guilty couple, said— + </p> + <p> + “This is my Paradise, which you have lost by your disobedience; I forbid + you to return to it.” + </p> + <p> + Then he whispered to St. Luc, who had his arm round his wife— + </p> + <p> + “If you have a good horse, kill it, but be twenty leagues from here before + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BUSSY WENT TO SEEK FOR THE REALITY OF HIS DREAM. + </h3> + <p> + When Bussy returned home again, he was still thinking of his dream. + </p> + <p> + “Morbleu!” said he, “it is impossible that a dream should have left such a + vivid impression on my mind. I see it all so clearly;—the bed, the + lady, the doctor. I must seek for it—surely I can find it again.” + Then Bussy, after having the bandage of his wound resettled by a valet, + put on high boots, took his sword, wrapped himself in his cloak, and set + off for the same place where he had been nearly murdered the night before, + and nearly at the same hour. + </p> + <p> + He went in a litter to the Rue Roi-de-Sicile, then got out, and told his + servants to wait for him. It was about nine in the evening, the curfew had + sounded, and Paris was deserted. Bussy arrived at the Bastile, then he + sought for the place where his horse had fallen, and thought he had found + it; he next endeavored to repeat his movements of the night before, + retreated to the wall, and examined every door to find the corner against + which he had leaned, but all the doors seemed alike. + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu!” said he, “if I were to knock at each of these doors question + all the lodgers, spend a thousand crowns to make valets and old women + speak, I might learn what I want to know. There are fifty houses; it would + take me at least five nights.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he perceived a small and trembling light approaching. + </p> + <p> + This light advanced slowly, and irregularly, stopping occasionally, moving + on again, and going first to the right, then to the left, then, for a + minute, coming straight on, and again diverging. Bussy leaned against a + door, and waited. The light continued to advance, and soon he could see a + black figure, which, as it advanced, took the form of a man, holding a + lantern in his left hand. He appeared to Bussy to belong to the honorable + fraternity of drunkards, for nothing else seemed to explain the eccentric + movements of the lantern. At last he slipped over a piece of ice, and + fell. Bussy was about to come forward and offer his assistance, but the + man and the lantern were quickly up again, and advanced directly towards + him, when he saw, to his great surprise, that the man had a bandage over + his eyes. “Well!” thought he, “it is a strange thing to play at blind + man’s buff with a lantern in your hand. Am I beginning to dream again? + And, good heavens! he is talking to himself. If he be not drunk or mad, he + is a mathematician.” + </p> + <p> + This last surmise was suggested by the words that Bussy heard. + </p> + <p> + “488, 489, 490,” murmured the man, “it must be near here.” And then he + raised his bandage, and finding himself in front of a house, examined it + attentively. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not this,” he said. Then, putting back his bandage, he + recommenced his walk and his calculations. “491, 492, 493, 494; I must be + close.” And he raised his bandage again, and, approaching the door next to + that against which Bussy was standing, began again to examine. + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” said he, “it might, but all these doors are so alike.” + </p> + <p> + “The same reflection I have just made,” thought Bussy. + </p> + <p> + However, the mathematician now advanced to the next door, and going up to + it, found himself face to face with Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried he, stepping back. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “It is not possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but it is extraordinary. You are the doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “And you the gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! how strange.” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor,” continued Bussy, “who yesterday dressed a wound for a + gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in the right side.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so. You had a gentle, light, and skilful hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sir, I did not expect to find you here.” + </p> + <p> + “But what were you looking for?” + </p> + <p> + “The house.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not know it?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I? They brought me here with my eyes bandaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you really came here?” + </p> + <p> + “Either to this house or the next.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I did not dream?” + </p> + <p> + “Dream?” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I feared it was all a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I fancied there was some mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “A mystery which you must help me to unravel.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, to such a question I ought, perhaps, to reply by looking + fierce, and saying, ‘Yours, monsieur, if you please; but you have a long + sword, and I only a lancet; you seem to me a gentleman, and I cannot + appear so to you, for I am wet and dirty. Therefore, I reply frankly: I am + called Rémy-le-Haudouin.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, monsieur; I thank you. I am Louis de Clermont, Comte de + Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy d’Amboise! the hero Bussy!” cried the young doctor, joyfully. + “What, monsieur, you are that famous Bussy——?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Bussy,” replied he. “And now, wet and dirty as you are, will you + satisfy my curiosity?” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” said the young man, “that I shall be obliged, like + Epaminondas the Theban, to stay two days at home, for I have but one + doublet and trousers. But, pardon, you did me the honor to question me, I + think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, I asked you how you came to this house?” + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte, this is how it happened; I lodge in the Rue Beauheillis, 502 + steps from here. I am a poor surgeon, not unskilful, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I can answer for that.” + </p> + <p> + “And who has studied much, but without any patients. Seven or eight days + ago, a man having received behind the Arsenal a stab with a knife, I sewed + up the wound, and cured him. This made for me some reputation in the + neighborhood, to which I attribute the happiness of having been last night + awoke by a pretty voice.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but, rustic as I am, I knew it to be the voice of a servant. I know + them well.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I rose and opened my door, but scarcely had I done so, when two little + hands, not very soft, but not very hard, put a bandage over my eyes, + without saying anything.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh!’ she said, ‘come, do not try to see where you are going, be + discreet, here is your recompense;’ and she placed in my hand a purse.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! and what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “That I was ready to follow my charming conductress. I did not know if she + were charming or not, but I thought that the epithet, even if exaggerated, + could do no harm.” + </p> + <p> + “And you asked no more?” + </p> + <p> + “I had often read these kinds of histories in books, and I had remarked + that they always turned out well for the doctor. Therefore I followed, and + I counted 498 paces.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; then this must be the door.” + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be far off, at all events, unless she led me by some detour, + which I half suspect.” + </p> + <p> + “But did she pronounce no name?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + “But you remarked something?” + </p> + <p> + “All that one could with one’s fingers, a door with nails, then a passage, + and then a staircase——” + </p> + <p> + “On the left?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and I counted the steps. Then I think we came to a corridor, for + they opened three doors.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I heard another voice, and that belonged to the mistress, I am sure; + it was sweet and gentle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, it was hers.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, it was hers.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they pushed me into the room where you were, and told me to take off + my bandage, when I saw you——” + </p> + <p> + “Where was I?” + </p> + <p> + “On a bed.” + </p> + <p> + “A bed of white and gold damask?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “In a room hung with tapestry?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “And a painted ceiling?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and between two windows——” + </p> + <p> + “A portrait?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Representing a woman about nineteen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Blonde, and beautiful as an angel?” + </p> + <p> + “More beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! what did you do then?” + </p> + <p> + “I dressed your wound.” + </p> + <p> + “And, ma foi! very well.” + </p> + <p> + “As well as I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Admirably! this morning it was nearly well.” + </p> + <p> + “It is thanks to a balm I have composed, and which appears to me + sovereign, for many times, not knowing who to practise upon, I have made + wounds on myself, and they were always well in two or three days.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear M. Rémy, you are a charming doctor. Well, afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “You fainted again. The voice asked me how you were.” + </p> + <p> + “From whence?” + </p> + <p> + “From a room at the side.” + </p> + <p> + “So you did not see her?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And you replied?” + </p> + <p> + “That the wound was not dangerous, and in twenty-four hours would be + well.” + </p> + <p> + “She seemed pleased?” + </p> + <p> + “Charmed; for she cried, ‘I am very glad of that.’” + </p> + <p> + “My dear M. Rémy, I will make your fortune. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “That was all; I had no more to do; and the voice said, ‘M. Rémy——‘” + </p> + <p> + “She knew your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; ‘M. Rémy,’ said she, ‘be a man of honor to the last; do not + compromise a poor woman carried away by an excess of humanity. Take your + bandage, and let them take you straight home.’” + </p> + <p> + “You promised?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave my word.” + </p> + <p> + “And you kept it?” + </p> + <p> + “As you see, for I am seeking now.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an honest man, and here is my hand,” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, it will be an eternal glory for me to have touched the hand of + Bussy d’Amboise. However, I have a scruple. There were ten pistoles in the + purse.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “It is too much for a man who charges five sous for his visits, when he + does not give them gratis, and I was seeking the house——” + </p> + <p> + “To return the purse?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear M. Rémy, it is too much delicacy; you have earned the money well, + and may surely keep it.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” said Rémy, well pleased. + </p> + <p> + “But I also am in your debt; indeed, it was I who ought to have paid you, + and not the lady. Come, give me your confidence. What do you do in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “What do I do? I do nothing; but I would if I had a connection.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is just right; I will give you a patient. Will you have me? I + am famous practise; for there is scarcely a day when I do not deface God’s + noblest work for others, or they for me. Will you undertake the care of + all the holes I make in the skin of others or others in mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. le Comte! this honor.” + </p> + <p> + “No; you are just the man I want. You shall come and live with me; you + shall have your own rooms, and your own servants; accept, or you will + really annoy me.” + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte, I am so overjoyed, I cannot express it. I will work—I + will make a connection——” + </p> + <p> + “But, no, I tell you, I keep you for myself and my friends. Now, do you + remember anything more?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well! help me to find out, if it be possible.” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, who are a man of observation, how do you account for it, that + after being doctored by you, I found myself by the Temple, close to the + ditch.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I. Did you help to take me there?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, and I should have opposed it if they had consulted me; for + the cold might have done you much harm.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can tell nothing. Will you search a little more with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will if you wish it; but I much fear it will be useless for all these + houses are alike.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we must come again by day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but then we shall be seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must inquire.” + </p> + <p> + “We will, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “And we shall unravel the mystery. Be sure, Rémy, now there are two of us + to work.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <h3> + M. BRYAN DE MONSOREAU. + </h3> + <p> + It was more than joy, it was almost delirium, which agitated Bussy when he + had acquired the certainty that the lady of his dream was a reality, and + had, in fact, given him that generous hospitality of which he had + preserved the vague remembrance in his heart. He would not let the young + doctor go, but, dirty as he was, made him get into the litter with him; he + feared that if he lost sight of him, he too would vanish like a dream. He + would have liked to talk all night of the unknown lady, and explain to + Rémy how superior she was even to her portrait; but Rémy, beginning his + functions at once, insisted that he should go to bed: fatigue and pain + gave the same counsel and these united powers carried the point. + </p> + <p> + The next day, on awaking, he found Rémy at his bedside. The young man + could hardly believe in his good fortune, and wanted to see Bussy again to + be sure of it. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said he, “how are you, M. le Comte?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well, my dear Esculapius; and you, are you satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “So satisfied, my generous protector, that I would not change places with + the king. But I now must see the wound.” + </p> + <p> + “Look.” And Bussy turned round for the young surgeon to take off the + bandage. All looked well; the wound was nearly closed. Bussy, quite happy, + had slept well, and sleep and happiness had aided the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Bussy, “what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not tell you that you are nearly well, for fear you should send me + back to the Rue Beauheillis, five hundred paces from the famous house.” + </p> + <p> + “Which we will find, will we not, Rémy?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my friend, look on yourself as one of the house, and to-day, while + you move your things, let me go to the fête of the installation of the new + chief huntsman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you want to commit follies already.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I promise to be very reasonable.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must ride.” + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you a horse with an easy pace? + </p> + <p> + “I have four to choose from.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take for to-day the one you would choose for the lady of the + portrait you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Know! Ah, Rémy, you have found the way to my heart forever; I feared you + would prevent me from going to this chase, or rather this imitation of + one, and all the ladies of the Court, and many from the City, will be + admitted to it. Now, Rémy, this lady may be there. She certainly is not a + simple bourgeoise—those tapestries, that bed, so much luxury as well + as good taste, show a woman of quality, or, at least, a rich one. If I + were to meet her there!” + </p> + <p> + “All is possible,” replied Rémy, philosophically. + </p> + <p> + “Except to find the house,” sighed Bussy. “Or to penetrate when we have + found it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I have a method.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Get another sword wound.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; that gives me the hope that you will keep me.” + </p> + <p> + “Be easy, I feel as if I had known you for twenty years, and could not do + without you.” + </p> + <p> + The handsome face of the young doctor grew radiant with joy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said he, “it is decided; you go to the chase to look for the + lady, and I go to look for the house.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be curious if we each succeed.” + </p> + <p> + There had been a great chase commanded in the Bois de Vincennes, for M. de + Monsoreau to enter on his functions of chief huntsman. Most people had + believed, from the scene of the day before, that the king would not + attend, and much astonishment was expressed when it was announced that he + had set off with his brother and all the court. The rendezvous was at the + Point St. Louis. It was thus they named a cross-road where the martyr king + used to sit under an oak-tree and administer justice. Everyone was + therefore assembled here at nine o’clock, when the new officer, object of + the general curiosity, unknown as he was to almost everyone, appeared on a + magnificent black horse. All eyes turned towards him. + </p> + <p> + He was a man about thirty-five, tall, marked by the smallpox, and with a + disagreeable expression. Dressed in a jacket of green cloth braided with + silver, with a silver shoulder belt, on which the king’s arms were + embroidered in gold; on his head a cap with a long plume; in his left hand + a spear, and in his right the éstortuaire [Footnote: The éstortuaire was a + stick, which the chief huntsman presented to the king, to put aside the + branches of the trees when he was going at full gallop.] destined for the + king, M. de Monsoreau might look like a terrible warrior, but not + certainly like a handsome cavalier. + </p> + <p> + “Fie! what an ugly figure you have brought us, monseigneur,” said Bussy, + to the Duc d’Anjou, “are these the sort of gentlemen that your favor seeks + for out of the provinces? Certainly, one could hardly find such in Paris, + which is nevertheless as well stocked with ugliness. They say that your + highness made a great point of the king’s appointing this man.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau has served me well, and I recompense him,” replied the + duke. + </p> + <p> + “Well said, monseigneur, it is rare for princes to be grateful; but if + that be all, I also have served you well, and should wear the embroidered + jacket more gracefully, I trust, than M. de Monsoreau. He has a red beard, + I see also, which is an additional beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “I never knew that a man must be an Apollo, or Antinous, to fill an office + at court.” + </p> + <p> + “You never heard it; astonishing!” + </p> + <p> + “I consult the heart and not the face—the services rendered and + promised.” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness will say I am very envious; but I search, and uselessly, I + confess, to discover what service this Monsoreau can have rendered you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too curious, Bussy,” said the duke, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Just like princes,” cried Bussy, with his ordinary freedom, “they ask you + everything; but if you ask a question in return, you are too curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! go and ask M. de Monsoreau, himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are right. He is but a simple gentleman, and if he do not reply, + I shall know what to say.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him he is impertinent.” And, turning from the prince, Bussy + approached M. de Monsoreau, who was in the midst of the circle. + </p> + <p> + Bussy approached, gay and smiling, and his hat in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, monsieur, but you seem all alone. Is it that the favor which you + enjoy has already made you enemies?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, monsieur, but it is probable. But, may I ask, to what I + owe the honor that you do me in invading my solitude?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, to the great admiration that M. le Duc d’Anjou has inspired in me + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “By recounting to me the exploit for which you were made chief huntsman.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau grew so frightfully pale, that the marks in his face + looked like black spots on his yellow skin; at the same time he looked at + Bussy in a manner that portended a violent storm. Bussy saw that he had + done wrong; but he was not a man to draw back; on the contrary, he was one + of those who generally repair an indiscretion by an impertinence. + </p> + <p> + “You say, monsieur,” said Monsoreau, “that the Duke recounted to you my + last exploit?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, but I should much like to hear the story from your own + lips.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau clasped his dagger tighter in his hand, as though he + longed to attack Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, monsieur,” said he, “I was quite disposed to grant your request, + and recognize your courtesy, but unfortunately here is the king arriving, + so we must leave it for another time.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the king, mounted on his favorite Spanish horse, advanced rapidly + towards them. He loved handsome faces, and was therefore little pleased + with that of M. de Monsoreau. However, he accepted, with a good grace, the + éstortuaire which he presented to him, kneeling, according to custom. As + soon as the king was armed, the chase commenced. + </p> + <p> + Bussy watched narrowly everyone that passed, looking for the original of + the portrait, but in vain; there were pretty, even beautiful and charming + women, but not the charming creature whom he sought for. He was reduced to + conversation, and the company of his ordinary friends. Antragues, always + laughing and talking, was a great amusement. + </p> + <p> + “We have a frightful chief huntsman,” said he to Bussy, “do you not think + so?” + </p> + <p> + “I find him horrible; what a family it must be if his children are like + him. Do you know his wife?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not married.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “From Madame de Vendron, who finds him very handsome, and would willingly + make him her fourth husband. See how she keeps near him.” + </p> + <p> + “What property has he?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a great deal in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is rich?” + </p> + <p> + “They say so, but that is all; he is not of very good birth. But see, + there is M. le Duc d’Anjou calling to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ma foi, he must wait. I am curious about this man. I find him + singular, I hardly know why. And such an odd name.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it comes from Mons Soricis; Livarot knows all about that.—Here, + Livarot; this Monsoreau——” + </p> + <p> + “Well.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us what you know about him——” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly. Firstly, I am afraid of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, that is what you think; now tell us what you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen. I was going home one night——” + </p> + <p> + “It begins in a terrible manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray let me finish. It was about six months ago, I was returning from my + uncle D’Entragues, through the wood of Méridor, when all at once I heard a + frightful cry, and I saw pass, with an empty saddle, a white horse, + rushing through the wood. I rode on, and at the end of a long avenue, + darkened by the approaching shades of night, I saw a man on a black horse; + he seemed to fly. Then I heard again the same cry, and I distinguished + before him on the saddle a woman, on whose mouth he had his hand. I had a + gun in my hand—you know I aim well, and I should have killed him, + but my gun missed fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked a woodcutter who this gentleman on the black horse was, and he + said, ‘M. de Monsoreau.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Antragues, “it is not so uncommon to carry away a woman, is + it, Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but, at least, one might let them cry out.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was the woman?” + </p> + <p> + “That I do not know; but he has a bad reputation,” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything else about him?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but he is much feared by his tenantry. However, he is a good hunter, + and will fill his post better than St. Luc would have done, for whom it + was first destined.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where St. Luc is?” + </p> + <p> + “No; is he still the king’s prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; he set off at one o’clock this morning to visit his country + house with his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Banished?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “True as the gospel; Marshal de Brissac told me so this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! it has served M. de Monsoreau——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know now.” + </p> + <p> + “Know what?” + </p> + <p> + “The service that he rendered to the duke.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “No; Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Really.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you shall see; come with me,” and Bussy, followed by Livarot and + Antragues, galloped after the Duc d’Anjou. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monseigneur,” said he, “what a precious man M. de Monsoreau is.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! really; then you spoke to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And asked him what he had done for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; that was all I spoke to him for.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He courteously confessed that he was your purveyor.” + </p> + <p> + “Of game?” + </p> + <p> + “No; of women.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Bussy?” cried the duke angrily. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, monseigneur, that he carries away women for you on his great + black horse, and that as they are ignorant of the honor reserved for them, + he puts his hand on their mouths to prevent their crying out.” + </p> + <p> + The duke frowned, and ground his teeth with anger, grew pale, and galloped + on so fast, that Bussy and his, companions were left in the rear. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah! it seems that the joke is a good one,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + “And so much the better, that everyone does not seem to find it a joke,” + said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + A moment after, they heard the duke’s voice calling Bussy. He went, and + found the duke laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said he, “it appears that what I said was droll.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not laughing at what you said.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse; I should have liked to have made a prince laugh, who + hardly ever does so.” + </p> + <p> + “I laugh at your inventing a false story to find out the true one.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I told you the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, as we are alone, tell me your little history. Where did it + happen?” + </p> + <p> + “In the wood of Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + The duke grew pale again, but did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly,” thought Bussy, “the duke is mixed up with that story. + Pardieu! monseigneur,” said he, “as M. de Monsoreau seems to have found + the method of pleasing you so well, teach it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! yes, Bussy, I will tell you how. Listen; I met, by chance, at + church, a charming woman, and as some features of her face, which I only + saw through a veil, recalled to me a lady whom I had much loved, I + followed her, and found out where she lived. I have gained over her + servant, and have a key of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monseigneur, all seems to go well for you.” + </p> + <p> + “But they say she is a great prude, although free, young, and beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are romancing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are brave, and love me?” + </p> + <p> + “I have my days.” + </p> + <p> + “For being brave?” + </p> + <p> + “No, for loving you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is this one of the days?” + </p> + <p> + “I will try and make it one, if I can serve your highness.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I want you to do for me what most people do for themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Make love to her, to find out if she be a prude?” + </p> + <p> + “No, find out if she has a lover. I want you to lay in wait and discover + who the man is that visits her.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a man then?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so.” + </p> + <p> + “Lover, or husband?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I want to know.” + </p> + <p> + “And you want me to find out?” + </p> + <p> + “If you will do me that great favor——” + </p> + <p> + “You will make me the next chief huntsman.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never yet done anything for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you have discovered that at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you consent?” + </p> + <p> + “To watch the lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I confess I do not like the commission.” + </p> + <p> + “You offered to do me a service, and you draw back already!” + </p> + <p> + “Because you want me to be a spy.” + </p> + <p> + “I ask you as a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, this is a sort of thing that every man must do for himself, + even if he be a prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! yes.” + </p> + <p> + The duke frowned. “Well, I will go myself,” said he, “and if I am killed + or wounded, I shall say that I begged my friend Bussy to. undertake the + task, and that for the first time he was prudent.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, you said to me the other night, ‘Bussy, I hate all those + minions of the king’s who are always laughing at and insulting us; go to + this wedding of St. Luc’s, pick a quarrel and try to get rid of them.’ I + went; they were five and I was alone. I defied them all; they laid wait + for me, attacked me all together, and killed my horse, yet I wounded three + of them. To-day you ask me to wrong a woman. Pardon, monseigneur, but that + is past the service which a prince should exact from a gallant man, and I + refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it; I will do my work myself, or with Aurilly, as I have done + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bussy, with a sudden thought. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Were you engaged on it the night when you saw the ambush laid for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your beautiful unknown lives near the Bastile.” + </p> + <p> + “Opposite the Rue St. Catherine. It is a dangerous place, as you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Has your highness been there since?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “And you saw?” + </p> + <p> + “A man spying all about and who at last stopped at her door.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at first. Afterwards he was joined by another, with a lantern in his + hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Then they began to talk together, and at last, tired of waiting, I went + away. And before I venture into the house where I might be killed——” + </p> + <p> + “You would like one of your friends to try it.” + </p> + <p> + “They would not have my enemies, nor run the same risk; and then they + might report to me——” + </p> + <p> + “In your place I would give up this woman.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she is too beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you hardly saw her.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her enough to distinguish splendid blonde hair, magnificent eyes, + and such a complexion!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” + </p> + <p> + “You understand! one does not easily renounce such a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I feel for you.” + </p> + <p> + “You jest.” + </p> + <p> + “No, on my word, and the proof is, that if you will give me my + instructions, I will watch this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “You retract your decision?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no one but the pope infallible; now tell me what I am to do.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to hide a little way off, and if a man enter, follow him to + find out who he is?” + </p> + <p> + “But if, in entering, he close the door behind him?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you I had a key.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! true; then there is only one more thing to fear, that I should follow + a wrong man to a wrong door.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot mistake; this door is the door of an alley, and at the end of + the alley there is a staircase; mount twelve steps, and you will be in a + corridor.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know all this, if you have never been in?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I not tell you I had gained over the servant? She told me all.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! how convenient it is to be a prince. I should have had to find + out all for myself, which would have taken me an enormous time, and I + might have failed after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you consent?” + </p> + <p> + “Can I refuse your highness? But will you come with me to show me the + house?” + </p> + <p> + “Useless; as we return from the chase, we will make a detour, and pass + through the Porte St. Antoine, and I will point it out to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, and what am I to do to the man if he comes?” + </p> + <p> + “Only follow him till you learn who he is. I leave to you your mode of + action. And not a word to any one.” + </p> + <p> + “No, on my honor.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will go alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it is settled; I show you the door on our way home; then you + come with me, and I give you the key.” Bussy and the prince then rejoined + the rest. The king was charmed with the manner in which M. de Monsoreau + had conducted the chase. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” then said M. de Monsoreau to the duke, “I owe my place and + these compliments to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you know that you must go to-night to Fontainebleau, where the king + will hunt to-morrow and the day after.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, monseigneur; I am prepared to start to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. de Monsoreau, there is no more rest for you,” said Bussy, “you + wished to be chief huntsman, and you are so, and now you will have at + least fifty nights’ rest less than other men. Luckily you are not + married.” + </p> + <p> + At this joke, Monsoreau’s face was covered once more with that hideous + paleness which gave to him so sinister an aspect. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BUSSY FOUND BOTH THE PORTRAIT AND THE ORIGINAL. + </h3> + <p> + The chase terminated about four o’clock in the evening, and at five all + the court returned to Paris. As they passed by the Bastile, the duke said + to Bussy, “Look to the right, at that little wooden house with a statue of + the Virgin before it; well, count four houses from that. It is the fifth + you have to go to, just fronting the Rue St. Catherine.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it; and look! at the sound of the trumpets announcing the king, all + the windows are filled with gazers.” + </p> + <p> + “Except the one I show you, where the curtains remain closed.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is a corner lifted,” said Bussy, with a beating heart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but we can see nothing. The lady is well guarded. However, that is + the house.” + </p> + <p> + When Bussy returned, he said to Rémy, “Have you discovered the house?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I believe I have been more lucky.” + </p> + <p> + “How so, monsieur, have you been seeking?” + </p> + <p> + “I passed through the street.” + </p> + <p> + “And you recognized the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Providence, my dear friend, has mysterious ways.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Not sure, but I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “And when shall I know if you are right?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile, do you want me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear Rémy.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I not follow you?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Be prudent, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the recommendation is useless, my prudence is well known.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy dined like a man who does not know when he will sup, then, at eight + o’clock, choosing the best of his swords, and attaching, in spite of the + king’s orders, a pair of pistols to his belt, went in his litter to the + corner of the Rue St. Paul. + </p> + <p> + He easily recognized the house again, and then, wrapped in his cloak, hid + at the corner of the street, determined to wait for two hours, and at the + end of that time, if no one came, to act for himself. He had scarcely been + there ten minutes, when he saw two cavaliers coming. One of them + dismounted, gave his horse to the other, who was probably a lackey, and + who went away with the horses, and advanced towards the house pointed out + to Bussy, and, after glancing round to see if he were observed, opened the + door and went in. Bussy waited two or three minutes, and then followed + him. He advanced slowly and softly, found the staircase, and went up. In + the corridor he stopped, for he heard a voice say, “Gertrude, tell your + mistress that it is I, and that I must come in.” + </p> + <p> + This was said in an imperious tone, and, a minute after, Bussy heard a + woman’s voice say: + </p> + <p> + “Pass into the drawing-room, Monsieur, and madame will come to you.” + </p> + <p> + Then he heard the sound of a door shutting. He made a few steps silently, + and extending his hand, felt a door; he went in, found a second in which + was a key; he turned it, and entered the room tremblingly. The room in + which he found himself was dark, except from the light shining from + another. By this he could see two windows, hung with tapestry, which sent + a thrill of joy through the young man’s heart. On the ceiling he could + faintly see the mythological figures; he extended his hand, and felt the + sculptured bed. There was no more doubt, he was in the room where he had + awakened the night of his wound. + </p> + <p> + Bussy hid behind the bed-curtains to listen. He heard in the adjoining + room the impatient step of the unknown; from time to time he stopped, + murmuring between his teeth, “Will she come?” + </p> + <p> + Presently a door opened, and the rustling of a silk dress struck on + Bussy’s ear. Then he heard a woman’s voice, expressive at once of fear and + disdain, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Here I am, monsieur, what do you want now?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” replied the man, “I have the honor of telling you that, forced + to set off to-morrow morning for Fontainebleau, I come to pass the night + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you bring me news of my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, listen to me——” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you know what we agreed yesterday, when I consented to become + your wife, that, before all things, either my father should come to Paris, + or I should go to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, as soon as I return from Fontainebleau, I give you my word of + honor, but meanwhile——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! monsieur, do not close the door, it is useless; I will not pass a + single night under the same roof with you until you bring me my father.” + And the lady, who spoke, thus, whistled through a silver whistle, which + was then the manner of calling servants. + </p> + <p> + Immediately the door opened, and a young, vigorous-looking girl entered. + As she went in, she left the door open, which threw a strong light into + the room where Bussy was hid, and between the two windows he saw the + portrait. Bussy now crept noiselessly along to where he could peep into + the room. However carefully he moved, the floor creaked. At the noise the + lady turned, she was the original of the portrait. The man, seeing her + turn, turned also; it was M. de Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought Bussy, “the white horse, the woman carried away, there is + some terrible history.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy, as we have said, could see them both; she, standing up, pale and + disdainful. He, not pale, but livid, agitated his foot impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said he, at last, “do not hope to continue with me this + character of a persecuted woman; you are at Paris, in my house, and, still + more, you are Comtesse de Monsoreau, that is to say, my Wife. + </p> + <p> + “If I am your wife, why refuse to conduct me to my father? Why continue to + hide me from the eyes of the world?” + </p> + <p> + “You have forgotten the Duc d’Anjou, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “You assured me that, once your wife, I should have no more to fear from + him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is to say——” + </p> + <p> + “You promised me that.” + </p> + <p> + “But still, madame, I must take precautions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur, when you have taken them, return to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Diana,” said the count, who was growing visibly angry, “Diana, do not + make a jest of this sacred tie.” + </p> + <p> + “Act so, monsieur, that I can have confidence in the husband, and I will + respect the marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! this is too much!” cried the count. “I am in my own house, you are my + wife, and this night you shall be mine.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy put his hand on his sword-hilt, and made a step forward, but Diana + did not give him time to appear. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” said she, drawing a poignard from her belt, “here is my answer.” + And rushing into the room where Bussy was, she shut the door and locked + it, while Monsoreau exhausted himself in menaces and in blows on the door. + </p> + <p> + “If you break this door you will find me dead on the threshold.” + </p> + <p> + “And be easy, madame, you shall be revenged,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + Diana was about to utter a cry, but her fear of her husband was strong + enough to restrain her. She remained pale and trembling, but mute. + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau struck violently with his foot, but convinced that Diana + would execute her menace, went out of the drawing-room, shutting the door + violently behind him. Then they heard him going down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “But you, monsieur,” said Diana, turning to Bussy, “who are you, and how + came you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said Bussy, opening the door, and kneeling before her, “I am the + man whose life you preserved. You cannot think that I come to your house + with any bad designs.” As the light streamed in, Diana recognized him at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you here, monsieur,” cried she, clasping her hands, “you were here—you + heard all?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “But who are you? your name, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I am Louis de Clermont, Comte de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy! you are the brave Bussy!” cried Diana, filling with joy the heart + of the young man. “Ah! Gertrude!” cried she, turning to her servant, who, + hearing her mistress talking to some one, had entered in terror, + “Gertrude, I have no more to fear, for from this time I place myself under + the safeguard of the most noble and loyal gentleman in France.” Then + holding out her hand to Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Rise, monsieur,” said she, “I know who you are, now you must know who I + am.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <h3> + WHO DIANA WAS. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy rose, bewildered at his own happiness, and entered with Diana into + the room which M. de Monsoreau had just quitted. He looked at Diana with + astonishment and admiration; he had not dared to hope that the woman whom + he had sought for, would equal the woman of his dream, and now the reality + surpassed all that he had taken for a caprice of his imagination. Diana + was about nineteen, that is to say in the first éclât of that youth and + beauty which gives the purest coloring to the flower, the finest flavor to + the fruit. There was no mistaking the looks of Bussy; Diana felt herself + admired. At last she broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said she, “you have told me who you are, but not how you came + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, the cause of my presence here will come naturally out of the + recital you have been good enough to promise me; I am sure of it, from + some words of your conversation with M. de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you all, monsieur; your name has been sufficient to inspire + me with full confidence, for I have always heard of it as of that of a man + of honor, loyalty, and courage.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy bowed, and Diana went on. + </p> + <p> + “I am the daughter of the Baron de Méridor—that is to say, the only + heiress of one of the noblest and oldest names in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “There was,” said Bussy, “a Baron de Méridor, who, although he could have + saved himself, came voluntarily and gave up his sword at the battle of + Pavia, when he heard that the king was a prisoner, and begged to accompany + Francis to Madrid, partook his captivity, and only quitted him to come to + France and negotiate his ransom.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my father, monsieur, and if ever you enter the great hall of the + Château de Méridor you will see, given in memory of this devotion, the + portrait of Francis I., painted by Leonardo da Vinci.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Bussy, “in those times kings knew how to recompense their + followers.” + </p> + <p> + “On his return from Spain my father married. His two first children, sons, + died. This was a great grief to the Baron de Méridor. When the king died, + my father quitted the court, and shut himself with his wife in the Château + de Méridor. It was there that I was born, ten years after the death of my + brothers. + </p> + <p> + “Then all the love of the baron was concentrated on the child of his old + age; his love for me was idolatry. Three years after my birth I lost my + mother, and, too young to feel my loss, my smiles helped to console my + father. As I was all to him, so was he also all to me. I attained my + sixteenth year without dreaming of any other world than that of my sheep, + my peacocks, my swans, and my doves, without imagining that this life + would change, or wishing that it should. + </p> + <p> + “The castle of Méridor was surrounded by vast forests, belonging to the + Duc d’Anjou; they were filled with deer and stags, whom no one thought of + tormenting, and who had grown quite familiar to me; some of them would + even come when I called them, and one, a doe, my favorite Daphne, my poor + Daphne, would come and eat out of my hand. + </p> + <p> + “One spring I had missed her for a month, and was ready to weep for her as + for a friend, when she reappeared with two little fawns. At first they + were afraid of me, but seeing their mother caress me, they soon learned to + do the same. + </p> + <p> + “About this time we heard that the Duc d’Anjou had sent a governor into + the province, and that he was called the Comte de Monsoreau. A week + passed, during which everyone spoke of the new governor. One morning the + woods resounded with the sound of the horn, and the barking of dogs. I ran + to the park, and arrived just in time to see Daphne, followed by her two + fawns, pass like lightning, pursued by a pack of hounds. An instant after, + mounted on a black horse, M. de Monsoreau flew past me. + </p> + <p> + “I cried out and implored pity for my poor protegee, but he did not hear + me. Then I ran after him, hoping to meet either the count or some of his + suite and determined to implore them to stop this chase, which pierced my + heart. I ran for some time without knowing where, for I had lost sight of + both dogs and hunters. + </p> + <p> + “Soon I could not even hear them, so I sat down at the foot of a tree, and + began to cry. I had been there about a quarter of an hour, when I heard + the chase again. The noise came nearer and nearer, and, darting forward, I + saw my poor Daphne again; she had but one fawn with her now, the other had + given way through fatigue. She herself was growing visibly tired, and the + distance between her and the hounds was less than when I saw her first. + </p> + <p> + “As before, I exerted myself in vain to make myself heard. M. de Monsoreau + saw nothing but the animal he was chasing; he passed more quickly that + ever, with his horn to his mouth, which he was sounding loudly. Behind him + two or three hunters animated the dogs with horn and voice. All passed me + like a tempest, and disappeared in the forest. I was in despair, but I ran + on once more and followed a path which I knew led to the castle of Beaugé. + belonging to the Duc d’Anjou, and which was about six miles from the + castle of Méridor. It was not till I arrived there that I remembered that + I was alone, and far from home. + </p> + <p> + “I confess that a vague terror seized me, and that then only I thought of + the imprudence and folly of my conduct. I followed the border of the lake, + intending to ask the gardener (who, when I had come there with my father, + had often given me bouquets) to take me home, when all at once I heard the + sound of the chase again. I remained motionless, listening, and I forgot + all else. Nearly at the same moment the doe reappeared, coming out of the + wood on the other side of the lake, but pursued so closely that she must + be taken immediately. She was alone, her second fawn had fallen, but the + sight of the water seemed to reanimate her, and she plunged in as if she + would have come to me. At first she swam rapidly, and I looked at her with + tears in my eyes, and almost as breathless as herself; insensibly her + strength failed her, while the dogs seemed to grow more and more earnest + in their pursuit. Soon some of them reached her, and, stopped by their + bites, she ceased to advance. At this moment, M. de Monsoreau appeared at + the border of the lake, and jumped off his horse. Then I collected all my + strength to cry for pity, with clasped hands. It seemed to me that he saw + me, and I cried again. He heard me, for he looked at me; then he ran + towards a boat, entered it, and advanced rapidly towards the animal, who + was fighting among the dogs. I did not doubt that, moved by my voice, he + was hastening to bring her succor, when all at once I saw him draw his + hunting knife, and plunge it into the neck of the poor animal. The blood + flowed out, reddening the water at the lake, while the poor doe uttered a + doleful cry, beat the water with her feet, reared up, and then fell back + dead. + </p> + <p> + “I uttered a cry almost as doleful as hers, and fell fainting on the bank. + When I came to myself again, I was in bed, in a room of the château of + Beaugé, and my father, who had been sent for, standing by me. As it was + nothing but over-excitement, the next morning I was able to return home; + although I suffered for three or four days. Then my father told me, that + M. de Monsoreau, who had seen me, when I was carried to the castle, had + come to ask after me; he had been much grieved when he heard that he had + been the involuntary cause of my accident and begged to present his + excuses to me, saying, that he could not be happy until he had his pardon + from my own lips. + </p> + <p> + “It would have been ridiculous to refuse to see him, so, in spite of my + repugnance, I granted his request. He came the next day; I felt that my + behavior must have seemed strange, and I excused it on the ground of my + affection for Daphne. The count swore twenty times, that had he known I + had any interest in his victim, he would have spared her with pleasure; + but his protestations did not convince me, nor remove the unfavorable + impression I had formed of him. When he took leave, he asked my father’s + permission to come again. He had been born in Spain and educated at + Madrid, and it was an attraction for my father to talk over the place + where he had been so long a prisoner. Besides, the count was of good + family, deputy-governor of the province, and a favorite, it was said, of + the Due d’Anjou; my father had no motive for refusing his request, and it + was granted. Alas! from this moment ceased, if not my happiness, at least + my tranquillity. I soon perceived the impression I had made on the count; + he began to come every day, and was full of attentions to my father, who + showed the pleasure he took in his conversation, which was certainly that + of a clever man. + </p> + <p> + “One morning my father entered my room with an air graver than usual, but + still evidently joyful. ‘My child,’ said he, ‘you always have said you did + not wish to leave me.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! my father,’ cried I, ‘it is my dearest wish.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, my Diana,’ continued he, embracing me, ‘it only depends now on + yourself to have your wish realized.’ I guessed what he was about to say, + and grew dreadfully pale. + </p> + <p> + “‘Diana, my child, what is the matter?’ cried he. + </p> + <p> + “‘M. de Monsoreau, is it not?’ stammered I. ‘Well?’ said he, astonished. + ‘Oh! never, my father, if you have any pity for your daughter, never——’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Diana, my love,’ said he, ‘it is not pity I have for you, but idolatry; + you know it; take a week to reflect, and if then——’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! no, no,’ cried I, ‘it is useless; not a day, not a minute! No, no, + no!’ and I burst into tears. My father adored me, and he took me in his + arms, and gave me his word that he would speak to me no more of this + marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, a month passed, during which I neither heard of nor saw M. de + Monsoreau. One morning we received an invitation to a grand fête which M. + de Monsoreau was to give to the Duc d’Anjou, who was about to visit the + province whose name he bore. To this was added a personal invitation from + the prince, who had seen my father at court. My first impulse was to beg + my father to refuse, but he feared to offend the prince, so we went. M. de + Monsoreau received us as though nothing had passed, and behaved to me + exactly as he did to the other ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Not so the duke. As soon as he saw me, he fixed his eyes on me, and + scarcely ever removed them. I felt ill at ease under these looks, and + begged my father to go home early. Three days after M. de Monsoreau came + to Méridor; I saw him from the windows, and shut myself up in my own room. + When he was gone, my father said nothing to me, but I thought he looked + gloomy. + </p> + <p> + “Four days passed thus, when, as I was returning from a walk, the servants + told me that M. de Monsoreau was with my father, who had asked for me + several times, and had desired to be immediately informed of my return. + Indeed, no sooner had I entered my room, than my father came to me. + </p> + <p> + “‘My child,’ said he, ‘a motive which I cannot explain to you, forces me + to separate myself from you for some days. Do not question me, but be sure + that it is an urgent one, since it determines me to be a week, a + fortnight, perhaps a month, without seeing you.’ I trembled, I knew not + why, but I fancied that the visits of M. de Monsoreau boded me no good. + </p> + <p> + “‘Where am I to go, my father?’ asked I. + </p> + <p> + “‘To the château of Lude, to my sister, where you will be hidden from all + eyes. You will go by night.’ ‘And do you not accompany me?’ ‘No, I must + stay here, to ward off suspicion; even the servants must not know where + you are going.’ ‘But then, who will take me there?’ ‘Two men whom I can + trust.’ ‘Oh! mon Dieu! father,’ I cried. The baron embraced me. ‘It is + necessary, my child,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “I knew my father’s love for me so well that I said no more, only I asked + that Gertrude, my nurse, should accompany me. My father quitted me, + telling me to get ready. + </p> + <p> + “At eight o’clock (it was dark and cold, for it was the middle of winter) + my father came for me. We descended quietly, crossed the garden, when he + opened himself a little door leading to the forest, and there we found a + litter waiting, and two men; my father spoke to them, then I got in, and + Gertrude with me. + </p> + <p> + “My father embraced me once more, and we set off. I was ignorant what + danger menaced me, and forced me to quit the castle of Méridor. I did not + dare to question my conductors, whom I did not know. We went along + quietly, and the motion of the litter at last sent me to sleep, when I was + awoke by Gertrude, who, seizing my arm, cried out, ‘Oh, mademoiselle, was + is the matter?’ + </p> + <p> + “I passed my head through the curtains. We were surrounded by six masked + cavaliers, and our men, who had tried to defend me, were disarmed. He who + appeared the chief of the masked men approached me, and said; ‘Reassure + yourself, mademoiselle, no harm will be done to you, but you must follow + us.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Where?’ I asked. ‘To a place,’ he replied, ‘where, far from having + anything to complain of, you will be treated like a queen.’ ‘Oh! my + father! my father!’ I cried. ‘Listen, mademoiselle,’ said Gertrude, ‘I + know the environs, and I am strong; we may be able to escape.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You must do as you will with us, gentlemen,’ said I, ‘we are but two + poor women, and cannot defend ourselves.’ One of the men then took the + place of our conductor, and changed the direction of our litter.” + </p> + <p> + Here Diana stopped a moment, as if overcome with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, continue, madame, continue,” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible for Diana not to see the interest she inspired in the + young man; it was shown in his voice, his gestures, his looks. She smiled, + and went on. + </p> + <p> + “We continued our journey for about three hours, then the litter stopped. + I heard a door open, we went on, and I fancied we were crossing a + drawbridge. I was not wrong, for, on looking out of the litter, I saw that + we were in the courtyard of a castle. What castle was it? We did not know. + Often, during the route, we had tried to discover where we were, but + seemed to be in an endless forest. The door of our litter was opened, and + the same man who had spoken to us before asked us to alight. I obeyed in + silence. Two men from the castle had come to meet us with torches; they + conducted us into a bedroom richly decorated, where a collation waited for + us on a table sumptuously laid out. + </p> + <p> + “‘You are at home here, madame,’ said the same man, ‘and the room for your + servant is adjoining. When you wish for anything, you have but to strike + with the knocker on this door, and some one, who will be constantly in the + antechamber, will wait on you.’ This apparent attention showed that we + were guarded. Then the man bowed and went out, and we heard him lock the + door behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude and I were alone. She was about to speak, but I signed her to be + silent, for perhaps some one was listening. The door of the room which had + been shown us as Gertrude’s was open, and we went in to examine it. It was + evidently the dressing-room to mine, and was also locked. We were + prisoners. Gertrude approached me, and said in a low tone: ‘Did demoiselle + remark that we only mounted five steps after leaving the court?’ ‘Yes,’ + said I. ‘Therefore we are on the ground floor.’ ‘Doubtless.’ ‘So that——’ + said she, pointing to the window. ‘Yes, if they are not barred.’ ‘And if + mademoiselle had courage.’ ‘Oh! yes, I have.’ + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude then took a light, and approached the window. It opened easily, + and was not barred; but we soon discovered the cause of this seeming + negligence on the part of our captors. A lake lay below us, and we were + guarded by ten feet of water better than by bolts and bars. But in looking + out I discovered where we were. We were in the château of Beaugé, where + they had brought me on the death of my poor Daphné. This castle belonged + to the Duc d’Anjou, and a sudden light was thrown upon our capture. We + shut the window again, and I threw myself, dressed, on my bed, while + Gertrude slept in a chair by my side. Twenty times during the night I + woke, a prey to sudden terror; but nothing justified it, excepting the + place where I found myself, for all seemed asleep in the castle, and no + noise but the cry of the birds interrupted the silence of the night. Day + appeared, but only to confirm my conviction that flight was impossible + without external aid; and how could that reach us? About nine they came to + take away the supper and bring breakfast. Gertrude questioned the + servants, but they did not reply. Our morning passed in fruitless plans + for escape, and yet we could see a boat fastened to the shore, with its + oars in it. Could we only have reached that, we might have been safe. + </p> + <p> + “They brought us our dinner in the same way, put it down, and left us. In + breaking my bread I found in it a little note. I opened it eagerly, and + read, ‘A friend watches over you. To-morrow you shall have news of him and + of your father.’ You can imagine my joy. The rest of the day passed in + waiting and hoping. The second night passed as quietly as the first; then + came the hour of breakfast, waited for impatiently, for I hoped to find + another note. I was not wrong, it was as follows:—‘The person who + had you carried off will arrive at the castle of Beaugé at ten o’clock + this evening; but at nine, the friend who watches over you will be under + your windows with a letter from your father, which will command the + confidence you, perhaps, might not otherwise give. Burn this letter. + </p> + <p> + “I read and re-read this letter, then burned it as I was desired. The + writing was unknown to me, and I did not know from whom it could have + come. We lost ourselves in conjectures, and a hundred times during the + morning we went to the window to see if we could see any one on the shores + of the lake, but all was solitary. An hour after dinner, some one knocked + at our door, and then entered. It was the man who had spoken to us before. + I recognized his voice; he presented a letter to me. + </p> + <p> + “‘Whom do you come from?’ asked I. ‘Will mademoiselle take the trouble to + read, and she will see.’ ‘But I will not read this letter without knowing + whom it comes from.’ ‘Mademoiselle can do as she pleases; my business is + only to leave the letter,’ and putting it down, he went away. ‘What shall + I do?’ asked I of Gertrude. ‘Read the letter, mademoiselle; it is better + to know what to expect.’ I opened and read.” + </p> + <p> + Diana, at this moment, rose, opened a desk, and from a portfolio drew out + the letter. Bussy glanced at the address and read, “To the beautiful Diana + de Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + Then looking at Diana, he said— + </p> + <p> + “It is the Duc d’Anjou’s writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied she, with a sigh, “then he did not deceive me.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as Bussy hesitated to open the letter— + </p> + <p> + “Read,” said she, “chance has initiated you into the most secret history + of my life, and I wish to keep nothing from you.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy obeyed and read— + </p> + <p> + “An unhappy prince, whom your divine beauty has struck to the heart, will + come at ten o’clock to-night to apologize for his conduct towards you—conduct + which he himself feels has no other excuse than the invincible love he + entertains for you. + </p> + <p> + “FRANÇOIS.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this letter was really from the duke?” asked Diana. + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes; it is his writing and his seal.” + </p> + <p> + Diana sighed. “Can he be less guilty than I thought?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Who, the prince?” + </p> + <p> + “No, M. de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Continue, madame, and we will judge the prince and the count.” + </p> + <p> + “This letter, which I had then no idea of not believing genuine, rendered + still more precious to me the intervention of the unknown friend who + offered me aid in the name of my father; I had no hope but in him. Night + arrived soon, for it was in the month of January, and we had still four or + five hours to wait for the appointed time. It was a fine frosty night; the + heavens were brilliant with stars, and the crescent moon lighted the + country with its silver beams. We had no means of knowing the time, but we + sat anxiously watching at Gertrude’s window. At last we saw figures moving + among the trees, and then distinctly heard the neighing of a horse. + </p> + <p> + “It is our friends,’ said Gertrude. ‘Or the prince,’ replied I. ‘The + prince would not hide himself.’ This reflection reassured me. A man now + advanced alone: it seemed to us that he quitted another group who were + left under the shade of the trees. As he advanced, my eyes made violent + efforts to pierce the obscurity, and I thought I recognized first the tall + figure, then the features, of M. de Monsoreau. I now feared almost as much + the help as the danger. I remained mute, and drew back from the window. + Arrived at the wall, he secured his boat, and I saw his head at our + window. I could not repress a cry. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ah, pardon,’ said he, ‘but I thought you expected me.’ ‘I expected some + one, monsieur, but I did not know it was you.’ A bitter smile passed over + his face. ‘Who else,’ said he, ‘except her father, watches over the honor + of Diana de Méridor?’ ‘You told me, monsieur, in your letter, that you + came in my father’s name.’ ‘Yes, mademoiselle, and lest you should doubt + it, here is a note from the baron,’ and he gave me a paper. I read— + </p> + <p> + “‘MY DEAR DIANA,—M. de Monsoreau can alone extricate you from your + dangerous position, and this danger is immense. Trust, then, to him as to + the best friend that Heaven can send to us. I will tell you later what + from the bottom of my heart I wish you to do to acquit the debt we shall + contract towards him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Your father, who begs you to believe him, and to have pity on him, and + on yourself, + </p> + <p> + “‘BARON DE MÉRIDOR.’ + </p> + <p> + “I knew nothing against M. de Monsoreau; my dislike to him was rather from + instinct than reason. I had only to reproach him with the death of a doe, + a very light crime for a hunter. I then turned towards him. ‘Well?’ said + he. ‘Monsieur, I have read my father’s letter, it tells me you will take + me from hence, but it does not tell me where you will take me.’ ‘Where the + baron waits for you.’ ‘And where is that?’ ‘In the castle of Méridor.’ + ‘Then I shall see my father?’ ‘In two hours.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Ah I monsieur, if you speak truly——’ I stopped. The count + waited for the end of my sentence. ‘Count on my gratitude,’ said I in a + trembling tone, for I knew what he might expect from my gratitude. ‘Then, + mademoiselle,’ said he, ‘you are ready to follow me?’ I looked at + Gertrude. ‘Reflect that each minute that passes is most precious,’ said + he, ‘I am nearly half an hour behind time now; it will soon be ten + o’clock, and then the prince will be here.’ ‘Alas! yes.’ ‘Once he comes, I + can do nothing for you but risk without hope that life which I now risk to + save you.’ ‘Why did not my father come?’ I asked. ‘Your father is watched. + They know every step he takes.’ ‘But you——’ ‘Oh! I am + different; I am the prince’s friend and confidant.’ ‘Then if you are his + friend——’ ‘Yes, I betray him for you; it is true, as I told + you just now, I am risking my life to save you.’ This seemed so true, that + although I still felt repugnance, I could not express it. ‘I wait,’ said + the count, ‘and stay; if you still doubt, look there.’ I looked, and saw + on the opposite shore a body of cavaliers advancing. ‘It is the duke and + his suite,’ said he, ‘in five minutes it will be too late.’ + </p> + <p> + “I tried to rise, but my limbs failed me. Gertrude raised me in her arms + and gave me to the count. I shuddered at his touch, but he held me fast + and placed me in the boat. Gertrude followed without aid. Then I noticed + that my veil had come off, and was floating on the water. I thought they + would track us by it, and I cried, ‘My veil; catch my veil.’ The count + looked at it and said, ‘No, no, better leave it.’ And seizing the oars, he + rowed with all his strength. We had just reached the bank when we saw the + windows of my room lighted up. ‘Did I deceive you? Was it time?’ said M. + de Monsoreau. ‘Oh I yes, yes,’ cried I, ‘you are really my saviour.’ + </p> + <p> + “The lights seemed to be moving about from one room to the other. We heard + voices, and a man entered who approached the open window, looked out, saw + the floating veil, and uttered a cry. ‘You see I did well to leave the + veil,’ said the count, ‘the prince believes that to escape him you threw + yourself into the lake.’ I trembled at the man who had so instantaneously + conceived this idea.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE TREATY. + </h3> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence. Diana seemed almost overcome. Bussy was + already vowing eternal vengeance against her enemies. She went on: + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely had we touched the shore, when seven or eight men ran to us. + They were the count’s people, and I thought I recognized among them the + two men who had escorted me when I left Méridor. A squire held two horses, + a black one for the count and a white one for me. The count helped me to + mount, and then jumped on his own horse. Gertrude mounted en croupe behind + one of the men, and we set off at full gallop. The count held the bridle + of my horse. I said to him that I was a sufficiently good horsewoman to + dispense with this, but he replied that the horse was inclined to run + away. When we had gone about ten minutes, I heard Gertrude’s voice calling + to me, and turning, I saw that four of the men were taking her by a + different path from that which we were following. ‘Gertrude,’ cried I, + ‘why does she not come with me?’ ‘It is an indispensable precaution,’ said + the count; ‘if we are pursued we must leave two tracks, and they must be + able to say in two places that they have seen a woman carried away by men. + There is then a chance that M. d’Anjou may take a wrong road, and go after + your servant instead of you.’ Although specious, this reply did not + satisfy me, but what could I do? Besides, the path which the count was + following was the one which led to the Château de Méridor. In a quarter of + an hour, at the rate at which we are going, we should have been at the + castle, when all at once, when we came to a cross road which I knew well, + the count, instead of following the road to the castle, turned to the + left, and took a road which led away from it. I cried out, and in spite of + our rapid pace had already my hand on the pommel in order to jump off, + when the count, seizing me round the waist, drew me off my horse, and + placed me on the saddle before him. This action was so rapid that I had + only time to utter a cry. M. de Monsoreau put his hand on my mouth, and + said, ‘Mademoiselle, I swear to you, on my honor, that I only act by your + father’s orders, as I will prove to you at the first halt we make. If this + proof appears to you insufficient, you shall then be free.’ ‘But, + monsieur,’ cried I, pushing away his hand, ‘you told me you were taking me + to my father!’ ‘Yes, I told you so, because I saw that you hesitated to + follow me, and a moment’s more hesitation would have ruined us both, as + you know. Now, do you wish to kill your father? Will you march straight to + your dishonor? If so, I will take you to Méridor.’ ‘You spoke of a proof + that you acted in the name of my father.’ ‘Here it is,’ said the baron, + giving me a letter, ‘keep it, and read it at the first stoppage. If, when + you have read it, you wish to return to Méridor, you are free; but if you + have any respect for your father’s wishes you will not.’ ‘Then, monsieur,’ + I replied, ‘let us reach quickly our stopping-place, for I wish to know if + you speak the truth.’ ‘Remember, you follow me freely.’ ‘Yes, as freely as + a young girl can who sees herself placed between her father’s death and + her own dishonor on the one hand, and on the other the obligation to trust + herself to the word of a man whom she hardly knows.’ ‘Never mind, I follow + you freely, monsieur, as you shall see if you will give me my horse + again.’ The count called to one of his men to dismount and give me his + horse. ‘The white mare cannot be far,’ said he to the man; ‘seek her in + the forest and call her, she will come like a dog to her name or to a + whistle; you can rejoin us at La Châtre.’ I shuddered in spite of myself. + La Châtre was ten leagues from Méridor, on the road to Paris. ‘Monsieur,’ + said I, ‘I accompany you, but at La Châtre we make our conditions.’ + ‘Mademoiselle, at La Châtre you shall give me your orders.’ At daybreak we + arrived at La Châtre, but instead of entering the village we went by + across-road to a lonely house. I stopped. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked. + ‘Mademoiselle,’ said the count, ‘I appeal to yourself. Can we, in flying + from a prince next in power to the king, stop in an ordinary village inn, + where the first person would denounce us?’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘go on.’ We + resumed our way. We were expected, for a man had ridden on before to + announce our arrival. A good fire burned in a decent room, and a bed was + prepared. ‘This is your room,’ said the count, ‘I will await your orders.’ + He went out and left me alone. My first thought was for my letter. Here it + is, M. de Bussy; read.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy took the letter and read: + </p> + <p> + “MY BELOVED DIANA—As I do not doubt that, yielding to my prayer, you + have followed the Comte de Monsoreau, he must have told you that you had + the misfortune to please M. le Duc d’Anjou, and that it was this prince + who had you forcibly carried away and taken to the castle of Beaugé; judge + by this violence of what the prince is capable, and with what you were + menaced. Your dishonor I could not survive; but there is a means of escape—that + of marrying our noble friend. Once Countess of Monsoreau, the count would + protect his wife. My desire is, then, my darling daughter, that this + marriage should take place as soon as possible, and if you consent, I give + you my paternal benediction, and pray God to bestow upon you every + treasure of happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Your father, who does not order, but entreats, + </p> + <p> + “BARON DE MÉRIDOR.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” said Bussy, “if this letter be from your father, it is but too + positive.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt its being from him, and yet I read it three times before + deciding. At last I called the count. He entered at once; I had the letter + in my hand. ‘Well, have you read it?’ said he. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Do you + still doubt my devotion and respect?’ ‘This letter imposes belief on me, + monsieur; but in case I yield to my father’s wishes, what do you propose + to do?’ ‘To take you to Paris, mademoiselle; that is the easiest place to + hide you.’ ‘And my father?’ ‘As soon as there is no longer danger of + compromising you, you know he will come to you wherever you are.’ ‘Well, + monsieur, I am ready to accept your protection on the conditions you + impose.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I impose nothing, mademoiselle,’ answered he, ‘I simply offer you a + method of safety.’ ‘Well, I will accept this safety on three conditions.’ + ‘Speak, mademoiselle.’ ‘The first is, that Gertrude shall return to me.’ + She is here. ‘The second is, that we travel separately to Paris.’ ‘I was + about to propose it to you.’ ‘And the third is, that our marriage, unless + I myself acknowledge some urgent necessity for it, shall only take place + in presence of my father.’ ‘It is my earnest desire; I count on his + benediction to draw upon us that of heaven.’ + </p> + <p> + “I was in despair. I had hoped for some opposition to my wishes. ‘Now, + mademoiselle,’ said he, ‘allow me to give you some advice.’ ‘I listen, + monsieur.’ ‘Only to travel by night.’ ‘Agreed.’ ‘To let me choose the + route, and the places where you should stop. All my precautions will be + taken with the sole aim of escaping the Duc d’Anjou.’ ‘I have no objection + to make, monsieur.’ ‘Lastly, at Paris, to occupy the lodging I shall + prepare for you, however simple and out of the way it may be.’ ‘I only ask + to live hidden, monsieur, the more out of the way, the better it will suit + me.’ ‘Then, as we are agreed on all points, mademoiselle, it only remains + for me to present to you my humble respects, and to send to you your femme + de chambre.’ ‘On my side! monsieur, be sure that if you keep all your + promises, I will keep mine.’ ‘That is all I ask,’ said the count, ‘and the + promise makes me the happiest of men.’ + </p> + <p> + “With these words, he bowed and went out. Five minutes after, Gertrude + entered. The joy of this good girl was great; she had believed herself + separated from me forever. I told her all that had passed. As I finished, + we heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs. I ran to the window; it was M. de + Monsoreau going away. He had fulfilled two articles of the treaty. We + passed all the day in that little house, served by our hostess; in the + evening the chief of our escort appeared, and asked me if I were ready. I + said yes, and five minutes after, we set off. At the door I found my white + mare. We traveled all night, and stopped at daybreak. I calculated we had + gone about thirty-five miles, but my horse had a very easy pace, and on + leaving the house a fur cloak had been thrown over me to protect me from + the cold. It took us seven days to reach Paris in this manner, and I saw + nothing of the count. We entered the city at night, and the first object I + saw, after passing through the gate, was an immense monastery; then we + crossed the river, and in ten minutes we were in the Place de la Bastile. + Then a man who seemed to be waiting for us, advanced and said, ‘It is + here.’ The chief of our escort jumped off his horse, and presented me his + hand to dismount also. A door was open, and the staircase lighted by a + lamp. ‘Madame,’ said the man to me, ‘you are now at home. At this door + finishes the mission I received; may I flatter myself I have fulfilled it + according to your wishes?’ ‘Yes, monsieur,’ said I, ‘I have only thanks to + give you. Offer them in my name to all your men; I would wish to reward + them in a better manner, but I possess nothing.’ ‘Do not be uneasy about + that, madame,’ said he, ‘they are largely recompensed.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then the little troop went away, and we went up the stairs of our house, + and found ourselves in a corridor. Three doors were open; we entered the + middle one, and found ourselves in the room where we now stand. On opening + the door of my bedroom, to my great astonishment I found my own portrait + there. It was one which had hung at Méridor, and the count had doubtless + begged it of my father. I trembled at this new proof that my father + regarded me already as his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing was wanting in the room; a fire burned in the grate, and a supper + was ready in the sitting-room. I saw with satisfaction that it was laid + for one only, and yet when Gertrude said, ‘Well, mademoiselle, you see the + count keeps his promises.’—‘Alas! yes,’ replied I with a sigh, for I + should have preferred that by breaking his word he should have given me an + excuse to break mine. After supper, we examined the house, but found no + one in it. The next day Gertrude went out, and from her I learned that we + were at the end of the Rue St. Antoine, near the Bastile. That evening, as + we were sitting down to supper, some one knocked. I grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “‘If it be the count?’ asked Gertrude. ‘You must open to him; he has kept + his promises, and I must keep mine.’ A moment after he entered. ‘Well, + madame,’ said he, ‘have I kept my word?’ ‘Yes, monsieur, and I thank you + for it.’ ‘Then you will receive me?’ said he, with an ironical smile. + ‘Enter, monsieur,’ said I, ‘have you any news?’ ‘Of what, madame?’ ‘Of my + father, firstly?’ ‘I have not been to Méridor and have not seen the + baron.’ ‘Then of Beaugé, and the Duc d’Anjou?’ ‘I have been to Beaugé, and + have spoken to the duke.’ ‘What does he say?’ ‘He appears to doubt.’ ‘Of + what?’ ‘Of your death.’ ‘But you confirmed it?’ ‘I did all I could.’ + ‘Where is the duke?’ I then asked. ‘He returned to Paris yesterday. One + does not like to stay in a place where one has the death of a woman to + reproach one’s self with.’ ‘Have you seen him in Paris?’ ‘I have just left + him.’ ‘Did he speak of me?’ ‘I did not give him time; I spoke incessantly + of a promise which he made to me.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘He promised me as a + reward for services rendered to him, to make, me chief huntsman.’ ‘Ah, + yes,’ said I, thinking of my poor Daphné ‘you are a terrible hunter, I + know.’ ‘It is not for, that reason I obtain it, but the duke dare not be + ungrateful to me.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Can I write to my father?’ said I. ‘Doubtless; but your letters may be + intercepted.’ ‘Am I forbidden to go out?’ ‘Nothing is forbidden; but I beg + to point out to you that you may be followed.’ ‘At least I must go on + Sunday to mass.’ ‘It would be better not; but if you do, I advise you to + go to St. Catherine.’ ‘Where is that?’ ‘Just opposite you.’ There was a + silence. Then I said, ‘When shall I see you again, monsieur?’ ‘When I have + your permission to come.’ ‘Do you need it?’ ‘Certainly, as yet I am a + stranger to you.’ ‘Monsieur,’ said I, half frightened at this unnatural + submission, ‘you can return when you like, or when you think you have + anything important to communicate.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Thanks, madame,’ said he, ‘I will use your permission, but not abuse it. + I know you do not love me, and I will not abuse a situation which forces + you to receive me. You will, I trust, gradually become accustomed to the + thought, and be willing, when the moment shall arrive, to become my wife.’ + ‘Monsieur,’ said I, ‘I appreciate your delicacy and frankness. I will use + the same frankness. I had a prejudice against you, which I trust that time + will cure.’ ‘Permit me,’ said he, ‘to partake this anticipation and live + in the hopes of that happy moment.’ Then bowing respectfully, he went + out.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE MARRIAGE. + </h3> + <p> + “A strange man,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, is he not, monsieur? When he was gone I felt sadder and more + frightened than ever. This icy respect, this ironical obedience, this + repressed passion, which now and then showed itself in his voice, + frightened me more than a will firmly expressed, and which I could have + opposed, would have done. The next day was Sunday; I had never in my life + missed divine service, so I took a thick veil and went to St. Catherine’s, + followed by Gertrude, and no one seemed to remark us. + </p> + <p> + “The next day the count came to announce to me that the duke had fulfilled + his promise, and had obtained for him the place of chief huntsman, which + had been promised to M. de St. Luc. A week passed thus: the count came + twice to see me, and always preserved the same cold and submissive manner. + The next Sunday I went again to the church. Imprudently, in the midst of + my prayers, I raised my veil. I was praying earnestly for my father, when + Gertrude touched me on the arm. I raised my head, and saw with terror M. + le Duc d’Anjou leaning against the column, and looking earnestly at me. A + man stood by him.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Aurilly,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that was the name that Gertrude told me afterwards. I drew my veil + quickly over my face, but it was too late: he had seen me, and if he had + not recognized me, at least my resemblance to her whom he believed dead + had struck him. Uneasy, I left the church, but found him standing at the + door and he offered to me the holy water as I passed. I feigned not to see + him, and went on. We soon discovered that we were followed. Had I known + anything of Paris, I would have attempted to lead them wrong, but I knew + no more of it than from the church to the house, nor did I know any one of + whom I could ask a quarter of an hour’s hospitality; not a friend, and + only one protector, whom I feared more than an enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon Dieu!” cried Bussy, “why did not Heaven, or chance, throw me + sooner in your path?” + </p> + <p> + Diana thanked the young man with a look. + </p> + <p> + “But pray go on,” said Bussy, “I interrupt you, and yet I am dying to hear + more.” + </p> + <p> + “That evening M. de Monsoreau came. I did not know whether to tell him of + what had happened, but he began, ‘You asked me if you could go to mass, + and I told you you were free, but that it would be better not to do so. + You would not believe me: you went this morning to St. Catherine’s, and by + a fatality the prince was there and saw you.’ ‘It is true, monsieur; but I + do not know if he recognized me.’ ‘Your face struck him; your resemblance + to the woman he regrets appeared to him extraordinary, he followed you + home, and made inquiries, but learned nothing, for no one knew anything.’ + ‘Mon Dieu!’ cried I. ‘The duke is persevering,’ said he. ‘Oh! he will + forget me, I hope.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No one forgets you who has once seen you,’ said he. ‘I did all I could + to forget you, and I have not succeeded.’ And the first passionate look + that I had seen flashed from the eyes of the count. I was more terrified + by it than I had been by the sight of the prince. I remained mute. ‘What + will you do?’ asked the count. ‘Can I not change my abode—go to the + other end of Paris, or, better still, return to Anjou?’ ‘It will be + useless; the duke is a terrible bloodhound, and now he is on your track, + he will follow you wherever you go till he finds you.’ ‘Oh! mon Dieu! you + frighten me.’ ‘I tell you the simple truth.’ ‘Then what do you advise me + to do?’ ‘Alas!’ said he, with a bitter irony. ‘I am a man of poor + imagination. I had formed a plan, but it does not suit you; I can find no + other.’ ‘But the danger is perhaps less pressing than you imagine.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The future will show us, madame,’ said the count, rising. ‘I can but add + that the Comtesse de Monsoreau would have the less to fear from the + prince, as my new post places me under the direct protection of the + court.’ I only replied by a sigh. He smiled bitterly, and as he went + down-stairs I heard him giving vent to oaths. The next day, when Gertrude + went out, she was accosted by a young man whom she recognized as the one + who had accompanied the prince, but she remained obstinately silent to all + his questions. This meeting inspired me with profound terror; I feared + that M. de Monsoreau would not come, and that they would invade the house + in his absence. I sent for him, he came at once. I told him all about the + young man, whom I described. + </p> + <p> + “‘It was Aurilly;’ he said, ‘and what did Gertrude answer?’ ‘She did not + answer at all.’ ‘She was wrong,’ said he. ‘Why?’ ‘We must gain time.’ + ‘Time?’ ‘Yes, I am now dependent on the Duc d’Anjou; in a fortnight, in a + week perhaps, he will be in my power. We must deceive him to get him to + wait.’ ‘Mon Dieu!’ ‘Certainly; hope will make him patient. A complete + refusal will push him to extremities.’ ‘Monsieur, write to my father; he + will throw himself at the feet of the king. He will have pity on an old + man.’ ‘That is according to the king’s humor, and whether he be for the + time friendly or hostile to the duke. Besides, it would take six days for + a messenger to reach your father, and six days for him to come here. In + twelve days, if we do not stop him, the duke will have done all he can + do.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And how to stop him?’ I cried. A smile passed over the lips of M. de + Monsoreau at this first appeal to his protection. ‘Madame,’ said he, ‘will + you permit me to pass two or three hours in your room? I may be seen going + out, and would rather wait till dark.’ I signed him to sit down. We + conversed; he was clever and had traveled much, and at the end of the time + I understood, better than I had ever done before, the influence he had + obtained over my father. When it grew dark, he rose and took leave. + Gertrude and I then approached the window, and could distinctly see two + men examining the house. The next day, Gertrude, when she went out, found + the same young man in the same place. He spoke to her again, and this time + she answered him. On the following day she told him that I was the widow + of a counselor, who, being poor, lived in retirement. He tried to learn + more, but could extract nothing further from her. The next day, Aurilly, + who seemed to doubt her story, spoke of Anjou, of Beaugé, and Méridor. + Gertrude declared these names to be perfectly unknown to her. Then he + avowed that he came from the Duc d’Anjou, who had seen and fallen in love + with me; then came magnificent offers for both of us, for her, if she + would introduce the prince into my house, and for me, if I would receive + him. + </p> + <p> + “Every evening M. de Monsoreau came, to hear what was going on, and + remained from eight o’clock to midnight, and it was evident that his + anxiety was great. On Saturday evening he arrived pale and agitated. + </p> + <p> + “‘You must promise to receive the duke on Tuesday or Wednesday,’ said he. + ‘Promise! and why?’ ‘Because he has made up his mind to come in, and he is + just now on the best terms with the king; we have nothing to expect from + him.’ ‘But before then will anything happen to help me?’ ‘I hope so. I + expect from day to day the event which is to place the duke in my power. + But tomorrow I must leave you, and must go to Monsoreau.’ ‘Must you?’ + cried I with a mixture of joy and terror. ‘Yes, I have there a rendezvous + which is indispensable to bring about the event of which I speak.’ ‘But if + you fail, what are we to do?’ ‘What can I do against a prince, if I have + no right to protect you, but yield to bad fortune?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! my father! my father!’ cried I. The count looked at me. ‘What have + you to reproach me with?’ said he. ‘Nothing, on the contrary.’ ‘Have I not + been a devoted friend, and as respectful as a brother?’ ‘You have behaved + throughout like a gallant man.’ ‘Had I not your promise?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Have I + once recalled it to you?’ ‘No.’ ‘And yet you prefer to be the mistress of + the duke, to being my wife?’ ‘I do not say so, monsieur.’ ‘Then decide.’ + ‘I have decided.’ ‘To be Countess of Monsoreau?’ ‘Rather than mistress of + the duke.’ ‘The alternative is flattering. But, meanwhile, let Gertrude + gain time until Tuesday.’ The next day Gertrude went out, but did not meet + Aurilly. We felt more frightened at his absence than we had done at his + presence. Night came, and we were full of terror. We were alone and + feeble, and for the first time I felt my injustice to the count.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! madame!” cried Bussy, “do not be in a hurry to think so, his conduct + conceals some mystery, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “All was quiet,” continued Diana, “until eleven o’clock. Then five men + came out of the Rue St Antoine, and hid themselves by the Hôtel des + Tournelles. We began to tremble; were they there for us? However, they + remained quiet, and a quarter of an hour passed; then we saw two other men + approach. By the moonlight Gertrude recognized Aurilly. ‘Alas! + mademoiselle; it is they,’ cried she. ‘Yes,’ cried I, trembling, ‘and the + five others are to help them.’ ‘But they must force the door,’ said + Gertrude, ‘perhaps the neighbors will come and help us.’ ‘Oh! no, they do + not know us, and they will not fight against the duke. Alas! Gertrude, I + fear we have no real defender but the count.’ ‘Well! then, why do you + always refuse to marry him?’ I sighed.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE MARRIAGE. + </h3> + <p> + “The two men approached the window. We gently opened it a little way, and + heard one say, ‘Are you sure it is here?’ ‘Yes, monseigneur, quite sure,’ + said the other. ‘It is the fifth house from the corner of the Rue St. + Paul.’ ‘And you are sure of the key?’ ‘I took the pattern of the lock.’ I + seized Gertrude’s arm in terror. ‘And once inside’ he went on, ‘the + servant will admit us; your highness has in your pocket a golden key as + good as this one.’ ‘Open, then.’ We heard the key turn in the lock but all + at once the ambushed men rushed forward, crying, ‘a mort! a mort!’ I could + not understand this, only I saw that unexpected help had come to us, and I + fell on my knees, thanking Heaven. But the prince had only to name + himself, when every sword went back into the scabbard, and every foot drew + back.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said Bussy, “it was for me they came, not for the prince.” + </p> + <p> + “However, this attack caused the prince to retire, and the five gentlemen + went back to their hiding-place. It was evident that the danger was over + for that night, but we were too unquiet to go to bed. Soon we saw a man on + horseback appear, and then the five gentlemen immediately rushed on him. + You know the rest, as the gentleman was yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, madame, I know only that I fought and then fainted.” + </p> + <p> + “It is useless to say,” continued Diana, with a blush, “the interest that + we took in the combat so unequal, but so valiantly sustained. Each blow + drew from us a shudder, a cry, and a prayer. We saw your horse fall, and + we thought you lost, but it was not so; the brave Bussy merited his + reputation. At last, surrounded, menaced on all sides, you retreated like + a lion, facing your foes, and came to lean against our door; the same idea + came to both of us, to go down and open to you, and we ran towards the + staircase; but we had barricaded the door, and it took us some minutes to + move the furniture, and as we arrived on the stairs, we heard the door + shut. We stopped, and looked at each other, wondering who had entered. + Soon we heard steps, and a man appeared, who tottered, threw up his arms, + and fell on the first step. It was evident that he was not pursued, but + had put the door, so luckily left open by the duke, between him and his + adversaries. In any case we had nothing to fear; it was he who needed our + help. Gertrude ran and fetched a lamp, and we found you had fainted, and + carried you to the bed. Gertrude had heard of a wonderful cure made by a + young doctor in the Rue Beautrellis, and she offered to go and fetch him. + ‘But,’ said I, ‘he might betray us.’ ‘I will take precautions’ said she. + She took money and the key, and I remained alone near you, and—praying + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” said Bussy, “I did not know all my happiness, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “In a quarter of an hour Gertrude returned, bringing the young doctor with + his eyes bandaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was at that moment I recovered my senses and saw your portrait, + and thought I saw you enter,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “I did so; my anxiety was stronger than my prudence. The doctor examined + your wound and answered for your life.” + </p> + <p> + “All that remained in my mind,” said Bussy, “like a dream, and yet + something told me,” added he, laying his hand upon his heart, “that it was + real.” + </p> + <p> + “When the surgeon had dressed your wound, he drew from his pocket a little + bottle containing a red liquor, of which he put some drops on your lips. + He told me it was to counteract the fever and produce sleep, and said that + the only thing then was to keep you quiet. Gertrude then bandaged his eyes + again, and took him back to the Rue Beautrellis, but she fancied he + counted the steps.” + </p> + <p> + “He did so, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “This supposition frightened us. We feared he would betray us, and we + wished to get rid of every trace of the hospitality we had shown you. I + gathered up my courage; it was two o’clock, and the streets were deserted; + Gertrude was strong, and I aided her, and between us we carried you to the + Temple. Luckily we met no one, but when we returned, I fainted with + emotion.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! madame!” cried Bussy, “how can I ever repay you for what you have + done for me?” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence, and they heard the clock of St. Catherine’s + church strike. “Two o’clock,” cried Diana, “and you here!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! madame, do not send me away without telling me all. Suppose that God + had given you a brother, and tell this brother what he can do for his + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! nothing now; it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + “What happened the next day?” said Bussy; “what did you do on that day + when I thought constantly of you, without feeling sure if you were not a + vision of my delirium?” + </p> + <p> + “During that day, Gertrude went out, and met Aurilly. He was more pressing + than ever. He said nothing of the night before, but asked for an interview + for his master. Gertrude appeared to consent, but she asked until the + Wednesday—that is to-day—to decide. Aurilly promised that his + master would wait until then. That evening, M. de Monsoreau returned. We + told him all, except about you. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I heard of all this. Then he has a key.’ ‘Can we not + change the lock?’ ‘He will get another key.’ ‘Put on bolts? ‘He will come + with ten men and force the door. ‘But the event which was to give you full + power over him?’ ‘Is postponed indefinitely.’ I stood in despair. + ‘Monsieur,’ said I, ‘the duke has promised to wait till Wednesday; I ask + you to wait till Tuesday.’ ‘Tuesday evening I will be here, madame,’ and + without another word he went out. I followed him with my eyes, but instead + of going away he stood in the corner by the Hôtel des Tournelles, and + seemed determined to watch me all night. Every proof of devotion he gave + me was like a knife in my heart. The two days passed rapidly, but what I + suffered it is impossible to describe. When Tuesday evening came, I felt + exhausted, and all emotion seemed dead within me. + </p> + <p> + “Gertrude went to the window. ‘Madame,’ cried she, ‘four men! I see four + men! They approach, they open the door—they enter! It is, doubtless, + the duke and his followers.’ For an answer, I drew my poniard, and placed + it near me on the table. ‘See,’ said I. An instant after, Gertrude + returned, ‘It is the count,’ said she. He entered. ‘Gertrude tells me,’ + said he, ‘that you took me for the duke, and were ready to kill yourself.’ + It was the first time I had ever seen him moved. Gertrude was wrong to + tell you,’ said I. ‘You know that I am not alone.’ ‘Gertrude saw four + men.’ ‘You know who they are?’ ‘I presume one is a priest, and the others + witnesses.’ ‘Then, you are ready to become my wife?’ ‘It was so agreed; + only I stipulated that except in an urgent case, I would only marry you in + the presence of my father.’ ‘I remember; but do you not think the case + urgent?’ ‘Yes, and the priest may marry us, but, until I have seen my + father, I will be your wife only in name.’ + </p> + <p> + “The count frowned, and bit his lips. ‘I do not wish to coerce you,’ said + he; ‘you are free; but look here.’ I went to the window, and saw a man + wrapped in a cloak, who seemed trying to get into the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon dieu!” cried Bussy; “and this was yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, about nine o’clock. Presently, another man, with a lantern, joined + him. I thought it was the duke and his followers. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ said, M de Monsoreau, ‘shall I go or stay?’ I hesitated a moment, + in spite of my father’s letter and of my given word, but those two men + there——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! unhappy that I am,” cried Bussy, “it was I and Rémy, the young + doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried Diana. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I; I, who, more and more convinced of the reality of my dream, + sought for the house where I had been, and the woman, or rather angel, who + had appeared to me. Oh! I am unfortunate. Then,” continued he, after a + pause, “you are his wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Since yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + There was a fresh silence. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Diana at last, “how did you enter this house?” + </p> + <p> + Bussy silently showed his key. + </p> + <p> + “A key! where did you get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Had not Gertrude promised the prince to enter tonight? He had seen M. de + Monsoreau here, and also myself, and fearing a snare, sent me to find + out.” + </p> + <p> + “And you accepted this mission?” + </p> + <p> + “It was my only method of penetrating to you. Will you reproach me for + having sought at once the greatest joy and the greatest grief of my life?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for it is better that you should see me no more, and forget me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame; God has brought me to you, to deliver you from the toils in + which your enemies have taken you. I vow my life to you. You wish for news + of your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! for, in truth, I know not what has become of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I charge myself with finding out; only think of him who henceforth + will live but for you.” + </p> + <p> + “But this key?” + </p> + <p> + “This key I restore to you, for I will receive it only from your hands; + but I pledge you my word as a gentleman, that never sister could trust in + a brother more devoted and respectful.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust to the word of the brave Bussy. Here, monsieur,” and she gave + back the key. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, in a fortnight we will know more;” and, saluting Diana with a + respect mingled with love and sadness, Bussy took leave. Diana listened to + his retreating steps with tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW HENRI III. TRAVELED, AND HOW LONG IT TOOK HIM TO GET FROM PARIS TO + FONTAINEBLEAU. + </h3> + <p> + The sun, which shone four or five hours after the events which we have + just recorded had taken place, saw, by his pale light, Henri III. set off + for Fontainebleau, where a grand chase was projected. A crowd of + gentlemen, mounted on good horses and wrapped in their fur cloaks, then a + number of pages, after them lackey, and then Swiss, followed the royal + litter. This litter, drawn by eight mules richly caparisoned, was a large + machine, about fifteen feet long and eight wide, on four wheels, furnished + inside with cushions and curtains of silk brocade. In difficult places + they substituted for the mules an indefinite number of oxen. + </p> + <p> + This machine contained Henri III., his doctor, and his chaplain, Chicot, + four of the king’s favorites, a pair of large dogs, and a basket of little + ones, which the king held on his knees, and which was suspended from his + neck by a golden chain. From the roof hung a gilded cage containing turtle + doves, quite white, with a black ring round their necks. Sometimes the + collection was completed by the presence of two or three apes. Thus this + litter was commonly termed the Noah’s Ark. + </p> + <p> + Quelus and Maugiron employed themselves with plaiting ribbons, a favorite + diversion of that time; and Chicot amused himself by making anagrams on + the names of all the courtiers. Just as they passed the Place Maubert, + Chicot rushed out of the litter, and went to kneel down before a house of + good appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried the king, “if you kneel, let it be before the crucifix in the + middle of the street, and not before the house. What do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + But Chicot, without attending, cried out in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! I recognize it, I shall always recognize it—the house + where I suffered! I have never prayed for vengeance on M. de Mayenne, + author of my martyrdom, nor on Nicholas David, his instrument. No; Chicot + is patient, Chicot can wait, although it is now six years that this debt + has been running on, and in seven years the interest is doubled. May, + then, my patience last another year, so that instead of fifty blows of a + stirrup-leather which I received in this house by the orders of this + assassin of a Lorraine prince, and which drew a pint of blood, I may owe a + hundred blows and two pints of blood! Amen, so be it!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” said the king. + </p> + <p> + Chicot then returned to the litter, amidst the wondering looks of the + spectators. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Chicot, what does all this mean?” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, it means that Chicot is like the fox—that he licks the stones + where his blood fell, until against those very stones he crushes the heads + of those who spilt it.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, in that house lived a girl whom Chicot loved, a good and charming + creature, and a lady. One evening when he went to see her, a certain + prince, who had also fallen in love with her, had him seized and beaten, + so that Chicot was forced to jump out of window; and as it was a miracle + that he was not killed, each time he passes the house he kneels down and + thanks God for his escape.” + </p> + <p> + “You were, then, well beaten, my poor Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire, and yet not as much as I wished.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—for your sins?” + </p> + <p> + “No, for those of M. de Mayenne.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I understand; your intention is to render to Cæsar——” + </p> + <p> + “Not to Cæsar, sire—Cæsar is the great general, the valiant warrior, + the eldest brother, who wishes to be king of France. No, you must settle + with him; pay your debts, and I will pay mine.” + </p> + <p> + Henri did not like to hear his cousin of Guise spoken of, and this made + him serious. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when they arrived at + Juvisy and the great hotel of the “Cour de France.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot, looking out of the litter, saw at the door of the hotel several + men wrapped in cloaks. In the midst of them was a short, stout person, + whose large hat almost covered his face. They went in quickly on seeing + the litter, but not before the look of this person had had time to excite + Chicot’s attention. Therefore he jumped out, and asking a page for his + horse, which was being led, let the royal litter go on to Essones, where + the king was to sleep, while he remained behind, and, cautiously peeping + in through a window, saw the men whom he had noticed sitting inside. He + then entered the hotel, went into the opposite room, asked for a bottle of + wine, and placed himself so that, although he could not be seen, no one + could pass by without his seeing them. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said he to himself, “shall I be forced to make my payment sooner + than I expected?” + </p> + <p> + Soon Chicot found that by keeping the door open he could both see into the + room and hear what was said. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the short fat man to his companions, “I think it is time + to set out; the last lackey of the cortege is out of sight, and I believe + now that the road is safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly so, monseigneur,” replied a voice which made Chicot tremble, + and which came from the mouth of a person as tall as the other was short, + as pale as he was red, and as obsequious as he was arrogant. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! M. Nicolas,” said Chicot, “tu quoque, that is good. It will be odd if + I let you slip this time!” + </p> + <p> + Then the short man came out, paid the bill, and, followed by the others, + took the road to Paris. Chicot followed them at a distance. They entered + by the Porte St. Antoine, and entered the Hôtel Guise. Chicot waited + outside a full hour, in spite of cold and hunger. At last the door + reopened, but, instead of seven cavaliers wrapped in their cloaks, seven + monks came out, with their hoods over their faces, and carrying immense + rosaries. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Chicot, “is, then, the Hôtel Guise so embalmed in sanctity that + wolves change into lambs only by entering it? This becomes more and more + interesting.” + </p> + <p> + And he followed the monks as he had followed the cavaliers, for he + believed them to be the same. The monks passed over the bridge of Notre + Dame, crossed the city and the petit pont, and went up the Rue St. + Geneviève. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Chicot, as he passed the house where he had kneeled in the + morning, “are we returning to Fontainebleau? In that case I have made a + round.” + </p> + <p> + However, the monks stopped at the door of the Abbey of St. Geneviève, in + the porch of which stood another monk, who examined everyone’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Chicot, “it seems that to be admitted to night into the abbey + one must have clean hands!” + </p> + <p> + Then he saw, with astonishment, monks appear from every street leading to + the abbey, some alone, some walking in pairs, but all coming to the abbey. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Chicot, “is there a general chapter at the abbey to-night? I + have never seen one, and I should like it much.” + </p> + <p> + The monks entered, showing their hands, or something in them, and passed + on. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go also,” thought Chicot; “but for that I want two + things—a monk’s robe, for I see no layman here, and then this + mysterious thing which they show to the porter, for certainly they show + something. Ah, Brother Gorenflot, if you were here!” + </p> + <p> + The monks continued to arrive, till it seemed as if half Paris had taken + the frock. + </p> + <p> + “There must be something extraordinary to-night,” thought Chicot. “I will + go and find Gorenflot at the Corne d’Abondance; he will be at supper.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + BROTHER GORENFLOT. + </h3> + <p> + To the beautiful day had succeeded a beautiful evening, only, as the day + had been cold, the evening was still colder. It was one of those frosts + which make the lights in the windows of an hotel look doubly tempting. + Chicot first entered the dining-room, and looked around him, but not + finding there the man he sought for, went familiarly down to the kitchen. + The master of the establishment was superintending a frying-pan full of + whitings. At the sound of Chicot’s step he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, monsieur,” said he, “good evening, and a good appetite to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the wish, but you know I cannot bear to eat alone.” + </p> + <p> + “If necessary, monsieur, I will sup with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, my dear host, but though I know you to be an excellent companion, + I seek for some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so; has he begun supper?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet; but you must make haste nevertheless, for in five minutes he + will have finished.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” cried Chicot, striking his head. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, it is Friday, and the beginning of Lent.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what then?” said Chicot, who did not hold a high opinion of + Gorenflot’s religious austerity. + </p> + <p> + Boutromet shrugged his shoulders. “Decidedly, something must be wrong,” + said Chicot, “five minutes for Gorenflot’s supper! I am destined to see + wonders to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot then advanced towards a small private room, pushed open the door, + and saw within the worthy monk, who was turning negligently on his plate a + small portion of spinach, which he tried to render more savory by the + introduction into it of some cheese. Brother Gorenflot was about + thirty-eight years of age and five feet high. However, what he wanted in + height, he made up in breadth, measuring nearly three feet in diameter + from shoulder to shoulder, which, as everyone knows, is equal to nine feet + of circumference. Between these Herculean shoulders rose a neck of which + the muscles stood out like cords. Unluckily this neck partook of the same + proportions; it was short and thick, which at any great emotion might + render Brother Gorenflot liable to apoplexy. But knowing this, perhaps, he + never gave way to emotions, and was seldom so disturbed as he was when + Chicot entered his room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my friend! what are you doing?” cried Chicot, looking at the + vegetables and at a glass filled with water just colored with a few drops + of wine. + </p> + <p> + “You see, my brother, I sup,” replied Gorenflot in a powerful voice. + </p> + <p> + “You call that supper, Gorenflot! Herbs and cheese?” + </p> + <p> + “We are in the beginning of Lent, brother; we must think of our souls,” + replied Gorenflot, raising his eyes to heaven. + </p> + <p> + Chicot looked astounded; he had so often seen Gorenflot feast in a + different manner during Lent. + </p> + <p> + “Our souls!” said he; “and what the devil have herbs and water to do with + them?” + </p> + <p> + “We are forbidden to eat meat on Wednesdays and Fridays.” + </p> + <p> + “But when did you breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not breakfasted, my brother,” said the monk. + </p> + <p> + “Not breakfasted! Then what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “Composed a discourse,” said Gorenflot proudly. + </p> + <p> + “A discourse, and what for?” + </p> + <p> + “To deliver this evening at the abbey.” + </p> + <p> + “That is odd.” + </p> + <p> + “And I must be quick and go there, or perhaps my audience will grow + impatient.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot thought of the infinite number of monks he had seen going to the + abbey, and wondered why Gorenflot, whom certainly he had never thought + eloquent, had been chosen to preach before M. de Mayenne and the numerous + assemblage. “When are you to preach?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “At half-past nine.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; it is still a quarter to nine, you can give me a few minutes. + Ventre de biche! we have not dined together for a week.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not our fault, but I know that your duties keep you near our King + Henry III., while my duties fill up my time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it seems to me that is so much the more reason why we should be + merry when we do meet.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am merry,” said Gorenflot, with a piteous look, “but still I must + leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “At least, finish your supper.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot looked at the spinach, and sighed, then at the water, and turned + away his head. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” said Chicot, “the little dinner at the Porte + Montmartre, where, while the king was scourging himself and others, we + devoured a teal from the marshes of the Grauge-Batelière, with a sauce + made with crabs, and we drank that nice Burgundy wine; what do you call + it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a wine of my country, La Romanée.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, it was the milk you sucked as a baby, worthy son of Noah.” + </p> + <p> + “It was good,” said Gorenflot, “but there is better.” + </p> + <p> + “So says Claude Boutromet, who pretends that he has in his cellar fifty + bottles to which that is paltry.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “True, and yet you drink that abominable red water. Fie!” And Chicot, + taking the glass, threw the contents out of window. + </p> + <p> + “There is a time for all, my brother,” said Gorenflot, “and wine is good + when one has only to praise God after it, but water is better when one has + a discourse to pronounce.” + </p> + <p> + “Opinions differ, for I, who have also a discourse to pronounce, am going + to ask for a bottle of Romanée. What do you advise me to take with it, + Gorenflot?” + </p> + <p> + “Not these herbs, they are not nice.” Chicot, seizing the plate, threw it + after the water, and then cried, “Maître Claude.” + </p> + <p> + The host appeared. + </p> + <p> + “M. Claude, bring me two bottles of your Romanée, which you call so good.” + </p> + <p> + “Why two bottles,” said Gorenflot, “as I do not drink it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if you did I would have four or six, but if I drink alone, two will + do for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed; two bottles are reasonable, and if you eat no meat with it, your + confessor will have nothing to reproach you with.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course not; meat on a Friday in Lent!” And going to the larder, he + drew out a fine capon. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, brother?” said Gorenflot, following his movements + with interest. + </p> + <p> + “You see I am taking this carp.” + </p> + <p> + “Carp!” cried Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a carp,” said Chicot, showing him the tempting bird. + </p> + <p> + “And since when has a carp had a beak?” + </p> + <p> + “A beak! do you see a beak? I only see a nose.” + </p> + <p> + “And wings?” + </p> + <p> + “Fins!” + </p> + <p> + “Feathers?” + </p> + <p> + “Scales, my dear Gorenflot, you are drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Drunk! I, who have only eaten spinach and drunk water?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, your spinach has overloaded your stomach, and your water has + mounted to your head.” + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu! here is our host, he shall decide.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it, but first let him uncork the wine.” + </p> + <p> + M. Boutromet uncorked a bottle and gave a glass to Chicot. Chicot + swallowed and smacked his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said he, “I have a bad memory, I cannot remember if it be better or + worse than that at Montmartre. Here, my brother, enlighten me,” said he, + giving a little to the monk, who was looking on with eager eyes. + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot took the glass, and drank slowly the liquor it contained. + </p> + <p> + “It is the same wine,” said he, “but I had too little to tell whether it + be better or worse.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to know, and if you had not a sermon to preach, I would beg + you to drink a little more.” + </p> + <p> + “If it will give you pleasure, my brother.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot half filled the monk’s glass. Gorenflot drank it with great + gravity. + </p> + <p> + “I pronounce it better,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You flatter our host.” + </p> + <p> + “A good drinker ought, at the first draught, to recognize the wine, at the + second, the quality, and, at the third, the age.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I should like to know the age of this wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me a few drops more, and I will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot filled his glass. He drank it off, and then said, “1561.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” cried Claude Boutromet, “it was 1561.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot,” cried Chicot, “they have beatified men at Rome who + were worth less than you.” + </p> + <p> + “A little habit,” said Gorenflot, modestly. + </p> + <p> + “And talent; for I flatter myself I have the habit, and I could not do it. + But what are you about?” + </p> + <p> + “Going to my assembly.” + </p> + <p> + “Without eating a piece of my carp?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah I true; you know still less of eating than drinking. M. Boutromet, + what is the name of this animal?” + </p> + <p> + The innkeeper looked astonished. “A capon,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “A capon!” cried Chicot, with an air of consternation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and a fine one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Gorenflot, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Well I it seems I was wrong, but as I wish to eat this capon, and yet not + sin, be so kind, brother, as to throw a few drops of water upon it, and + christen it a carp.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I pray you, save me from mortal sin.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” cried Gorenflot, “but there is no water.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! the intention is all; baptize it with wine, my brother; the animal + will be less Catholic but quite as good.” And Chicot refilled the monk’s + glass. The first bottle was finished. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of Bacchus, Momus, and Comus, trinity of the great saint + Pantagruel, I baptize thee, carp,” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Chicot, “to the health of the newly baptized; may it be cooked + to perfection, and may M. Boutromet add to the excellent qualities which + it has received from nature.” + </p> + <p> + “To his health,” cried Gorenflot, interrupting a hearty laugh to swallow + his wine. + </p> + <p> + “M. Claude, put this carp at once on the spit, cover it with fresh butter, + with shalots in it, and put some toast in the frying-pan, and serve it + hot.” Gorenflot approved with a motion of his head. + </p> + <p> + “Now, M. Boutromet, some sardines and a tunny fish, meanwhile; it is Lent, + and I wish to make a maigre dinner. And let me have two more bottles of + wine.” + </p> + <p> + The smell of the cookery began to mount to the brain of the monk. Yet he + made a last effort to rise. + </p> + <p> + “Then you leave me, after all?” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “I must,” said Gorenflot, raising his eyes to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “It is very imprudent of you to go to pronounce a discourse fasting.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because your strength will fail you. Galen has said it. Pulmo hominis + facile deficit.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Luckily, I have zeal.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but that is not enough; I advise you to eat some sardines, and drink + a little of this nectar.” + </p> + <p> + “A single sardine, then, and one glass.” Chicot gave him the sardine, and + passed him the bottle. He himself took care to keep sober. + </p> + <p> + “I feel myself less feeble,” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you must feel quite strong before you go, and so I advise you to eat + the fins of the carp.” And as they entered with the pullet, Chicot cut off + a leg and thigh, which Gorenflot soon despatched. + </p> + <p> + “What a delicious fish!” said Gorenflot. Chicot cut off the other leg and + gave it to Gorenflot, while he ate the wings. + </p> + <p> + “And famous wine,” said he, uncorking another bottle. + </p> + <p> + Having once commenced, Gorenflot could not stop. His appetite was + enormous; he finished the bird, and then called to Boutromet. “M. Claude,” + said he, “I am hungry; did you not offer me omelet just now?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, bring it.” + </p> + <p> + “In five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Gorenflot, “now I feel in force; if the omelet were here, I + could eat it at a mouthful, and I swallow this wine at a gulp.” And he + swallowed a quarter of the third bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you were ill before.” + </p> + <p> + “I was foolish, friend; that cursed discourse weighed on my mind; I have + been thinking of it for days.” + </p> + <p> + “It ought to be magnificent.” + </p> + <p> + “Splendid.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me some of it while we wait for the omelet.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; not a sermon at table.” + </p> + <p> + “We have beautiful discourses at the court, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “About what?” + </p> + <p> + “About virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, he is a very virtuous man, our King Henri III.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know if he be virtuous; but I know that I have never seen + anything there to make me blush.” + </p> + <p> + “You blush!” + </p> + <p> + At this moment M. Boutromet entered with the omelet and two more bottles. + </p> + <p> + “Bring it here,” cried the monk, with a smile, which showed his thirty-two + teeth. + </p> + <p> + “But, friend, I thought you had a discourse to pronounce.” + </p> + <p> + “It is here,” cried Gorenflot, striking his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “At half-past nine.” + </p> + <p> + “I lied; it was ten.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten! I thought the abbey shut at nine.” + </p> + <p> + “Let it shut; I have a key.” + </p> + <p> + “A key of the abbey!” + </p> + <p> + “Here, in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible; I know the monastic rules. They would not give the key to a + simple monk.” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is,” said Gorenflot, showing a piece of money. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, money! you corrupt the porter to go in when you please, wretched + sinner! But what strange money!” + </p> + <p> + “An effigy of the heretic, with a hole through his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see it is a tester of the Béarn king’s, and here is a hole.” + </p> + <p> + “A blow with a dagger. Death to the heretic. He who does it is sure of + Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not yet drunk enough;” so thought Chicot; and he filled his glass + again. + </p> + <p> + “To the mass!” cried Gorenflot, drinking it off. + </p> + <p> + Chicot remembered the porter looking at the hands of the monks, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Then, if you show this to the porter——” + </p> + <p> + “I enter.” + </p> + <p> + “Without difficulty?” + </p> + <p> + “As this wine into my stomach.” And the monk absorbed a new dose. + </p> + <p> + “And you pronounce your discourse?” + </p> + <p> + “And I pronounce my discourse. I arrive—do you hear? The assembly is + numerous and select. There are barons, counts, and dukes.” + </p> + <p> + “And even princes?” + </p> + <p> + “And even princes. I enter humbly among the faithful of the Union——” + </p> + <p> + “The Union—what does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I enter; they call Brother Gorenflot, and I advance——” + </p> + <p> + At these words the monk rose. “And I advance,” continued he, trying to do + so, but at the first step he rolled on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Chicot; “you advance, you salute the audience and say——” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is my friends who say, Brother Gorenflot—a fine name for a + leaguer, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “A leaguer,” thought Chicot: “what truths is this wine going to bring + out?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I begin.” And the monk rose, and leaned against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “You begin,” said Chicot, holding him up. + </p> + <p> + “I begin, ‘My brothers, it is a good day for the faith, a very good day, + my brothers; it is a very good day for the faith.’” + </p> + <p> + After this, as Chicot loosed his hold, Gorenflot fell full length again on + the floor, and before many minutes a loud snoring was heard. + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Chicot, “he is in for twelve hours sleep. I can easily + undress him.” + </p> + <p> + He then untied the monk’s robe, and pulled it off; then rolled Gorenflot + in the tablecloth, and covered his head with a napkin, and hiding the + monk’s frock under his cloak, passed into the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “M. Boutromet,” said he, “here is for our supper, and for my horse; and + pray do not wake the worthy Brother Gorenflot, who sleeps sound.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; be easy, M. Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + Then Chicot ran to the rue St. Etienne, put on the monk’s robe, took the + tester in his hand, and at a quarter to ten presented himself, not without + a beating heart, at the wicket of the Abbey St. Geneviève. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT FOUND OUT THAT IT WAS EASIER TO GO IN THAN OUT OF THE ABBEY. + </h3> + <p> + Chicot, from the cloak and other things under the monk’s robe, looked much + larger across the shoulders than usual. His beard was of the same color as + Gorenflot’s, and he had so often amused himself with mimicking the monk’s + voice and manner of speaking that he could do it perfectly. Now, everyone + knows that the beard and the voice are the only things which are + recognizable from under the depths of a monk’s hood. Chicot exhibited his + coin, and was admitted without difficulty, and then followed two other + monks to the chapel of the convent. In this chapel, built in the eleventh + century, the choir was raised nine or ten feet above the rest of the + building, and you mounted into it by two lateral staircases, while an iron + door between them led from the nave to the crypt, into which you had to + descend again. In this choir there was a portrait of St. Geneviève, and on + each side of the altar were statues of Clovis and Clotilda. + </p> + <p> + Three lamps only lighted the chapel, and the imperfect light gave a + greater solemnity to the scene. Chicot was glad to find that he was not + the last, for three monks entered after in gray robes, and placed + themselves in front of the altar. Soon after, a little monk, doubtless a + lad belonging to the choir, came and spoke to one of these monks, who then + said, aloud,— + </p> + <p> + “We are now one hundred and thirty-six.” + </p> + <p> + Then a great noise of bolts and bars announced that the door was being + closed. The three monks were seated in armchairs, like judges. The one who + had spoken before now rose and said— + </p> + <p> + “Brother Monsoreau, what news do you bring to the Union from the province + of Anjou?” + </p> + <p> + Two things made Chicot start, the first was the voice of the speaker, the + second the name of Monsoreau, known to the court only the last few days. A + tall monk crossed the assembly, and placed himself in a large chair, + behind the shadow of which Chicot had kept himself. + </p> + <p> + “My brothers,” said a voice which Chicot recognized at once as that of the + chief huntsman, “the news from Anjou is not satisfactory; not that we fail + there in sympathy, but in representatives. The progress of the Union there + had been confided to the Baron de Méridor, but he in despair at the recent + death of his daughter, has, in his grief, neglected the affairs of the + league, and we cannot at present count on him. As for myself, I bring + three new adherents to the association. The council must judge whether + these three, for whom I answer, as for myself, ought to be admitted into + the Union.” + </p> + <p> + A murmur of applause followed and as Monsoreau regained his seat,—“Brother + la Hurière,” cried the same monk, “tell us what you have done in the city + of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + A man now took the chair and said, “My brothers, you know I am devoted to + the Catholic faith, and I have given proofs of this devotion on the great + day of its triumph. Yes, my brothers, I glory in saying that I was one of + the faithful of our great Henri de Guise, and that I followed his orders + strictly. I have now noted all the heretics of the Quartier St. Germain + l’Auxerrois, where I shall hold the hotel of the Belle-Etoile, at your + service, my brothers. Now, although I no longer thirst for the blood of + heretics as formerly, I do not delude myself as to the real object of the + holy Union which we are forming. If I am not deceived, brothers, the + extinction of private heretics is not all we aim at. We wish to be sure + that we shall never be governed by a heretic prince. Now, my friends, what + is our situation? Charles IX., who was zealous, died without children; + Henri Ill. will probably do the same, and there remains only the Duc + d’Anjou, who not only has no children either, but seems cold towards us.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you accuse the prince thus?” said the monk who always spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Because he has not joined us.” + </p> + <p> + “Who tells you so, since there are new adherents?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true; I will wait; but after him, who is mortal, and has no + children, to whom will the crown fall? To the most ferocious Huguenot that + can be imagined, to a renegade, a Nebuchadnezzar?” Here the acclamations + were tremendous. + </p> + <p> + “To Henri of Béarn,” continued he, “against whom this association is + chiefly directed—to Henri, who the people at Pau, or Tarbes, think + is occupied with his love affairs, but who is in Paris!” + </p> + <p> + “In Paris! impossible!” cried many voices. + </p> + <p> + “He was here on the night when Madame de Sauve was assassinated, and + perhaps is here still.” + </p> + <p> + “Death to the Béarnais!” cried several. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless, and if he came to lodge at the Belle-Etoile, I answer for + him; but he will not come. One does not catch a fox twice in the same + hole. He will lodge with some friend, for he has friends. The important + thing is to know them. Our union is holy, our league is loyal, consecrated + and blessed by the Pope; therefore I demand that it be no longer kept + secret, but that we go into the houses and canvass the citizens. Those who + sign will be our friends, the others our enemies, and if a second St. + Bartholomew come, which seems to the faithful to be more necessary daily, + we shall know how to separate the good from the wicked.” + </p> + <p> + Thunders of acclamation followed. When they were calm, the monk who always + spoke said,— + </p> + <p> + “The proposition of Brother la Hurière, whom the union thanks for his + zeal, will be taken into consideration by the superior council.” + </p> + <p> + La Hurière bowed, amidst fresh applause. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” thought Chicot, “I begin to see clearly into all this. The + Guises are forming a nice little party, and some fine morning Henri will + find that he has nothing left, and will be politely invited to enter a + monastery. But what will they do with the Duc d’Anjou?” + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot,” then cried the monk. + </p> + <p> + No one replied. + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot,” cried the little monk, in a voice which made Chicot + start; for it sounded like a woman’s. However, he rose, and speaking like + the monk, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Here I am; I was plunged in profound meditation.” He feared not to reply, + for the members had been counted, and therefore the absence of a member + would have provoked an examination. Therefore, without hesitation, he + mounted the chair and began. + </p> + <p> + “My brothers, you know that I purvey for the convent, and have the right + of entering every dwelling. I use this privilege for the good of religion. + My brothers,” continued he, remembering Gorenflot’s beginning, “this day, + which unites us, is a good one for the faith. Let us speak freely, my + brothers, since we are in the house of God. + </p> + <p> + “What is the kingdom of France? A body. ‘<i>Omnis civitas corpus est</i>.’ + What is the first requisite of a body? Good health. How do we preserve + this? By prudent bleedings at times. Now it is evident that the enemies of + our religion are too strong; we must therefore once more bleed that great + body we call society. This is what is constantly said to me by the + faithful, who give me ham, eggs, or money for the convent.” + </p> + <p> + Several murmurs of approbation interrupted Chicot, then he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Some may object that the church abhors blood. But they do not say what + blood, and I wager that it is not the blood of heretics it abhors. And + then another argument; I said, ‘the church;’ but are we the church? + Brother Monsoreau, who spoke so well just now, has, I doubt not, his + huntsman’s knife in his belt. Brother la Hurière manages the spit; I, + myself, who speak to you—I, Jacques Gorenflot, have carried the + musket in Champagne. It now remains to us to speak of our chiefs, of whom + it seems to me, poor monk as I am, that there is something to say. + Certainly, it is very well and prudent to come at night under a monk’s + robe, to hear Brother Gorenflot preach; but it appears to me that their + duties do not stop there. So much prudence may make the Huguenots laugh. + Let us play a part more worthy of the brave people we are. What do we + want? The extinction of heresy. Well, that may be cried from the + housetops, it seems to me. Why not march in holy procession, displaying + our good cause, and our good partisans, but not like the thieves, who keep + looking round them to see if the watch is coming. Who is the man who will + set the example? Well, it is I, Jacques Gorenflot; I, unworthy brother of + the order of St. Geneviève, poor and humble purveyor of the convent. It + shall be I, who with a cuirass on my back, a helmet on my head, and a + musket on my shoulder, will march at the head of all good Catholics who + will follow me. This I would do, were it only to make those chiefs blush, + who, while defending the Church, hide, as if their cause was a bad one.” + </p> + <p> + This speech, which corresponded with the sentiments of many there, was + received with shouts of applause; and the more so, as up to this time + Gorenflot had never shown any enthusiasm for the cause. However, it was + not the plan of the chiefs to let this enthusiasm proceed. One of the + monks spoke to the lad, who cried in his silvery voice, “My brothers, it + is time to retire; the sitting is over.” + </p> + <p> + The monks rose, all determined to insist on the procession at the next + meeting. Many approached the chair to felicitate the author of this + brilliant speech; but Chicot, fearful of being recognized, threw himself + on his knees and buried his head in his hands, as if in prayer. They + respected his devotions, and went towards the door. However, Chicot had + missed his chief aim. What had made him quit the king was the sight of M. + de Mayenne and Nicolas David, on both of whom he had, as we know, vowed + vengeance; and although the duke was too great a man to be attacked + openly, Nicolas David was not, and Chicot was so good a swordsman as to + feel sure of success if he could but meet him. He therefore began to watch + each monk as he went out, and perceived to his terror that each, on going + out, had to show some sign again. Gorenflot had told him how to get in, + but not how to get out again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT, FORCED TO REMAIN IN THE ABBEY, SAW AND HEARD THINGS VERY + DANGEROUS TO SEE AND HEAR. + </h3> + <p> + Chicot hastened to get down from his chair, and to mix among the monks so + as to discover, if possible, what signs they used. By peeping over their + shoulders, he found out that it was a farthing, with a star cut in the + middle. Our Gascon had plenty of farthings in his pocket, but unluckily + none with a star in it. Of course, if when on coming to the door he was + unable to produce the necessary signs, he would be suspected and examined. + He gained the shade of a pillar, which stood at the corner of a + confessional, and stood there wondering what he should do. An assistant + cried, “Is everyone out, the doors are about to be shut.” + </p> + <p> + No one answered; Chicot peeped out and saw the chapel empty, with the + exception of the three monks, who still kept their seats in front of the + choir. + </p> + <p> + “Provided they do not shut the windows, it is all I ask,” thought Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Let us examine,” said the young lad to the porter. Then the porter lifted + a taper, and, followed by the young lad, began to make the tour of the + church. There was not a moment to lose. Chicot softly opened the door of + the confessional, slipped in, and shut the door after him. They passed + close by him, and he could see them through the spaces of the sculpture. + </p> + <p> + “Diable!” thought he, “he cannot stay here all night, and once they are + gone, I will pile chairs upon benches, Pelion on Ossa, and get out of the + window. Ah! yes, but when I have done that, I shall be, not in the street, + but in the court. I believe it will be better to pass the night in the + confessional; Gorenflot’s robe is warm.” + </p> + <p> + “Extinguish the lamps,” now cried the lad; and the porter with an immense + extinguisher put out the lamps, and left the church dark, except for the + rays of the moon which shone through the windows. The clock struck twelve. + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche!” said Chicot, “Henri, if he were here, would be nicely + frightened; but, luckily, I am less timid. Come, Chicot, my friend, good + night and sleep well.” + </p> + <p> + Then Chicot pushed the inside bolt, made himself as comfortable as he + could, and shut his eyes. He was just falling asleep, when he was startled + by a loud stroke on a copper bell, and at the same time the lamp in the + choir was relighted, and showed the three monks still there. + </p> + <p> + “What can this mean?” thought Chicot, starting up. Brave as he was, Chicot + was not exempt from superstitious fears. He made the sign of the cross, + murmuring, “Vade retro, Satanas!” But as the lights did not go out at the + holy sign, Chicot began to think he had to deal with real monks and real + lights; but at this moment one of the flagstones of the choir raised + itself slowly, and a monk appeared through the opening, after which the + stone shut again. At this sight Chicot’s hair stood on end, and he began + to fear that all the priors and abbés of St. Geneviève, from Opsat, dead + in 533, down to Pierre Boudin, predecessor of the present superior, were + being resuscitated from their tombs, and were going to raise with their + bony heads the stones of the choir. But this doubt did not last long. + </p> + <p> + “Brother Monsoreau,” said one of the monks to him who had just made so + strange an appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Open the door that he may come to us.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau descended to open the door between the staircases, and at the + same time the monk in the middle lowered his hood, and showed the great + scar, that noble sign by which the Parisians recognized their hero. + </p> + <p> + “The great Henri of Guise himself!” thought Chicot, “whom his very + imbecile majesty believes occupied at the siege of La Charité. Ah! and he + at the right is the Cardinal of Lorraine, and he at the left M. de Mayenne—a + trinity not very holy, but very visible.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you think he would come?” said La Balafré to his brothers. + </p> + <p> + “I was so sure of it, that I have under my cloak where-with to replace the + holy vial.” + </p> + <p> + And Chicot perceived, by the feeble light of the lamp, a silver gilt box, + richly chased. Then about twenty monks, with their heads buried in immense + hoods, came out of the crypt, and stationed themselves in the nave. A + single one, conducted by M. de Monsoreau, mounted the staircase, and + placed himself at the right of M. de Guise. Then M. de Guise spoke. + “Friends,” said he, “time is precious; therefore I go straight to the + point. You have heard just now, in the first assembly, the complaints of + some of our members, who tax with coldness the principal person among us, + the prince nearest to the throne. The time is come to render justice to + this prince; you shall hear and judge for yourselves whether your chiefs + merit the reproach of coldness and apathy made by one of our brothers, the + monk Gorenflot, whom we have not judged it prudent to admit into our + secret.” + </p> + <p> + At this name, pronounced in a tone which showed bad intentions towards the + warlike monk, Chicot in his confessional could not help laughing quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the duke, now turning towards the mysterious personages + at his right, “the will of God appears to me manifest; for since you have + consented to join us, it shows that what we do is well done. Now, your + highness, we beg of you to lower your hood, that your faithful friends may + see with their own eyes that you keep the promise which I made in your + name, and which they hardly dared to believe.” + </p> + <p> + The mysterious personage now lowered his hood, and Chicot saw the head of + the Duc d’Anjou appear, so pale that, by the light of the lamp, it looked + like that of a marble statue. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh!” thought Chicot, “the duke is not yet tired of playing for the + crown with the heads of others!” + </p> + <p> + “Long live Monseigneur le Duc d’Anjou!” cried the assembly. + </p> + <p> + The duke grew paler than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing, monseigneur,” said Henri de Guise; “our chapel is deaf, and + its doors are well closed.” + </p> + <p> + “My brothers,” said the Comte de Monsoreau, “his highness wishes to + address a few words to the assembly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” cried they. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” began he, in a voice so trembling that at first they could + hardly distinguish his words, “I believe that God, who often seems + insensible and deaf to the things of this world, keeps, on the contrary, + His piercing eyes constantly on us, and only remains thus careless in + appearance in order to remedy, by some great blow, the disorders caused by + the foolish ambitions of men. I also have kept my eyes, if not on the + world, at least on France. What have I seen there? The holy religion of + Christ shaken to its foundation by those who sap all belief, under the + pretext of drawing nearer to God, and my soul has been full of grief. In + the midst of this grief, I heard that several noble and pious gentlemen, + friends of our old faith, were trying to strengthen the tottering altar. I + threw my eyes around me, and saw on one side the heretics, from whom I + recoiled with horror; on the other side the elect, and I am come to throw + myself into their arms. My brothers, here I am.” + </p> + <p> + The applause and bravos resounded through the chapel. Then the cardinal, + turning to the duke, said: + </p> + <p> + “You are amongst us of your own free will?” + </p> + <p> + “Of my free will, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Who instructed you in the holy mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, the Comte de Monsoreau, a man zealous for religion.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Duc de Guise, “as your highness has joined us, have the + goodness to tell us what you intend to do for the league.” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to serve the Catholic religion in all its extent.” + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche!” thought Chicot, “why not propose this right out to the + king? It would suit him excellently—processions, macerations, + extirpation of heresy, fagots, and auto-da-fés! Go on, worthy brother of + his majesty, noble imbecile, go on!” + </p> + <p> + And the duke, as if sensible of the encouragement, proceeded: “But the + interests of religion are not the sole aim which you gentlemen propose. As + for me, I see another; for when a gentleman has thought of what he owes to + God, he then thinks of his country, and he asks himself if it really + enjoys all the honor and prosperity which it ought to enjoy. I ask this + about our France, and I see with grief that it does not. Indeed, the state + is torn to pieces by different wills and tastes, one as powerful as the + other. It is, I fear, to the feebleness of the head, which forgets that it + ought to govern all for the good of its subjects, or only remembers this + royal principle at capricious intervals, when the rare acts of energy are + generally not for the good, but the ill of France, that we must attribute + these evils. Whatever be the cause, the ill is a real one, although I + accuse certain false friends of the king rather than the king himself. + Therefore I join myself to those who by all means seek the extinction of + heresy and the ruin of perfidious counselors.” + </p> + <p> + This discourse appeared profoundly to interest the audience, who, throwing + back their hoods, drew near to the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said the Duc de Guise, “in thanking your royal highness for + the words you have just uttered, I will add that you are surrounded by + people devoted not only to the principles which you profess, but to the + person of your highness; and if you have any doubt, the conclusion of this + sitting will convince you.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said the cardinal, “if your highness still experiences any + fear, the names of those who now surround you will, I hope, reassure you. + Here is M. le Gouverneur d’Aunis, M. d’Antragues, M. de Ribeirac, and M. + de Livarot, and gentlemen whom your highness doubtless knows to be as + brave as loyal. Here are, besides, M. de Castillon, M. le Baron de + Lusignan, MM. Cruce and Leclerc, all ready to march under the guidance of + your highness, to the emancipation of religion and the throne. We shall, + then, receive with gratitude the orders that you will give us.” + </p> + <p> + Then M. de Mayenne said: “You are by your birth, and by your wisdom, + monseigneur, the natural chief of the Holy Union, and we ought to learn + from you what our conduct should be with regard to the false friends of + his majesty of whom you just now spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more simple,” replied the prince, with that feverish excitement + which in weak natures supplies the place of courage to weak minds; “when + venomous plants grow in a field, we root them up. The king is surrounded, + not with friends, but with courtiers, who ruin him, and cause a perpetual + scandal in France and all Christendom.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said the Duc de Guise, in a gloomy tone. + </p> + <p> + “And,” said the cardinal, “these courtiers prevent us, who are his + majesty’s true friends, from approaching him as we have the right to do by + our birth and position.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us, then,” said M. de Mayenne, “leave the heretics to the vulgar + leaguers; let us think of those who annoy and insult us, and who often + fail in respect to the prince whom we honor, and who is our chief.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Anjou grew red. + </p> + <p> + “Let us destroy,” continued Mayenne, “to the last man, that cursed race + whom the king enriches, and let each of us charge ourselves with the life + of one. We are thirty here; let us count.” + </p> + <p> + “I,” said D’Antragues, “charge myself with Quelus.” + </p> + <p> + “I with Maugiron,” said Livarot. + </p> + <p> + “And I with Schomberg,” said Ribeirac. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said the duke; “and there is Bussy, my brave Bussy, who will + undertake some of them.” + </p> + <p> + “And us!” cried the rest. + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau now advanced. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I claim an instant’s + silence. We are resolute men, and yet we fear to speak freely to each + other; we are intelligent men, and yet we are deterred by foolish + scruples. Come, gentlemen, a little courage, a little hardihood, a little + frankness. It is not of the king’s minions that we think; there does not + lie our difficulty. What we really complain of is the royalty which we are + under, and which is not acceptable to a French nobility; prayers and + despotism, weakness and orgies, prodigality for fêtes which make all + Europe laugh, and parsimony for everything that regards the state and the + arts. Such conduct is not weakness or ignorance—it is madness.” + </p> + <p> + A dead silence followed this speech. Everyone trembled at the words which + echoed his own thoughts. M. de Monsoreau went on. + </p> + <p> + “Must we live under a king, foolish, inert, and lazy, at a time when all + other nations are active, and work gloriously, while we sleep? Gentlemen, + pardon me for saying before a prince, who will perhaps blame my temerity + (for he has the prejudices of family), that for four years we have been + governed, not by a king, but by a monk.” + </p> + <p> + At these words the explosion so skilfully prepared and as skilfully kept + in check, burst out with violence. + </p> + <p> + “Down with the Valois!” they cried, “down with Brother Henri! Let us have + for chief a gentleman, a knight, rather a tyrant than a monk.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” cried the Duc d’Anjou, hypocritically, “let me plead for my + brother, who is led away. Let me hope that our wise remonstrances, that + the efficacious intervention of the power of the League, will bring him + back into the right path.” + </p> + <p> + “Hiss, serpent, hiss,” said Chicot to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” replied the Duc de Guise, “your highness has heard, perhaps + rather too soon, but still you have heard, the true meaning of the + association. No! we are not really thinking of a league against the + Béarnais, nor of a league to support the Church, which will support + itself: no, we think of raising the nobility of France from its abject + condition. Too long we have been kept back by the respect we feel for your + highness, by the love which we know you to have for your family. Now, all + is revealed, monseigneur, and your highness will assist at the true + sitting of the League. All that has passed is but preamble.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, M. le Duc?” asked the prince, his heart beating at once + with alarm and ambition. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, we are united here, not only to talk, but to act. To-day we + choose a chief capable of honoring and enriching the nobility of France; + and as it was the custom of the ancient Franks when they chose a chief to + give him a present worthy of him, we offer a present to the chief whom we + have chosen.” + </p> + <p> + All hearts beat, and that of the prince most of any; yet he remained mute + and motionless, betraying his emotion only by his paleness. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” continued the duke, taking something from behind him, “here + is the present that in your name I place at the feet of the prince.” + </p> + <p> + “A crown!” cried the prince, scarcely able to stand, “a crown to me, + gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “Long live François III.!” cried all the gentlemen, drawing their swords. + </p> + <p> + “I! I!” cried the Duke, trembling with joy and terror. “It is impossible! + My brother still lives; he is the anointed of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “We depose him,” said the duke, “waiting for the time when God shall + sanction, by his death, the election which we are about to make, or + rather, till one of his subjects, tired of this inglorious reign, + forestalls by poison or the dagger the justice of God.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” said the duke, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” then said the cardinal, “to the scruple which you so nobly + expressed just now, this is our answer. Henri III. was the anointed of the + Lord, but we have deposed him; it is you who are going to be so. Here is a + temple as venerable as that of Rheims; for here have reposed the relics of + St Geneviève, patroness of Paris; here has been embalmed the body of + Clovis, our first Christian king; well, monseigneur, in this holy temple, + I, one of the princes of the Church, and who may reasonably hope to become + one day its head, I tell you, monseigneur, that here, to replace the holy + oil, is an oil sent by Pope Gregory XIII. Monseigneur, name your future + archbishop of Rheims, name your constable, and in an instant, it is you + who will be king, and your brother Henri, if he do not give you up the + crown, will be the usurper. Child, light the altar.” + </p> + <p> + Immediately, the lad, who was evidently waiting, came out, and presently + fifty lights shone round the altar and choir. + </p> + <p> + Then was seen on the altar a miter glittering with precious stones, and a + large sword ornamented with fleur-de-lis. It was the archbishop’s miter + and the constable’s sword. At the same moment the organ began to play the + Veni Creator. This sudden stroke, managed by the three Lorraine princes, + and which the Duc d’Anjou himself did not expect, made a profound + impression on the spectators. The courageous grew bolder than ever, and + the weak grew strong. The Duc d’Anjou raised his head, and with a firmer + step than might have been expected, walked to the altar, took the miter in + the left hand and the sword in the right, presented one to the cardinal + and the other to the duke. Unanimous applause followed this action. + </p> + <p> + “Now, gentlemen,” said the prince to the others, “give your names to M. de + Mayenne, grand Master of France, and the day when I ascend the throne, you + shall have the cordon bleu.” + </p> + <p> + “Mordieu!” thought Chicot, “what a pity I cannot give mine; I shall never + have such another opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “Now to the altar, sire,” said the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de Monsoreau my colonel, MM. de Ribeirac and d’Antragues my + captains, and M. Livarot, my lieutenant of the guards, take your places.” + </p> + <p> + Each of those named took the posts which, at a real coronation, etiquette + would have assigned to them. Meanwhile, the cardinal had passed behind the + altar to put on his pontifical robes; soon he reappeared with the holy + vial. Then the lad brought to him a Bible and a cross. The cardinal put + the cross on the book and extended them towards the Duc d’Anjou, who put + his hand on them, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “In the presence of God, I promise to my people to maintain and honor our + holy religion as a Christian king should. And may God and His saints aid + me!” + </p> + <p> + Then the Duc de Guise laid the sword before the altar, and the cardinal + blessed it and gave it to the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said he, “take this sword, which is given to you with the blessing + of God, that you may resist your enemies, and protect and defend the holy + Church, which is confided to you. Take this sword that, with it, you may + exercise justice, protect the widow and the orphan, repair disorders, so + that, covering yourself with glory by all the virtues, you will be a + blessing to your people.” + </p> + <p> + Then the prince returned the sword to the Duc de Guise, and knelt down. + The cardinal opened the gold box, and, with the point of a golden needle, + drew out some holy oil; he then said two prayers, and taking the oil on + his finger, traced with it a cross on the head of the prince, saying, + “Ungo dein regem de oleo sanctificato, in nomine Patris et Filii et + Spiritus Sancti.” + </p> + <p> + The lad wiped off the oil with an embroidered handkerchief. Then the + cardinal took the crown, and, holding it over the head of the prince, + said, “God crown thee with the crown of glory and justice.” Then, placing + it, “Receive this crown, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy + Ghost.” + </p> + <p> + All brandished their swords and cried, “Long live François III.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said the cardinal, “you reign henceforth over France.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the prince, “I shall never forget the names of the + thirty gentlemen who first judged me worthy to reign over them; and now + adieu, and may God have you in His holy keeping.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Mayenne led away the new king, while the other two brothers + exchanged an ironical smile. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT LEARNED GENEALOGY. + </h3> + <p> + When the Duc d’Anjou was gone, and had been followed by all the others, + the three Guises entered the vestry. Chicot, thinking of course this was + the end, got up to stretch his limbs, and then, as it was nearly two + o’clock, once more disposed himself to sleep. + </p> + <p> + But to his great astonishment, the three brothers almost immediately came + back again, only this time without their frocks. On seeing them appear, + the lad burst into so hearty a fit of laughing, that Chicot could hardly + help laughing also. + </p> + <p> + “Do not laugh so loud, sister,” said the Duc de Mayenne, “they are hardly + gone out, and might hear you.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, the seeming lad threw back his hood, and displayed a head as + charming and intelligent as was ever painted by Leonardo da Vinci. Black + eyes, full of fun, but which could assume an expression almost terrible in + its seriousness, a little rosy month, and a round chin terminating the + perfect oval of a rather pale face. It was Madame de Montpensier, a + dangerous syren, who had the soul of a demon with the face of an angel. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, brother cardinal,” cried she, “how well you acted the holy man! I was + really afraid for a minute that you were serious; and he letting himself + be greased and crowned. Oh, how horrid he looked with his crown on!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said the duke, “we have got what we wanted, and François + cannot now deny his share. Monsoreau, who doubtless had his own reasons + for it, led the thing on well, and now he cannot abandon us, as he did La + Mole and Coconnas.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot saw that they had been laughing at M. d’Anjou, and as he detested + him, would willingly have embraced them for it, always excepting M. de + Mayenne, and giving his share to his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Let us return to business,” said the cardinal, “is all well closed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” said the duchess, “but if you like I will go and see.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; you must be tired.” + </p> + <p> + “No; it was too amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “Mayenne, you say he is here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not see him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he is hidden in a confessional.” + </p> + <p> + These words startled Chicot fearfully. + </p> + <p> + “Then he has heard and seen all?” asked the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, he is one of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him here, Mayenne.” + </p> + <p> + Mayenne descended the staircase and came straight to where Chicot was + hiding. He was brave, but now his teeth chattered with terror. “Ah,” + thought he, trying to get out his sword from under his monk’s frock, “at + least I will kill him first!” The duke had already extended his hand to + open the door, when Chicot heard the duchess say: + </p> + <p> + “Not there, Mayenne; in that confessional to the left.” + </p> + <p> + “It was time,” thought Chicot, as the duke turned away, “but who the devil + can the other be?” + </p> + <p> + “Come out, M. David,” said Mayenne, “we are alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am, monseigneur,” said he, coming out. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard all?” asked the Duc de Guise. + </p> + <p> + “I have not lost a word, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can report it to the envoy of his Holiness Gregory XIII.?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mayenne tells me you have done wonders for us; let us see.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done what I promised, monseigneur; that is to say, found a method + of seating you, without opposition, on the throne of France!” + </p> + <p> + “They also!” thought Chicot; “everyone wants then to be King of France!” + </p> + <p> + Chicot was gay now, for he felt safe once more, and he had discovered a + conspiracy by which he hoped to ruin his two enemies. + </p> + <p> + “To gain a legitimate right is everything,” continued Nicolas David, “and + I have discovered that you are the true heirs, and the Valois only a + usurping branch.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to believe,” said the duke, “that our house, however + illustrious it may be, comes before the Valois.” + </p> + <p> + “It is nevertheless proved, monseigneur,” said David, drawing out a + parchment. The duke took it. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “The genealogical tree of the house of Lorraine.” + </p> + <p> + “Of which the root is?” + </p> + <p> + “Charlemagne, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Charlemagne!” cried the three brothers, with an air of incredulous + satisfaction, “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, monseigneur; you may be sure I have not raised a point to which any + one may give the lie. What you want is a long lawsuit, during which you + can gain over, not the people, they are yours, but the parliament. See, + then, monseigneur, here it is. Ranier, first Duc de Lorraine, contemporary + with Charlemagne;—Guibert, his son;—Henri, son of Guibert——” + </p> + <p> + “But——” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “A little patience, monseigneur. Bonne——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the duke, “daughter of Ricin, second son of Ranier.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; to whom married?” + </p> + <p> + “Bonne?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “To Charles of Lorraine, son of Louis IV., King of France.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. Now add, ‘brother of Lothaire, despoiled of the crown of France + by the usurper, Hugh Capet.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!” said the duke and the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Charles of Lorraine inherited from his brother Lothaire. Now, the + race of Lothaire is extinct, therefore you are the only true heirs of the + throne.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say to that, brother?” cried the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “I say, that unluckily there exists in France a law they call the Salic + law, which destroys all our pretensions.” + </p> + <p> + “I expected that objection, monseigneur,” said David, “but what is the + first example of the Salic law?” + </p> + <p> + “The accession of Philippe de Valois, to the prejudice of Edward of + England.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the date of that accession?” + </p> + <p> + “1328,” said the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “That is to say, 341 years after the usurpation of Hugh Capet, 240 years + after the extinction of the race of Lothaire. Then, for 240 years your + ancestors had already had a right to the throne before the Salic law was + invented. Now, everyone knows that the law cannot have any retrospective + effect.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a clever man, M. David,” said the Duc de Guise. + </p> + <p> + “It is very ingenious,” said the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “It is very fine,” said Mayenne. + </p> + <p> + “It is admirable,” said the duchess; “then I am a princess royal. I will + have no one less than the Emperor of Germany for a husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Well; here are your 200 gold crowns which I promised you.” + </p> + <p> + “And here are 200 others,” said the cardinal, “for the new mission with + which we are about to charge you.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, monseigneur, I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “We cannot commission you to carry this genealogy yourself to our holy + Father, Gregory XIII.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! no; my will is good, but I am of too poor birth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is a misfortune. We must therefore send Pierre de Gondy on this + mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to speak,” said the duchess. “The Gondys are clever, no doubt, + but ambitious, and not to be trusted.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! reassure yourself. Gondy shall take this, but mixed with other + papers, and not knowing what he carries. The Pope will approve, or + disapprove, silently, and Gondy will bring us back the answer, still in + ignorance of what he brings. You, Nicolas David, shall wait for him at + Chalons, Lyons, or Avignon, according to your instructions. Thus you alone + will know our true secret.” + </p> + <p> + Then the three brothers shook hands, embraced their sister, put on again + their monk’s robes, and disappeared. Behind them the porter drew the + bolts, and then came in and extinguished the lights, and Chicot heard his + retreating steps fainter and fainter, and all was silent. + </p> + <p> + “It seems now all is really over,” thought Chicot, and he came out of the + confessional. He had noticed in a corner a ladder destined to clean the + windows. He felt about until he found it, for it was close to him, and by + the light of the moon placed it against the window. He easily opened it, + and striding across it and drawing the ladder to him with that force and + address which either fear or joy always gives, he drew it from the inside + to the outside. When he had descended, he hid the ladder in a hedge, which + was planted at the bottom of the wall, jumped from tomb to tomb, until he + reached the outside wall over which he clambered. Once in the street he + breathed more freely; he had escaped with a few scratches from the place + where he had several times felt his life in danger. He went straight to + the Corne d’Abondance, at which he knocked. It was opened by Claude + Boutromet himself, who knew him at once, although he went out dressed as a + cavalier, and returned attired as a monk. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! is it you?” cried he. + </p> + <p> + Chicot gave him a crown, and asked for Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + The host smiled, and said, “Look!” + </p> + <p> + Brother Gorenflot lay snoring just in the place where Chicot had left him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW M. AND MADAME DE ST. LUC MET WITH A TRAVELING COMPANION. + </h3> + <p> + The next morning, about the time when Gorenflot woke from his nap, warmly + rolled in his frock, our reader, if he had been traveling on the road from + Paris to Angers, might have seen a gentleman and his page, riding quietly + side by side. These cavaliers had arrived at Chartres the evening before, + with foaming horses, one of which had fallen with fatigue, as they + stopped. They entered the inn, and half an hour after set out on fresh + horses. Once in the country, still bare and cold, the taller of the two + approached the other, and said, as he opened his arms: “Dear little wife, + embrace me, for now we are safe.” + </p> + <p> + Then Madame de St. Luc, leaning forward and opening her thick cloak, + placed her arms round the young man’s neck and gave him the long and + tender kiss which he had asked for. They stayed the night in the little + village of Courville four leagues only from Chartres, but which from its + isolation seemed to them a secure retreat; and it was on the following + morning that they were, as we said, pursuing their way. This day, as they + were more easy in their minds, they traveled no longer like fugitives, but + like schoolboys seeking for moss, for the first few early flowers, + enjoying the sunshine and amused at everything. + </p> + <p> + “Morbleu!” cried St. Luc, at last, “how delightful it is to be free. Have + you ever been free, Jeanne?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” cried she, laughing, “never; it is the first time I ever felt so. My + father was suspicious, and my mother lazy. I never went out without a + governess and two lackeys, so that I do not remember having run on the + grass, since, when a laughing child, I ran in the woods of Méridor with my + dear Diana, challenging her to race, and rushing through the branches. But + you, dear St. Luc; you were free, at least?” + </p> + <p> + “I, free?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless, a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Never. Brought up with the Duc d’Anjou, taken by him to Poland, brought + back to Paris, condemned never to leave him by the perpetual rule of + etiquette; pursued, if I tried to go away, by that doleful voice, crying, + ‘St. Luc, my friend, I am ennuyé, come and amuse me.’ Free, with that + stiff corset which strangled me, and that great ruff which scratched my + neck! No, I have never been free till now, and I enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + “If they should catch us, and send us to the Bastile?” + </p> + <p> + “If they only put us there together, we can bear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think they would. But there is no fear, if you only knew + Méridor, its great oaks, and its endless thickets, its rivers, its lakes, + its flower-beds and lawns; and, then, in the midst of all, the queen of + this kingdom, the beautiful, the good Diana. And I know she loves me + still; she is not capricious in her friendships. Think of the happy life + we shall lead there.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us push on; I am in haste to get there,” and they rode on, stayed the + night at Mans, and then set off for Méridor. They had already reached the + woods and thought themselves in safety, when they saw behind them a + cavalier advancing at a rapid pace. St. Luc grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “Let us fly,” said Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; let us fly, for there is a plume on that hat which disquiets me; it + is of a color much in vogue at the court, and he looks to me like an + ambassador from our royal master.” + </p> + <p> + But to fly was easier to say than to do; the trees grew so thickly that it + was impossible to ride through them but slowly, and the soil was so sandy + that the horses sank into it at every step. The cavalier gained upon them + rapidly, and soon they heard his voice crying,— + </p> + <p> + “Eh, monsieur, do not run away; I bring you something you have lost.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” asked Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “He says we have lost something.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! monsieur,” cried the unknown, again, “you left a bracelet in the + hotel at Courville. Diable! a lady’s portrait; above all, that of Madame + de Cossé. For the sake of that dear mamma, do not run away.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that voice,” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “And then he speaks of my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “It is Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “The Comte de Bussy, our friend,” and they reined up their horses. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, madame,” said Bussy, laughing, and giving her the bracelet. + </p> + <p> + “Have you come from the king to arrest us?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma foi, I am not sufficiently his majesty’s friend for such a + mission. No, I found your bracelet at the hotel, which showed me that you + preceded me on my way.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said St. Luc, “it is chance which brings you on our path.” + </p> + <p> + “Chance, or rather Providence.” + </p> + <p> + Every remaining shadow of suspicion vanished before the sincere smile and + bright eyes of the handsome speaker. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are traveling?” asked Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “But not like us?” + </p> + <p> + “Unhappily; no.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean in disgrace. Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Towards Angers, and you?” + </p> + <p> + “We also.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I should envy your happiness if envy were not so vile.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! M. de Bussy, marry, and you will be as happy as we are,” said Jeanne; + “it is so easy to be happy when you are loved.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! madame, everyone is not so fortunate as you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, the universal favorite.” + </p> + <p> + “To be loved by everyone is as though you were loved by no one, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let me marry you, and you will know the happiness you deny.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not deny the happiness, only that it does not exist for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I marry you?” + </p> + <p> + “If you marry me according to your taste, no; if according to mine, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in love with a woman whom you cannot marry?” + </p> + <p> + “Comte,” said Bussy, “beg your wife not to plunge dagger in my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Bussy; you will make me think it is with her you are in love.” + </p> + <p> + “If it were so, you will confess, at least, that I am a lover not much to + be feared.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said St. Luc, remembering how Bussy had brought him his wife. “But + confess, your heart is occupied.” + </p> + <p> + “I avow it.” + </p> + <p> + “By a love, or by a caprice?” asked Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “By a passion, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I will cure you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will make you as happy as you ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! madame, my only happiness now is to be unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very determined.” + </p> + <p> + “And I also.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, will you accompany us?” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To the château of Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + The blood mounted to the cheeks of Bussy, and then he grew so pale, that + his secret would certainly have been betrayed, had not Jeanne been looking + at her husband with a smile. Bussy therefore had time to recover himself, + and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Where is that?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the property of one of my best friends.” + </p> + <p> + “One of your best friends, and—are they at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless,” said Jeanne, who was completely ignorant of the events of the + last two months; “but have you never heard of the Baron de Méridor, one of + the richest noblemen in France, and of——” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of his daughter, Diana, the most beautiful girl possible?” + </p> + <p> + Bussy was filled with astonishment, asking himself by what singular + happiness he found on the road people to talk to him of Diana de Méridor + to echo the only thought which he had in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Is this castle far off, madame?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “About seven leagues, and we shall sleep there to-night; you will come, + will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, that is already a step towards the happiness I promised you.” + </p> + <p> + “And the baron, what sort of a man is he?” + </p> + <p> + “A perfect gentleman, a preux chevalier, who, had he lived in King + Arthur’s time, would have had a place at his round table.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said Bussy, steadying his voice, “to whom is his daughter married?” + </p> + <p> + “Diana married?” + </p> + <p> + “Would that be extraordinary?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, only I should have been the first to hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy could not repress a sigh. “Then,” said he, “you expect to find + Mademoiselle de Méridor at the château with her father?” + </p> + <p> + “We trust so.” + </p> + <p> + They rode on a long time in silence, and at last Jeanne cried: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there are the turrets of the castle. Look, M. de Bussy, through that + great leafless wood, which in a month, will be so beautiful; do you not + see the roof?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bussy, with an emotion which astonished himself; “and is that + the château of Méridor?” + </p> + <p> + And he thought of the poor prisoner shut up in the Rue St. Antoine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE OLD MAN. + </h3> + <p> + Two hours after they reached the castle. Bussy had been debating within + himself whether or not to confide to his friends what he knew about Diana. + But there was much that he could tell to no one, and he feared their + questions, and besides, he wished to enter Méridor as a stranger. + </p> + <p> + Madame de St. Luc was surprised, when the report sounded his horn to + announce a visit, that Diana did not run as usual to meet them, but + instead of her appeared an old man, bent and leaning on a stick, and his + white hair flying in the wind. He crossed the drawbridge, followed by two + great dogs, and when he drew quite near, said in a feeble voice,— + </p> + <p> + “Who is there, and who does a poor old man the honor to visit him?” + </p> + <p> + “It is I, Seigneur Augustin!” cried the laughing voice of the young woman. + </p> + <p> + But the baron, raising his head slowly, said, “You? I do not see. Who is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu!” cried Jeanne, “do you not know me? It is true, my disguise——” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” said the old man, “but I can see little; the eyes of old men + are not made for weeping, and if they weep too much, the tears burn them.” + </p> + <p> + “Must I tell you my name? I am Madame de St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but my maiden name was Jeanne de Cosse-Brissac.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon Dieu!” cried the old man, trying to open the gate with his + trembling hands. Jeanne, who did not understand this strange reception, + still attributed it only to his declining faculties; but, seeing that he + remembered her, jumped off her horse to embrace him, but as she did so she + felt his cheek wet with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said the old man, turning towards the house, without even noticing + the others. The château had a strange sad look; all the blinds were down, + and no one was visible. + </p> + <p> + “Is Diana unfortunately not at home?” asked Jeanne. The old man stopped, + and looked at her with an almost terrified expression. “Diana!” said he. + At this name the two dogs uttered a mournful howl. “Diana!” repeated the + old man; “do you not, then, know?” + </p> + <p> + And his voice, trembling before, was extinguished in a sob. + </p> + <p> + “But what has happened?” cried Jeanne, clasping her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Diana is dead!” cried the old man, with a torrent of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” cried Jeanne, growing as pale as death. + </p> + <p> + “Dead,” thought Bussy; “then he has let him also think her dead. Poor old + man! how he will bless me some day!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” cried the old man again; “they killed her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear baron!” cried Jeanne, bursting into tears, and throwing her + arms round the old man’s neck. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said he at last, “though desolate and empty, the old house is none + the less hospitable. Enter.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne took the old man’s arm, and they went into the dining-hall, where + he sunk into his armchair. At last, he said, “You said you were married; + which is your husband?” + </p> + <p> + M. de St. Luc advanced and bowed to the old man, who tried to smile as he + saluted him; then, turning to Bussy, said, “And this gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “He is our friend, M. Louis de Clermont, Comte de Bussy d’Amboise, + gentleman of M. le Duc d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + At these words the old man started up, threw a withering glance at Bussy, + and then sank back with a groan. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “Does the baron know you, M. de Bussy?” asked St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “It is the first time I ever had the honor of seeing M. de Méridor,” said + Bussy, who alone understood the effect which the name of the Duc d’Anjou + had produced on the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you a gentleman of the Duc d’Anjou!” cried the baron, “of that + monster, that demon, and you dare to avow it, and have the audacity to + present yourself here!” + </p> + <p> + “Is he mad?” asked St. Luc of his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Grief must have turned his brain,” replied she, in terror. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that monster!” cried he again; “the assassin who killed my child! + Ah, you do not know,” continued he, taking Jeanne’s hands; “but the duke + killed my Diana, my child—he killed her!” + </p> + <p> + Tears stood in Bussy’s eyes, and Jeanne said: + </p> + <p> + “Seigneur, were it so, which I do not understand, you cannot accuse M. de + Bussy of this dreadful crime—he, who is the most noble and generous + gentleman living. See, my good father, he weeps with us. Would he have + come had he known how you would receive him? Ah, dear baron, tell us how + this catastrophe happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you did not know?” said the old man to Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, mon Dieu! no,” cried Jeanne, “we none of us knew.” + </p> + <p> + “My Diana is dead, and her best friend did not know it! Oh, it is true! I + wrote to no one; it seemed to me that everything must die with her. Well, + this prince, this disgrace to France, saw my Diana, and, finding her so + beautiful, had her carried away to his castle of Beaugé to dishonor her. + But Diana, my noble and sainted Diana, chose death instead. She threw + herself from the window into the lake, and they found nothing but her veil + floating on the surface.” And the old man finished with a burst of sobs + which overwhelmed them all. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, comte,” cried St. Luc, “you must abandon this infamous prince; a + noble heart like yours cannot remain friendly to a ravisher and an + assassin!” + </p> + <p> + But Bussy instead of replying to this, advanced to M. de Méridor. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Baron,” said he, “will you grant me the honor of a private + interview?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to M. de Bussy, dear seigneur,” said Jeanne; “you will see that he + is good and may help you.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, monsieur,” said the baron, trembling. + </p> + <p> + Bussy turned to St. Luc and his wife, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Will you permit me?” + </p> + <p> + The young couple went out, and then Bussy said: “M. le Baron, you have + accused the prince whom I serve in terms which force me to ask for an + explanation. Do not mistake the sense in which I speak; it is with the + most profound sympathy, and the most earnest desire to soften your griefs, + that I beg of you to recount to me the details of this dreadful event. Are + you sure all hope is lost?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I had once a moment’s hope. A noble gentleman, M. de Monsoreau, + loved my poor daughter, and interested himself for her.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau! Well, what was his conduct in all this!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, generous; for Diana had refused his hand. He was the first to tell me + of the infamous projects of the duke; he showed me how to baffle them, + only asking, if he succeeded, for her hand. I gave my consent with joy; + but alas! it was useless—he arrived too late—my poor Diana had + saved herself by death!” + </p> + <p> + “And since then, what have you heard of him?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a month ago, and the poor gentleman has not dared to appear before + me, having failed in his generous design.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur,” said Bussy, “I am charged by the Duc d’Anjou to bring + you to Paris, where his highness desires to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I!” cried the baron, “I see this man! And what can the murderer have to + say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? To justify himself perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “No, M. de Bussy, no, I will not go to Paris; it would be too far away + from where my child lies in her cold bed.” + </p> + <p> + “M. le Baron,” said Bussy firmly, “I have come expressly to take you to + Paris, and it is my duty to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will go,” cried the old man, trembling with anger; “but woe to + those who bring me. The king will hear me, or, if he will not, I will + appeal to all the gentlemen of France. Yes, M. de Bussy, I will accompany + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I, M. le Baron,” said Bussy, taking his hand, “recommend to you the + patience and calm dignity of a Christian nobleman. God is merciful to + noble hearts, and you know not what He reserves for you. I beg you also, + while waiting for that day, not to count me among your enemies, for you do + not know what I will do for you. Till to-morrow, then, baron, and early in + the morning we will set off.” + </p> + <p> + “I consent,” replied the old baron, moved by Bussy’s tone and words; “but + meanwhile, friend or enemy, you are my guest, and I will show you to your + room.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW REMY-LE-HAUDOUIN HAD, IN BUSSY’S ABSENCE, ESTABLISHED A COMMUNICATION + WITH THE RUE ST. ANTOINE. + </h3> + <p> + M. and Madame de St. Luc could hardly recover from their surprise. Bussy, + holding secret interviews with M. de Méridor, and then setting off with + him for Paris, appearing to take the lead in a matter which at first + seemed strange and unknown to him, was to the young people an inexplicable + phenomenon. In the morning the baron took leave of his guests, begging + them to remain in the castle. Before Bussy left, however, he whispered a + few words to Madame de St. Luc, which brought the color to her cheeks, and + smiles to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was a long way from Méridor to Paris, especially for the old baron, + covered with wounds from all his battles, and for his old horse, whom he + called Jarnac. Bussy studied earnestly during the journey to find his way + to the heart of the old man by his care and attentions, and without doubt + he succeeded, for on the sixth morning, as they arrived at Paris, M. de + Méridor said: + </p> + <p> + “It is singular, count, but I feel less unquiet at the end than at the + beginning of my journey.” + </p> + <p> + “Two hours more, M. le Baron, and you shall have judged me as I deserve.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going—to the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me first take you to my hotel, that you may refresh yourself a + little, and be fit to see the person to whom I am leading you.” + </p> + <p> + The count’s people had been very much alarmed at his long absence, for he + had set off without telling any one but Rémy. Thus their delight on seeing + him again was great, and they all crowded round him with joyous + exclamations. He thanked them, and then said, “Now assist this gentleman + to dismount, and remember that I look upon him with more respect than a + prince.” + </p> + <p> + When M. de Méridor had been shown to his room, and had had some + refreshment, he asked if they should set out. + </p> + <p> + “Soon, baron; and be easy—it will be a happiness for you as well as + for us.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak in a language which I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy smiled, and left the room to seek Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Well! dear Hippocrates!” said he, “is there anything new?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; all goes well.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the husband has not returned?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he has, but without success. It seems there is a father who is + expected to turn up to make the dénouement.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Bussy, “but how do you know all this?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, monseigneur, as your absence made my position a sinecure, I thought + I would try to make some little use of my time; so I took some books and a + sword to a little room which I hired at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine, + from whence I could see the house that you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good.” + </p> + <p> + “But as I feared, if I were constantly watching, to pass for a spy, I + thought it better to fall in love.” + </p> + <p> + “In love?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, desperately with Gertrude; she is a fine girl, only two inches + taller than myself, and who recounts, capitally.” + </p> + <p> + “Recounts?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; through her I know all that passes with her mistress. I thought you + might not dislike to have communications with the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Rémy, you are a good genius, whom chance, or rather Providence, has + placed in my way. Then you are received in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night I made my entrance on the points of my toes, by the door you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did you manage it?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite naturally. The day after you left, I waited at my door till the + lady of my thoughts came out to buy provisions, which she does every + morning. She recognized me, uttered a cry, and ran away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I ran after her, but could hardly catch her, for she runs fast; but + still, petticoats are always a little in the way. ‘Mon Dieu!’ cried she. + ‘Holy Virgin!’ said I. ‘The doctor!’ ‘The charming housekeeper.’ She + smiled, but said, ‘You are mistaken, monsieur, I do not know you.’ ‘But I + know you,’ I replied, ‘and for the last three days I have lived but for + you, and I adore you so much, that I no longer live in the Rue + Beautreillis, but at the corner of this street, and I changed my lodging + only to see you pass in and out.’” + </p> + <p> + “So that now you are——” + </p> + <p> + “As happy as a lover can be—with Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she suspect you come from me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, how should the poor doctor know a great lord like M. de Bussy. No, + I said, ‘And how is your young master?’ ‘What young master?’ ‘The one I + cured.’ ‘He is not my master.’ ‘Oh! I thought, as he was in your + mistress’s bed——’ ‘Oh! no, poor young man! we have only seen + him once since.’ ‘Do you know his name?’ ‘Oh! yes; he is the Seigneur de + Bussy.’ ‘What! the brave Bussy?’ ‘Yes himself.’ ‘And your mistress?’ ‘Oh! + she is married!’ ‘Yes, but still she may think sometimes of a handsome + young man when she has seen him lying wounded in her bed.’ ‘Oh, to be + frank, I do not say she does not think of him; we talk of him very often.’ + ‘What do you say about him?’ I asked. ‘I recount all I hear about his + prowess, and I have even taught her a little song about him, which she + sings constantly.’” Bussy pressed the young man’s hand; he felt supremely + happy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER. + </h3> + <p> + On descending into the court, M. de Méridor found a fresh horse, which + Bussy had had prepared for him; another waited for Bussy, and attended by + Rémy, they started. As they went along, the baron could not but ask + himself by what strange confidence he had accompanied, almost blindly, the + friend of the prince to whom he owed all his misfortunes. Would it not + have been better to have braved the Duc d’Anjou, and instead of following + Bussy where it pleased him to lead, to have gone at once to the Louvre, + and thrown himself at the feet of the king? What could the prince say to + him? How could he console him? Could soft words heal his wound? + </p> + <p> + When they stopped, “What,” said the baron, “does the Duc d’Anjou live in + this humble house?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, monsieur, but if it is not his dwelling, it is that of a + lady whom he has loved.” + </p> + <p> + A cloud passed over the face of the old gentleman. “Monsieur,” said he, + “we provincials are not used to the easy manners of Paris; they annoy us. + It seems to me that if the Duc d’Anjou wishes to see the Baron de Méridor, + it ought to be at his palace, and not at the house of one of his + mistresses.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, baron!” said Bussy, with his smile, which always carried + conviction with it, “do not hazard false conjectures. On my honor, the + lady who you are going to see is perfectly virtuous and worthy in all + respects.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she then?” + </p> + <p> + “She is the wife of a friend of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! but then, monsieur, why did you say the duke loved her?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I always speak truth. But enter, and you shall see accomplished + all I have promised you.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care; I wept for my child, and you said, ‘Console yourself, + monsieur, the mercy of God is great;’ to promise me a consolation to my + grief was almost to promise me a miracle.” + </p> + <p> + “Enter, monsieur,” said Bussy, with his bright smile. Bussy went in first, + and, running up to Gertrude, said, “Go and tell Madame de Monsoreau that + M. de Bussy is here, and desires to speak to her. But,” continued he, in a + low voice, “not a word of the person who accompanies me.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame de Monsoreau!” said the old man in astonishment. But as he feebly + mounted the staircase, he heard the voice of Diana crying,— + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy. Gertrude? Oh! let him come in!” + </p> + <p> + “That voice!” cried the baron, stopping. “Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment, as the baron tremblingly held on to the banister, and + looked around him, he saw at the top of the staircase, Diana, smiling, and + more beautiful that ever. At this sight the old man uttered a cry and + would have fallen, had he not caught hold of Bussy, who stood by him. + </p> + <p> + “Diana alive! Diana, oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! M. de Bussy!” cried Diana, running down, “what is the matter + with my father?” + </p> + <p> + “He thought you dead, madame, and he wept, as a father must weep for a + daughter like you.” + </p> + <p> + “How!” cried Diana; “and no one undeceived him?” + </p> + <p> + “No one.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried the old man, recovering a little, “no one, not even M. de + Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Ungrateful,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes! you are right; for this moment repays me for all my griefs. Oh! + my Diana! my beloved Diana!” cried he, drawing his daughter to him with + one hand, and extending the other to Bussy. But all at once he cried, “But + you said I was to see Madame de Monsoreau. Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! my father!” cried Diana. + </p> + <p> + Bussy summoned up all his strength. “M. de Monsoreau is your son-in-law,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “What! my son-in-law! and every one—even you, Diana—left me in + ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “I feared to write, my father; he said my letters would fall into the + hands of the prince. Besides, I thought you knew all.” + </p> + <p> + “But why all these strange mysteries?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, my father; why did M. de Monsoreau let you think me dead, and + not let you know I was his wife?” + </p> + <p> + The baron, overwhelmed, looked from Bussy to Diana. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau my son-in-law!” stammered he. + </p> + <p> + “That cannot astonish you, father; did you not order me to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if he saved you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! he did save me,” said Diana, sinking on to a chair, “not from + misfortune, but from shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did he let me think you dead? I, who wept for you so bitterly. + Why did he let me die of despair, when a single word would have restored + me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! there is some hidden mystery,” cried Diana; “my father, you will not + leave me again; M. de Bussy, you will protect us.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! madame! it belongs to me no more to enter into your family secrets. + Seeing the strange maneuvers of your husband, I wished to bring you a + defender; you have your father, I retire.” + </p> + <p> + “He is right,” said the old man, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau feared the Duc d’Anjou, and so does M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + Diana cast a glance at the young man. He smiled and said, “M. le Baron, + excuse, I beg, the singular question I am about to ask; and you also, + madame, for I wish to serve you. M. le Baron, ask Madame de Monsoreau if + she be happy in the marriage which she has contracted in obedience to your + orders.” + </p> + <p> + Diana burst into tears for her only answer. The eyes of the baron filled + also, for he began to fear that his friendship for M. de Monsoreau had + tended to make his daughter unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said Bussy, “is it true that you voluntarily promised him your + daughter’s hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if he saved her.” + </p> + <p> + “And he did save her. Then, monsieur, I need not ask if you mean to keep + your promise.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a law for all, and above all for gentlemen; you know that, M. de + Bussy. My daughter must be his.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Diana, “would I were dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said Bussy, “you see I was right, and that I can do no more + here. M. le Baron gives you to M. de Monsoreau, and you yourself promised + to marry him when you should see your father again safe and well.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you tear my heart, M. de Bussy,” cried Diana, approaching the young + man; “my father does not know that I fear this man, that I hate him; my + father sees in him only my saviour, and I think him my murderer.” + </p> + <p> + “Diana! Diana!” cried the baron, “he saved you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried Bussy, “but if the danger were less great than you thought; + what do we know? There is some mystery in all this, which I must clear up. + But I protest to you, that if I had had the happiness to be in the place + of M. de Monsoreau, I would have saved your young and beautiful daughter + without exacting a price for it.” + </p> + <p> + “He loved her,” said M. de Méridor, trying to excuse him. + </p> + <p> + “And I, then——” cried Bussy; and, although he stopped, + frightened at what he was about to say, Diana heard and understood. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” cried she, reddening, “my brother, my friend, can you do nothing + for me?” + </p> + <p> + “But the Duc d’Anjou,” said the baron. + </p> + <p> + “I am not aware of those who fear the anger of princes,” said Bussy; “and, + besides, I believe the danger lies not with him, but with M. de + Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “But if the duke learns that Diana is alive, all is lost.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Bussy, “you believe M. de Monsoreau more than me. Say no + more; you refuse my aid; throw yourself, then, into the arms of the man + who has already so well merited your confidence. Adieu, baron; adieu, + madame, you will see me no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Diana, taking his hand. “Have you seen me waver for an + instant; have you ever seen me soften towards him? No. I beg you, on my + knees, M. de Bussy, not to abandon me.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy seized her hands, and all his anger melted away like snow before the + sun. + </p> + <p> + “Then so be it, madame,” said he; “I accept the mission, and in three days—for + I must have time to go to Chartres to the prince—you shall see me + again.” Then, in a low tone to her, he said, “We are allied against this + Monsoreau; remember that it was not he who brought you back to your + father, and be faithful to me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT AWOKE, AND THE RECEPTION HE MET WITH AT HIS CONVENT. + </h3> + <p> + Chicot, after seeing with pleasure that Gorenflot still slept soundly, + told M. Boutromet to retire and to take the light with him, charging him + not to say anything of his absence. Now M. Boutromet, having remarked + that, in all transactions between the monk and Chicot, it was the latter + who paid, had a great deal of consideration for him, and promised all he + wished. Then, by the light of the fire which still smouldered, he wrapped + Gorenflot once more in his frock, which he accomplished without eliciting + any other signs of wakefulness than a few grunts, and afterwards making a + pillow of the table-cloth and napkins, lay down to sleep by his side. + Daylight, when it came, succeeded in at last awakening Gorenflot, who sat + up, and began to look about him, at the remains of their last night’s + repast, and at Chicot, who, although also awake, lay pretending to snore, + while, in reality, he watched. + </p> + <p> + “Broad daylight!” said the monk. “Corbleu, I must have passed the night + here. And the abbey! Oh, dear! How happy he is to sleep thus!” cried he, + looking at Chicot. “Ah! he is not in my position,” and he sighed. “Shall I + wake him to ask for advice? No, no, he will laugh at me; I can surely + invent a falsehood without him. But whatever I invent, it will be hard to + escape punishment. It is not so much the imprisonment, it is the bread and + water I mind. Ah! if I had but some money to bribe the brother jailer.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot, hearing this, adroitly slipped his purse from his pocket and put + it under him. This precaution was not useless, for Gorenflot, who had been + looking about him, now approached his friend softly, and murmuring: + </p> + <p> + “Were he awake, he would not refuse me a crown, but his sleep is sacred, + and I will take it,” advanced, and began feeling his pockets. “It is + singular,” said he, “nothing in his pockets. Ah! in his hat, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + While he searched there Chicot adroitly emptied out his money, and stuffed + the empty purse into his breeches pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing in the hat,” said the monk. “Ah! I forgot,” and thrusting in his + hand, he drew from the pocket the empty purse. “Mon Dieu,” cried he, + “empty! and who will pay the bill?” + </p> + <p> + This thought terrified him so much that he got up and made instantly for + the door, through which he quickly disappeared. As he approached the + convent, his fears grew strong, and seeing a concourse of monks standing + talking on the threshold, he felt inclined to fly. But some of them + approached to meet him; he knew flight was hopeless, and resigned himself. + The monks seemed at first to hesitate to speak to him, but at last one + said: + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear brother!” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot sighed, and raised his eyes to Heaven. + </p> + <p> + “You know the prior waits for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes; he ordered that you should be brought to him as soon as you came + in.” + </p> + <p> + “I feared it,” said Gorenflot. And more dead than alive, he entered the + convent, whose doors closed on him. They led him to the prior. Gorenflot + did not dare to raise his eyes, finding himself alone with his justly + irritated superior. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you at last,” said the abbé. + </p> + <p> + “Reverend sir——” + </p> + <p> + “What anxiety you have given me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too good, my father,” said Gorenflot, astonished at this + indulgent tone. + </p> + <p> + “You feared to come in after the scene of last night?” + </p> + <p> + “I confess it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear brother, you have been very imprudent.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me explain, father.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no need of explanations; your sally——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! so much the better,” thought Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “I understand it perfectly. A moment of enthusiasm carried you away; + enthusiasm is a holy virtue, but virtues, exaggerated become almost vices, + and the most honorable sentiments, when carried to excess, are + reprehensible.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, my father,” said Gorenflot, timidly, “but I do not understand. Of + what sally do you speak?” + </p> + <p> + “Of yours last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of the convent?” + </p> + <p> + “No; in it. I am as good a Catholic as you, but your audacity frightened + me.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot was puzzled. “Was I audacious?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “More than that—rash.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! you must pardon me, my father. I will endeavor to correct myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but meanwhile, I fear the consequences for you and for all of us. + Had it passed among ourselves, it would have been nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “How, is it known to others?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless; you know well there were more than a hundred laymen listening + to your discourse.” + </p> + <p> + “My discourse!” said Gorenflot, more and more astonished. + </p> + <p> + “I allow it was fine, and that the universal applause must have carried + you on, but to propose to make a procession through the streets of Paris, + with a helmet on your head and a partisan on your shoulder, appealing to + all good Catholics, was rather too strong, you will allow.” Gorenflot + looked bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” continued the prior, “this religious fervor, which burns so + strongly in your heart, will injure you in Paris. I wish you therefore to + go and expend it in the provinces.” + </p> + <p> + “An exile!” cried Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “If you remain here, much worse may happen to you, my dear brother.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Perpetual imprisonment, or even death.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot grew frightfully pale; he could not understand how he had + incurred all this by getting tipsy in an inn, and passing the night out of + the convent. + </p> + <p> + “By submitting to this temporary exile, my dear brother, not only will you + escape this danger, but you will plant the banner of our faith in the + provinces, where such words are less dangerous than here, under the eyes + of the king. Set off at once, then, brother; perhaps the archers are + already out to arrest you.” + </p> + <p> + “The archers, I!” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “I advise you to go at once.” + </p> + <p> + “It is easy to say ‘go,’ but how am I to live?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! nothing more easy. You will find plenty of partisans who will let you + want for nothing. But go, in Heaven’s name, and do not come back till you + are sent for.” And the prior, after embracing him, pushed him to the door. + There he found all the community waiting for him, to touch his hands or + his robe. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu!” said one, embracing him, “you are a holy man; do not forget me in + your prayers.” + </p> + <p> + “I, a holy man!” thought Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, brave champion of the faith,” said another. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, martyr,” said a third, “the light will soon come.” + </p> + <p> + Thus was he conducted to the outside of the convent, and as he went away + he exclaimed, “Devil take me, but either they are all mad, or I am.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT REMAINED CONVINCED THAT HE WAS A SOMNAMBULIST, AND + BITTERLY DEPLORED THIS INFIRMITY. + </h3> + <p> + Until the day when this unmerited persecution fell on Brother Gorenflot, + he had led a contemplative and easy life, diverting himself on occasions + at the Corne d’Abondance, when he had gained a little money from the + faithful. He was one of those monks for whom the world began at the prior + of the convent, and finished at the cook. And now he was sent forth to + seek for adventures. He had no money; so that when out of Paris and he + heard eleven o’clock (the time for dinner at the convent) strike, he sat + down in dejection. His first idea was to return to the convent, and ask to + be put in confinement, instead of being sent in to exile, and even to + submit to the discipline, provided they would insure him his repasts. His + next was more reasonable. He would go to the Corne d’Abondance, send for + Chicot, explain to him the lamentable situation into which he had helped + to bring him, and obtain aid from this generous friend. He was sitting + absorbed in these reflections, when he heard the sound of a horse’s feet + approaching. In great fear, he hid behind a tree until the traveler should + have passed; but a new idea struck him. He would endeavor to obtain some + money for his dinner. So he approached tremblingly, and said, “Monsieur, + if five patera, and five aves for the success of your projects would be + agreeable to you——” + </p> + <p> + “Gorenflot!” cried the cavalier. + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “Where the devil are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. And you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am going straight before me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very far?” + </p> + <p> + “Till I stop. But you—what are you doing outside the barriers?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! M. Chicot! I am proscribed,” said Gorenflot, with an enormous sigh. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Proscribed, I tell you. My brothers reject me from their bosom: I am + anathematized, excommunicated.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! what for?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, M. Chicot; you will not believe me, perhaps, but I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you were met last night gadding about.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not joke; you know quite well what I was doing last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from eight till ten, but not from ten till three.” + </p> + <p> + “How, from ten till three?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at ten you went out.” + </p> + <h3> + “I?” + </h3> + <p> + “Yes, and I asked you where you were going.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did I say?” + </p> + <p> + “That you were going to pronounce a discourse.” + </p> + <p> + “There was some truth in that,” murmured Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you even told me part of it; it was very long, and there were + terrible things against the king in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “So terrible, that I should not wonder if you were arrested for them.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot, you open my eyes; did I seem quite awake when I spoke?” + </p> + <p> + “I must say you seemed very strange; you looked like a man who talks in + his sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet, I feel sure I awoke this morning at the Corne d’Abondance.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course; you came in again at three o’clock. I know; you left the + door open, and made me cold.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, then?” + </p> + <p> + “True! ask M. Boutromet.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Boutromet?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he opened to you on your return. And you were so full of pride when + you came in, that I said to you,—‘Fie, compère; pride does not + become mortals, more especially monks.’” + </p> + <p> + “And of what was I proud?” + </p> + <p> + “Of the success your discourse had met with, and the compliments paid to + you by the Duc de Guise and M. de Mayenne.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I understand all.” + </p> + <p> + “That is lucky. Then you confess you went to the assembly; what did you + call it? Oh! the Holy Union.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot groaned. “I am a somnambulist,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means, that with me mind is stronger than matter; so that while the + body sleeps, the spirit wakes, and sometimes is so powerful that it forces + the body to obey.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! compère, that sounds much like magic; if you are possessed, tell me + so frankly; for, really a man who walks and makes discourses in his sleep + in which he attacks the king is not natural. Vade retro, Satanas!” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” cried Gorenflot, “you abandon me also. Ah! I could not have + believed that of you.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot took pity on him. “What did you tell me just now?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; I feel half mad, and my stomach is empty.” + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of traveling.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the holy prior sends me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where to?” + </p> + <p> + “Wherever I like.” + </p> + <p> + “I also am traveling, and will take you with me.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot looked bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Well! do you accept?” continued Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Accept! I should think so. But have you money to travel with?” + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said Chicot, drawing out his purse. + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot jumped for joy. + </p> + <p> + “How much?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and fifty pistoles.” + </p> + <p> + “And where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “When shall we breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I ride?” + </p> + <p> + “Not my horse; you would kill it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what must I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more simple; I will buy you an ass.” + </p> + <p> + “You are my benefactor, M. Chicot. Let the ass be strong. Now, where do we + breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Here; look over this door and read.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot looked up, and saw, “Here eggs, ham, eel-pies, and white wine + may be had!” At this sight, Gorenflot’s whole face expanded with joy. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Chicot, “go and get your breakfast, while I go and look for an + ass for you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT TRAVELED UPON AN ASS, NAMED PANURGE, AND LEARNED + MANY THINGS HE DID NOT KNOW BEFORE. + </h3> + <p> + What made Chicot so indifferent to his own repast was, that he had already + breakfasted plentifully. Therefore, he sat Gorenflot down to eggs and + bacon, while he went among the peasants to look for an ass. He found a + pacific creature, four years old, and something between an ass and a + horse; gave twenty-two livres for it, and brought it to Gorenflot, who was + enchanted at the sight of it, and christened it Panurge. Chicot, seeing by + the look of the table that there would be no cruelty in staying his + companion’s repast, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Come, now we must go on; at Mélun we will lunch.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot got up, merely saying, “At Mélun, at Mélun.” + </p> + <p> + They went on for about four leagues, then Gorenflot lay down on the grass + to sleep, while Chicot began to calculate. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and twenty leagues, at ten leagues a day, would take twelve + days.” It was as much as he could reasonably expect from the combined + forces of a monk and an ass. But Chicot shook his head. “It will not do,” + he said, “if he wants to follow me, he must do fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed the monk to wake him, who, opening his eyes, said, “Are we at + Mélun? I am hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, compère, and that is why I woke you; we must get on; we go too + slow, ventre de biche!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, dear M. Chicot; it is so fatiguing to go fast. Besides, there is + no hurry: am I not traveling for the propagation of the faith, and you for + pleasure? Well, the slower we go, the better the faith will be propagated, + and the more you will amuse yourself. My advice is to stay some days at + Mélun, where they make excellent eel-pies. What do you say, M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “I say, that my opinion is to go as fast as possible; not to lunch at + Mélun, but only to sup at Monterau, to make up for lost time.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot looked at his companion as if he did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let us get on,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + The monk sat still and groaned. + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to stay behind and travel at your ease, you are welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Gorenflot, in terror; “no, no, M. Chicot; I love you too + much to leave you!” + </p> + <p> + “Then to your saddle at once.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot got on his ass this time sideways, as a lady sits, saying it was + more comfortable; but the fact was that, fearing they were to go faster, + he wished to be able to hold on both by mane and tail. + </p> + <p> + Chicot began to trot, and the ass followed. The first moments were + terrible for Gorenflot, but he managed to keep his seat. From time to time + Chicot stood up in his stirrups and looked forward, then, not seeing what + he looked for, redoubled his speed. + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking for, dear M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; but we are not getting on.” + </p> + <p> + “Not getting on! we are trotting all the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Gallop then!” and he began to canter. + </p> + <p> + Panurge again followed; Gorenflot was in agonies. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, M. Chicot!” said he, as soon as he could speak, “do you call this + traveling for pleasure? It does not amuse me at all.” + </p> + <p> + “On! on!” + </p> + <p> + “It is dreadful!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay behind then!” + </p> + <p> + “Panurge can do no more; he is stopping.” + </p> + <p> + “Then adieu, compère!” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot felt half inclined to reply in the same manner, but he + remembered that the horse, whom he felt ready to curse, bore on his back a + man with a hundred and fifty pistoles in his pocket, so he resigned + himself, and beat his ass to make him gallop once more. + </p> + <p> + “I shall kill my poor Panurge!” cried he dolefully, thinking to move + Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, kill him,” said Chicot quietly, “and we will buy another.” + </p> + <p> + All at once Chicot, on arriving at the top of a hill, reined in his horse + suddenly. But the ass, having once taken it into his head to gallop, was + not so easily stopped, and Gorenflot was forced to let himself slide off + and hang on to the donkey with all his weight before he could stop him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. Chicot!” cried he, “what does it all mean? First we must gallop + fit to break our necks, and then we must stop short here!” + </p> + <p> + Chicot had hidden himself behind a rock, and was eagerly watching three + men who, about two hundred yards in advance, were traveling on quietly on + their mules, and he did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “I am tired and hungry!” continued Gorenflot angrily. + </p> + <p> + “And so am I,” said Chicot; “and at the first hotel we come to we will + order a couple of fricasseed chickens, some ham, and a jug of their best + wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, is it true this time?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you, compère.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, let us go and seek it. Come, Panurge, you shall have some + dinner.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot remounted his horse, and Gorenflot led his ass. The much-desired + inn soon appeared, but, to the surprise of Gorenflot, Chicot caused him to + make a detour and pass round the back. At the front door were standing the + three travelers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT CHANGED HIS ASS FOR A MULE, AND HIS MULE FOR A + HORSE. + </h3> + <p> + However, Gorenflot’s troubles were near their end for that day, for after + the detour they went on a mile, and then stopped at a rival hotel. Chicot + took a room which looked on to the high-road, and ordered supper. But even + while he was eating he was constantly on the watch. However, at ten + o’clock, as he had seen nothing, he went to bed, first, however, ordering + that the horse and the ass should be ready at daybreak. + </p> + <p> + “At daybreak?” uttered Gorenflot, with a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you must be used to getting up at that time.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “For matins.” + </p> + <p> + “I had an exemption from the superior.” Chicot ordered Gorenflot’s bed to + be placed in his room. With daylight he was up and at the window, and + before very long he saw three mules coming along. He ran to Gorenflot and + shook him. + </p> + <p> + “Can I not have a moment’s rest?” cried the monk, who had been sleeping + for ten hours. + </p> + <p> + “Be quick; get up and dress, for we are going.” + </p> + <p> + “But the breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Is on the road to Monterau.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Monterau?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the city where we breakfast, that is enough for you. Now, I am + going down to pay the bill, and if you are not ready in five minutes, I go + without you.” + </p> + <p> + A monk’s toilet takes not long; however, Gorenflot took six minutes, and + when he came down Chicot was starting. This day passed much like the + former one, and by the third, Gorenflot was beginning to get accustomed to + it, when towards the evening, Chicot lost all his gaiety. Since noon he + had seen nothing of the three travelers; therefore he was in a very bad + humor. They were off at daybreak and galloped till noon, but all in vain; + no mules were visible. Chicot stopped at a turnpike, and asked the man if + he had seen three travelers pass on mules. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day,” was the reply, “yesterday evening about seven.” + </p> + <p> + “What were they like?” + </p> + <p> + “They looked like a master and two servants!” + </p> + <p> + “It was them,” said Chicot; “ventre de biche! they have twelve hours’ + start of me. But courage!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, M. Chicot!” said Gorenflot, “my ass can do no more, even your + horse is almost exhausted.” Chicot looked, and saw, indeed, that the poor + animals were trembling from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Well! brother,” said he, “we must take a resolution. You must leave me.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave you; why?” + </p> + <p> + “You go too slow.” + </p> + <p> + “Slow! why, we have galloped for five hours this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, let us go on; the quicker we go, the sooner we shall arrive, + for I suppose we shall stop at last.” + </p> + <p> + “But our animals are exhausted.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do then?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave them here, and take them as we come back.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how are we to proceed?” + </p> + <p> + “We will buy mules.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Gorenflot with a sigh. Two mules were soon found, and + they went so well that in the evening Chicot saw with joy those of the + three travelers, standing at the door of a farrier’s. But they were + without harness, and both master and lackeys had disappeared. Chicot + trembled. “Go,” said he, to Gorenflot, “and ask if those mules are for + sale, and where their owners are.” Gorenflot went, and soon returned, + saying that a gentleman had sold them, and had afterwards taken the road + to Avignon. + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No, with a lackey.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is the other lackey?” + </p> + <p> + “He went towards Lyons.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did they go on?” + </p> + <p> + “On horses which they bought.” + </p> + <p> + “Of whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Of a captain of troopers who was here, and they sold their mules to a + dealer, who is trying to sell them again to those Franciscan monks whom + you see there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take our two mules and go and offer them to the monks instead; they + ought to give you the preference.” + </p> + <p> + “But, then, how shall we go on?” + </p> + <p> + “On horseback, morbleu.” + </p> + <p> + “Diable!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a good rider like you. You will find me again on the Grand Place.” + Chicot was bargaining for some horses, when he saw the monk reappear, + carrying the saddles and bridles of the mules. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you have kept the harness?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And sold the mules?” + </p> + <p> + “For ten pistoles each.” + </p> + <p> + “Which they paid you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here is the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche! you are a great man, let us go on.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am thirsty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, drink while I saddle the beasts, but not too much.” + </p> + <p> + “A bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot drank two, and came to give the rest of the money back to + Chicot, who felt half inclined to give it to him, but reflecting that if + Gorenflot had money he would no longer be obedient, he refrained. They + rode on, and the next evening Chicot came up with Nicolas David, still + disguised as a lackey, and kept him in sight all the way to Lyons, whose + gates they all three entered on the eighth day after their departure from + Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT AND HIS COMPANION INSTALLED THEMSELVES AT THE HOTEL OF THE + CROSS, AND HOW THEY WERE RECEIVED BY THE HOST. + </h3> + <p> + Chicot watched Nicolas David into the principal hotel of the place, and + then said to Gorenflot, “Go in and bargain for a private room, say that + you expect your brother, then come out and wait about for me, and I will + come in when it is dark, and you can bring me straight to my room. Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Choose a good room, as near as possible to that of the traveler who has + just arrived; it must look on to the street, and on no account pronounce + my name.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot acquitted himself marvelously of the commission. Their room was + only separated by a partition from that of Nicolas David. + </p> + <p> + “You deserve a recompense,” said Chicot to him, “and you shall have sherry + wine for supper.” + </p> + <p> + “I never got tipsy on that wine; it would be agreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall to-night. But now ramble about the town.” + </p> + <p> + “But the supper?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be ready against your return; here is a crown meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot went off quite happy, and then Chicot made, with a gimlet, a + hole in the partition at about the height of his eye. Through this, he + could hear distinctly all that passed, and he could just see the host + talking to Nicolas David, who was professing to have been sent on a + mission by the king, to whom he professed great fidelity. The host did not + reply, but Chicot fancied he could see an ironical smile on his lip + whenever the king’s name was mentioned. + </p> + <p> + “Is he a leaguer?” thought Chicot; “I will find out.” + </p> + <p> + When the host left David he came to visit Chicot, who said, “Pray sit + down, monsieur; and before we make a definitive arrangement, listen to my + history. You saw me this morning with a monk?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! that monk is proscribed.” + </p> + <p> + “What! is he a disguised Huguenot?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot took an offended air. “Huguenot, indeed! he is my relation, and I + have no Huguenot relations. On the contrary, he is so fierce an enemy of + the Huguenots, that he has fallen into disgrace with his majesty Henri + III., who protects them, as you know.” + </p> + <p> + The host began to look interested. “Silence,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Why, have you any of the king’s people here?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so; there is a traveler in there.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must fly at once, for proscribed, menaced——” + </p> + <p> + “Where will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “We have two or three addresses given to us by an innkeeper we know, M. la + Hurière.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know La Hurière?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we made his acquaintance on the night of St. Bartholomew.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I see you and your relation are holy people; I also know La + Hurière. Then you say this monk——” + </p> + <p> + “Had the imprudence to preach against the Huguenots, and with so much + success that the king wanted to put him in prison.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, I carried him off.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did well.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Guise offered to protect him.” + </p> + <p> + “What! the great Henri?” + </p> + <p> + “Himself; but I feared civil war.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are friends of M. de Guise, you know this;” and he made a sort of + masonic sign by which the leaguers recognized each other. + </p> + <p> + Chicot, who had seen both this and the answer to it twenty times during + that famous night, replied, “And you this?” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the innkeeper, “you are at home here; my house is yours, look + on me as a brother, and if you have no money——” + </p> + <p> + Chicot drew out his purse. The sight of a well-filled purse is always + agreeable, even to a generous host. + </p> + <p> + “Our journey,” continued Chicot, “is paid for by the treasurer of the Holy + Union, for we travel to propagate the faith. Tell us of an inn where we + may be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere more so than here, and if you wish it, the other traveler shall + turn out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no; it is better to have your enemies near, that you may watch them. + But, what makes you think he is our enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “Well! first he came disguised as a lackey, then he put on an advocate’s + dress, and I am sure he is no more an advocate than he is a lackey, for I + saw a long rapier under his cloak. Then he avowed he had a mission from + the king!” + </p> + <p> + “From Herod, as I call him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sardanapalus.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see we understand each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are to remain here?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word about my relation.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! But hush! here is some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is the worthy man himself!” + </p> + <p> + The host turned to Gorenflot, and made a sign of the leaguers. Gorenflot + was struck with terror and astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Reply, my brother,” said Chicot; “he is a member.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of the Holy Union,” said Bernouillet, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “You see all is safe; reply,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot replied, to the great joy of the innkeeper. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Gorenflot, who did not like the conversation, “you promised me + some sherry.” + </p> + <p> + “Sherry, Malaga, Alicant—every wine in my cellar is at your + disposal.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot looked at Chicot in amazement. + </p> + <p> + For three following days Gorenflot got drunk, first on sherry, next on + Malaga, then on Alicant; afterwards he declared he liked Burgundy best, + and returned to that. Meanwhile, Chicot had never stirred from his room, + and had constantly watched Nicolas David, who, having appointed to meet + Pierre de Gondy at this inn, would not leave the house. On the morning of + the sixth day he declared himself ill, and the next day worse. Bernouillet + came joyfully to tell Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “What! do you think him in danger?” + </p> + <p> + “High fever, my dear brother; he is delirious, and tried to strangle me + and beat my servants. The doctors do not understand his complaint.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I tell you he tried to strangle me.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he seem?” + </p> + <p> + “Pale and furious, and constantly crying out.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Take care of the king! they want to hurt the king! Then he constantly + says that he expects a man from Avignon, and wishes to see him before he + dies.” + </p> + <p> + As for Gorenflot, he grew visibly fatter every day, so much so, that he + announced to Chicot with terror one day that the staircase was narrowing. + Neither David, the League, nor religion occupied him; he thought of + nothing but how to vary his dinner and wine, so that Bernouillet often + exclaimed in astonishment, “To think that that man should be a torrent of + eloquence!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE MONK CONFESSED THE ADVOCATE, AND THE ADVOCATE THE MONK. + </h3> + <p> + At last M. Bernouillet came into Chicot’s room, laughing immoderately. + </p> + <p> + “He is dying,” said he, “and the man has arrived from Avignon.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he like?” + </p> + <p> + “Little and thin.” + </p> + <p> + “It is he,” thought Chicot; and he said, “Tell me about his arrival.” + </p> + <p> + “An hour ago I was in the kitchen, when I saw a great horse, ridden by a + little man, stop before the door. ‘Is M. Nicolas here?’ asked he. ‘Yes, + monsieur,’ said I. ‘Tell him that the person he expects from Avignon is + here.’ ‘Certainly, monsieur, but I must warn you that he is very ill.’ + ‘All the more reason for doing my bidding at once.’ ‘But he has a + malignant fever.’ ‘Oh, pray, then, be quick!’ ‘How! you persist?’ ‘I + persist.’ ‘In spite of the danger!’ ‘In spite of everything I must see + him.’ So I took him to the room, and there he is now. Is it not odd?” + </p> + <p> + “Very droll.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could hear them.” + </p> + <p> + “Go in.” + </p> + <p> + “He forbade me to go in, saying he was going to confess.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen at the door.” + </p> + <p> + Bernouillet went, and Chicot went also to his hole: but they spoke so low + that he could hear nothing, and in a few minutes Gondy rose and took + leave. Chicot ran to the window, and saw a lackey waiting with a horse, + which M. de Gondy mounted and rode off. + </p> + <p> + “If he only has not carried off the genealogy. Never mind, I shall soon + catch him if necessary; but I suspect it is left here. Where can Gorenflot + be?” + </p> + <p> + M. Bernouillet returned, saying, “He is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “The confessor?” + </p> + <p> + “He is no more a confessor than I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you send me my brother as soon as he comes in.” + </p> + <p> + “Even if he be drunk?” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever state he is in.” + </p> + <p> + Bernouillet went, and Chicot remained in a state of indecision as to what + to do, for he thought, “If David is really so ill, he may have sent on the + despatches by Gondy.” Presently he heard Gorenflot’s voice, singing a + drinking song as he came up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, drunkard!” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Drunkard, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but come here and speak seriously, if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, that you never think of the duties of your profession, that you + wallow in greediness and drunkenness, and let religion go where it + pleases.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot looked astonished. “I!” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you; you are disgraceful to see; you are covered with mud; you have + been drunk in the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too true!” + </p> + <p> + “If you go on so, I will abandon you.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, my friend, you will not do that? Am I very guilty?” + </p> + <p> + “There are archers at Lyons.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pity! my dear protector, pity!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a Christian or not?” + </p> + <p> + “I not a Christian!” + </p> + <p> + “Then do not let a neighbor die without confession.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready, but I must drink first, for I am thirsty.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot passed him a jug of water, which he emptied. + </p> + <p> + “Now who am I to confess?” + </p> + <p> + “Our unlucky neighbor who is dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them give him a pint of wine with honey in it.” + </p> + <p> + “He needs spiritual aid as well as temporal. Go to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I fit?” said Gorenflot, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will go.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay; I must tell you what to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know what I wish.” + </p> + <p> + “What you wish?” + </p> + <p> + “If you execute it well, I will give you one hundred pistoles to spend + here.” + </p> + <p> + “What must I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen; your robe gives you authority; in the name of God and the King, + summon him to give up the papers he has just received from Avignon.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To gain one hundred pistoles, stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! true; I go.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute. He will tell you he has confessed.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he has?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him he lies; that the man who has just left him is no confessor, but + an intriguer like himself.” + </p> + <p> + “But he will be angry.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter, since he is dying?” + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “Well; one way or the other, you must get hold of those papers.” + </p> + <p> + “If he refuses?” + </p> + <p> + “Refuse him absolution, curse him, anathematize him——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I will take them by force.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; and when you have got them, knock on the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I cannot get them?” + </p> + <p> + “Knock also.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, in any case I am to knock?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot went, and Chicot placed his ear to the hole in the wall. When + Gorenflot entered, the sick man raised himself in his bed, and looked at + him with wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, brother,” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want, my father?” murmured the sick man, in a feeble voice. + </p> + <p> + “My son, I hear you are in danger, and I come to speak to you of your + soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, but I think your care is needless; I feel better.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a ruse of Satan, who wishes you to die without confession.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he will be deceived, for I have just confessed.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To a worthy priest from Avignon.” + </p> + <p> + “He was not a priest.” + </p> + <p> + “Not!” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew him.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew the man who has just gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and as you are not better, and this man was not a priest, you must + confess.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” replied the patient, in a stronger voice, “but I will chose + to whom I will confess.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have no time to send for another priest, and I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “How! no time, when I tell you I am getting well?” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot shook his head. “I tell you, my son, you are condemned by the + doctors and by Providence; you may think it cruel to tell you so, but it + is what we must all come to sooner or later. Confess, my son, confess.” + </p> + <p> + “But I assure you, father, that I feel much stronger.” + </p> + <p> + “A mistake, my son, the lamp flares up at the last, just before it goes + out. Come, confess all your plots, your intrigues, and machinations!” + </p> + <p> + “My intrigues and plots!” cried David, frightened at this singular monk, + whom he did not know, but who seemed to know him so well. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and when you have told all that, give me up the papers, and perhaps + God will let me absolve you.” + </p> + <p> + “What papers?” cried the sick man, in a voice as strong as though he were + quite well. + </p> + <p> + “The papers that the pretended priest brought you from Avignon.” + </p> + <p> + “And who told you that he brought me papers?” cried the patient, putting + one leg out of bed. + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot began to feel frightened, but he said firmly, “He who told me + knew well what he was saying; give me the papers, or you shall have no + absolution.” + </p> + <p> + “I laugh at your absolution,” cried David, jumping out of bed, and seizing + Gorenflot by the throat, “and you shall see if I am too ill to strangle + you.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot was strong, and he pushed David back so violently that he fell + into the middle of the room. But he rose furious, and seizing a long + sword, which hung on the wall behind his clothes, presented it to the + throat of Gorenflot, who sank on a chair in terror. + </p> + <p> + “It is now your turn to confess,” said he, “speak, or you die.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Gorenflot, “then you are not ill—not dying.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not for you to question, but to answer.” + </p> + <p> + “To answer what?” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “You can see that.” + </p> + <p> + “Your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + “You are then a real monk?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “What brings you to Lyons?” + </p> + <p> + “I am exiled.” + </p> + <p> + “What brought you to this inn?” + </p> + <p> + “Chance.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been here?” + </p> + <p> + “A fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you watch me?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that I had the papers?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was told so.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “He who sent me here.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was that?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You must.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh! I will cry out.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will kill.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot cried out, and a spot of blood appeared on the point of the + sword. + </p> + <p> + “His name?” cried David. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I can hold out no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “The king’s jester!” + </p> + <p> + “Himself.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” cried a voice, and Chicot appeared at the door with a drawn sword + in his hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT USED HIS SWORD. + </h3> + <p> + Nicolas David, in recognizing him whom he knew to be his mortal enemy, + could not repress a movement of terror, during which Gorenflot slipped a + little to the side, crying out, “Help, friend! come to my aid!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Monsieur David, it is you!” said Chicot; “I am delighted to meet you + again!” Then, turning to Gorenflot, he said, “My good Gorenflot, your + presence as monk was very necessary just now, when we believed monsieur + dying; but now that he is so well, it is with me he must deal; therefore, + do me the favor to stand sentinel on the threshold, and prevent any one + from coming in to interrupt our little conversation.” Gorenflot, who asked + no better than to go, was soon out of the room; but David, having now + recovered from his surprise, and confident in his skill as a swordsman, + stood waiting for Chicot, with his sword in his hand and a smile on his + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Dress yourself, monsieur,” said Chicot; “I do not wish to take any + advantage of you. Do you know what I have come to seek in this room?” + </p> + <p> + “The rest of the blows which I have owed you on account of the Duc de + Mayenne, since that day when you jumped so quickly out of the window.” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur; I know the number, and will return them. Be easy. What I + have come for is a certain genealogy which M. Pierre de Gondy took to + Avignon, without knowing what he carried, and, equally in ignorance, + brought back to you just now.” + </p> + <p> + David turned pale. “What genealogy?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That of M. de Guise, who descends, as you know, in a direct line from + Charlemagne.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are a spy! I thought you only a buffoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear M. David, I will be both if you wish it: a spy to hang you, and a + buffoon to laugh at it after.” + </p> + <p> + “To hang me!” + </p> + <p> + “High and dry, monsieur; I hope you do not lay claim to be beheaded like a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “And how will you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very easily; I will relate the truth, for I must tell you, dear M. + David, that I assisted last month at the meeting held in the convent of + St. Geneviève.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I was in the confessional in front of yours, and it was very + uncomfortable there, especially as I was obliged to wait to go out until + all was finished. Therefore I heard all, saw the coronation of M. d’Anjou, + which was not very amusing; but then the genealogy was delightful.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you know about the genealogy?” cried David, biting his lips with + anger. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I found it very ingenious, especially that part about the Salic + law; only it is a misfortune to have so much intellect, one gets hung for + it; therefore, feeling myself moved with tender pity for so ingenious a + man, I said to myself, ‘Shall I let this brave M. David be hung?’ and I + took the resolution of traveling with, or rather behind, you. I followed + you, therefore, not without trouble, and at last we arrived at Lyons. I + entered the hotel an hour after you, and have been in the adjoining room; + look, there is only a partition between, and, as you may imagine, I did + not travel all the way from Paris to Lyons to lose sight of you now. I + pierced a little hole, through which I had the pleasure of watching you + when I liked, and I confess I gave myself this pleasure several times a + day. At last you fell ill; the host wished to get rid of you, but you were + determined to wait here for M. de Gondy. I was duped by you at first, for + you might really have been ill, so I sent you a brave monk, to excite you + to repentance; but, hardened sinner that you are, you tried to kill him, + forgetting the Scripture maxim, ‘He who strikes with the sword shall + perish with the sword.’ Then I came to you, and said, ‘We are old friends; + let us arrange the matter.’” + </p> + <p> + “In what manner?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a pity that such a man as you should disappear from the + world; give up plots, trust me, break with the Guises, give me your + papers, and, on the faith of a gentleman, I will make your peace with the + king.” + </p> + <p> + “While, on the contrary, if I do not give them to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! then, on the faith of a gentleman, I will kill you! But if you give + them to me, all shall be forgotten. You do not believe me, perhaps, for + your nature is bad, and you think my resentment can never be forgotten. + But, although it is true that I hate you, I hate M. de Mayenne more; give + me what will ruin him, and I will save you. And then, perhaps, you will + not believe this either, for you love nothing; but I love the king, + foolish and corrupted as he is, and I wish that he should reign tranquilly—which + is impossible with the Mayennes and the genealogy of Nicolas David. + Therefore, give me up the genealogy, and I promise to make your name and + your fortune.” + </p> + <p> + David never moved. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Chicot, “I see all that I say to you is but wasted breath; + therefore, I go to get you hanged. Adieu, M. David,” and he stepped + backwards towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “And you think I shall let you go out,” cried the advocate. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my fine spy; no, no, Chicot, my friend, those who know of the + genealogy must die. Those who menace me must die.” + </p> + <p> + “You put me quite at my ease; I hesitated only because I am sure to kill + you. Crillon, the other day, taught me a particular thrust, only one, but + that will suffice. Come, give me the papers, or I will kill you; and I + will tell you how—I will pierce your throat just where you wished to + bleed Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot had hardly finished, when David rushed on him with a savage laugh. + The two adversaries were nearly matched in height, but Chicot, who fenced + nearly every day with the king, had become one of the most skilful + swordsmen in the kingdom. David soon began to perceive this, and he + retreated a step. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” said Chicot, “now you begin to understand. Once more; the + papers.” + </p> + <p> + David, for answer, threw himself again upon Chicot, and a new combat + ensued. At last Chicot called out,— + </p> + <p> + “Here is the thrust,” and as he spoke, he thrust his rapier half through + his throat. + </p> + <p> + David did not reply, but fell at Chicot’s feet, pouring out a mouthful of + blood. But by a natural movement he tried to drag himself towards his bed, + so as to defend his secret to the last. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Chicot, “I thought you cunning, but I see you are a fool. I + did not know where the papers were, and you have shown me——” + and while David rolled in the agonies of death, he ran to the bed, raised + the mattress, and found under it a roll of parchment. At the moment in + which he unrolled it to see if it was the document he sought, David raised + himself in a rage and then fell back dead. Chicot saw with joy that he + held what he wanted. The Pope had written at the bottom, “Fiat ut voluit + Deus; Deus jura hominum fecit.” After placing it in his breast, he took + the body of the advocate, who had died without losing more blood, the + nature of the wound making him bleed inwardly, put it back in the bed, + turned the face to the wall, and, opening the door, called Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “How pale you are!” said the monk, as he entered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the last moments of that man caused me some emotion.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “He was so well just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Too well; he swallowed something difficult of digestion, and died of it.” + </p> + <p> + “The wretch wanted to strangle me, a holy man, and he is punished for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon him, you are a Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, although he frightened me much.” + </p> + <p> + “You must do more; you must light the lamps, and say some prayers by his + bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “That you may not be taken prisoner as his murderer.” + </p> + <p> + “I, a murderer! it was he who tried to murder me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! yes, and as he could not succeed, his rage made him break a + blood-vessel. But till your innocence is established they might annoy you + much.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear you are right.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do what I tell you. Install yourself here, and recite all the + prayers you know, or do not know; then, when evening comes, go out and + call at the ironmonger’s at the corner of the street. There you will find + your horse; mount him, and take the road to Paris; at Villeneuve-le-Roi + sell him, and take Panurge back.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that good Panurge; I shall be delighted to see him again. But how am + I to live?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot drew from his pocket a handful of crowns and put them into the + large hand of the monk. + </p> + <p> + “Generous man!” cried Gorenflot. “Let me stay with you at Lyons; I love + Lyons.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not stay here; I set off at once, and travel too rapidly for you + to follow me.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it, then.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot installed the monk by the bed, and went downstairs to the host. + </p> + <p> + “M. Bernouillet,” said he, “a great event has taken place in your house.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The hateful royalist, the enemy of our religion upstairs, received to-day + a messenger from Rome.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that: it was I who told you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, our holy father, the Pope, had sent him to this conspirator, who, + however, probably did not suspect for what purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did he come?” + </p> + <p> + “Go up-stairs, lift up the bedclothes, look at his neck, and you will + see.” + </p> + <p> + “You frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “I say no more. The Pope did you honor in choosing your house for the + scene of his vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + Then Chicot put ten crowns into the hand of the host, and went down to the + stable to get out the horses. M. Bernouillet went up and found Gorenflot + praying. He looked as directed, and found the wound. + </p> + <p> + “May every enemy of our religion die thus,” said he to Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” replied the monk. + </p> + <p> + These events passed about the same time that Bussy brought the Baron de + Méridor back to his daughter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE DUC D’ANJOU LEARNED THAT DIANA WAS NOT DEAD. + </h3> + <p> + The month of April had arrived. The great cathedral of Chartres was hung + with white, and the king was standing barefooted in the nave. The + religious ceremonies, which were for the purpose of praying for an heir to + the throne of France, were just finishing, when Henri, in the midst of the + general silence, heard what seemed to him a stifled laugh. He turned round + to see if Chicot were there, for he thought no one else would have dared + to laugh at such a time. It was not, however, Chicot who had laughed at + the sight of the two chemises of the Holy Virgin which were said to have + such a prolific power, and which were just being drawn from their golden + box; but it was a cavalier who had just stopped at the door of the church, + and who was making his way with his muddy boots through the crowd of + courtiers in their penitents’ robes and sacks. Seeing the king turn, he + stopped for a moment, and Henri, irritated at seeing him arrive thus, + threw an angry glance at him. The newcomer, however, continued to advance + until he reached the velvet chair of M. le Duc d’Anjou, by which he knelt + down. He, turning round, said, “Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “To come here to see this nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I wish to speak to you at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been for the last three weeks?” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what I have to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must wait until we leave the church.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Patience, here is the end.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the king was putting on one of these chemises, and the queen + another. Then they all knelt down, and afterwards the king, taking off his + holy tunic, left the church. + </p> + <p> + “Now, monseigneur,” said Bussy, “shall we go to your house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at once, if you have anything to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of things which you do not expect.” + </p> + <p> + When they were in the hotel the duke said, “Now sit down and tell me all; + I feared you were dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “You left me to look after my beautiful unknown. Who is this woman, and + what am I to expect?” + </p> + <p> + “You will reap what you have sown, monseigneur—plenty of shame.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” cried the duke. + </p> + <p> + “What I said.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself, monsieur; who is this woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had recognized her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it was her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And she spoke to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Doubtless you had reason to think her dead, and you perhaps + hoped she was so.” + </p> + <p> + The duke grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur,” continued Bussy, “although you pushed to despair a + young girl of noble race, she escaped from death; but do not breathe yet, + do not think yourself absolved, for, in preserving her life, she found a + misfortune worse than death.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it? what has happened to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, a man preserved her honor and saved her life, but he made + her pay for this service so dearly that she regrets his having rendered + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Finish.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monseigneur, Mademoiselle de Méridor, to escape becoming the + mistress of the Duc d’Anjou, has thrown herself into the arms of a man + whom she detests, and is now Madame de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + At these words the blood rushed furiously into the duke’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Is this true?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! I said it,” said Bussy, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “I did not mean that; I did not doubt your word, Bussy, I wondered only if + it were possible that one of my gentlemen had had the audacity to + interfere between me and a woman whom I honored with my love.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you would have done so?” + </p> + <p> + “I would have done better; I would have warned you that your honor was + being lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Bussy,” said the prince, becoming calmer, “I do not justify + myself, but M. de Monsoreau has been a traitor towards me.” + </p> + <p> + “Towards you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he knew my intentions.” + </p> + <p> + “And they were?” + </p> + <p> + “To try and make Diana love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Love you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but in no case to use violence.” + </p> + <p> + “Those were your intentions?” said Bussy, with an ironical smile. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, and these intentions I preserved to the last, although M. de + Monsoreau constantly combated them.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, what do you say! This man incited you to dishonor Diana?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “By his counsels?” + </p> + <p> + “By his letters. Would you like to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if I could believe that!” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see.” + </p> + <p> + And the duke, opening a little cabinet, and taking out a letter, said, + “Since you doubt your prince’s words, read.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy took it and read,— + </p> + <h3> + “MONSEIGNEUR, + </h3> + <p> + “Be quite easy; the coup-de-main can be executed without risk, for the + young person sets off this evening to pass a week with an aunt who lives + at the château of Lude. I charge myself with it, and you need take no + trouble as for the scruples of the young lady, be sure that they will + vanish in the presence of your highness: meanwhile I act; and this evening + she will be at the château of Beaugé. + </p> + <p> + “Your highness’s respectful servant, + </p> + <h3> + “BRYAN DE MONSOREAU.” + </h3> + <p> + “Well, what do you say, Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “I say that you are well served, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean betrayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, true; I forgot the end.” + </p> + <p> + “The wretch! he made me believe in the death woman——” + </p> + <p> + “Whom he stole from you; it is black enough.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he manage?” + </p> + <p> + “He made the father believe you the ravisher, and offered himself to + rescue the lady, presented himself at the château of Beaugé with a letter + from the Baron de Méridor, brought a boat to the windows, and carried away + the prisoner; then shut her up in the house you know of, and by constantly + working upon her fears, forced her to become his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not infamous?” + </p> + <p> + “Only partly excused by your conduct, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Bussy, you shall see how I will revenge myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Princes do not revenge themselves, they punish,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “How can I punish him?” + </p> + <p> + “By restoring happiness to Madame de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “But can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By restoring her to liberty. The marriage was forced, therefore it is + null.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right.” + </p> + <p> + “Get it set aside, then, and you will have acted like a gentleman and a + prince.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah!” said the prince, “what warmth! you are interested in it, Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “I! not at all, except that I do not wish people to say that Louis de + Clermont serves a perfidious prince and a man without honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shall see. But how to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more easy; make her father act.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is buried in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, he is here in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “At your house?” + </p> + <p> + “No, with his daughter. Speak to him, monseigneur, that he may see in you, + not what he does now, an enemy, but a protector—that he who now + curses your name may bless you.” + </p> + <p> + “And when can I see him?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as you return Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “It is agreed, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “On your word as a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “On my faith as a prince.” + </p> + <p> + “And when do you return?” + </p> + <p> + “This evening; will you accompany me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I go first; where shall I meet your highness?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow; at the king’s levee.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be there, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy did not lose a moment, and the distance that took the duke fifteen + hours to accomplish, sleeping in his litter, the young man, who returned + to Paris, his heart beating with joy and love, did in five, to console the + baron and Diana the sooner. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT RETURNED TO THE LOUVRE, AND WAS RECEIVED BY THE KING HENRI III. + </h3> + <p> + All was quiet at the Louvre, for the king, fatigued with his pilgrimage, + had not yet risen, when two men presented themselves together at the + gates. + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot,” cried the younger, “how are you this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “You come for the king’s levee, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “And you also, I presume?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I come to see M. le Duc d’Anjou. You know I have not the honor of + being a favorite of his majesty’s.” + </p> + <p> + “The reproach is for the king, and not for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you come from far? I heard you were traveling.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was hunting. And you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have been in the provinces; and now will you be good enough to + render me a service?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can penetrate into the Louvre, while I remain in the + ante-chamber; will you tell the duke I am waiting for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not come in with me?” + </p> + <p> + “The king would not be pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! he has not accustomed me to his most gracious smiles.” + </p> + <p> + “Henceforth, for some time, all that will change.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah! are you a necromancer, M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes; come, take courage, and come in with me.” + </p> + <p> + They entered together; one went towards the apartments of the Duc d’Anjou, + and the other to those of the king. + </p> + <p> + Henri was just awake, and had rung, and a crowd of valets and friends had + rushed in; already the chicken broth and the spiced wine were served, when + Chicot entered, and without saying a word, sat down to eat and drink. + </p> + <p> + “Par la mordieu!” cried the king, delighted, although he affected anger; + “it is that knave of a Chicot, that fugitive, that vagabond!” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, my son?” said Chicot, placing himself on the immense + seat, embroidered with fleur-de-lis, on which the king was seated. + </p> + <p> + “Here is my misfortune returned,” said Henri; “for three weeks I have been + so tranquil.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! you always grumble. One would think you were one of your own + subjects. Let me hear, Henriquet, how you have governed this kingdom in my + absence.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you hung any of your curled gentlemen? Ah! pardon, M. Quelus, I did + not see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, I shall be angry,” said the king; but he ended by laughing, as he + always did; so he went on: “But what has become of you? Do you know that I + have had you sought for in all the bad parts of Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you search the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + Just then M. de Monsoreau entered. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, monsieur,” said the king; “when shall we hunt again?” + </p> + <p> + “When it shall please your majesty; I hear there are plenty of wild boars + at St. Germain en Laye.” + </p> + <p> + “The wild boar is dangerous,” said Chicot; “King Charles IX., I remember, + was nearly killed by one. And then spears are sharp also; is it not so, + Henri? and do you know your chief huntsman must have met a wolf not long + ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he has caught the likeness; it is striking.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau grew pale, and turning to Chicot, said: + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot, I am not used to jesters, having lived little at court, and I + warn you that before my king I do not like to be humiliated, above all + when I speak of my duties.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur,” said Chicot, “we are not like you, we court people + laughed heartily at the last joke.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Making you chief huntsman.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau looked daggers at Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” said Henri, “let us speak of something else.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let us speak of the merits of Nôtre Dame de Chartres.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, no impiety.” + </p> + <p> + “I impious! it is you, on the contrary; there were two chemises accustomed + to be together, and you separated them. Join them together and a miracle + may happen.” + </p> + <p> + This illusion to the estrangement of the king and queen made everyone + laugh. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau then whispered to Chicot, “Pray withdraw with me into that + window, I wish to speak to you.” When they were alone, he went on, “Now, + M. Chicot, buffoon as you are, a gentleman forbids you; do you understand? + forbids you to laugh at him, and to remember that others may finish what + M. de Mayenne began.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you wish me to become your creditor, as I am his, and to give you the + same place in my gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that, among your creditors, you forget the principal.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I have generally a good memory. Who may it be?” + </p> + <p> + “M. Nicolas David.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you are wrong; he is paid.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Bussy entered. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said he to the count, “M. le Duc d’Anjou desires to speak with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “With me?” + </p> + <p> + “With you, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you accompany me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I go first, to tell the duke you are coming,” and he rapidly + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “He is coming.” + </p> + <p> + “And he suspects nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; but if he did, what matter? is he not your creature? Does he + seem to you less guilty than he did yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “No, a hundred times more so.” + </p> + <p> + “He has carried off, by treason, a noble young girl, and married her + equally treasonably; either he must ask for the dissolution of the + marriage himself, or you must do it for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have promised.” + </p> + <p> + “I have your word?” + </p> + <p> + “You have.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember that they know and are anxiously waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “She shall be free, Bussy; I pledge my word.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy kissed the hand which had signed so many false promises. As he did + so, M. de Monsoreau entered, and Bussy went to the corridor, where were + several other gentlemen. Here he had to wait as patiently as might be for + the result of this interview, on which all his future happiness was at + stake. He waited for some time, when suddenly the door of the duke’s room + opened, and the sound of M. de Monsoreau’s voice made Bussy tremble, for + it sounded almost joyful. Soon the voices approached, and Bussy could see + M. de Monsoreau bowing and retiring, and he heard the duke say: + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend!” murmured Bussy. + </p> + <p> + Then Monsoreau said, “Your highness agrees with me that publicity is + best?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; an end to all mysteries.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this evening I will present her to the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so; I will prepare him.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” then said Monsoreau, turning towards those in the corridor, + “allow me to announce to you a secret; monseigneur permits me to make + public my marriage with Mademoiselle Diana de Méridor, who has been my + wife for more than a month, and whom I intend this evening to present to + the court.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy, who had been hidden behind a door, staggered, and almost fell at + this unexpected blow. However, he darted a glance of contempt at the duke, + towards whom he made a step, but he, in terror, shut his door, and Bussy + heard the key turn in the lock. Feeling that if he stayed a moment longer + he should betray before everyone the violence of his grief, he ran + downstairs, got on his horse, and galloped to the Rue St. Antoine. The + baron and Diana were eagerly waiting for him, and they saw him enter pale + and trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” cried he, “hate me, despise me; I believed I could do something + and I can do nothing. Madame, you are now the recognized wife of M. de + Monsoreau, and are to be presented this evening. I am a fool—a + miserable dupe, or rather, as you said, M. le Baron, the duke is a coward + and a villain.” + </p> + <p> + And leaving the father and daughter overcome with grief, he rushed wildly + away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT PASSED BETWEEN M. DE MONSOREAU AND THE DUKE. + </h3> + <p> + It is time to explain the duke’s sudden change of intention with regard to + M. de Monsoreau. When he first received him, it was with dispositions + entirely favorable to Bussy’s wishes. + </p> + <p> + “Your highness sent for me?” said Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “You have nothing to fear, you who have served me so well, and are so much + attached to me. Often you have told me of the plots against me, have aided + my enterprises forgetting your own interests, and exposing your life.” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness——” + </p> + <p> + “Even lately, in this last unlucky adventure——” + </p> + <p> + “What adventure, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “This carrying off of Mademoiselle de Méridor—poor young creature!” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” murmured Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “You pity her, do you not?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Does not your highness?” + </p> + <p> + “I! you know how I have regretted this fatal caprice. And, indeed, it + required all my friendship for you, and the remembrance of all your good + services, to make me forget that without you I should not have carried off + this young girl.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau felt the blow. “Monseigneur,” said he, “your natural goodness + leads you to exaggerate, you no more caused the death of this young girl + than I did.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “You did not intend to use violence to Mademoiselle de Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the intention absolves you; it is a misfortune, nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “And besides,” said the duke, looking at him, “death has buried all in + eternal silence.” + </p> + <p> + The tone of his voice and his look struck Monsoreau. “Monseigneur,” said + he, after a moment’s pause, “shall I speak frankly to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you hesitate?” said the prince, with astonishment mingled with + hauteur. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I do not know, but your highness has not thought fit to be frank + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” cried the duke, with an angry laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I know what your highness meant to say to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness wished to make me understand that perhaps Mademoiselle de + Méridor was not dead, and that therefore those who believed themselves her + murderers might be free from remorse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur, you have taken your time before making this consoling + reflection to me. You are a faithful servant, on my word; you saw me sad + and afflicted, you heard me speak of the wretched dreams I had since the + death of this woman, and you let me live thus, when even a doubt might + have spared me so much suffering. How must I consider this conduct, + monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, is your highness accusing me?” + </p> + <p> + “Traitor!” cried the duke, “you have deceived me; you have taken from me + this woman whom I loved——” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau turned pale, but did not lose his proud, calm look. “It is + true,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “True, knave!” + </p> + <p> + “Please to speak lower, monseigneur; your highness forgets, that you speak + to a gentleman and an old servant.” + </p> + <p> + The duke laughed. + </p> + <p> + “My excuse is,” continued he, “that I loved Mademoiselle de Méridor + ardently.” + </p> + <p> + “I, also,” replied François, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “It is true, monseigneur; but she did not love you.” + </p> + <p> + “And she loved you?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie! you know you lie! You used force as I did; only I, the master, + failed, while you, the servant, succeeded by treason.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I loved her.” + </p> + <p> + “What do I care?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, take care. I loved her, and I am not a servant. My wife is + mine, and no one can take her from me, not even the king. I wished to have + her, and I took her.” + </p> + <p> + “You took her! Well! you shall give her up.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, monseigneur. And do not call,” continue he, stopping him, + “for if you call once—if you do me a public injury——” + </p> + <p> + “You shall give up this woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her up! she is my wife before God——” + </p> + <p> + “If she is your wife before God, you shall give her up before men. I know + all, and I will break this marriage, I tell you. To-morrow, Mademoiselle + de Méridor shall be restored to her father; you shall set off into the + exile I impose on you; you shall have sold your place; these are my + conditions, and take care, or I will break you as I break this glass.” And + he threw down violently a crystal cup. + </p> + <p> + “I will not give up my wife, I will not give up my place, and I will + remain in France,” replied Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “You will not?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will ask my pardon of the King of France—of the king anointed + at the Abbey of St. Geneviève; and this new sovereign will not, I am sure, + refuse the first request proffered to him.” François grew deadly pale, and + nearly fell. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” stammered he, “this request, speak lower—I listen.” + </p> + <p> + “I will speak humbly, as becomes the servant of your highness. A fatal + love was the cause of all. Love is the most imperious of the passions. To + make me forget that your highness had cast your eyes on Diana, I must have + been no longer master of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a treason.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not overwhelm me, monseigneur; I saw you rich, young and happy, the + first Christian prince in the world. For you are so, and between you and + supreme rank there is now only a shadow easy to dispel. I saw all the + splendor of your future, and, comparing your proud position with my humble + one, I said, ‘Leave to the prince his brilliant prospects and splendid + projects, scarcely will he miss the pearl that I steal from his royal + crown.’” + </p> + <p> + “Comte! comte!” + </p> + <p> + “You pardon me, monseigneur, do you not?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the duke raised his eyes, and saw Bussy’s portrait on the + wall. It seemed to exhort him to courage, and he said, “No, I cannot + pardon you; it is not for myself that I hold out, it is because a father + in mourning—a father unworthily deceived—cries out for his + daughter; because a woman, forced to marry you, cries for vengeance + against you; because, in a word, the first duty of a prince is justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, if justice be a duty, gratitude is not less so; and a king + should never forget those to whom he owes his crown. Now, monseigneur, you + owe your crown to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsoreau!” cried the duke, in terror. + </p> + <p> + “But I cling to those only who cling to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot—you are a gentleman, you know I cannot approve of what you + have done. My dear count, this one more sacrifice; I will recompense you + for it; I will give you all you ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your highness loves her still!” cried Monsoreau, pale with jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “No, I swear I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, why should I? I am a gentleman; who can enter into the secrets of + my private life?” + </p> + <p> + “But she does not love you.” + </p> + <p> + “What matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Do this for me, Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “Then——” commenced the duke, who was terribly perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Reflect, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “You will denounce me?” + </p> + <p> + “To the king dethroned for you, yes; for if my new king destroyed my honor + and happiness, I would return to the old.” + </p> + <p> + “It is infamous.” + </p> + <p> + “True, sire; but I love enough to be infamous.” + </p> + <p> + “It is cowardly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your majesty, but I love enough to be cowardly. Come, monseigneur, + do something for the man who has served you so well.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “That you should pardon me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “That you should reconcile me with M. de Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try.” + </p> + <p> + “That you will sign my marriage contract with Mademoiselle de Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the prince, in a hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + “And that you shall honor my wife with a smile when I shall present her to + his majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “All, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “You have my word.” + </p> + <p> + “And you shall keep the throne to which I have raised you.—There + remains now, only,” thought Monsoreau, “to find out who told the duke.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. + </h2> + <h3> + CHICOT AND THE KING. + </h3> + <p> + That same evening M. de Monsoreau presented his wife in the queen’s + circle. Henri, tired, had gone to bed, but after sleeping three or four + hours, he woke, and feeling no longer sleepy, proceeded to the room where + Chicot slept, which was the one formerly occupied by St. Luc; Chicot slept + soundly, and the king called him three times before he woke. At last he + opened his eyes and cried out, “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, my friend, it is I.” + </p> + <p> + “You; who?” + </p> + <p> + “I, Henri.” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly, my son, the pheasants must have disagreed with you; I warned + you at supper, but you would eat so much of them, as well as of those + crabs.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I scarcely tasted them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are poisoned, perhaps. Ventre de biche! how pale you are!” + </p> + <p> + “It is my mask,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not ill?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why wake me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am annoyed.” + </p> + <p> + “Annoyed! if you wake a man at two o’clock in the morning, at least you + should bring him a present. Have you anything for me?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I come to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, M. de Morvilliers came here last evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To ask for an audience. What can he want to say to me, Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “What! it is only to ask that, that you wake me?” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, you know he occupies himself with the police.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I did not know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you doubt his watchfulness?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, and I have my reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Will one suffice you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if it be good.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will leave me in peace afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day—no, it was one evening, I beat you in the Rue + Foidmentel; you had with you Quelus and Schomberg.” + </p> + <p> + “You beat me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, all three of you.” + </p> + <p> + “How, it was you! wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “I, myself,” said Chicot, rubbing his hands, “do I not hit hard?” + </p> + <p> + “Wretch!” + </p> + <p> + “You confess, it was true?” + </p> + <p> + “You know it is, villain.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you send for M. de Morvilliers the next day?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I did, for you were there when he came.” + </p> + <p> + “And you told him the accident that had happened to one of your friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you ordered him to find out the criminal?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he find him?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, go to bed, Henri; you see your police is bad.” And, turning + round, Chicot refused to say another word, and was soon snoring again. + </p> + <p> + The next day the council assembled. It consisted of Quelus, Maugiron, + D’Epernon, and Schomberg. Chicot, seated at the head of the table, was + making paper boats, and arranging them in a fleet. M. de Morvilliers was + announced, and came in, looking grave. + </p> + <p> + “Am I,” said he, “before your majesty’s council?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, before my best friends; speak freely.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sire, I have a terrible plot to denounce to your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “A plot!” cried all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is it a Spanish plot?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the Duc d’Anjou, who had been summoned to attend the + council, entered. + </p> + <p> + “My brother,” said Henri, “M. de Morvilliers comes to announce a plot to + us.” + </p> + <p> + The duke threw a suspicious glance round him. “Is it possible?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, yes, monseigneur,” said M. de Morvilliers. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us all about it,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” stammered the duke, “tell us all about it, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “I listen,” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, for some time I have been watching some malcontents, but they were + shopkeepers, or junior clerks, a few monks and students.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not much,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “I know that malcontents always make use either of war or of religion.” + </p> + <p> + “Very sensible!” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “I put men on the watch, and at last I succeeded in persuading a man from + the provosty of Paris to watch the preachers, who go about exciting the + people against your majesty. They are prompted by a party hostile to your + majesty, and this party I have studied, and now I know their hopes,” added + he, triumphantly. “I have men in my pay, greedy, it is true, who, for a + good sum of money, promised to let me know of the first meeting of the + conspirators.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! never mind money, but let us hear the aim of this conspiracy.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, they think of nothing less than a second St. Bartholomew.” + </p> + <p> + “Against whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Against the Huguenots.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you paid for your secret?” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and sixty thousand livres.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot turned to the king, saying, “If you like, for one thousand crowns, + I will tell you all the secrets of M. de Morvilliers.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak.” + </p> + <p> + “It is simply the League, instituted ten years ago; M. de Morvilliers has + discovered what every Parisian knows as well as his <i>ave</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” interrupted the chancellor. + </p> + <p> + “I speak the truth, and I will prove it,” cried Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, then, their place of meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “Firstly, the public streets; secondly, the public streets.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot is joking,” said the chancellor; “tell me their rallying sign.” + </p> + <p> + “They are dressed like Parisians, and shake their legs when they walk.” + </p> + <p> + A burst of laughter followed this speech; then M. de Morvilliers said, + “They have had one meeting-place which M. Chicot does not know of.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “The Abbey of St. Geneviève.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” murmured the duke. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said M. de Morvilliers, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “What did they decide?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “That the Leaguers should choose chiefs, that every one should arm, that + every province should receive a deputy from the conspirators, and that all + the Huguenots cherished by his majesty (that was their expression)——” + </p> + <p> + The king smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Should be massacred on a given day.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “I should hope not,” said Chicot; “if the king got only that for one + hundred and sixty thousand livres, it would be a shame.” + </p> + <p> + “There are chiefs——” + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Anjou could not repress a start. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Chicot, “a conspiracy that has chiefs! how wonderful! But we + ought to have more than that for one hundred and sixty thousand livres.” + </p> + <p> + “Their names?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Firstly, a fanatic preacher; I gave ten thousand livres for his name.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “A monk called Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor devil!” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Gorenflot?” said the king, writing down the name; “afterwards——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the chancellor, with hesitation, “that is all.” And he looked + round as if to say, “If your majesty were alone, you should hear more.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, chancellor,” said the king, “I have none but friends here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! sire, I hesitate to pronounce such powerful names.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they more powerful than I am?” cried the king. + </p> + <p> + “No, sire; but one does not tell secrets in public.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the Duc d’Anjou, “we will retire.” + </p> + <p> + The king signed to the chancellor to approach him, and to the duke to + remain. M. de Morvilliers had just bent over the king to whisper his + communication, when a great clamor was heard in the court of the Louvre. + The king jumped up, but Chicot, running to the window, called out, “It is + M. de Guise entering the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duc de Guise,” stammered the Duc d’Anjou. + </p> + <p> + “How strange that he should be in Paris,” said the king, reading the truth + in M. de Morvilliers’ look. “Was it of him you were about to speak?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire; he presided over the meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “And the others?” + </p> + <p> + “I know no more.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not write that name on your tablets! you will not forget it,” + whispered Chicot. + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Guise advanced, smiling, to see the king. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT M. DE GUISE CAME TO DO AT THE LOUVRE. + </h3> + <p> + Behind M. de Guise there entered a great number of officers, courtiers, + and gentlemen, and behind them a concourse of the people; an escort less + brilliant, but more formidable, and it was their cries that had resounded + as the duke entered the Louvre. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, my cousin,” said the king; “what a noise you bring with + you! Did I not hear the trumpets sound?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, the trumpets sound in Paris only for the king, and in campaigns for + the general. Here the trumpets would make too much noise for a subject; + there they do not make enough for a prince.” + </p> + <p> + Henri bit his lips. “Have you arrived from the siege of La Charité only + to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Only to-day, sire,” replied the duke, with a heightened color. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! your visit is a great honor to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Your majesty jests, no doubt. How can my visit honor him from whom all + honor comes?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, M. de Guise,” replied Henri, “that every good Catholic is in the + habit, on returning from a campaign, to visit God first in one of his + temple’s—the king only comes second. ‘Honor God, serve the king,’ + you know, my cousin.” + </p> + <p> + The heightened color of the duke became now still more distinct; and the + king, happening to turn towards his brother, saw with astonishment, that + he was as pale as the duke was red. He was struck by this emotion in each, + but he said: + </p> + <p> + “At all events, duke, nothing equals my joy to see that you have escaped + all the dangers of war, although you sought them, I was told in the + rashest manner; but danger knows you and flies you.” + </p> + <p> + The duke bowed. + </p> + <p> + “But I must beg you, my cousin, not to be so ambitious of mortal perils, + for you put to shame sluggards like us, who sleep, eat, and invent new + prayers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire,” replied the duke, “we know you to be a pious prince, and that + no pleasure can make you forget the glory of God and the interests of the + Church. That is why we have come with so much confidence to your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “With confidence! Do you not always come to me with confidence, my + cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, the confidence of which I speak refers to the proposition I am + about to make to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a proposition to make to me! Well, speak, as you say, with + confidence. What have you to propose?” + </p> + <p> + “The execution of one of the most beautiful ideas which has been + originated since the Crusades.” + </p> + <p> + “Continue, duke.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, the title of most Christian king is not a vain one; it makes an + ardent zeal for religion incumbent on its possessor.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the Church menaced by the Saracens once more?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, the great concourse of people who followed me, blessing my name, + honored me with this reception only because of my zeal to defend the + Church. I have already had the honor of speaking to your majesty of an + alliance between all true Catholics.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said Chicot, “the League; ventre de biche, Henri, the League. + By St. Bartholomew! how can you forget so splendid an idea, my son?” + </p> + <p> + The duke cast a disdainful glance on Chicot, while d’Anjou, who stood by, + as pale as death, tried by signs, to make the duke stop. + </p> + <p> + “Look at your brother, Henri,” whispered Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” continued the Duc de Guise, “the Catholics have indeed called this + association the Holy League, and its aim is to fortify the throne against + the Huguenots, its mortal enemies; but to form an association is not + enough, and in a kingdom like France, several millions of men cannot + assemble without the consent of the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Several millions!” cried Henri, almost with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Several millions!” repeated Chicot; “a small number of malcontents, which + may bring forth pretty results.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” cried the duke, “I am astonished that your majesty allows me to be + interrupted so often, when I am speaking on serious matters.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” said Chicot; “silence there.” + </p> + <p> + “Several millions!” repeated the king; “and against these millions, how + many Huguenots are there in my kingdom?” + </p> + <p> + “Four,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + This new sally made the king and his friends laugh, but the duke frowned, + and his gentlemen murmured loudly. + </p> + <p> + Henri, becoming once more serious, said, “Well, duke, what do you wish? To + the point.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish, sire—for your popularity is dearer to me than my own—that + your majesty should be superior to us in your zeal for religion—I + wish you to choose a chief for the League.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said the king, to those who surrounded him, “what do you think of + it, my friends?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot, without saying a word, drew out a lion’s skin from a corner, and + threw himself on it. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, Chicot?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, they say that night brings good counsel; that must be because of + sleep; therefore I am going to sleep, and to-morrow I will reply to my + cousin Guise.” + </p> + <p> + The duke cast a furious glance on Chicot, who replied by a loud snore. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sire!” said the duke, “what does your majesty say?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that, as usual, you are in the right, my cousin; convoke, then, + your principal leaguers, come at their head, and I will choose the chief.” + </p> + <p> + “When, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Guise then took leave, and the Duc d’Anjou was about to do the + same, when the king said,— + </p> + <p> + “Stay, my brother, I wish to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + CASTOR AND POLLUX. + </h3> + <p> + The king dismissed all his favorites, and remained with his brother. The + duke, who had managed to preserve a tolerably composed countenance + throughout, believed himself unsuspected, and remained without fear. + </p> + <p> + “My brother,” said Henri, after assuring himself that, with the exception + of Chicot, no one remained in the room, “do you know that I am a very + happy prince?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, if your majesty be really happy, it is a recompense from Heaven for + your merits.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, happy,” continued the king, “for if great ideas do not come to me, + they do to my subjects. It is a great idea which has occurred to my cousin + Guise.” + </p> + <p> + The duke make a sign of assent, and Chicot opened his eyes to watch the + king’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” continued Henri, “to unite under one banner all the Catholics, + to arm all France on this pretext from Calais to Languedoc, from Bretagne + to Burgundy, so that I shall always have an army ready to march against + England, Holland, or Spain, without alarming any of them—do you + know, François, it is a magnificent idea?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not, sire?” said the duke, delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I confess I feel tempted to reward largely the author of this fine + project.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot opened his eyes, but he shut them again, for he had seen on the + face of the king one of his almost imperceptible smiles, and he was + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Henri, “I repeat such a project merits recompense, and I + will do what I can for the author of this good work, for the work is begun—is + it not, my brother?” + </p> + <p> + The duke confessed that it was. + </p> + <p> + “Better and better; my subjects not only conceive these good ideas, but, + in their anxiety to be of use to me, hasten to put them in execution. But + I ask you, my dear François, if it be really to the Duc de Guise that I am + indebted for this royal thought?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire, it occurred to the Cardinal de Lorraine twenty years ago, only + the St. Bartholomew rendered it needless for the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! what a pity he is dead; but,” continued Henri, with that air of + frankness which made him the first comedian of the day, “his nephew has + inherited it, and brought it to bear. What can I do for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said François, completely duped by his brother, “you exaggerate + his merits. He has, as I say, but inherited the idea, and another man has + given him great help in developing it.” + </p> + <p> + “His brother the cardinal?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless he has been occupied with it, but I do not mean him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mayenne, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! sire, you do him too much honor.” + </p> + <p> + “True, how could any good ideas come to such a butcher? But to whom, then, + am I to be grateful for aid to my cousin Guise?” + </p> + <p> + “To me, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “To you!” cried Henri, as if in astonishment. “How! when I saw all the + world unchained against me, the preachers against my vices, the poets + against my weaknesses, while my friends laughed at my powerlessness, and + my situation was so harassing, that it gave me gray hairs every day: such + an idea came to you, François—to you, whom I confess, for man is + feeble and kings are blind, I did not always believe to be my friend! Ah! + François, how guilty I have been.” And Henri, moved even to tears, held + out his hand to his brother. + </p> + <p> + Chicot opened his eyes again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” continued Henri, “the idea is triumphant. Not being able to raise + troops without raising an outcry, scarcely to walk, sleep, or love, + without exciting ridicule, this idea gives me at once an army, money, + friends, and repose. But my cousin spake of a chief?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless.” + </p> + <p> + “This chief, you understand, François, cannot be one of my favorites; none + of them has at once the head and the heart necessary for so important a + post. Quelus is brave, but is occupied only by his amours. Maugiron is + also brave, but he thinks only of his toilette. Schomberg also, but he is + not clever. D’Epernon is a valiant man, but he is a hypocrite, whom I + could not trust, although I am friendly to him. But you know, François, + that one of the heaviest taxes on a king is the necessity of + dissimulation; therefore, when I can speak freely from my heart, as I do + now, I breathe. Well, then, if my cousin Guise originated this idea, to + the development of which you have assisted, the execution of it belongs to + him.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, sire?” said François, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “I say, that to direct such a movement we must have a prince of high + rank.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, take care.” + </p> + <p> + “A good captain and a skilful negotiator.” + </p> + <p> + “The last particularly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is not M. de Guise all this?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother, he is very powerful already.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless; but his power makes my strength.” + </p> + <p> + “He holds already the army and the bourgeois; the cardinal holds the + Church, and Mayenne is their instrument; it is a great deal of power to be + concentrated in one family.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, François; I had thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “If the Guises were French princes, their interest would be to aggrandize + France.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but they are Lorraines.” + </p> + <p> + “Of a house always rival to yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, François; you have touched the sore. I did not think you so good a + politician. Yes, there does not pass a day but one or other of these + Guises, either by address or by force, carries away from me some particle + of my power. Ah! François, if we had but had this explanation sooner, if I + had been able to read your heart as I do now, certain of support in you, I + might have resisted better, but now it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because all combats fatigue me; therefore I must make him chief of the + League.” + </p> + <p> + “You will be wrong, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “But who could I name, François? who would accept this perilous post? Yes, + perilous; for do you not see that he intended me to appoint him chief, and + that, should I name any one else to the post, he would treat him as an + enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “Name some one so powerful that, supported by you, he need not fear all + the three Lorraine princes together.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my good brother, I know no such person.” + </p> + <p> + “Look round you, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I know no one but you and Chicot who are really my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, brother.” + </p> + <p> + Henri looked at the duke as if a veil had fallen from his eyes. “Surely + you would never consent, brother! It is not you who could teach all these + bourgeois their exercise, who could look over the discourses of the + preachers, who, in case of battle, would play the butcher in the streets + of Paris; for all this, one must be triple, like the duke, and have a + right arm called Charles and a left called Louis. What! you would like all + this? You, the first gentleman of our court! Mort de ma vie! how people + change with the age!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I would not do it for myself, brother, but I would do it for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent brother!” said Henri, wiping away a tear which never existed. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the duke, “it would not displease you for me to assume this + post?” + </p> + <p> + “Displease me! On the contrary, it would charm me.” + </p> + <p> + François trembled with joy. “Oh! if your majesty thinks me worthy of this + confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “Confidence! When you are the chief, what have I to fear? The League + itself? That cannot be dangerous can it, François?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “No, for then you would not be chief, or at least, when you are chief, + there will be no danger. But, François, the duke is doubtless certain of + this appointment, and he will not lightly give way.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, you grant me the command?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And you wish me to have it?” + </p> + <p> + “Particularly; but I dare not too much displease M. de Guise.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, make yourself easy, sire; if that be the only obstacle, I pledge + myself to arrange it.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “At once.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to him? That will be doing him too much honor.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire; he is waiting for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In my room.” + </p> + <p> + “Your room! I heard the cries of the people as he left the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but after going out at the great door he came back by the postern. + The king had the right to the first visit, but I to the second.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, brother, I thank you for keeping up our prerogative, which I had the + weakness so often to abandon. Go, then, François, and do your best.” + </p> + <p> + François bent down to kiss the king’s hand, but he, opening his arms, gave + him a warm embrace, and then the duke left the room to go to his interview + with the Duc de Guise. The king, seeing his brother gone, gave an angry + growl, and rapidly made his way through the secret corridor, until he + reached a hiding-place whence he could distinctly hear the conversation + between the two dukes. + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche!” cried Chicot, starting up, “how touching these family + scenes are! For an instant I believed myself in Olympus, assisting at the + reunion of Castor and Pollux after six months’ separation.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT LISTENING IS THE BEST WAY TO HEAR. + </h3> + <p> + The Duc d’Anjou was well aware that there were few rooms in the Louvre + which were not built so that what was said in them could be heard from the + outside; but, completely seduced by his brother’s manner, he forgot to + take any precautions. + </p> + <p> + “Why, monseigneur,” said the Duc de Guise, “how pale you are!” + </p> + <p> + “Visibly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to me.” + </p> + <p> + “The king saw nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not; but he retained you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “He approves the idea, but the more gigantic it appears, the more he + hesitates to place a man like you at the head.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are likely to fail.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so, my dear duke; the League seems likely to fail.” + </p> + <p> + “Before it begins.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Henri, hearing a noise, turned and saw Chicot by his side, + listening also. “You followed me, Knave!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, my son,” said Chicot; “you prevent me from hearing.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said the Duc de Guise, “it seems to me that in this case + the king would have refused at once. Does he wish to dispossess me?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he would ruin the enterprise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I aided you with all my power.” + </p> + <p> + “How, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “In this—the king has left me almost master, to kill or reanimate + the League.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” cried the duke, with sparkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, if, instead of dissolving the League, he named me chief——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the duke, while the blood mounted to his face. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the dogs are going to fight over their bones,” said Chicot; but to + his surprise, and the king’s, the Duc de Guise suddenly became calm, and + exclaimed, in an almost joyful tone: + </p> + <p> + “You are an adroit politician, monseigneur, if you did this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did; but I would not conclude anything without speaking to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I did not know what it would lead us to.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will tell you, monseigneur, not to what it will lead us—that + God alone knows—but how it will serve us. The League is a second + army, and as I hold the first, and my brother the Church, nothing can + resist us as long as we are united.” + </p> + <p> + “Without counting,” said the Duc d’Anjou, “that I am heir presumptive to + the throne.” + </p> + <p> + “True, but still calculate your bad chances.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done so a hundred times.” + </p> + <p> + “There is, first, the King of Navarre.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I do not mind him; he is entirely occupied by his amours with La + Fosseuse.” + </p> + <p> + “He, monseigneur, will dispute every inch with you; he watches you and + your brother; he hungers for the throne. If any accident should happen to + your brother, see if he will not be here with a bound from Pau to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “An accident to my brother,” repeated François. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Henri,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur,” said the Duc de Guise, “an accident. Accidents are not + rare in your family; you know that, as well as I do. One prince is in good + health, and all at once he falls ill of a lingering malady; another is + counting on long years, when, perhaps, he has but a few hours to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, Henri?” said Chicot, taking the hand of the king, who + shuddered at what he heard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is true,” said the Duc d’Anjou, “the princes of my house are born + under fatal influences; but my brother Henri is, thank God, strong and + well; he supported formerly the fatigues of war, and now that his life is + nothing but recreation—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but, monseigneur, remember one thing; these recreations are not + always without danger. How did your father, Henri II., die, for example? + He, who also had happily escaped the dangers of war. The wound by M. de + Montgomery’s lance was an accident. Then your poor brother, François, one + would hardly call a pain in the ears an accident, and yet it was one; at + least, I have often heard it said that this mortal malady was poured into + his ear by some one well known.” + </p> + <p> + “Duke!” murmured François, reddening. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur; the name of king has long brought misfortune with it. + Look at Antoine de Bourbon, who died from a spot in the shoulder. Then + there was Jeanne d’Albret, the mother of the Béarnais, who died from + smelling a pair of perfumed gloves, an accident very unexpected although + there were people who had great interest in this death. Then Charles IX., + who died neither by the eye, the ear, nor the shoulder, but by the mouth——” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” cried François, starting back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur, by the mouth. Those hunting books are very dangerous, + of which the pages stick together, and can only be opened by wetting the + finger constantly.” + </p> + <p> + “Duke! duke! I believe you invent crimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Crimes! who speaks of crimes? I speak of accidents. Was it not also an + accident that happened to Charles IX. at the chase? You know what chase I + mean; that of the boar, where, intending to kill the wild boar, which had + turned on your brother, you, who never before had missed your aim, did so + then, and the king would have been killed, as he had fallen from his + horse, had not Henri of Navarre slain the animal which you had missed.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the Duc d’Anjou, trying to recover himself, “what interest + could I have had in the death of Charles IX., when the next king would be + Henri III.?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! monseigneur, there was already one throne vacant, that of Poland. The + death of Charles IX. would have left another, that of France; and even the + kingdom of Poland might not have been despised. Besides, the death of + Charles would have brought you a degree nearer the throne, and the next + accident would have benefited you.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you conclude from all this, duke?” said the Duc d’Anjou. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I conclude that each king has his accident, and that you are + the inevitable accident of Henri III., particularly if you are chief of + the League.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am to accept?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I beg you to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! be easy; my men are ready, and to-night Paris will be curious.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they going to do in Paris to-night?” asked Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! how foolish you are, my friend; to-night they sign the League + publicly.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” said the Duc d’Anjou, “till this evening then.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, till this evening,” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + “How!” said Chicot, “you will not risk going into the streets to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, Henri; remember the accidents.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I shall be well accompanied; will you come with me?” + </p> + <p> + “What! do you take me for a Huguenot? I shall go and sign the League ten + times. However, Henri, you have a great advantage over your predecessors, + in being warned, for you know your brother, do you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and, mordieu! before long he shall find it out.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE EVENING OF THE LEAGUE. + </h3> + <p> + Paris presented a fine sight, as through its then narrow streets thousands + of people pressed towards the same point, for at eight o’clock in the + evening, M. le Duc de Guise was to receive the signatures of the bourgeois + to the League. A crowd of citizens, dressed in their best clothes, as for + a fête, but fully armed, directed their steps towards the churches. What + added to the noise and confusion was that large numbers of women, + disdaining to stay at home on such a great day, had followed their + husbands, and many had brought with them a whole batch of children. It was + in the Rue de l’Arbre Sec that the crowd was the thickest. The streets + were literally choked, and the crowd pressed tumultuously towards a bright + light suspended below the sign of the Belle Etoile. On the threshold a + man, with a cotton cap on his head and a naked sword in one hand and a + register in the other, was crying out, “Come come, brave Catholics, enter + the hotel of the Belle Etoile, where you will find good wine; come, + to-night the good will be separated from the bad, and to-morrow morning + the wheat will be known from the tares; come, gentlemen, you who can + write, come and sign;—you who cannot write, come and tell your names + to me, La Hurière; vive la messe!” A tall man elbowed his way through the + crowd, and in letters half an inch high, wrote his name, ‘Chicot.’ Then, + turning to La Hurière, he asked if he had not another register to sign. La + Hurière did not understand raillery, and answered angrily. Chicot + retorted, and a quarrel seemed approaching, when Chicot, feeling some one + touch his arm, turned, and saw the king disguised as a simple bourgeois, + and accompanied by Quelus and Maugiron, also disguised, and carrying an + arquebuse on their shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the king, “good Catholics disputing among themselves; par la + mordieu, it is a bad example.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not mix yourself with what does not concern you,” replied Chicot, + without seeming to recognize him. But a new influx of the crowd distracted + the attention of La Hurière, and separated the king and his companions + from the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you here, sire?” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I have anything to fear?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! mon Dieu! in a crowd like this it is so easy for one man to put a + knife into his neighbor, and who just utters an oath and gives up the + ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I been seen?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not; but you will be if you stay longer. Go back to the Louvre, + sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh! what is this new outcry, and what are the people running for?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot looked, but could at first see nothing but a mass of people crying, + howling, and pushing. At last the mass opened, and a monk, mounted on a + donkey, appeared. The monk spoke and gesticulated, and the ass brayed. + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche!” cried Chicot, “listen to the preacher.” + </p> + <p> + “A preacher on a donkey!” cried Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “He is Silenus,” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Which is the preacher?” said the king, “for they speak both at once.” + </p> + <p> + “The underneath one is the most eloquent,” said Chicot, “but the one at + the top speaks the best French; listen, Henri.” + </p> + <p> + “My brethren,” said the monk, “Paris is a superb city; Paris is the pride + of France, and the Parisians a fine people.” Then he began to sing, but + the ass mingled his accompaniment so loudly that he was obliged to stop. + The crowd burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, Panurge, hold your tongue,” cried the monk, “you shall + speak after, but let me speak first.” + </p> + <p> + The ass was quiet. + </p> + <p> + “My brothers,” continued the preacher, “the earth is a valley of grief, + where man often pan quench his thirst only with his tears.” + </p> + <p> + “He is drunk,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “I, who speak to you,” continued the monk, “I am returning from exile like + the Hebrews of old, and for eight days Panurge and I have been living on + alms and privations.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Panurge?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “The superior of his convent, probably but let me listen.” + </p> + <p> + “Who made me endure this? It was Herod; you know what Herod I speak of. I + and Panurge have come from Villeneuve-le-Roi, in three days, to assist at + this great solemnity; now we see, but we do not understand. What is + passing, my brothers? Is it to-day that they depose Herod? Is it to-day + that they put brother Henri in a convent?—Gentlemen,” continued he, + “I left Paris with two friends; Panurge, who is my ass, and Chicot, who is + his majesty’s jester. Can you tell me what has become of my friend + Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot made a grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the king, “he is your friend.” Quelus and Maugiron burst out + laughing. “He is handsome and respectable,” continued the king. + </p> + <p> + “It is Gorenflot, of whom M. de Morvilliers spoke to you.” + </p> + <p> + “The incendiary of St. Geneviève?” + </p> + <p> + “Himself!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will have him hanged!” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “He has no neck.” + </p> + <p> + “My brothers,” continued Gorenflot: “I am a true martyr, and it is my + cause that they defend at this moment or, rather, that of all good + Catholics. You do not know what is passing in the provinces, we have been + obliged at Lyons to kill a Huguenot who preached revolt. While one of them + remains in France, there will be no tranquillity for us. Let us + exterminate them. To arms! to arms!” + </p> + <p> + Several voices repeated, “To arms!” + </p> + <p> + “Par la mordieu!” said the king, “make this fellow hold his tongue, or he + will make a second St. Bartholomew!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” said Chicot, and with his stick he struck Gorenflot with all his + force on the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Murder!” cried the monk. + </p> + <p> + “It is you!” cried Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Help me, M. Chicot, help me! The enemies of the faith wish to assassinate + me, but I will not die without making my voice heard. Death to the + Huguenots!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you hold your tongue?” cried Chicot. But at this moment a second + blow fell on the shoulders of the monk with such force that he cried out + with real pain. Chicot, astonished, looked round him, but saw nothing but + the stick. The blow had been given by a man who had immediately + disappeared in the crowd after administering this punishment. + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil could it have been?” thought Chicot, and he began to run + after the man, who was gliding away, followed by only one companion. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE RUE DE LA FERRONNERIE. + </h3> + <p> + Chicot had good legs, and he would have made the best use of them to join + the man who had beaten Gorenflot if he had not imagined that there might + be danger in trying to recognize a man who so evidently wished to avoid + it. He thought the best way not to seem to watch them was to pass them; so + he ran on, and passed them at the corner of the Rue Tirechappe, and then + hid himself at the end of the Rue des Bourdonnais. The two men went on, + their hats slouched over their eyes, and their cloaks drawn up over their + faces, with a quick and military step, until they reached the Rue de la + Ferronnerie. There they stopped and looked round them. Chicot, who was + still ahead, saw in the middle of the street, before a house so old that + it looked falling to pieces, a litter, attached to which were two horses. + The driver had fallen asleep, while a woman, apparently unquiet, was + looking anxiously through the blind. Chicot hid himself behind a large + stone wall, which served as stalls for the vegetable sellers on the days + when the market was held in this street, and watched. Scarcely was he + hidden, when he saw the two men approach the litter, one of whom, on + seeing the driver asleep, uttered an impatient exclamation, while the + other pushed him to awaken him. “Oh, they are compatriots!” thought + Chicot. The lady now leaned out of the window, and Chicot saw that she was + young, very pale, but very beautiful. The two men approached the litter, + and the taller of the two took in both of his the little white hand which + was stretched out to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ma mie,” asked he, “how are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been very anxious,” replied she. + </p> + <p> + “Why the devil did you bring madame to Paris?” said the other man rudely. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! it is a malediction that you must always have a petticoat tacked + to your doublet!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear Agrippa,” replied the man who had spoken first, “it is so great + a grief to part from one you love.” + </p> + <p> + “On my soul, you make me swear to hear you talk! Did you come to Paris to + make love? It seems to me that Béarn is large enough for your sentimental + promenades, without continuing them in this Babylon, where you have nearly + got us killed twenty times to-day. Go home, if you wish to make love, but, + here, keep to your political intrigues, my master.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him scold, ma mie, and never mind him; I think he would be ill if he + did not.” + </p> + <p> + “But, at least, ventre St. Gris, as you say, get into the litter, and say + your sweet things to madame; you will run less risk of being recognized + there than in the open street.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Agrippa. Give me a place, ma mie, if you permit me to sit + by your side.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit, sire; I desire it ardently,” replied the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Sire!” murmured Chicot, who, carried away by an impulse, tried to raise + his head, and knocked it against the stone wall. Meanwhile the happy lover + profited by the permission given, and seated himself in the litter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! how happy I am,” he cried, without attending in the least to the + impatience of his friend—“ventre St. Gris, this is a good day. Here + are my good Parisians, who execrate me with all their souls, and would + kill me if they could, working to smooth my way to the throne, and I have + in my arms the woman I love. Where are we, D’Aubigné? when I am king, I + will erect here a statue to the genius of the Béarnais.” + </p> + <p> + “The Béarn——” began Chicot, but he stopped, for he had given + his head a second bump. + </p> + <p> + “We are in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, sire,” said D’Aubigné, “and it does + not smell nice.” + </p> + <p> + “Get in then, Agrippa, and we will go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, no, I will follow behind; I should annoy you, and, what is worse, + you would annoy me.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door then, bear of Béarn, and do as you like.” Then to the + coachman he said, “Lavarrenne, you know where.” + </p> + <p> + The litter went slowly away, followed by D’Aubigné. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see,” said Chicot, “must I tell Henri what I have seen? Why should + I? two men and a woman, who hide themselves; it would be cowardly. I will + not tell; that I know it myself is the important point, for is it not I + who reign? His love was very pretty, but he loves too often, this dear + Henri of Navarre. A year ago it was Madame de Sauve, and I suppose this + was La Fosseuse. However, I love the Béarnais, for I believe some day he + will do an ill turn to those dear Guises. Well! I have seen everyone + to-day but the Duc d’Anjou; he alone is wanting to my list of princes. + Where can my François III. be? Ventre de biche, I must look for the worthy + monarch.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot was not the only person who was seeking for the Duc d’Anjou, and + unquiet at his absence. The Guises had also sought for him on all sides, + but they were not more lucky than Chicot. M. d’Anjou was not the man to + risk himself imprudently, and we shall see afterwards what precautions had + kept him from his friends. Once Chicot thought he had found him in the Rue + Bethisy; a numerous group was standing at the door of a wine-merchant; and + in this group Chicot recognized M. de Monsoreau and M. de Guise, and + fancied that the Duc d’Anjou could not be far off. But he was wrong. MM. + de Monsoreau and Guise were occupied in exciting still more an orator in + his stammering eloquence. This orator was Gorenflot, recounting his + journey to Lyons, and his duel in an inn with a dreadful Huguenot. M. de + Guise was listening intently, for he began to fancy it had something to do + with the silence of Nicolas David. Chicot was terrified; he felt sure that + in another moment Gorenflot would pronounce his name, which would throw a + fatal light on the mystery. Chicot in an instant cut the bridles of some + of the horses that were fastened up, and giving them each a violent blow, + sent them galloping among the crowd, which opened, and began to disperse + in different directions. Chicot passed quickly through the groups, and + approaching Gorenflot, took Panurge by the bridle and turned him round. + The Duc de Guise was already separated from them by the rush of the + people, and Chicot led off Gorenflot to a kind of cul-de-sac by the church + of St. Germain l’Auxerrois. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! drunkard!” said he to him, “ah! traitor! you will then always prefer + a bottle of wine to your friend.’ + </p> + <p> + “Ah! M. Chicot,” stammered the monk. + </p> + <p> + “What! I feed you, wretch, I give you drink, I fill your pockets and your + stomach, and you betray me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! M. Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “You tell my secrets, wretch.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue; you are but a sycophant, and deserve punishment.” + </p> + <p> + And the monk, vigorous and strong, powerful as a bull, but overcome by + wine and repentance, remained without defending himself in the hands of + Chicot, who shook him like a balloon full of air. + </p> + <p> + “A punishment to me, to your friend, dear M. Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to you,” said Chicot, striking him over the shoulders with his + stick. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! if I were but fasting.” + </p> + <p> + “You would beat me, I suppose; I, your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend! and you treat me thus!” + </p> + <p> + “He who loves well chastises well,” said Chicot, redoubling his proofs of + friendship. “Now,” said he, “go and sleep at the Corne d’Abondance.” + </p> + <p> + “I can no longer see my way,” cried the monk, from whose eyes tears were + falling. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Chicot, “if you wept for the wine you have drunk! However, I + will guide you.” + </p> + <p> + And taking the ass by the bridle, he led him to the hotel, where two men + assisted Gorenflot to dismount, and led him up to the room which our + readers already know. + </p> + <p> + “It is done,” said the host, returning. + </p> + <p> + “He is in bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and snoring.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. But as he will awake some day or other, remember that I do not + wish that he should know how he came here; indeed, it will be better that + he should not know that he has been out since the famous night when he + made such a noise in the convent, and that he should believe that all that + has passed since is a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, M. Chicot; but what has happened to the poor monk?” + </p> + <p> + “A great misfortune. It appears that at Lyons he quarreled with an agent + of M. de Mayenne’s and killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + “So that M. de Mayenne has sworn that he will have him broken on the + wheel.” + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself easy, monsieur; he shall not go out from here on any + pretext.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. And now,” said Chicot, as he went away, “I must find the Duc + d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE PRINCE AND THE FRIEND. + </h3> + <p> + We may remember that the Duc de Guise had invited the Duc d’Anjou to meet + him in the streets of Paris that evening. However, he determined not to go + out of his palace unless he was well accompanied; therefore the duke went + to seek his sword, which was Bussy d’Amboise. For the duke to make up his + mind to this step he must have been very much afraid; for since his + deception with regard to M. de Monsoreau he had not seen Bussy, and stood + in great dread of him. Bussy, like all fine natures, felt sorrow more + vividly than pleasure; for it is rare that a man intrepid in danger, cold + and calm in the face of fire and sword, does not give way to grief more + easily than a coward. Those from whom a woman can draw tears most easily + are those most to be feared by other men. Bussy had seen Diana received at + court as Comtesse de Monsoreau, and as such admitted by the queen into the + circle of her maids of honor; he had seen a thousand curious eyes fixed on + her unrivaled beauty. During the whole evening he had fastened his ardent + gaze on her, who never raised her eyes to him, and he, unjust, like every + man in love, never thought how she must have been suffering from not + daring to meet his sympathizing glance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said he to himself, seeing that he waited uselessly for a look, + “women have skill and audacity only when they want to deceive a guardian, + a husband, or a mother; they are awkward and cowardly when they have + simply a debt of gratitude to pay, they fear so much to seem to love—they + attach so exaggerated a value to their least favor, that they do not mind + breaking their lover’s heart, if such be their humor. Diana might have + said to me frankly, ‘I thank you for what you have done for me, but I do + not love you.’ The blow would have killed or cured me. But no; she prefers + letting me love her hopelessly; but she has gained nothing by it, for I no + longer love her, I despise her.” + </p> + <p> + And he went away with rage in his heart. + </p> + <p> + “I am mad,” thought he, “to torment myself about a person who disdains me. + But why does she disdain me, or for whom? Not, surely, for that long, + livid-looking skeleton, who, always by her side, covers her incessantly + with his jealous glances. If I wished it, in a quarter of an hour I could + hold him mute and cold under my knee with ten inches of steel in his + heart, and if I cannot be loved, I could at least be terrible and hated. + Oh, her hatred! Rather than her indifference. Yes, but to act thus would + be to do what a Quelus or a Maugiron would do if they knew how to love. + Better to resemble that hero of Plutarch whom I so much admired, the young + Antiochus, dying of love and never avowing it, nor uttering a complaint. + Am I not called the brave Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + He went home, and threw himself on a chair. How long he remained there he + did not know when a man approached him. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte,” said he, “you are in a fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, is it you, Rémy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, count. Go to bed,” + </p> + <p> + Bussy obeyed, and all the next day Rémy watched by him, with refreshing + drinks for his body and kind words for his mind. But on the day after + Bussy missed him. “Poor lad!” thought he, “he was tired and wanted air; + and then doubtless Gertrude expected him; she is but a femme de chambre, + but she loves, and a femme de chambre who loves is better than a queen who + does not.” + </p> + <p> + The day passed, and Rémy did not return. Bussy was angry and impatient. + “Oh!” cried he, “I, who still believed in gratitude and friendship, will + henceforth believe in nothing.” Towards evening he heard voices in his + ante-chamber, and a servant entered, saying, “It is Monseigneur the Duc + d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him enter,” said Bussy, frowning. + </p> + <p> + The duke, on entering the room, which was without lights, said, “It is too + dark here, Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy did not answer; disgust closed his mouth. “Are you really ill,” said + the duke, “that you do not answer?” + </p> + <p> + “I am very ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Then that is why I have not seen you for two days?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + The prince, piqued at these short answers, began to examine the room. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to me well lodged, Bussy,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Bussy did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “Bussy must be very ill,” said the duke to an attendant who stood by, “why + was not Miron called? The king’s doctor is not too good for Bussy.” When + the servant was gone, “Are you in grief, Bussy?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + The duke approached, becoming more and more gracious as he was rebuffed. + “Come, speak frankly, Bussy,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “What am I to say, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “You are angry with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I! for what? besides, it is no use to be angry with princes.” The duke + was silent. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Bussy, “we are losing time in preambles; to the point, + monseigneur. You have need of me, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. de Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless; do you think I believe that you come here through + friendship; you, who love no one?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bussy, to say such things to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, be quick, monseigneur, what do you want? When one serves a prince, + and he dissimulates to the extent of calling you his friend, one must pay + for the dissimulation by being ready to sacrifice everything, even life, + if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + The duke colored, but it was too dark to see it. “I wanted nothing of you, + Bussy, and you deceive yourself in thinking my visit interested. I desire + only, seeing the fine evening, and that all Paris is out to sign the + League, that you should accompany me a little about the streets.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy looked at him. “Have you not Aurilly to go with you?” + </p> + <p> + “A lute-player!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monseigneur, you do not mention all his qualities; I believed that he + fulfilled other functions for you. Besides, you have a dozen other + gentlemen; I hear them in the ante-chamber.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened. “Who is there?” said the duke, haughtily. + “Who enters unannounced where I am?” + </p> + <p> + “I, Rémy,” replied the young man, without any embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Rémy?” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor, monseigneur,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “And my friend,” said Bussy. “You heard what monseigneur asks?” continued + he, turning to Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that you should accompany him; but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot do it!” + </p> + <p> + “And why so?” cried the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is too cold out of doors.” + </p> + <p> + “Too cold!” cried the duke, surprised that any one should oppose him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, too cold. Therefore I, who answer for M. Bussy’s life to himself and + to his friends, must forbid him to go out.” And he pressed Bussy’s hand in + a significant manner. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the duke, “if the risk be so great, he must stay.” And + he turned angrily to the door; but returning to the bed, he said, “Then + you have decided not to come?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, you hear that the doctor forbids me.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to see Miron, he is a great doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Then adieu.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner was the duke gone than Rémy said, “Now, monsieur, get up at + once, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To come out with me. This room is too warm.” + </p> + <p> + “You said just now to the duke that it was too cold outside.” + </p> + <p> + “The temperature has changed since.” + </p> + <p> + “So that——” said Bussy, with curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “So that now I am convinced that the air will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand the medicines I give you? Yet you take them. Come, get + up; a walk with M. d’Anjou is dangerous, with me it is healthy. Have you + lost confidence in me? If so, send me away.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as you wish it.” And he rose, pale and trembling. + </p> + <p> + “An interesting paleness,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “But where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “To a place where I have analyzed the air to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “And this air?” + </p> + <p> + “Is sovereign for your complaint, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy dressed, and they went out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. + </h2> + <h3> + ETYMOLOGY OF THE RUE DE LA JUSSIENNE. + </h3> + <p> + Rémy took his patient by the arm, and led him by the Rue Coquillière down + to the rampart. + </p> + <p> + “It is strange,” said Bussy, “you take me near the marsh of the + Grange-Batelier, and call it healthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur, a little patience; we are going to turn round the Rue + Pagavin, and get into the Rue Montmartre—you will see what a fine + street that is.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I do not know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so much the better; I need not lose time in showing you its + beauties, and I will lead you at once into a pretty little street.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, after going a few steps down the Rue Montmartre, they turned to + the right. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Rémy, “is the Rue de la Gypecienne, or Egyptienne, which you + like; often called by the people the Rue de la Gyssienne, or Jussienne.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely; but where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that little church?” said Rémy. “How nicely it is situated; I + dare say you never remarked it before.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now that you have seen the exterior, enter and look at the windows—they + are very curious.” + </p> + <p> + There was such a pleased smile on the young man’s face, that Bussy felt + sure there must have been some other reason for making him enter than to + look at the windows which it was too dark to see. The chapel was lighted, + however, for service, and Rémy began examining a fresco of the Virgin + Mary, which was a continual source of complaint to the women who + frequented the church, as they said that it attracted the attention of the + young shopkeepers away from them. + </p> + <p> + “You had some other object in bringing me here than that I should admire + the St. Marie, had you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! no.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us go.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment; the service is finishing.” + </p> + <p> + “Now let us go,” said Bussy; “they are moving;” and he walked to the door. + </p> + <p> + “At least take some holy water.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy obeyed, and Rémy making a sign to a woman who stood near, she + advanced, and Bussy grew suddenly pale, for he recognized Gertrude. She + saluted him and passed on, but behind her came a figure which, although + closely veiled, made his heart beat fast. Rémy looked at him, and Bussy + knew now why he had brought him to this church. Bussy followed the lady, + and Rémy followed him. Gertrude had walked on before, until she came to an + alley closed by a door. She opened it, and let her mistress pass. Bussy + followed, and the two others disappeared. + </p> + <p> + It was half-past seven in the evening, and near the beginning of May; the + air began to have the feeling of spring, and the leaves were beginning to + unfold themselves. Bussy looked round him, and found himself in a little + garden fifty feet square, surrounded by high walls covered with vines and + moss. The first lilacs which had begun to open in the morning sun sent out + their sweet emanations, and the young man felt tempted to think that so + much perfume and warmth and life came to him only from the presence of the + woman he loved so tenderly. + </p> + <p> + On a little wooden bench sat Diana, twisting in her fingers a sprig of + wall-flower, which she had picked, without knowing what she did. As Bussy + approached her, she raised her head, and said timidly, “M. le Comte, all + deception would be unworthy of us; if you found me at the church of St. + Marie l’Egyptienne, it was not chance that brought you there.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame; Rémy took me out without my knowing where I was going, and I + swear to you that I was ignorant——” + </p> + <p> + “You do not understand me, monsieur, I know well that M. Rémy brought you + there, by force, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame, not by force; I did not know that he was going to take me to + see any one.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a harsh speech,” said Diana, sadly, and with tears in her eyes. + “Do you mean that had you known, you would not have come?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madame!” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been but just, monsieur; you did me a great service, and I + have not thanked you. Pardon me, and receive all my thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame——” Bussy stopped; he felt so overcome, that he had + neither words nor ideas. + </p> + <p> + “But I wished to prove to you,” continued Diana, “that I am not + ungrateful, nor forgetful. It was I who begged M. Rémy to procure for me + the honor of this interview; it was I who sought for it, forgive me if I + have displeased you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madame! you cannot think that.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” continued Diana, who was the strongest, because she had prepared + herself for this interview, “how much trouble you had in fulfilling my + commission; I know all your delicacy; I know it and appreciate it, believe + me. Judge, then, what I must have suffered from the idea that you would + misunderstand the sentiments of my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I have been ill for three days.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know,” cried Diana, with a rising color, “and I suffered more than + you, for M. Rémy, he deceived me, no doubt; for he made me believe——” + </p> + <p> + “That your forgetfulness caused it. Oh! it is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I have been right to do as I have done; to see you, to thank you for + your kindness, and to swear to you an eternal gratitude. Do you believe + that I speak from the bottom of my heart?” + </p> + <p> + Bussy shook his head sadly, and did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “Do you doubt my words?” said Diana. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, those who feel a kindness for you, show it when they can. You + knew I was at the palace the night of your presentation, you knew I was + close to you, you must have felt my looks fixed on you, and you never + raised your eyes to me, you never let me know by a word, a sign, or a + gesture, that you were aware of my presence; but perhaps you did not + recognize me, madame, you have only seen me twice.” Diana replied with so + sad a glance of reproach, that Bussy was moved by it. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, madame,” said he; “you are not an ordinary woman, and yet you act + like them. This marriage——” + </p> + <p> + “I was forced to conclude it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it was easy to break.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, on the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not know that near you watched a devoted friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Even that made me fear.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did not think of what my life would be, when you belonged to + another. But perhaps you kept the name of Monsoreau from choice?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” murmured Diana; “so much the better.” And her eyes + filled with tears. Bussy walked up and down in great agitation. + </p> + <p> + “I am to become once more a stranger to you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” + </p> + <p> + “Your silence says enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I can only speak by my silence.” + </p> + <p> + “At the Louvre you would not see me, and now you will not speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + “At the Louvre I was watched by M. de Monsoreau, and he is jealous.” + </p> + <p> + “Jealous! What does he want then? mon Dieu! whose happiness can he envy, + when all the world is envying his?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you he is jealous; for the last two or three days he has seen some + one wandering round our new abode.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have quitted the Rue St. Antoine?” + </p> + <p> + “How!” cried Diana thoughtlessly, “then it was not you?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, since your marriage was publicly announced, since that evening at + the Louvre, where you did not deign to look at me, I have been in bed, + devoured by fever, so you see that your husband could not be jealous of + me, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! M. le Comte, if it be true that you had any desire to see me, you + must thank this unknown man; for knowing M. de Monsoreau as I know him, + this man made me tremble for you, and I wished to see you and say to you, + ‘Do not expose yourself so, M. le Comte; do not make me more unhappy than + I am.’” + </p> + <p> + “Reassure yourself, madame; it was not I.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, let me finish what I have to say. In the fear of this man—whom + I do not know, but whom M. de Monsoreau does perhaps—he exacts that + I should leave Paris, so that,” said Diana, holding out her hand to Bussy, + “you may look upon this as our last meeting, M. le Comte. To-morrow we + start for Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no other way to reassure M. de Monsoreau; no other way for me to + be at peace. Besides, I myself detest Paris, the world, the court, and the + Louvre. I wish to be alone with my souvenirs of my happy past; perhaps a + little of my former happiness will return to me there. My father will + accompany me, and I shall find there M. and Madame de St. Luc, who expect + me. Adieu, M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy hid his face in his hands. “All is over for me,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” said Diana. + </p> + <p> + “I say, madame, that this man exiles you, that he takes from me the only + hope left to me, that of breathing the same air as yourself, of seeing you + sometimes, of touching your dress as you pass. Oh! this man is my mortal + enemy, and if I perish for it, I will destroy him with my own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! M. le Comte!” + </p> + <p> + “The wretch; it is not enough for him that you are his wife: you, the most + beautiful and most charming of creatures, but he is still jealous. + Jealous! The devouring monster would absorb the whole world!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! calm yourself, comte; mon Dieu; he is excusable, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “He is excusable! you defend him, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if you knew!” cried Diana, covering her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “If I knew! Oh! madame, I know one thing; he who is your husband is wrong + to think of the rest of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But!” cried Diana, in a broken voice, “if you were wrong, M. le Comte, + and if he were not.” + </p> + <p> + And the young woman, touching with her cold hand the burning ones of + Bussy, rose and fled among the somber alleys of the garden, seized + Gertrude’s arm and dragged her away, before Bussy, astonished and + overwhelmed with delight, had time to stretch out his arms to retain her. + He uttered a cry and tottered; Rémy arrived in time to catch him in his + arms and make him sit down on the bench that Diana had just quitted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW D’EPERNON HAD HIS DOUBLET TORN, AND HOW CHOMBERG WAS STAINED BLUE. + </h3> + <p> + While M. la Hurière piled signature upon signature, while Chicot consigned + Gorenflot to the Corne d’Abondance, while Bussy returned to life in the + happy little garden full of perfume and love, the king, annoyed at all he + had seen in the city, and furious against his brother, whom he had seen + pass in the Rue St. Honoré, accompanied by MM. de Guise and Monsoreau, and + followed by a whole train of gentlemen, re-entered the Louvre, accompanied + by Maugiron and Quelus. He had gone out with all four of his friends, but, + at some steps from the Louvre, Schomberg and D’Epernon had profited by the + first crush to disappear, counting on some adventures in such a turbulent + night. Before they had gone one hundred yards D’Epernon had passed his + sword-sheath between the legs of a citizen who was running, and who + tumbled down in consequence, and Schomberg had pulled the cap off the head + of a young and pretty woman. But both had badly chosen their day for + attacking these good Parisians, generally so patient; for a spirit of + revolt was prevalent in the streets, and the bourgeois rose, crying out + for aid, and the husband of the young woman launched his apprentices on + Schomberg. He was brave; therefore he stopped, put his hand on his sword, + and spoke in a high tone. D’Epernon was prudent; he fled. + </p> + <p> + Henri had entered his room at the Louvre, and, seated in his great + armchair, was trembling with impatience, and seeking a good pretext for + getting into a passion. Maugiron was playing with Narcissus, the large + greyhound, and Quelus was sitting near. + </p> + <p> + “They go on!” cried Henri, “their plot advances; sometimes tigers, + sometimes serpents; when they do not spring they glide.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sire!” said Quelus, “are there not always plots in a kingdom? What + the devil could all the sons, brothers, and cousins of kings do if they + did not plot?” And Quelus irreverently turned his back to the king. + </p> + <p> + “Hear, Maugiron,” said the king, “with what nonsense he tries to put me + off.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sire, look at Narcissus; he is a good dog, but when you pull his + ears, he growls, and when you tread on his toes he bites.” + </p> + <p> + “Here is the other comparing me to my dog!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so, sire; I place Narcissus far above you, for he knows how to defend + himself, and you do not.” And he also turned his back. + </p> + <p> + “That is right,” cried the king, “my good friends, for whom they accuse me + of despoiling the kingdom, abandon me, insult me! Ah, Chicot! if you were + here.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, however, the door opened, and D’Epernon appeared, without + hat or cloak, and with his doublet all torn. + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu!” cried Henri, “what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said D’Epernon, “look at me; see how they treat the friends of + your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Who has treated you thus?” + </p> + <p> + “Mordieu, your people; or rather the people of; M. le Duc d’Anjou, who + cried, ‘Vive la Messe!’ ‘Vive Guise!’ ‘Vive François!—vive everyone, + in fact, except the king.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you do to be treated thus?” + </p> + <p> + “I? nothing. What can a man do to a people? They recognized me for your + majesty’s friend, and that was enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But Schomberg?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he not come to your aid? did he not defend you?” + </p> + <p> + “Corboeuf! he had enough to do on his own account.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “I left him in the hands of a dyer whose wife’s cap he had pulled off, and + who, with his five or six apprentices, seemed likely to make him pass an + unpleasant quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Par la mordieu! and where did you leave my poor Schomberg? I will go + myself to his aid. They may say,” continued he, looking at Maugiron and + Quelus, “that my friends abandon me, but they shall never say that I + abandon them.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, sire,” said a voice behind Henri; “thanks, but here I am; I + extricated myself without assistance; but, mein Gott! it was not without + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “It is Schomberg’s voice,” cried all, “but where the devil is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” cried the voice; and indeed, in the corner of the room they + saw something that looked not like a man but a shadow. + </p> + <p> + “Schomberg,” cried the king, “where do you come from, and why are you that + color?” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Schomberg from head to foot was of a most beautiful blue. + </p> + <p> + “Der Teufel!” cried he, “the wretches! It is not wonderful that the people + ran after me.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “The matter is, that they dipped me in a vat, the knaves; I believed that + it was only water, but it was indigo.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mordieu!” cried Quelus, bursting out laughing, “indigo is very dear; + you must have carried away at least twenty crowns’ worth of indigo.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had been in my place.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did not kill any one?” + </p> + <p> + “I left my poniard somewhere, that is all I know, up to the hilt in a + sheath of flesh; but in a second I was taken, carried off, dipped in the + vat, and almost drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did you get out of their hands?” + </p> + <p> + “By committing a cowardice, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Crying, ‘Vive la Ligue!’” + </p> + <p> + “That was like me; only they made me add, ‘Vive le Duc d’Anjou!’” said + D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “And I also,” cried Schomberg; “but that is not all.” + </p> + <p> + “What, my poor Schomberg, did they make you cry something else?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that was enough, God knows; but just as I cried, ‘Vive le Duc + d’Anjou,’ guess who passed.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I guess?” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy; his cursed Bussy, who heard me.” + </p> + <p> + “He could not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu! it was not difficult to understand. I had a poniard at my + throat, and I was in a vat.” + </p> + <p> + “And he did not come to your rescue?” + </p> + <p> + “It seemed as though he was in a dreadful hurry; he scarcely seemed to + touch the ground.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he did not recognize you, as you were blue.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! very likely.” + </p> + <p> + “He would be excusable,” said the king; “for, indeed, my poor Schomberg, I + should hardly have known you myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; we shall meet some other time, when I am not in a vat.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! as for me,” said D’Epernon, “it is his master I should like to + punish.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duc d’Anjou, whose praises they are singing all over Paris,” said + Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, that he is master of Paris to-night,” said D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my brother! my brother!” cried the king. “Ah! yes, sire; you cry, ‘my + brother,’ but you do nothing against him; and yet it is clear to me that + he is at the head of some plot.” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, mordieu! that is what I was saying just before you came in, to these + gentlemen, and they replied by shrugging their shoulders and turning their + backs.” + </p> + <p> + “Not because you said there was a plot, sire, but because you do nothing + to suppress it.” + </p> + <p> + “And, now,” said Quelus, “we say, ‘Save us,’ sire; or rather, save + yourself; to-morrow M. de Guise will come to the Louvre, and ask you to + name a chief for the League; if you name M. d’Anjou, as you promised, he, + at the head of one hundred thousand Parisians, excited by this night, can + do what he likes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Henri, “if I take a decisive step, you will support me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “If, sire, you will only give me time to remodel my dress,” said + D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “Go to my room, D’Epernon; my valet de chambre will give you what you + want.” + </p> + <p> + “And I, sire, must have a bath,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Go to my bath.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I may hope, sire, that my insult will not remain unavenged.” + </p> + <p> + Henri remained silent a moment, and then said, “Quelus, ask if M. d’Anjou + has returned to the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + Quelus went, but came back, and said that the duke had not yet returned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you, Quelus and Maugiron, go down and watch for his entrance.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Have all the doors shut.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! sire.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be back in ten minutes, sire,” said D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “And my stay will depend on the quality of the dye,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Come as soon as possible,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + The young men went out, and the king, left alone, kneeled down on his + prie-Dieu. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV. + </h2> + <h3> + CHICOT MORE THAN EVER KING OF FRANCE. + </h3> + <p> + The gates of the Louvre were generally closed at twelve, but the king gave + orders that they should be left open on this night till one. At a quarter + to one Quelus came up. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said he, “the duke has come in.” + </p> + <p> + “What is Maugiron doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Watching that he does not go out again.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Then——” + </p> + <p> + “Let him go to bed quietly. Whom has he with him?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau and his ordinary gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “And M. de Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he is not there.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better.” + </p> + <p> + “What are your orders, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Schomberg and D’Epernon to be quick, and let M. de Monsoreau know + that I wish to speak to him.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes after, Schomberg and D’Epernon entered; the former with only + a slight blue tint left, which it would take several baths to eradicate, + and the latter newly clothed. After them, M. de Monsoreau appeared. “The + captain of the guards has just announced to me that your majesty did me + the honor to send for me,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur; when I was out this evening, I saw the stars so brilliant, + and the moon so clear, that I thought it would be splendid weather for the + chase to-morrow; so, M. le Comte, set off at once for Vincennes, and get a + stag turned out ready for me.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sire, I thought that to-morrow your majesty had given a rendezvous + to Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou and M. de Guise, in order to name a chief for + the League.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur?” said the king haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, there might not be time.” + </p> + <p> + “There is always time, monsieur, for those who know how to employ it; that + is why I tell you to set off at once, so that you may have all ready for + to-morrow morning at ten. Quelus, Schomberg, have the door of the Louvre + opened for M. de Monsoreau, and have it closed behind him.” + </p> + <p> + The chief huntsman retired in astonishment. “It is a whim of the king’s,” + said he to the young men. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + They watched him out, and then returned to the king. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Henri, “silence, and all four of you follow me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going, sire?” said D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “Those who follow will see.” + </p> + <p> + The king took a lantern in his hand, and led the young men along the + secret corridor, which led to his brother’s rooms. A valet-de-chambre + watched here; but before he had time to warn his master, Henri ordered him + to be silent, and the young men pushed him into a room and locked the + door. + </p> + <p> + Henri opened his brother’s door. François had gone to bed full of dreams + of ambition, which the events of the evening had nourished; he had heard + his name exalted, and the king’s abused. Conducted by the Duc de Guise, he + had seen the Parisians open everywhere for him and his gentlemen, while + those of the king were insulted and hooted. Never since the commencement + of his career had he been so popular, and consequently so hopeful. He had + placed on the table a letter from M. de Guise, which had been brought to + him by M. de Monsoreau. His surprise and terror were great when he saw the + secret door open, and still more when he recognized the king. Henri signed + to his companions to remain on the threshold, and advanced to the bed, + frowning, but silent. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” stammered the duke, “the honor that your majesty does me is so + unlooked for——” + </p> + <p> + “That it frightens you, does it not? But stay where you are, my brother; + do not rise.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sire, only—permit me——” and he drew towards him + the letter of M. de Guise. + </p> + <p> + “You are reading?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Something interesting to keep you awake at this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sire, nothing very important; the evening courier——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I understand—Courier of Venus; but no, I see I am wrong—they + do not seal billet-doux with seals of that size.” + </p> + <p> + The duke hid the letter altogether. + </p> + <p> + “How discreet this dear François is!” said the king, with a smile which + frightened his brother. However, making an effort to recover himself, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Did your majesty wish to say anything particular to me?” + </p> + <p> + “What I have to say to you, monsieur, I wish to say before witnesses. + Here, gentlemen,” continued he, turning to the four young men, “listen to + us; I order you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said the duke, with a glance full of rage and hatred, “before + insulting a man of my rank, you should have refused me the hospitality of + the Louvre; in the Hotel d’Anjou, at least, I should have been free to + reply to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, you forget, then, that wherever you are, you are my subject; that + I am the king, and that every house is mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I am at the Louvre, at my mother’s.” + </p> + <p> + “And your mother is in my house. But to the point—give me that + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Which?” + </p> + <p> + “That which you were reading, which was on your table, and which you hid + when I came in.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, reflect.” + </p> + <p> + “On what?” + </p> + <p> + “On this, that you are making a request unworthy of a gentleman, and fit + only for a police-officer.” + </p> + <p> + The king grew livid. “That letter, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s letter, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some women’s letters very good to see, and dangerous not to see—such + as those our mother writes.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother!” + </p> + <p> + “This letter, monsieur!” cried the king, stamping his foot, “or I will + have it torn from you by my Swiss!” + </p> + <p> + The duke jumped out of bed, with the letter crumpled in his hand, + evidently with the intention of approaching the fire. But Henri, divining + his intention, placed himself between him and the fire. + </p> + <p> + “You would not treat your brother thus?” cried the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Not my brother, but my mortal enemy. Not my brother, but the Duc D’Anjou, + who went all through Paris with M. de Guise, who tries to hide from me a + letter from one of his accomplices, the Lorraine princes.” + </p> + <p> + “This time,” said the duke, “your police are wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I saw on the seal the three merlets of Lorraine. Give it to + me, mordieu! or——” + </p> + <p> + Henri advanced towards his brother and laid his hand on his shoulder. + François had no sooner felt the touch of his hand than, falling on his + knees, he cried out, “Help! help! my brother is going to kill me.” + </p> + <p> + These words, uttered in an accent of profound terror, startled the king + and mitigated his rage. The idea passed quickly through his mind that in + their family, as by a curse, brother had always assassinated brother. + </p> + <p> + “No, my brother,” said he, “you are wrong; I do not wish to hurt you, but + you cannot contend with me. I am the master, and if you did not know it + before, you know it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my brother, I acknowledge it.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then give me that letter; the king orders it.” + </p> + <p> + The duke let it fall, and the king picked it up, but without reading it + put it in his pocket-book. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said the duke, with his sinister glance. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, you must keep your room until my suspicions with respect to + you are completely dissipated. The room is commodious, and not much like a + prison; stay here. You will have good company—at least, outside the + door, for this night these four gentlemen will guard you; to-morrow they + will be relieved by a guard of Swiss.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my friends—cannot I see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Who do you call your friends?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau, M. de Ribeirac, M. Antragues, and M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he had the misfortune to displease your majesty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “Always, but particularly to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “To-night! what did he do?” + </p> + <p> + “Insulted me in the streets of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “My followers, which is the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy! you have been deceived, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, M. de Bussy has not been out of his hotel for two days. He is at + home, ill in bed, burning with fever.” + </p> + <p> + The king turned to Schomberg, who said, “If he had fever, at all events he + had it in the Rue Coquillière.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you he was there?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw Bussy out of doors?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, looking well and happy, and accompanied by his ordinary follower, + that Rémy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I do not understand it; I saw him in bed myself; he must have + deceived me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well; he will be punished with the rest,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “If M. de Bussy went out alone after refusing to go out with me——” + </p> + <p> + “You hear, gentlemen, what my brother says. But we will talk of him + another time; now I recommend my brother to your care; you will have the + honor of serving as guard to a prince of the blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! sire,” said Quelus, “be satisfied; we know what we owe to M. le Duc.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well; adieu, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” cried the duke, “am I really a prisoner, are my friends not to + visit me, and am I not to go out?” And the idea of the next day presented + itself to his mind, when his presence would be so necessary to M. de + Guise. “Sire,” cried he again, “let me at least remain near your majesty; + it is my place, and I can be as well guarded there as elsewhere. Sire, + grant me this favor.” + </p> + <p> + The king was about to yield to this request and say, “Yes,” when his + attention was attracted to the door, where a long body, with its arms, its + head, and everything that it could move, was making signs to him to say + “No.” It was Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Henri to his brother; “you are very well here, and here you + must stay.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire——” + </p> + <p> + “It is my pleasure, and that is enough,” said the king, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “I said I was the real King of France,” murmured Chicot. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW CHICOT PAID A VISIT TO BUSSY, AND WHAT FOLLOWED. + </h3> + <p> + The next morning, about nine, Bussy was eating his breakfast, and talking + with Rémy over the events of the previous day. + </p> + <p> + “Rémy,” said he, “did you not think you had seen somewhere that gentleman + whom they were dipping in a vat in the Rue Coquillière?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, M. le Comte, but I cannot think of his name.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have helped him,” said Bussy, “it is a duty one gentleman owes + to another; but, really, Rémy, I was too much occupied with my own + affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “But he must have recognized us, for we were our natural color, and it + seemed to me that he rolled his eyes frightfully, and shook his fist at + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of that, Rémy? We must find out who it was; I cannot let + such an insult pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Rémy, “I know now who he was.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard him swear.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so; any one would have sworn in such a situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but he swore in German.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he said, ‘Gott verdomme.’” + </p> + <p> + “Then it was Schomberg?” + </p> + <p> + “Himself, M. le Comte.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear Rémy, get your salves ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, before long, you will have to apply them either to his skin or + to mine.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not be so foolish as to get killed, now you are so well and so + happy; St. Marie l’Egyptienne has cured you once, but she will get tired + of working miracles for you.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, Rémy, you cannot tell how pleasant it feels to risk your + life when you are happy. I assure you I never fought with a good heart + when I had lost large sums at play, when things had gone wrong, or when I + had anything to reproach myself with; but when my purse is full, my heart + light, and my conscience clear, I go boldly to the field, for I am sure of + my hand; it is then I am brilliant. I should fight well to-day, Rémy, for, + thanks to you,” said he, extending his hand to the young man, “I am very + happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay a moment, however; you will, I hope, deprive yourself of this + pleasure. A beautiful lady of my acquaintance made me swear to keep you + safe and sound, under pretext that your life belongs to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Rémy!” + </p> + <p> + “You call me good Rémy, because I brought you to see Madame de Monsoreau, + but shall you call me so when you are separated from her? and unluckily + the day approaches, if it be not come.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know that she is going to Anjou, and that I myself have the + grief of being separated from Gertrude. Ah——” + </p> + <p> + Bussy could not help smiling at the pretended grief of the young man. + </p> + <p> + “You love her, then?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I should think so; you should see how she beats me.” + </p> + <p> + “And you let her do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But to return to Diana, Rémy; when shall we set off?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I expected that. On the latest possible day I should say.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Firstly, because it seems to me that M. le Duc d’Anjou will want you + here.” + </p> + <p> + “After?” + </p> + <p> + “Because M. de Monsoreau, by a special blessing, does not suspect you in + the least, and would suspect something immediately if he saw you disappear + from Paris at the same time as his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “What do I care for that?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I care. I charge myself with curing the sword strokes received in + duels, for, as you manage your sword well, you never receive very serious + ones; but not the blows given secretly by jealous husbands; they are + animals, who, in such cases, strike hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! my dear friend, if it is my destiny to be killed by M. de + Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “Well! he will kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “And then, a week after, Madame de Monsoreau will be reconciled to her + husband, which will dreadfully enrage your poor soul, which will see it + from above or below, without being able to prevent it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Rémy; I will live.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right; but that is not all, you must be charmingly polite to him; + he is frightfully jealous of the Duc d’Anjou, who, while you were ill in + bed, promenaded before the house with his Aurilly. Make advances, then, to + this charming husband, and do not even ask him what has become of his + wife, since you know quite well.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Rémy, I believe. Now I am no longer jealous of the bear, I + will be civil to him.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment some one knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Who is there?” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied a page, “there is a gentleman below who wishes to + speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To speak to me so early; who is it?” + </p> + <p> + “A tall gentleman, dressed in green velvet.” + </p> + <p> + “Can it be Schomberg?” + </p> + <p> + “He said a tall man.” + </p> + <p> + “True, then Monsoreau, perhaps; well, let him enter.” After a minute the + visitor entered. + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot!” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Himself, M. le Comte.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy retired into another room, and then Chicot said, “Monsieur, I come to + propose to you a little bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, monsieur,” said Bussy, in great surprise. + </p> + <p> + “What will you promise me if I render you a great service?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on the service, monsieur,” replied Bussy, disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + Chicot feigned not to remark this air of disdain. “Monsieur,” said he, + sitting down and crossing his long legs, “I remark that you do not ask me + to sit down.” + </p> + <p> + The color mounted to Bussy’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” continued Chicot, “have you heard of the League?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard much of it,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur, you ought to know that it is an association of honest + Christians, united for the purpose of religiously massacring their + neighbors, the Huguenots. Are you of the League, monsieur? I am.” + </p> + <p> + “But—monsieur——” + </p> + <p> + “Say only yes, or no.” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to express my astonishment——” + </p> + <p> + “I did myself the honor of asking you if you belonged to the League.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot, as I do not like questions whose import I do not understand, I + beg you to change the conversation before I am forced to tell you that I + do not like questioners. Come, M. Chicot, we have but a few minutes left.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! in a few minutes one can say a great deal; however, I might have + dispensed with asking you the question, as if you do not belong to the + League now, you soon will, as M. d’Anjou does.” + </p> + <p> + “M. d’Anjou! Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Himself, speaking to me in person, as the gentlemen of the law say, or + rather write; for example, that dear M. Nicolas David, that star of the + Forum Parisiense. Now you understand that as M. d’Anjou belongs to the + League, you cannot help belonging to it also; you, who are his right arm. + The League knows better than to accept a maimed chief.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, M. Chicot, what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, if you do belong to it, or they think you are likely to do so, what + has happened to his royal highness will certainly happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + “And what has happened to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Chicot, rising and imitating M. de Bussy’s manner of a + little before, “I do not love questions, nor questioners, therefore I have + a great mind to let them do to you what they have done to-night to the + duke.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot,” said Bussy, with a smile, “speak, I beg of you; where is the + duke?” + </p> + <p> + “He is in prison?” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In his own room. Four of my good friends guard him. M. de Schomberg, who + was dyed blue yesterday, as you know, since you passed during the + operation; M. d’Epernon, who is yellow from the fright he had; M. de + Quelus, who is red with anger; and M. de Maugiron, who is white with + ennui; it is beautiful to see; not to speak of the duke, who is going + green with terror, so that we shall have a perfect rainbow to delight our + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, monsieur, you think my liberty in danger?” + </p> + <p> + “Danger! monsieur; suppose that they are already on the way to arrest + you.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like the Bastile, M. de Bussy? it is a good place for meditation, + and M. Laurent Testu, the governor, keeps a good cook.” + </p> + <p> + “They would send me to the Bastile?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! I ought to have in my pocket something like an order to conduct + you there. Would you like to see it?” and Chicot drew from his pocket an + order from the king in due form, to apprehend, wherever he might be, M. + Louis de Clermont, Seigneur de Bussy. “Written very nicely by M. Quelus,” + continued Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Then, monsieur,” cried Bussy, “you are really rendering me a service?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so; do you agree with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I beg you to tell me why you do it; for you love the king, and + he hates me.” + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte, I save you; think what you please of my action. But do you + forget that I asked for a recompense?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, true.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Most willingly, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Then some day you will do what I ask you?” + </p> + <p> + “On my honor, if possible.” + </p> + <p> + “That is enough. Now mount your horse and disappear; I go to carry this + order to those who are to use it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you were not to arrest me yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I! for what do you take me?” + </p> + <p> + “But I should abandon my master.” + </p> + <p> + “Have no scruples; he abandons you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a gentleman, M. Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy called Rémy. To do him justice, he was listening at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Rémy, our horses!” + </p> + <p> + “They are saddled, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Chicot, “this young man knows what he is about.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy thanked Chicot once more, and went down. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Well——” said Bussy, hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say to Normandy?” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “It is too near.” + </p> + <p> + “Flanders, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Too far.” + </p> + <p> + “Anjou is a reasonable distance, monsieur,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Anjou,” said Bussy, coloring. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, monsieur!” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “It is destiny,” said Rémy, when he was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Let us be quick, and perhaps we may overtake her,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE CHESS OF M. CHICOT, AND THE CUP AND BALL OF M. QUELUS. + </h3> + <p> + Chicot returned joyfully to the Louvre. It was a great satisfaction to him + to have saved a brave gentleman like Bussy. + </p> + <p> + M. de Guise, after having received in the morning the principal Leaguers, + who came to bring him the registers filled with signatures, and after + having made them all swear to recognize the chief that the king should + appoint, went out to visit M. d’Anjou, whom he had lost sight of about ten + the evening before. The duke found the prince’s valet rather unquiet at + his master’s absence, but he imagined that he had slept at the Louvre. + </p> + <p> + The Due de Guise asked to speak to Aurilly, who was most likely to know + where his master was. Aurilly came, but stated he had been separated from + the prince the evening before by a pressure of the crowd, and had come to + the Hôtel d’Anjou to wait for him, not knowing that his highness had + intended to sleep at the Louvre. He added that he had just sent to the + Louvre to inquire, and that a message had been returned that the duke was + still asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Asleep at eleven o’clock! not likely. You ought to go to the Louvre, + Aurilly.” + </p> + <p> + “I did think of it, monseigneur, but I feared that this was only a tale + invented to satisfy my messenger, and that the prince was seeking pleasure + elsewhere, and might be annoyed at my seeking him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; the duke has too much sense to be pleasure-seeking on a day like + this. Go to the Louvre; you will be sure to find him there.” + </p> + <p> + “I will if you wish it; but what shall I say to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Say that the convocation at the Louvre is fixed for two o’clock, and that + it is necessary that we should have a conference first. It is not at the + time when the king is about to choose a chief for the League that he + should be sleeping.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, monseigneur, I will beg his highness to come here.” + </p> + <p> + “And say that I am waiting impatiently for him. Meanwhile I will go and + seek M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I do not find his highness, what am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Then make no further search for him. In any event I shall be at the + Louvre at a quarter before two.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly passed through the courtiers who crowded the Louvre, and made his + way to the duke’s apartments. At the door he found Chicot playing chess. + Aurilly tried to pass, but Chicot, with his long legs blocked up the + doorway. He was forced to touch him on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it is you, M. Aurilly.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing, M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “Playing chess, as you see.” + </p> + <p> + “All alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am studying; do you play?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know you are a musician, and music is so difficult an art, that + those who give themselves to it must sacrifice all their time.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem very serious over your game.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is my king who disquiets me; you must know, M. Aurilly, that at + chess the king is a very insignificant person, who has no will, who can + only go one step forward or back, or one to the right or left, while he is + surrounded by active enemies, by knights who jump three squares at a time, + by a crowd of pawns who surround him, so that if he be badly counseled he + is a ruined king in no time, ma foi.” + </p> + <p> + “But, M. Chicot, how does it happen that you are studying this at the door + of his royal highness’ room?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am waiting for M. Quelus, who is in there.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “With his highness.” + </p> + <p> + “With his highness! What is he doing there? I did not think they were such + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” then he whispered in Aurilly’s ear “he is come to ask pardon of + the duke for a little quarrel they had yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” + </p> + <p> + “It was the king who insisted on it; you know on what excellent terms the + brothers are just now. The king would not suffer an impertinence of + Quelus’s to pass, and ordered him to apologize.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! M. Aurilly, I think that we are entering the golden age; the Louvre + is about to become Arcadia, and the two brothers Arcades ambo.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly smiled, and passed into the ante-chamber, where he was courteously + saluted by Quelus, between whose hands a superb cup and ball of ebony + inlaid with ivory was making rapid evolutions. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! M. Quelus,” said Aurilly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear M. Aurilly, when shall I play cup and ball as well as you + play the lute?” + </p> + <p> + “When you have studied your plaything as long as I have my instrument. But + where is monseigneur? I thought you were with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have an audience with him, but Schomberg comes first.” + </p> + <p> + “What! M. de Schomberg, also!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon Dieu; yes. The king settled all that. He is in the next room. + Enter, M. Aurilly, and remind the prince that we are waiting for him.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly opened the second door and saw Schomberg reclining on a kind of + couch, from which he amused himself by sending from a tube little balls of + earth through a gold ring, suspended from the ceiling by a silk thread, + while a favorite dog brought him back the balls as they fell. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! guten morgen, M. Aurilly, you see I am amusing myself while I wait + for my audience.” + </p> + <p> + “But where is monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! he is occupied in pardoning D’Epernon and Maugiron. But will you not + enter, you who are privileged?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it would be indiscreet.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; enter, M. Aurilly, enter.” And he pushed him into the next + room, where the astonished musician perceived D’Epernon before a mirror, + occupied in stiffening his mustachios, while Maugiron, seated near the + window, was cutting out engravings, by the side of which the bas-reliefs + on the temple of Venus Aphrodite would have looked holy. + </p> + <p> + The duke, without his sword, was in his armchair between these two men, + who only looked at him to watch his movements, and only spoke to him to + say something disagreeable: seeing Aurilly, he got up to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “Take care monseigneur,” said Maugiron, “you are stepping on my figures.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu!” cried the musician, “he insults my master!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear M. Aurilly,” said D’Epernon, still arranging his mustachois, “how + are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Be so kind as to bring me here your little dagger,” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, gentlemen, do you not remember where you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, my dear Orpheus, that is why I ask for your dagger; you see M. + le Duc has none.” + </p> + <p> + “Aurilly!” cried the duke, in a tone full of grief and rage, “do you not + see that I am a prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “A prisoner! to whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To my brother; you might know that by my jailers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if I had but guessed it.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have brought your lute to amuse his highness,” said a mocking + voice behind them, “but I thought of it, and sent for it; here it is.” + </p> + <p> + “How does your chess go on, Chicot?” said D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I shall save the king, but it is not without trouble. Come, M. + Aurilly, give me your poniard in return for the lute; a fair exchange.” + </p> + <p> + The astonished musician obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “There is one rat in the trap,” said Quelus, who returned to his post in + the antechamber, only exchanging his cup and ball for Schomberg’s shooting + tube. + </p> + <p> + “It is amusing to vary one’s pleasures,” said Chicot; “so for a change I + will go and sign the League.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE RECEPTION OF THE CHIEFS OF THE LEAGUE. + </h3> + <p> + The time for the great reception drew near. Paris, nearly as tumultuous as + the evening before, had sent towards the Louvre its deputation of + leaguers, its bodies of workmen, its sheriffs, its militia, and its + constantly-increasing masses of spectators. + </p> + <p> + The king, on his throne in the great hall, was surrounded by his officers, + his friends, his courtiers, and his family, waiting for all the + corporations to defile before him, when M. de Monsoreau entered abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Henriquet,” said Chicot, who was standing near the king. + </p> + <p> + “At what?” + </p> + <p> + “At your chief huntsman; pardieu, he is well worth it. See how pale and + dirty he is!” + </p> + <p> + Henri made a sign to M. de Monsoreau, who approached. + </p> + <p> + “How is it that you are at the Louvre, monsieur? I thought you at + Vincennes.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, the stag was turned off at seven o’clock this morning, but when + noon came, and I had no news, I feared that some misfortune had happened + to your majesty, and I returned.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, if I have done wrong, attribute it to an excess of devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, and I appreciate it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said the count, hesitatingly, “if your majesty wishes me to return + to Vincennes, as I am reassured——” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, stay; this chase was a fancy which came into our head, and which + went as it came; do not go away, I want near me devoted subjects, and you + have just classed yourself as such.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau bowed, and said, “Where does your majesty wish me to remain?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you give him to me for half an hour?” said Chicot to the king, in a + low voice. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To torment him a little. You owe me some compensation for obliging me to + be present at this tiresome ceremony.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take him.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does your majesty wish me to stand?” again asked M. de Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “Where you like; go behind my armchair, that is where I put my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Come here,” said Chicot, making room for M. de Monsoreau, “come and get + the scent of these fellows. Here is game which can be tracked without a + hound. Here are the shoemakers who pass, or rather, who have passed; then + here are the tanners. Mort de ma vie! if you lose their scent, I will take + away your place.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau listened mechanically; he seemed preoccupied, and looked + around him anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what your chief huntsman is hunting for now?” said Chicot, in + an undertone, to the king. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “The game is not in sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Just ask him where his countess is.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Just ask.” + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte,” said Henri, “what have you done with Madame de Monsoreau? I + do not see her here.” + </p> + <p> + The count started, but replied, “Sire, she is ill, the air of Paris did + not agree with her; so having obtained leave from the queen, she set out + last night, with her father, for Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Paris is not good for women in her situation,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau grew pale and looked furiously at him. + </p> + <p> + “This poor countess!” continued Chicot, “she will die of ennui by the + way.” + </p> + <p> + “I said that she traveled with her father.” + </p> + <p> + “A father is very respectable, I allow, but not very amusing; and if she + had only that worthy baron to amuse her it would be sad; but luckily——” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the count. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by ‘luckily’?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it was an ellipsis I used.” + </p> + <p> + The count shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it was. Ask Henri, who is a man of letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the king; “but what did your adverb mean?” + </p> + <p> + “What adverb?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Luckily.’” + </p> + <p> + “‘Luckily’ means luckily. Luckily, then, there exist some of our friends, + and very amusing ones, who, if they meet the countess, will amuse her, and + as they are going the same way, it is probable they will. Oh, I see them + from here; do you not, Henri; you, who are a man of imagination? There + they go, on a good road, well mounted, and saying sweet things to Madame + la Comtesse, which she likes very much, dear lady.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau was furious, but he could not show it before the king; so + he said as mildly as he could, “What, have you friends traveling to + Anjou?” + </p> + <p> + “Good; pretend to be mysterious.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear to you——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you know they are there, although I saw you just now seeking for them + mechanically among the crowd.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you, the palest of all chief huntsmen, past, present, and future, + from Nimrod to M. d’Aulefort, your predecessor.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “The palest, I repeat.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, will you return to the friends of whom you spoke, and be so + good as to name them, if your super-abundant imagination will let you.” + </p> + <p> + “Seek, monsieur. Morbleu, it is your occupation to hunt out animals, + witness the unlucky stag whom you deranged this morning, and who thought + it very unkind of you. Seek.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of M. de Monsoreau wandered anxiously again. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried he, seeing a vacant place by the king, “not the Duc + d’Anjou?” + </p> + <p> + “Taint! Taint! the beast is found.” + </p> + <p> + “He is gone to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “He is gone to-day, but it is possible that he set out last night. When + did your brother disappear, Henri?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night.” + </p> + <p> + “The duke gone!” murmured Monsoreau, paler than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I do not say he is gone, I say only that he disappeared last night, and + that his best friends do not know where he is,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried the count, “if I thought so——” + </p> + <p> + “Well; what should you do? Besides, what harm if he does talk nonsense to + Madame de Monsoreau? He is the gallant of the family, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I am lost!” murmured the count, trying to go away. But Chicot detained + him. + </p> + <p> + “Keep still; mordieu! you shake the king’s chair. Mort de ma vie, your + wife will be quite happy with the prince to talk to, and M. Aurilly to + play the lute to her.” Monsoreau trembled with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Quietly, monsieur,” continued Chicot; “hide your joy, here is the + business beginning; you should not show your feelings so openly; listen to + the discourse of the king.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau was forced to keep quiet. M. de Guise entered and knelt + before the king, not without throwing an uneasy glance of surprise on the + vacant seat of M. d’Anjou. The king rose, and the heralds commanded + silence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE KING ANNEXED A CHIEF WHO WAS NEITHER THE DUC DE GUISE NOR M. D’ANJOU. + </h3> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the king, after assuring himself that his four friends, + now replaced by ten Swiss, were behind him, “a king hears equally the + voices which come to him from above and from below, that is to say, what + is commanded by God, or asked by his people. I understand perfectly that + there is a guarantee for my people, in the association of all classes + which has been formed to defend the Catholic faith, and therefore I + approve of the counsels of my cousin De Guise. I declare, then, the Holy + League duly constituted, and as so great a body must have a powerful head, + and as it is necessary that the chief called to sustain the Church should + be one of its most zealous sons, I choose a Christian prince for the + chief, and declare that this chief shall be”—he made a slight pause—“Henri + de Valois, King of France and Poland.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Guise was thunderstruck. Large drops stood on his forehead, and + he looked from one to the other of his brothers. All the leaguers uttered + a murmur of surprise and discontent. The cardinal stole up to his brother, + and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “François; I fear we are no longer in safety here. Let us haste to take + leave, for the populace is uncertain, and the king whom they execrated + yesterday, will be their idol for two or three days.” + </p> + <p> + During this time the king had signed the act prepared beforehand by M. de + Morvilliers, the only person, with the exception of the queen mother, who + was in the secret, then he passed the pen to the Duc de Guise, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Sign, my cousin; there, below me, now pass it to M. le Cardinal and M. de + Mayenne.” + </p> + <p> + But these two had already disappeared. The king remarked their absence, + and added, “Then pass the pen to M. de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + The duke did so, and was about to retire, but the king said, “Wait.” + </p> + <p> + And while the others signed, he added, “My cousin, it was your advice, I + believe, to guard Paris with a good army, composed of all the forces of + the League. The army is made, and the natural general of the Parisians is + the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not forget that there is another army to command, and that this + belongs of right to the bravest soldier in my kingdom; therefore go and + command the army.” + </p> + <p> + “And when am I to set out, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Henri, Henri!” whispered Chicot; but, in spite of his signs and grimaces, + the king gave the duke his brevet ready signed. He took it and retired, + and was soon out of Paris. The rest of the assembly dispersed gradually, + crying, “Vive le Roi! and Vive la Ligue!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sire!” cried the favorites, approaching the king, “what a sublime + idea you have had!” + </p> + <p> + “They think that gold is going to rain on them like manna,” said Chicot, + who followed his master about everywhere with lamentations. As soon as + they were left alone, “Ah! M. Chicot!” said Henri, “you are never content. + Diable! I do not ask even for complaisance, but for good sense.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Henri; it is what you want most.” + </p> + <p> + “Confess I have done well.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what I do not think.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are jealous, M. Roi de France.” + </p> + <p> + “I! Heaven forbid. I shall choose better subjects for jealousy.” + </p> + <p> + “Corbleu.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! what self-love.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I or not king of the League?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you are; but——” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “You are no longer King of France.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is king then?” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody, except you; firstly, your brother——” + </p> + <p> + “My brother!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, M. d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom I hold prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but prisoner as he is, he was consecrated.” + </p> + <p> + “By whom was he consecrated?” + </p> + <p> + “By the Cardinal de Guise. Really, Henri, you have a fine police. They + consecrate a king at Paris before thirty-three people, in the church of + St. Genevieve, and you do not know of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! and you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you know what I do not?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! because M. de Morvilliers manages your police, and I am my own.” + </p> + <p> + The king frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, without counting Henri de Valois, we have François d’Anjou + for king,” continued Chicot; “and then there is the Duc de Guise.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duc de Guise!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Henri de Guise, Henri le Balfré.” + </p> + <p> + “A fine king! whom I exile, whom I send to the army.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! as if you were not exiled to Poland; and La Charité is nearer to + the Louvre than Cracow is. Ah, yes, you send him to the army—that is + so clever; that is to say, you put thirty thousand men under his orders, + ventre de biche! and a real army, not like your army of the League; no, + no, an army of bourgeois is good for Henri de Valois, but Henri de Guise + must have an army of soldiers—and what soldiers? hardened warriors, + capable of destroying twenty armies of the League; so that if, being king + in fact, Henri de Guise had the folly one day to wish to be so in name, he + would only have to turn towards the capital, and say, ‘Let us swallow + Paris, and Henri de Valois and the Louvre at a mouthful,’ and the rogues + would do it. I know them.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget one thing in your argument, illustrious politician.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, diable! it is possible! If you mean a fourth king——” + </p> + <p> + “No; you forget that before thinking of reigning in France, when a Valois + is on the throne, it would be necessary to look back and count your + ancestors. That such an idea might come to M. d’Anjou is possible; his + ancestors are mine, and it is only a question of primogeniture. But M. de + Guise!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is just where you are in error.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Guise is of a better race than you think.” + </p> + <p> + “Better than me, perhaps,” said Henri, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “There is no perhaps in it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mad. Learn to read, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Henri, you who can read, read this;” and he drew from his pocket + the genealogy which we know already, handing it to Henri, who turned pale + as he recognized, near to the signature of the prelate, the seal of St. + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, Henri? Are not your fleur-de-lys thrown a little in the + background?” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you get this genealogy?” + </p> + <p> + “I! Do I seek these things? It came to seek me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Under the bolster of a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was his name?” + </p> + <p> + “M. Nicolas David.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was he?” + </p> + <p> + “At Lyons.” + </p> + <p> + “And who took it from under the bolster?” + </p> + <p> + “One of my good friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “A monk.” + </p> + <p> + “His name?” + </p> + <p> + “Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + “What! that abominable leaguer, who uttered those incendiary discourses at + St. Genevieve, and again yesterday in the streets of Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “You remember the history of Brutus, who pretended to be a fool?” + </p> + <p> + “He is, then, a profound politician? Did he take it from the advocate?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by force.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is brave?” + </p> + <p> + “Brave as Bayard.” + </p> + <p> + “And having done this, he has not asked for any recompense?” + </p> + <p> + “He returned humbly to his convent, and only asks me to forget that he + ever came out.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is modest?” + </p> + <p> + “As St. Crepin.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, your friend shall be made a prior on the first vacancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for him, Henri.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi!” said Chicot to himself, “if he escapes being hung by Mayenne, he + will have an abbey.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER L. + </h2> + <h3> + ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES. + </h3> + <p> + This day of the League terminated brilliantly and tumultuously, as it + began. The friends of the king rejoiced, the preachers proposed to + canonize Brother Henri, and spoke everywhere of the great deeds of the + Valois. The favorites said, “The lion is roused.” The leaguers said, “The + fox has discovered the snare.” + </p> + <p> + The three Lorraine princes, as we have seen, had left Paris, and their + principal agent, M. de Monsoreau, was ready to start for Anjou. But as he + was leaving the Louvre, Chicot stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going in such a hurry?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “To his highness.” + </p> + <p> + “His highness?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am unquiet about him. We do not live in times when a prince ought + to travel without a good escort.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you are unquiet, so am I.” + </p> + <p> + “About what?” + </p> + <p> + “About his highness also.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know what they say?” + </p> + <p> + “That he has gone to Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “No; that he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said Monsoreau, with a tone of surprise, not unmixed with joy, “you + told me he was traveling.” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! they persuaded me so, but now I have good reason to think that if + the poor prince be traveling, it is to another world.” + </p> + <p> + “What gives you these mournful ideas?” + </p> + <p> + “He entered the Louvre yesterday, did he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; I came in with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! he has never been seen to come out.” + </p> + <p> + “From the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Aurilly?” + </p> + <p> + “Disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + “But his people?” + </p> + <p> + “Disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + “You are joking, are you not, M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask!” + </p> + <p> + “Whom?” + </p> + <p> + “The king.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot question his majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, if you go about it in the right way.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the count. “I cannot remain in this uncertainty.” And leaving + Chicot, he went to the king’s apartment. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the king?” he asked: “I have to render an account to him of the + execution of some orders he gave me.” + </p> + <p> + “With M. le Duc d’Anjou,” replied the man. + </p> + <p> + “With the Duke; then he is not dead?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau was thoroughly bewildered; for if M. d’Anjou were in the + Louvre, his absence on such a day was unaccountable. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after the sitting, Quelus, Maugiron, Schomberg, and D’Epernon, + in spite of the ennui they experienced there, were so anxious to be + disagreeable to the duke that they returned to him. He, on his part, was + mortally ennuyé, as well as anxious, which, it must be confessed, the + conversation of these gentlemen was not calculated to remove. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Quelus,” said Maugiron, “that it is only now I begin to + appreciate our friend Valois; really he is a great politician.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself,” said Quelus, who was lounging on a chair. + </p> + <p> + “While he was afraid of the conspiracy, he kept it quiet; now he speaks of + it openly, therefore he is no longer afraid of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “If he no longer fears it, he will punish it; you know Valois, he has + certainly many good qualities, but clemency is not one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Granted.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if he punishes these conspirators there will be a trial, and we + shall have a fine spectacle.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless, which is possible, on account of the rank of the accused, they + arrange it all quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be my advice, certainly; it is better in family affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly glanced at the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi,” said Maugiron, “I know one thing; that in the king’s place I + would not spare the high heads, which are always the most guilty. I would + make an example of one or two—one, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be well to revive the famous invention of sacks.” + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” + </p> + <p> + “A royal fancy in the year 1550; they shut up a man in a sack, in company + with three or four cats, and threw them into the water. The minute the + cats felt the water they attacked the man, and there passed in the sack + things which unluckily could never be seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Quelus, you are a well of science, and your conversation is most + interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “They could not apply this invention to the chiefs; they have the right to + be beheaded; but to the small fry, I mean the favorites, squires, and + lute-players.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen——” stammered Aurilly. + </p> + <p> + “Do not reply to them, Aurilly,” said François, “it cannot be addressed to + me.” As he spoke the king appeared on the threshold. The duke rose. + “Sire,” cried he, “I appeal against the unworthy treatment I meet with + from your followers.” + </p> + <p> + Henri did not seem to hear. “Good morning, Quelus,” said he kissing his + favorite on both cheeks; “good morning, the sight of you rejoices my soul, + and you, my poor Maugiron, how are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am terribly ennuyé, sire; when I undertook to guard your brother, I + thought he was more amusing. Oh I the tiresome prince; are you sure he is + the son of your father and mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire! you hear,” cried the prince, “is it your wish that your brother + should be insulted?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, monsieur,” said Henri, “I do not like my prisoners to complain.” + </p> + <p> + “Prisoner, or not, I am your——” + </p> + <p> + “The title which you are about to invoke,” interrupted the king, “is fatal + to you. My brother guilty, is doubly guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he is not?” + </p> + <p> + “He is.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what crime?” + </p> + <p> + “Of having displeased me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, have our family quarrels need of witnesses?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, monsieur. My friends, let me speak a little to my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take Aurilly,” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Now we are alone, monsieur,” said the king, when they were gone. + </p> + <p> + “I waited for this moment impatiently.” + </p> + <p> + “And I also; ah, you want my crown, my worthy Eteocles; you made of the + League a means, and of the throne an aim, and were consecrated in a corner + of Paris, to be able to proclaim yourself to the Parisians shining with + holy oil.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! your majesty will not let me speak.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?—to lie, or to tell me things which I know already? But + no, you would lie; for to confess what you have done, would be to confess + that you merit death. You would lie, and I would spare you that shame.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother, is it your intention to overwhelm me with outrages?” + </p> + <p> + “If what I say is an outrage, it is I who lie, and I ask no better. Speak + then, I listen; tell me you are not disloyal, and at the same time + unskilful.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what your majesty means; you speak enigmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will explain my words; you have conspired against me, as formerly + you conspired against my brother Charles, only then it was by the aid of + Henri of Navarre, and now it is with the assistance of the Duc de Guise. + It is true that formerly you crawled like a serpent; now you wish to + spring like the lion; after perfidy, open force; after poison, the sword.” + </p> + <p> + “Poison! what do you mean?” cried François, with flashing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The poison with which you assassinated our brother Charles, which you + destined for Henry of Navarre, your associate. That fatal poison is known; + our mother has used it so often, which is doubtless the reason why you + renounced it on this occasion, and preferred rather the part of captain of + the League. But look me in the face, François, and learn that a man like + you shall never kill me. A sword! Ah! I should like to see you here in + this room alone with me, holding a sword. I have conquered you in cunning, + and in a combat you would be killed. Dream no longer of struggling against + me in any manner, for from this moment I act as king—as master—as + despot; I shall watch you everywhere, follow you everywhere, and, at the + least suspicion, I will throw you to the axe of my executioner. This is + what I had to say to you in private, and I will order you to be left alone + to-night to ponder over my words.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sire, for a suspicion, I have fallen into disgrace with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Say, under my justice.” + </p> + <p> + “But, at least, sire, fix a term to my captivity, that I may know what to + expect?” + </p> + <p> + “You will know when you hear your sentence read.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I not see my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “What for? There were but three copies in the world of the famous + hunting-book which killed my poor brother, and of the two others, one is + in London and the other at Florence. Besides, I am not a Nimrod, like my + poor brother; adieu, François.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the king, opening the door, “the Duc d’Anjou has + requested to be alone to-night to reflect on an answer he has to make to + me to-morrow morning. Leave him then alone, except occasional visits of + precaution. If he be troublesome, call me; I have the Bastile ready, and + the governor, M. Laurent Testu, is the best man in the world to conquer + ill tempers.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” cried François, trying a last effort, “remember I am your——” + </p> + <p> + “You were also the brother of Charles IX., I think.” + </p> + <p> + “At least restore me to my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I deprive myself of mine to give them to you.” And Henri shut the door, + while the duke fell in despair into his armchair. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW PEOPLE DO NOT ALWAYS LOSE THEIR TIME BY SEARCHING EMPTY DRAWERS. + </h3> + <p> + The scene which the duke had just had with the king made him regard his + position as desperate. The minions had not allowed him to be ignorant of + what had passed, and he had heard the people cry, “Vive le roi!” He felt + himself abandoned by the other chiefs, who had themselves to save. In his + quarrels with his brother Charles he had always had for confidants, or + rather dupes, those two devoted men, Coconnas and La Mole, and, for the + first time in his life, feeling himself alone and isolated, he felt a kind + of remorse at having sacrificed them. During that time his sister + Marguerite loved and consoled him. How had he recompensed her? + </p> + <p> + He had recently had near him a brave and valiant heart and sword—Bussy, + the brave Bussy. And he had offended him to please Monsoreau, who had his + secret, with which he always threatened him, and which was now known to + the king. He had therefore quarreled with Bussy gratuitously, and, above + all, uselessly, which as a great politician once said, “was more than a + crime, it was a mistake!” How he would have rejoiced in his present + situation, to know that Bussy was watching over him; Bussy the loyal, + Bussy the universal favorite. It would have been probable liberty and + certain vengeance. + </p> + <p> + But as we have said, Bussy, wounded to the heart, kept away from the + prince, so the prisoner remained fifty feet above the ground, with the + four favorites in the corridor, without counting the court full of Swiss. + Besides this, one or other of the young men entered from time to time, + and, without seeming even to notice the prince, went round the room, + examined the doors and windows, looked under the beds and tables, and + glanced at the curtains and sheets. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi!” said Maugiron, after one of these visits, “I have done; I am not + going to look after him any more to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said D’Epernon, “as long as we guard him, there is no need of going + to look at him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is not handsome to look at,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Still,” said Schomberg, “I think we had better not relax our vigilance, + for the devil is cunning.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not cunning enough to pass over the bodies of four men like us.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Schomberg, “do you think, if he wants to fly, he will choose + our corridor to come through? He would make a hole in the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “With what?” + </p> + <p> + “Then he has the windows.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the windows, bravo, Schomberg; would you jump forty-five feet?” + </p> + <p> + “I confess that forty-five feet——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he who is lame, and heavy, and timid as——” + </p> + <p> + “You,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “You know I fear nothing but phantoms—that is an affair of the + nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “The last phantom was,” said Quelus, “that all those whom he had killed in + duels appeared to him one night.” + </p> + <p> + “However,” said Maugiron, “I have read of wonderful escapes; with sheets, + for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is more sensible. I saw myself, at Bordeaux, a prisoner who + escaped by the aid of his sheets.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but he had his leg broken, and his neck, too; his sheets were thirty + feet too short, and he had to jump, so that while his body escaped from + prison, his soul escaped from his body.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” said Quelus, “if he escapes, we will follow him, and in + catching him some mischief might happen to him.” + </p> + <p> + So they dismissed the subject. They were perfectly right that the duke was + not likely to attempt a perilous escape. From time to time his pale face + was at the window which overlooked the fosses of the Louvre, beyond which + was an open space about fifteen feet broad, and then the Seine rolled calm + as a mirror. On the other side rose, like a giant, the tower of Nesle. + </p> + <p> + He had watched the sunset and the gradual extinction of all the lights. He + had contemplated the beautiful spectacle of old Paris, with its roofs + gilded by the last rays of the sun, and silvered by the first beams of the + moon; then little by little he was seized with a great terror at seeing + immense clouds roll over the sky and announce a storm. Among his other + weaknesses, the Duc d’Anjou was afraid of thunder, and he would have given + anything to have had his guardians with him again, even if they insulted + him. He threw himself on his bed, but found it impossible to sleep. Then + he began to swear, and break everything near him. It was a family failing, + and they were accustomed to it at the Louvre. The young men had opened the + door to see what the noise meant, and seeing that it was the duke amusing + himself, they had shut it again, which redoubled his anger. He had just + broken a chair, when a crashing of glass was heard at the window, and he + felt a sharp blow on his thigh. His first idea was that he was wounded by + some emissary of the king’s. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am dead!” he cried, and fell on the carpet. But as he fell his hand + came in contact with a larger and rougher substance than a ball. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a stone,” thought he, and feeling his leg, he found it uninjured. He + picked up the stone and looked at it, and saw that it was wrapped in a + piece of paper. Then the duke’s ideas began to change. Might not this + stone come from a friend as well as an enemy. He approached the light, cut + the silk which tied the paper round the stone and read,— + </p> + <p> + “Are you tired of keeping your room? Do you love open air and liberty? + Enter the little room where the Queen of Navarre hid your poor friend, M. + de la Mole, open the cupboard, and, by displacing the lowest bracket, you + will find a double bottom; in this there is a silk ladder; attach it + yourself to the balcony, two vigorous arms will hold it at the bottom. A + horse, swift as thought, will lead you to a safe place. + </p> + <h3> + “A FRIEND.” + </h3> + <p> + “A friend!” cried the prince; “oh! I did not know I had a friend. Who is + this friend who thinks of me?” And the duke ran to the window, but could + see no one. + </p> + <p> + “Can it be a snare?” thought he; “but first let me see if there is a + double bottom and a ladder.” + </p> + <p> + The duke then, leaving the light where it was for precaution, groped his + way to the cabinet, which he knew so well. He opened it, felt for the + bottom shelf, and, to his great joy, found what he looked for. As a thief + escapes with his booty, the duke rushed into the next room with his prey. + Ten o’clock struck; the duke thought of his hourly visitors, and hid his + ladder under a cushion, on which he sat down. Indeed, five minutes had not + passed before Maugiron appeared in a dressing-gown, with a sword in one + hand and a light in the other. As he came in one of his friends said to + him, “The bear is furious, he was breaking everything just now; take care + he does not devour you, Maugiron.” + </p> + <p> + Maugiron made his usual examination; he saw a broken window, but thought + the duke had done it in his rage. + </p> + <p> + “Maugiron!” cried Schomberg, from outside, “are you already eaten that you + do not speak? In that case, sigh, at least, that we may know and avenge + you.” + </p> + <p> + The duke trembled with impatience. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Maugiron, “on the contrary, my bear is quite conquered.” + </p> + <p> + And so saying he went out and locked the door. When the key had ceased to + turn in the lock the duke murmured,— + </p> + <p> + “Take care, gentlemen, or the duke will be too much for you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LII. + </h2> + <h3> + VENTRE ST. GRIS. + </h3> + <p> + Left alone, the duke, knowing he had at least an hour before him, drew out + his ladder and carefully examined the fastenings. + </p> + <p> + “The ladder is good,” said he, at length, “and will not break.” + </p> + <p> + Then he unrolled it all, and counted thirty-eight rounds of fifteen inches + each. + </p> + <p> + “The length is sufficient,” said he, “there is nothing to fear on that + point. Ah! but if it were some of those cursed minions who sent me to the + ladder? If I attach it to the balcony they will let me do it, and while I + am descending they will cut the cords. But, no; they could not be foolish + enough to think I would fly without barricading the door, and I should + have time to fly before they could force it. But what person in the world, + except my sister herself, could know of a ladder hidden in her + dressing-room? What friend of mine can it be?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly an idea struck him, and he cried, “Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Bussy, whom so many ladies adored, Bussy was a hero to the Queen + of Navarre, and his only true friend—was it Bussy? Everything made + him think so. The duke, of course, did not know all his motives for being + angry with him, for he did not know his love for Diana, and believed him + to be too noble to think of resentment when his master was a prisoner. He + approached the window again, and fancied he could see in the fog the + indistinct forms of three horses and two men by the river. Two men. These + must be Bussy and Rémy. He then looked through the keyhole, and saw his + four guardians; two were asleep, and two had inherited Chicot’s chessboard + and were playing. He extinguished his light. + </p> + <p> + Then he opened his window, and looked over the balcony; the gulf below him + looked dreadful in the darkness, and he drew back. But air and liberty + have an attraction so irresistible to a prisoner, that François, on + withdrawing from the window, felt as if he were being stifled, and for an + instant something like disgust of life and indifference to death passed + through his mind. He fancied he was growing courageous, and, profiting by + this moment of excitement, he seized the ladder, fixed it to the balcony, + then barricaded the door as well as he could, and returned to the window. + The darkness was now great, and the first growlings of the storm began to + make themselves heard; a great cloud with silver fringes extended itself + like a recumbent elephant from one side to the other of the river. A flash + of lightning broke the immense cloud for a moment, and the prince fancied + that he saw below him in the fosse the same figures he had imagined + before. A horse neighed; there was no more doubt—he was waited for. + </p> + <p> + He shook the ladder to see if it was firm, then he put his leg over the + balustrade and placed his foot on the first step. Nothing can describe the + anguish of the prisoner at this moment, placed between a frail silk cord + on the one hand and his brother’s cruel menaces on the other. But as he + stood there he felt the ladder stiffened; some one held it. Was it a + friend or an enemy? Were they open arms or armed ones which waited for + him? An irresistible terror seized him; he still held the balcony with his + left hand, and made a movement to remount, when a very slight pull at the + ladder came to him like a solicitation. He took courage, and tried the + second step. The ladder was held as firm as a rock, and he found a steady + support for his foot. He descended rapidly, almost gliding down, when all + at once, instead of touching the earth, which he knew to be near, he felt + himself seized in the arms of a man who whispered, “You are saved.” Then + he was carried along the fosse till they came to the end, when another man + seized him by the collar and drew him up, and after having aided his + companion in the same way, they ran to the river, where stood the horses. + The prince knew he was at, the mercy of his saviours, so he jumped at once + on a horse, and his companions did the same. The same voice now said, + “Quick!” And they set off at a gallop. + </p> + <p> + “All goes well at present,” thought the prince, “let us hope it will end + so. Thanks, my brave Bussy,” said he to his companion on the right, who + was entirely covered with a large cloak. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + They arrived thus at the great ditch of the Bastile, which they crossed on + a bridge improvised by the Leaguers the night before. The three cavaliers + rode towards Charenton, when all at once the man on the right entered the + forest of Vincennes, saying only, “Come.” The prince’s horse neighed, and + several others answered from the depths of the forest. François would have + stopped if he could, for he feared they were taking him to an ambush, but + it was too late, and in a few minutes he found himself in a small open + space, where eight or ten men on horseback were drawn up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!” said the prince, “what does this mean, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Ventre St. Gris! it means that we are saved.” + </p> + <p> + “You! Henri!” cried the duke, stupefied, “you! my liberator?” + </p> + <p> + “Does that astonish you? Are we not related, Agrippa?” continued he, + looking round for his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” said D’Aubigné. + </p> + <p> + “Are there two fresh horses, with which we can go a dozen leagues without + stopping?” + </p> + <p> + “But where are you taking me, my cousin?” + </p> + <p> + “Where you like, only be quick, for the King of France has more horses + than I have, and is rich enough to kill a dozen if he wishes to catch us.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, then, I am free to go where I like?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I wait your orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, to Angers.” + </p> + <p> + “To Angers; so be it, there you are at home.” + </p> + <p> + “But you?” + </p> + <p> + “I! when we are in sight of Angers I shall leave you, and ride on to + Navarre, where my good Margot expects me, and must be much ennuyée at my + absence.” + </p> + <p> + “But no one knew you were here?” + </p> + <p> + “I came to sell three diamonds of my wife’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! very well.” + </p> + <p> + “And also to know if this League was really going to ruin me.” + </p> + <p> + “You see there is nothing in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to you, no.” + </p> + <p> + “How! thanks to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. If, instead of refusing to be chief of the League, when you + knew it was directed against me, you had accepted, I was ruined. + Therefore, when I heard that the king had punished your refusal with + imprisonment, I swore to release you, and I have done so.” + </p> + <p> + “Always so simple-minded,” thought François, “really, it is easy to + deceive him.” + </p> + <p> + “Now for Anjou,” thought the king. “Ah! M. de Guise, I send you a + companion you do not want.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE FRIENDS. + </h3> + <p> + While Paris was in this ferment, Madame de Monsoreau, escorted by her + father and two servants, pursued their way to Méridor. She began to enjoy + her liberty, precious to those who have suffered. The azure of the sky, + compared to that which hung always menacingly over the black towers of the + Bastile, the trees already green, all appeared to her fresh and young, + beautiful and new, as if she had really come out of the tomb where her + father had believed her. He, the old baron, had grown young again. We will + not attempt to describe their long journey, free from incidents. Several + times the baron said to Diana,— + </p> + <p> + “Do not fear, my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Fear what?” + </p> + <p> + “Were you not looking if M. de Monsoreau was following us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was true, I did look,” replied she, with a sigh and another + glance behind. + </p> + <p> + At last, on the eighth day, they reached the château of Méridor, and were + received by Madame de St. Luc and her husband. Then began for these four + people one of those existences of which every man has dreamed in reading + Virgil or Theocritus. The baron and St. Luc hunted from morning till + evening; you might have seen troops of dogs rushing from the hills in + pursuit of some hare or fox, and startling Diana and Jeanne, as they sat + side by side on the moss, under the shade of the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Recount to me,” said Jeanne, “all that happened to you in the tomb, for + you were dead to us. See, the hawthorn is shedding on us its last flowers, + and the elders send out their perfume. Not a breath in the air, not a + human being near us; recount, little sister.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I say?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, are you happy? That beautiful eye often swimming in tears, the + paleness of your cheeks, that mouth which tries a smile which it never + finishes—Diana, you must have many things to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You are, then, happy with M. de Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + Diana shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “You see!” said Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “With M. de Monsoreau! Why did you pronounce that name? why do you evoke + that phantom in the midst of our woods, our flowers, our happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “You told me, I think,” said Jeanne, “that M. de Bussy showed much + interest in you.” + </p> + <p> + Diana reddened, even to her round pretty ears. + </p> + <p> + “He is a charming creature,” continued Jeanne, kissing Diana. + </p> + <p> + “It is folly,” said Diana; “M. de Bussy thinks no more of Diana de + Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “That is possible; but I believe he pleases Diana de Monsoreau a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not say that.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it displease you?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you he thinks no more of me; and he does well—oh, I was + cowardly.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Diana, do not cry, do not accuse yourself. You cowardly! you, my + heroine! you were constrained.” + </p> + <p> + “I believed it; I saw dangers, gulfs under my feet. Now, Jeanne, these + dangers seem to me chimerical, these gulfs as if a child could cross them. + I was cowardly, I tell you; oh, I had no time to reflect.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak in enigmas.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Diana, rising, “it was not my fault, it was his. The Duc + d’Anjou was against him; but when one wishes a thing, when one loves, + neither prince nor master should keep you back. See, Jeanne, if I loved——” + </p> + <p> + “Be calm, dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, <i>we</i> were cowardly.” + </p> + <p> + “‘We!’ of whom do you speak? That ‘we’ is eloquent, my dearest Diana.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean my father and I; you did not think anything else, did you? My + father is a nobleman—he might have spoken to the king; I am proud, + and do not fear a man when I hate him. But <i>he</i> did not love me.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie to yourself! you know the contrary, little hypocrite!” + </p> + <p> + “You may believe in love, Jeanne, you, whom M. de St. Luc married in spite + of the king; you, whom he carried away from Paris; you, who pay him by + your caresses for proscription and exile.” + </p> + <p> + “And he thinks himself richly repaid.” + </p> + <p> + “But I—reflect a little, do not be egotistical—I, whom that + fiery young man pretended to love—I, who fixed the regards of that + invincible Bussy, he who fears no one—I was alone with him in the + cloister of l’Egyptienne—we were alone; but for Gertrude and Rémy, + our accomplices, he could have carried me off. At that moment I saw him + suffering because of me; I saw his eyes languishing, his lips pale and + parched with fever. If he had asked me to die to restore the brightness to + his eyes, and the freshness to his lips, I should have died. Well, I went + away, and he never tried to detain me. Wait still. He knew that I was + leaving Paris, that I was returning to Méridor; he knew that M. de + Monsoreau—I blush as I tell it—was only my husband in name; he + knew that I traveled alone; and along the road, dear Jeanne, I kept + turning, thinking I heard the gallop of his horse behind us. But no, it + was only the echo of my own. I tell you he does not think of me. I am not + worth a journey to Anjou while there are so many beautiful women at the + court of France, whose smiles are worth a hundred confessions from the + provincial, buried at Méridor. Do you understand now? Am I forgotten, + despised——” + </p> + <p> + She had not finished when the foliage of the oak rustled, a quantity of + mortar and moss fell from the old wall, and a man threw himself at the + feet of Diana, who uttered an affrighted cry. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne ran away—she recognized him. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am!” cried Bussy, kissing the dress of Diana. + </p> + <p> + She too recognized him, and, overcome by this unexpected happiness, fell + unconscious into the arms of him whom she had just accused of + indifference. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIV. + </h2> + <h3> + BUSSY AND DIANA. + </h3> + <p> + Faintings from love seldom last any length of time, nor are they very + dangerous. Diana was not long in opening her eyes, and finding herself + supported by Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured she, “it was shocking, count, to surprise us thus.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy expected other words, men are so exacting, but Diana said no more, + and, disengaging herself gently from his arms, ran to her friend, who, + seeing her faint, had returned softly, and stood a little way off. + </p> + <p> + “Is it thus that you receive me, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “No, M. de Bussy, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no ‘but,’ madame,” sighed Bussy, drawing near again. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not on your knees!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! let me pray to you an instant, thus!” cried the count. “I have so + longed for this place.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but to come to it, you jumped over the wall. Not only is it not + suitable for a man of your rank, but it is very imprudent.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “If you had been seen?” + </p> + <p> + “Who could have seen me?” + </p> + <p> + “Our hunters, who, a quarter of an hour ago, passed by this wall.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be uneasy, madame, I hide myself too carefully to be seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Hidden! really!” said Jeanne, “tell us how, M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Firstly, if I did not join you on the road, it was not my fault, I took + one route and you another. You came by Rambouillet, and I by Chartres. And + then judge if your poor Bussy be not in love; I did not dare to join you. + It was not in the presence of your father and your servants that I wished + to meet you again, for I did not desire to compromise you, so I made the + journey stage by stage, devoured by impatience. At last you arrived. I had + taken a lodging in the village, and, concealed behind the window, I saw + you pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon Dieu! are you then at Angers under your own name?” + </p> + <p> + “For what do you take me? I am a traveling merchant; look at my costume, + it is of a color much worn among drapers and goldsmiths. I have not been + remarked.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy, the handsome Bussy, two days in a provincial town and not + remarked; who would believe that at court?” said Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “Continue, count,” said Diana, blushing; “how do you come here from the + town?” + </p> + <p> + “I have two horses of a chosen race; I leave the village on one, stopping + to look at all the signs and writings, but when out of sight my horse + takes to a gallop, which brings him the four miles in half an hour. Once + in the wood of Méridor I ride to the park wall, but it is very long, for + the park is large. Yesterday I explored this wall for more than four + hours, climbing up here and there, hoping to see you. At last, when I was + almost in despair, I saw you in the evening returning to the house; the + two great dogs of the baron were jumping round you. When you had + disappeared, I jumped over, and saw the marks on the grass where you had + been sitting. I fancied you might have adopted this place, which is + charming, during the heat of the sun, so I broke away some branches that I + might know it again, and sighing, which hurts me dreadfully——” + </p> + <p> + “From want of habit,” said Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “I do not say no, madame; well, then, sighing, I retook my way to the + town. I was very tired, I had torn my dress in climbing trees, but I had + seen you, and I was happy.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an admirable recital,” said Jeanne, “and you have surmounted + dreadful obstacles; it is quite heroic; but in your place I would have + preserved my doublet, and above all, have taken care of my white hands. + Look at yours, how frightful they are with scratches.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but then I should not have seen her whom I came to see.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I should have seen her better than you did.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have done then?” + </p> + <p> + “I would have gone straight to the Château de Méridor. M. le Baron would + have pressed me in his arms, Madame de Monsoreau would have placed me by + her at table, M. de St. Luc would have been delighted to see me, and his + wife also. It was the simplest thing in the world, but lovers never think + of what is straight before them.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy smiled at Diana. “Oh, no,” he said, “that would not have done for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I no longer understand what good manners are.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bussy, “I could not go to the castle; M. le Baron would watch + his daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said Jeanne, “here is a lesson for me,” and kissing Diana on the + forehead, she ran away. Diana tried to stop her, but Bussy seized her + hands, and she let her friend go. They remained alone. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not done well, madame,” said Bussy, “and do you not approve?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not desire to feign,” said Diana, “besides, it would be useless; you + know I approve; but here must stop my indulgence; in calling for you as I + did just now I was mad—I was guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas I count, the truth; I have a right to make M. de Monsoreau unhappy, + to withhold from him my smiles and my love, but I have no right to bestow + them on another: for, after all, he is my master.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you will let me speak, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Well! of all that you have just said, you do not find one word in your + heart.” + </p> + <p> + “How!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen patiently; you have overwhelmed me with sophisms. The commonplaces + of morality do not apply here; this man is your master, you say, but did + you choose him? No; fate imposed him on you, and you submitted. Now, do + you mean to suffer all your life the consequences, of this odious + constraint? I will deliver you from it.” + </p> + <p> + Diana tried to speak, but Bussy stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know what you are going to say; that if I provoke M. de Monsoreau + and kill him, you will see me no more. So be it; I may die of grief, but + you will live free and happy, and you may render happy some gallant man, + who in his joy will sometimes bless my name, and cry, ‘Thanks, Bussy, + thanks, for having delivered us from that dreadful Monsoreau;’ and you, + yourself, Diana, who will not dare to thank me while living, will thank me + dead.” + </p> + <p> + Diana seized his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You have not yet implored me, Bussy; you begin with menaces.” + </p> + <p> + “Menace you! oh! could I have such an intention, I, who love you so + ardently, Diana. I know you love me; do not deny it, I know it, for you + have avowed it. Here, on my knees before you, my hand on my heart, which + has never lied, either from interest or from fear, I say to you, Diana, I + love you, for my whole life. Diana, I swear to you, that if I die for you, + it will be in adoring you. If you still say to me, ‘go,’ I will go without + a sigh, or complaint, from this place where I am so happy, and I should + say, ‘this woman does not love me, and never will love me.’ Then I should + go away, and you would see me no more, but as my devotion for you is + great, my desire to see you happy would survive the certainty that I could + never be happy myself.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy said this with so much emotion, and, at the same time firmness, that + Diana felt sure that he would do all he said, and she cried,— + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, count, for you take from me all remorse by your threats.” + </p> + <p> + Saying these words, she gave him her hand, which he kissed passionately. + Then they heard the light steps of Jeanne, accompanied by a warning cough. + Instinctively the clasped hands parted. Jeanne saw it. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, my good friends, for disturbing you,” said she, “but we must go + in if we do not wish to be sent for. M. le Comte, regain, if you please, + your excellent horse, and let us go to the house. See what you lose by + your obstinacy, M. de Bussy, a dinner at the château, which is not to be + despised by a man who has had a long ride, and has been climbing trees, + without counting all the amusement we could have had, or the glances that + might have passed. Come, Diana, come away.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy looked at the two friends with a smile. Diana held out her hand to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said he; “have you nothing to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Till to-morrow,” replied she. + </p> + <p> + “Only to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, and always.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy uttered a joyful exclamation, pressed his lips to her hand, and ran + off. Diana watched him till he was out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said Jeanne, when he had disappeared, “will you talk to me a + little?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! to-morrow I shall go to the chase with St. Luc and your father.” + </p> + <p> + “What, you will leave me alone at the château!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, dear friend; I also have my principles, and there are certain + things that I cannot consent to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jeanne!” cried Diana, growing pale, “can you say such things to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I cannot continue thus.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you loved me, Jeanne. What cannot you continue?” + </p> + <p> + “Continue to prevent two poor lovers from talking to each other at their + ease.” Diana seized in her arms the laughing young woman. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” said Jeanne, “there are the hunters calling us, and poor St. Luc + is impatient.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BUSSY WAS OFFERED THREE HUNDRED PISTOLES FOR HIS HORSE, AND PARTED + WITH HIM FOR NOTHING. + </h3> + <p> + The next day, Bussy left Angers before the most wakeful bourgeois had had + their breakfast. He flew along the road, and Diana, mounted on a terrace + in front of the castle, saw him coming, and went to meet him. The sun had + scarcely risen over the great oaks, and the grass was still wet with dew, + when she heard from afar, as she went along, the horn of St. Luc, which + Jeanne incited him to sound. She arrived at the meeting-place just as + Bussy appeared on the wall. The day passed like an hour. What had they to + say? That they loved each other. What had they to wish for? They were + together. + </p> + <p> + “Diana,” said Bussy at length, “it seems to me as though my life had begun + only to-day. You have shown me what it is to live.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” replied she, “who not long ago would have willingly thrown myself + into the arms of death, would now tremble to die and lose your love. But + why do you not come to the castle? My father would be glad to see you, and + M. de St. Luc is your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, Diana, if I came once, I should be always there; all the province + would know it, and if it came to the ears of that ogre, your husband, he + would hasten here. You forbid me to deliver you from him——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, for the safety of our happiness, we must guard our secret. + Madame de St. Luc knows it, and her husband soon will. I have written him + a line this morning, asking him for an interview at Angers, and when he + comes I will make him promise never to breathe a word of this. It is the + more important, dear Diana, as doubtless they are seeking me everywhere. + Things looked grave when I left Paris. + </p> + <p> + “You are right; and then my father is so scrupulous that, in spite of his + love for me, he is capable of denouncing me to M. de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us hide ourselves well, then; I fear some evil spirit, jealous of our + happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Say adieu to me, then; and do not ride so fast—your horse frightens + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing; he knows the way, and is the gentlest and safest horse I + ever rode. When I return to the city, buried in sweet thoughts, he takes + the way without my touching the bridle.” + </p> + <p> + At last the sound of the returning chase was heard, the horns playing an + air agreed upon with Jeanne, and Bussy left. As he approached the city, he + remarked that the time was approaching when the gates of the city would be + closed. He was preparing to ride on quickly, when he heard behind him the + gallop of horses. For a lover who wishes to remain concealed, as for a + robber, everything seems a menace. Bussy asked himself whether he should + ride on or draw up and let them pass, but their course was so rapid that + they were up to him in a moment. There were two. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the city,” said one, with a Gascon accent; “three hundred more + blows with the whip, and one hundred with the spur; courage and vigor!” + </p> + <p> + “The beast has no more breath—he shivers and totters; he will not go + on; and yet I would give a hundred horses to be in my city before + nightfall.” + </p> + <p> + “It is some Angers man out late,” thought Bussy. “But look, the horse is + falling; take care, monsieur,” cried he; “quit your horse—he is + about to fall.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, as he spoke the animal fell heavily on his side, shook his legs + convulsively, then suddenly his breath stopped, his eyes grew dim, and he + was dead. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” cried the cavalier to Bussy, “three hundred pistoles for your + horse!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon Dieu!” cried Bussy, drawing near. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear me, monsieur? I am in haste.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my prince, take it for nothing,” cried Bussy, who had recognized the + Duc d’Anjou. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment they heard the click of a pistol, which was cocked by + the duke’s companion. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, M. d’Aubigné,” cried the duke, “it is Bussy, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, my prince, it is I. But what, in Heaven’s name are you doing, + killing horses on the road at this hour?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! is it M. de Bussy?” said D’Aubigné, “then you do not want me any + more. Permit me to return to him who sent me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not without receiving my sincere thanks and the promise of a lasting + friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “I accept it, monseigneur, and will recall your words to you some day.” + </p> + <p> + “M. D’Aubigné! I am in the clouds,” murmured Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not know? As you are here, did you not expect me?” said the + prince, with an air of suspicion which did not escape Bussy, who began to + reflect that his secret residence in Anjou might seem very strange to the + prince. + </p> + <p> + “I did better than expect you,” said Bussy, “and as you wish to enter the + town before the gates are closed, jump into the saddle, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + The prince accepted, and Bussy mounted behind him, asking himself if this + prince, dressed in black, were not the evil spirit sent already to disturb + his happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Where do we go now, monseigneur?” said he, as they entered the city. + </p> + <p> + “To the castle. Let them hoist my banner and convoke the nobility of the + district.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more easy,” said Bussy, full of surprise, but willing to be + docile. The news was soon spread through the city that the duke had + arrived, and a crowd soon collected. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” cried the duke, “I have come to throw myself into my good + city of Angers. At Paris the most terrible dangers have menaced my life—I + had lost even my liberty. I succeeded in escaping, thanks to some good + friends, and now I am here I feel my tranquillity and my life assured.” + </p> + <p> + The people cried, “Long live our seigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Now let me sup,” said the prince, “I have had nothing since the morning.” + </p> + <p> + The city was illuminated, guns were fired, the bells of the cathedral were + rung, and the wind carried to Méridor the noisy joy of the good Angevins. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE DIPLOMACY OF THE DUC D’ANJOU. + </h3> + <p> + When the duke and Bussy were left alone, the duke said, “Let us talk.” + </p> + <p> + François, who was very quick, had perceived that Bussy had made more + advances to him than usual, therefore he judged that he was in some + embarrassing situation, and that he might, by a little address, get an + advantage over him. But Bussy had had time to prepare himself, and he was + quite ready. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let us talk, monseigneur,” replied he. + </p> + <p> + “The last day I saw you, my poor Bussy, you were very ill.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, monseigneur, I was very ill, and it was almost a miracle that + saved me.” + </p> + <p> + “There was near you a doctor very devoted to you, for he growled at + everyone who approached you.” + </p> + <p> + “True, prince, Rémy loves me.” + </p> + <p> + “He kept you rigorously to your bed, did he not?” + </p> + <p> + “At which I was in a great rage, as your highness might have seen.” + </p> + <p> + “But, if that were the case, why did you not send the doctor to the devil, + and come out with me as I begged you to do? But as it was a grave affair, + you were afraid to compromise yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say I was afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “I did say so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it was a lie!” said Bussy, jumping up from his chair; “you + lied to yourself, monseigneur, for you do not believe a single word of + what you say. There are twenty scars on my body, which prove the contrary. + I never knew fear, and, ma foi, I know people who cannot say the same.” + </p> + <p> + “You have always unanswerable arguments, M. de Bussy,” cried the duke, + turning very pale; “when you are accused, you cry louder than your + accuser, and then you think you are right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am not always right, I know well, but I know on what occasions I am + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are they?” + </p> + <p> + “When I serve ungrateful people.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, monsieur, I think you forget yourself,” said the duke, with some + dignity. Bussy moved towards the door, but the prince stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you deny, monsieur,” said he, “that after refusing to go out with me, + you went out immediately after?” + </p> + <p> + “I deny nothing, monseigneur, but I will not be forced to confession.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me why you would not go out with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I had business.” + </p> + <p> + “At home?” + </p> + <p> + “Or elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought that when a gentleman was in the service of a prince, his + principal business was that of the prince.” + </p> + <p> + “And who does your business generally, monseigneur, if not I?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say no; generally I find you faithful and devoted, and, I will + say more, I excuse your bad humor.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for you had some reason to be angry.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you confess it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I promised you the disgrace of M. de Monsoreau. It seems you hate + him very much.” + </p> + <p> + “I! not at all. I find him very ugly, and should have liked him away from + court, not to have had to look at him. It seems, however, that you admire + him, and there is no accounting for tastes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, as that was your sole excuse, you were doubly wrong to refuse + to accompany me, and then to go out after, and commit follies.” + </p> + <p> + “Follies! what did I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless, you do not like MM. d’Epernon and Schomberg, neither do I, but + one must have some prudence. Kill them, and I should be grateful to you, + but do not exasperate them.” + </p> + <p> + “What did I do to them?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you had D’Epernon stoned.” + </p> + <h3> + “I!” + </h3> + <p> + “Yes, so that his clothes were torn to pieces.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! and what about M. Schomberg?” + </p> + <p> + “You will not deny that you had him dyed indigo color? When I saw him + three hours after, he was still bright blue. Do you call that a joke?” And + the prince laughed in spite of himself, and Bussy joined him. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said he, “they think it was I who played them these tricks!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was I.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have the conscience to reproach a man who had such fine ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I pardon you. But I have another complaint to make. What did you do + to deliver me from my unlucky situation?” + </p> + <p> + “You see, I came to Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that you would have been more useful nearer.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there we differ; I preferred coming to Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Your caprice is a bad reason.” + </p> + <p> + “But, if I came to gather your partisans?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is different. What have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “I will explain that to you to-morrow; at present I must leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why!” + </p> + <p> + “I have to see an important person.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well; but be prudent.” + </p> + <p> + “Prudent! are we not the strongest here?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, risk nothing. Have you done much?” + </p> + <p> + “I have only been here two days.” + </p> + <p> + “But you keep yourself concealed, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so. Look at my dress; am I in the habit of wearing + cinnamon-colored clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “And where are you lodging?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I hope you will appreciate my devotion; in a tumble-down old house, + near the ramparts. But you, my prince, how did you get out of the Louvre? + How was it that I found you on the road, with M. d’Aubigné for a + companion?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have friends.” + </p> + <p> + “You! friends!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, friends that you do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “The King of Navarre and D’Aubigné, whom you saw.” + </p> + <p> + “The King of Navarre! Ah! true, did you not conspire together?” + </p> + <p> + “I never conspired, M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “No; ask poor La Mole and Coconnas.” + </p> + <p> + “La Mole,” said the prince, gloomily, “died for another crime than the one + alleged against him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind him. How the devil did you get out of the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + “Through the window.” + </p> + <p> + “Which window?” + </p> + <p> + “That of my bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew of the rope-ladder?” + </p> + <p> + “What rope-ladder?” + </p> + <p> + “In the cupboard.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it seems you knew it,” cried the prince, turning pale. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your highness knows I have sometimes had the happiness of entering + that room.” + </p> + <p> + “In the time of my sister Margot. Then you came in by the window?” + </p> + <p> + “As you came out. All that astonishes me is, that you knew of the ladder.” + </p> + <p> + “It was not I who found it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who then?” + </p> + <p> + “I was told of it.” + </p> + <p> + “By whom?” + </p> + <p> + “By the King of Navarre.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the King of Navarre knew of it; I should not have thought so. + However, now you are here safe and sound, we will put Anjou in flames, and + Béarn and Angoumois will catch the light, so we shall have a fine blaze.” + </p> + <p> + “But did you not speak of a rendezvous?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true; the interest of the conversation was making me forget. Adieu, + monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you take your horse?” + </p> + <p> + “If it will be useful to you, monseigneur, you may keep it, I have + another.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I accept; we will settle that later.” + </p> + <p> + The duke gave Bussy his hand, and they separated. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE IDEAS OF THE DUC D’ANJOU. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy returned home, but instead of St. Luc, whom he expected, he found + only a letter fixing their meeting for the next day. About six in the + morning St. Luc started, and rode straight to Bussy’s house. + </p> + <p> + “Accept the hospitality of my poor hut, St. Luc,” said Bussy, “I am + encamped here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, like a conqueror on the field of battle.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, dear Bussy, that my wife has no secrets from me, and has told me + all. Receive my compliments, but, since you have sent for me, permit me to + give you a piece of advice.” + </p> + <p> + “Well.” + </p> + <p> + “Get rid as soon as possible of that abominable Monsoreau; no one at the + court knows of your love for his wife, so when you marry the widow, no one + will say you killed him on purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “There is but one obstacle to this project, which presented itself to my + mind, as to yours.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That I have sworn to Diana to respect the life of her husband, as long as + he does not attack me.” + </p> + <p> + “You were very wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because if you do not take the initiative, he will discover you, and will + kill you.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot break my oath to Diana. Besides, he who is now a monster in all + eyes, would be thought an angel in his tomb.” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore I do not advise you to kill him yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, St. Luc, no assassins.” + </p> + <p> + “Who spoke of assassins?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; an idea passed through my mind; I will tell you what it was at + another time. I do not love this Monsoreau much more than you, although I + have not the same reason to detest him, so let us speak of the wife + instead of the husband.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy smiled. “You are a capital companion, St Luc,” said he, “and you may + count on my friendship. Now my friendship consists of three things, my + purse, my sword, and my life. Now, what about Diana?” + </p> + <p> + “I wished to ask if you were not coming to Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, I thank you, but you know my scruples.” + </p> + <p> + “I know all. At Méridor you fear to meet Monsoreau, although he is eighty + leagues off; fear to have to shake his hand, and it is hard to shake the + hand of the man you wish to strangle; you fear to see him embrace Diana, + and it is hard to see that of the woman you love.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! how well you understand!” cried Bussy, with rage; “but, my dear + friend, did you not hear last night the noise of bells and guns?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and we wondered what it meant.” + </p> + <p> + “It meant that the Duc d’Anjou arrived last night.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc jumped up. “The duke here! We heard he was imprisoned at the + Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just why he is now at Angers. He managed to escape through a + window, and came here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here is an excellent opportunity to revenge yourself for the king’s + persecutions. The prince has already a party, he will soon have troops, + and we shall have something like a little civil war.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!” + </p> + <p> + “And I reckoned on you to help us.” + </p> + <p> + “Against the king?” said St. Luc, with sudden coldness. + </p> + <p> + “Not precisely against the king, but against those who fight against us.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Bussy, I came here for country air, not to fight against his + majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “But let me present you to monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Useless, my dear Bussy, I do not like Angers.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear St. Luc, you will do me a great service by consenting; the duke + asked me what I came here for, and, not being able to tell because of his + own passion for Diana, I said that I had come to draw to his cause all the + gentlemen in the Canton; I even told him I had a rendezvous with one this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! tell him you have seen the gentleman, and that he asks six months + to consider. Listen, I will always help you to defend Diana, you shall + help me to defend my wife. We will make a treaty for love, but not for + politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, I must yield to you, St. Luc, for you have the advantage over me. + I want you, and you do not want me.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, it is I who claim your protection.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose the rebels besiege and sack Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + The two friends laughed; then, as the duke had sent to inquire for Bussy, + they separated with renewed promises of friendship, and charmed with each + other. + </p> + <p> + Bussy went to the ducal palace, where already all the nobility of the + provinces were arriving. He hastened to arrange an official reception, a + repast and speeches, and having thus cut out some hours’ occupation for + the prince, mounted his other horse, and galloped to Méridor. The duke + made some good speeches, and produced a great effect, giving himself out + for a prince persecuted by the king on account of the love of the + Parisians for him. When Bussy returned, it was four in the afternoon; he + dismounted, and presented himself to the duke all covered with dust. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my brave Bussy, you have been at work?” + </p> + <p> + “You see, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I have ridden fast.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care not to get ill again.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Whence do you come?” + </p> + <p> + “From the environs. Is your highness content? have you had a numerous + assemblage?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am pretty well satisfied, but I missed some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Your protege, the Baron de Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy changed color. + </p> + <p> + “And yet we must not neglect him,” continued the duke, “he is influential + here.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it. He was the correspondent of the League at Angers, chosen + by M. de Guise, and the Guises choose their men well. He must come, + Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he does not come?” + </p> + <p> + “I will go to him.” + </p> + <p> + “To Méridor?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why not, certainly,” cried Bussy, with flashing eyes, “a prince may + do anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think he is still angry with me?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know?” + </p> + <p> + “You have not seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “As one of the great men of the province, I thought——” + </p> + <p> + “I was not sufficiently fortunate in the former promises I made him to be + in a hurry to present myself to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he not attained his object?” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted his daughter to marry the count, and she has done so.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy turned his back on the duke, who, at the same moment, moved towards + another gentleman who entered the room. Bussy began to reflect on what the + duke’s projects were with regard to the baron—whether they were + purely political, or whether he was still seeking to approach Diana; but + he imagined that, embroiled with his brother, banished from the Louvre, + and the chief of provincial insurrection, he had sufficiently grave + interests at stake to outweigh his love fancies. He passed the night + banqueting with the duke and the Angevin gentlemen, then in dancing with + the Angevin ladies. It is needless to say that he was the admiration of + the latter, and the hatred of the husbands, several of whom looked at him + in a way which did not please him, so that, curling his mustachios, he + invited three or four of them to take a walk with him by moonlight; but + his reputation had preceded him, and they all declined. + </p> + <p> + At the door Bussy found a laughing face waiting for him, which he believed + to be eighty leagues off. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” cried he joyfully, “it is you, Rémy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to write to you to join me.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” + </p> + <p> + “On my word.” + </p> + <p> + “That is capital; I was afraid you would scold me.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “For coming without leave. But I heard that Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou had + escaped, and had fled here. I knew you were here also, and I thought there + might be civil war, and many holes made in skins, so I came.” + </p> + <p> + “You did well, Rémy; I wanted you.” + </p> + <p> + “How is Gertrude, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “I will ask Diana the first time I see her.” + </p> + <p> + “And, in return, every time I see her I will ask for news of Madame de + Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “You are charming.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile they had reached Bussy’s lodging. + </p> + <p> + “Here is my palace; you must lodge as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “It will not be difficult; I could sleep standing, I am so tired.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy rose early the next morning, and went to the ducal palace, leaving + word for Rémy to follow him. The duke had prepared a list of important + things to be done: firstly, a walk round the walls to examine the + fortifications; secondly, a review of the inhabitants and their arms; + thirdly, a visit to the arsenal; fourthly, correspondence. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the duke, “you already!” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! yes, monseigneur; I could not sleep, your highness’s interests + were so much on my mind. What shall we do this morning? Shall we hunt?” + </p> + <p> + “How!” said the duke, “you pretend to have been thinking all night of my + interests, and the result of so much meditation is to propose to me a + hunt!” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Bussy; “besides, we have no hounds.” + </p> + <p> + “And no chief huntsman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ma foi! the chase would be more agreeable without him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I am not like you—I want him; he would have been very useful to + us here.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “He has property here.” + </p> + <p> + “He!” + </p> + <p> + “He or his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy bit his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Méridor is only three leagues off, you know that,” continued the duke, + “you, who brought the old baron to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Dame! I brought him because he hung on to my cloak. However, my + protection did not do him much good.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said the duke, “I have an idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Diable!” said Bussy, who was always suspicious of the duke’s ideas. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it is that, if Monsoreau had the advantage over you at first, you + shall have it now.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It is very simple; you know me, Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “I have that misfortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Think you I am the man to submit to an affront with impunity?” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he stole the young girl I loved to make her his wife; now I will + steal his wife!” + </p> + <p> + Bussy tried to smile, but made a grimace instead. + </p> + <p> + “Steal his wife!” stammered he. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more easy, she is here, and you told me she hated her husband; + therefore, without too much vanity, I may flatter myself she will give me + the preference, if I promise her——” + </p> + <p> + “What, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “To get rid of her husband for her.” + </p> + <p> + “You will do that?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see. Meanwhile I will pay a visit to Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “You will dare?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You will present yourself before the old baron, whom you abandoned after + promising me——” + </p> + <p> + “I have an excellent excuse to give him.” + </p> + <p> + “Where the devil will you find it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I will say to him, I did not break this marriage, because Monsoreau, + who knew that you were one of the principal agents to the League, + threatened to denounce you to the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Has your highness invented that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not entirely.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall make him believe that by marrying his daughter I saved his + life.” + </p> + <p> + “It is superb.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! order the horses, and we will go to Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately, monseigneur.” Bussy then went to the door, but turned back + and said, “How many horses will your highness have?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, four or five, what you like.” + </p> + <p> + “If you leave it to me, I shall take a hundred.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” cried the prince, surprised. + </p> + <p> + “To have at least twenty-five I can rely on in case of attack.” + </p> + <p> + “Attack!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have heard that there are thick woods in that neighborhood, and it + would not surprise me if we fell into some ambush.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur knows that true courage does not exclude prudence; I will + order one hundred and fifty.” + </p> + <p> + And he moved towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “A moment,” said the prince. “Do you think I am in safety at Angers?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the town is not very strong, but well defended——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it may be badly defended; however brave you are, you can be but + in one place at a time.” + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if I am not in safety here—and I am not if Bussy doubts——” + </p> + <p> + “I did not say I doubted.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am not safe, I had better make myself so. I will go to the castle + and entrench myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “And then another idea.” + </p> + <p> + “The morning is fruitful.” + </p> + <p> + “I will make the Méridors come here.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, you are grand to-day. Now let us visit the castle.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy went out while the prince was getting ready, and found Rémy waiting. + He wrote hastily a little note, picked a bunch of roses from the + conservatory, rolled the note round the stems, went to the stable, brought + out his horse, and, putting Rémy on it, and giving him the bouquet, led + him out of the city. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he, “let Roland go; at the end of this road you will find the + forest, in the forest a park, round the park a wall, and at that part of + the wall where Roland stops, throw over this bouquet.” + </p> + <p> + “He whom you expect does not come,” said the note, “because he who was not + expected has come, and is more menacing than ever, for he loves still. + Take with the lips and the heart all that is invisible to the eyes in this + paper.” + </p> + <p> + In half an hour Rémy reached his destination, carried by his horse, and + threw over the bouquet; a little cry from the other side told him it had + been received. Then Rémy returned, in spite of his horse, which seemed + much put out at losing its accustomed repast on the acorns. Rémy joined + Bussy as he was exploring a cave with the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he to his messenger, “what did you hear or see?” + </p> + <p> + “A wall, a cry, seven leagues,” replied Rémy laconically. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + A FLIGHT OF ANGEVINS. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy contrived to occupy the duke so well with his preparations for war + during two days, that he found no time to think of Méridor, and from time + to time, under pretext of examining the outer fortifications, jumped on + Roland, and arrived at a certain wall, which he got over all the more + quickly because each time he made some stone fall, and was, in fact, + gradually making a breach. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of the third day, as an enormous convoy of provisions was + entering the city, the produce of a tax levied by the duke on his good + Angevins, as M. d’Anjou, to make himself popular, was tasting the black + bread and salt fish of the soldiers, they heard a great noise at one of + the gates of the city, where a man, mounted on a white horse, had + presented himself. Now Bussy had had himself named Captain-General of + Anjou, and had established the most severe discipline in Angers; no one + could go out of or enter the town without a password; all which had no + other aim than to prevent the duke from sending a messenger to Méridor + without his knowledge. + </p> + <p> + The man on the white horse had arrived at a furious gallop, and had + attempted to enter, but had been stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I am Antragues,” said he, “and desire to speak to the Duc d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “We do not know Antragues,” they replied, “but as for seeing the duke, you + shall be satisfied, for we shall arrest you, and conduct you to him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a nice fellow, truly, to talk of arresting Charles Balzac + d’Antragues, Baron de Cuneo, and Comte de Graville.” + </p> + <p> + “We will do so, however,” replied the bourgeois, who had twenty men behind + him. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, my good friends. You do not know the Parisians. Well, I + will show you a specimen of what they can do.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us arrest him!” cried the furious militia. + </p> + <p> + “Softly, my little lambs of Anjou; it is I who will have that pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” asked the bourgeois. + </p> + <p> + “He says that his horse has only gone ten leagues, and will ride over you + all.” And drawing his sword and swinging it furiously round, he cut off in + his passage the blades of the nearest halberts, and in less than ten + minutes fifteen or twenty of them were changed into broom-handles. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! this is very amusing!” cried he, laughing, and as he spoke stunning + one of the bourgeois with a blow on the head with the flat of his sword. + However, as more and more bourgeois crowded to the attack, and Antragues + began to feel tired, he said, “Well, you are as brave as lions; I will + bear witness to it; but, you see, you have nothing left but the handles of + your halberts, and you do not know how to load your muskets. I had + resolved to enter the city, but I did not know it was guarded by an army + of Cæsars. I renounce my victory over you. Good evening, I am going away; + only tell the prince that I came here expressly to see him.” + </p> + <p> + However, the captain had managed to communicate the fire to the match of + his musket, but just as he was raising it to his shoulder, Antragues gave + him such a furious blow upon the fingers that he dropped it. + </p> + <p> + “Kill him! kill him!” cried several voices, “do not let him escape!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Antragues, “just now you would not let me come in, now you will + not let me go out. Take care, that will change my tactics, and instead of + the flat of my sword, I will use the point—instead of cutting the + halberts, I will cut the wrists. Now, will you let me go?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, he is tired, kill him!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, take care of your hands!” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had he spoken when another cavalier appeared, riding furiously + also, and who cried out as he approached: + </p> + <p> + “Antragues, what are you doing among all these bourgeois?” + </p> + <p> + “Livarot!” cried Antragues. “Mon Dieu, you are welcome; Montjoie and St. + Denis, to the rescue!” + </p> + <p> + “I heard four hours ago that you were before me, and I have been trying to + catch you. But what is the matter; do they want to massacre you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they will neither let me in nor out.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen!” said Livarot, “will you please to step either to the right or + left, and let us pass.” + </p> + <p> + “They insult us! kill them!” cried the people. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! this is Angers’ manners!” said Livarot, drawing his sword. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you see; unluckily, there are so many of them.” + </p> + <p> + “If there were but three of us!” + </p> + <p> + “And here is Ribeirac coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear him?” + </p> + <p> + “I see him. Here, Ribeirac!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you fighting?” cried Ribeirac. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Livarot; good morning, Antragues.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us charge them,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + The bourgeois looked in stupefaction at this reinforcement that was about + to join the attacking party. + </p> + <p> + “They are a regiment,” said the captain of the militia. + </p> + <p> + “This is only the advanced guard,” cried another. + </p> + <p> + “We are fathers of families, and our lives belong to our children,” said + others, and they all tried to fly, fighting with each other to get out of + the way. + </p> + <p> + At this stage of the affair Bussy and the prince arrived, followed by + twenty cavaliers, to ascertain the cause of the tumult. They were told + that it was three incarnate devils from Paris who were making all the + disturbance. + </p> + <p> + “Three men, Bussy; see who they are.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy raised himself in his stirrups, and his quick eye soon recognized + Livarot. + </p> + <p> + “Mort de ma vie, monseigneur,” cried he, “they are our friends from Paris + who are besieging us.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Livarot, “on the contrary, it is these people who are killing + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Down with your arms, knaves,” cried the duke, “these are friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends!” cried the bourgeois, “then they should have had the password; + for we have been treating them like Pagans and they us like Turks.” + </p> + <p> + Livarot, Antragues, and Ribeirac advanced in triumph to kiss the duke’s + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said Bussy, “how many militia do you think there were + here?” + </p> + <p> + “At least one hundred and fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not very famous soldiers, since three men beat them.” + </p> + <p> + “True, but I shall have the three men who did beat them.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIX. + </h2> + <h3> + ROLAND. + </h3> + <p> + Thanks to the reinforcement which had arrived, M. le Duc d’Anjou could go + where he pleased; he explored the ramparts of the surrounding country and + castles. The Angevin gentlemen found liberty and amusement at the court of + the duke, and the three friends were soon intimate with many of these + nobles, especially those who had pretty wives. The general joy was at its + height when twenty-two riding horses, thirty carriage horses, and forty + mules, together with litters, carriages and wagons, arrived at Angers, all + the property of the duke. We must allow that the saddles were not paid + for, and that the coffers were empty, but still it made a magnificent + effect. The duke’s reputation for wealth was henceforward solidly + established, and all the province remained convinced that he was rich + enough to war against all Europe if need were, therefore they did not + grudge the new tax which the prince imposed upon them. People never mind + giving or lending to rich people, only to poor ones; therefore the worthy + prince lived like a patriarch on all the fat of the land. Numerous + cavaliers arrived to offer to him their adhesions, or their offers of + service. One afternoon, however, about four o’clock, M. de Monsoreau + arrived on horseback at the gates of Angers. He had ridden eighteen + leagues that day; therefore his spurs were red, and his horse covered with + foam, and half dead. They no longer made difficulties about letting + strangers enter, therefore M. de Monsoreau went straight through the city + to the palace, and asked for the duke. + </p> + <p> + “He is out reconnoitering,” replied the sentinel. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! What I have to say to him is very pressing.” + </p> + <p> + “First put your horse in the stable, or he will fall.” + </p> + <p> + “The advice is good; where are the stables?” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke a man approached and asked for his name. M. de Monsoreau gave + it. The major-domo (for it was he) bowed respectfully, for the chief + huntsman’s name was well known in Anjou. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said he, “please to enter and take some repose. Monseigneur + has not been out more than ten minutes, and will not be back till eight + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Eight o’clock! I cannot wait so long; I am the bearer of news which + cannot be too soon known to his highness. Can I not have a horse and a + guide?” + </p> + <p> + “There are plenty of horses, but a guide is a different thing, for his + highness did not say where he was going.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will take a fresh horse, and try to discover him.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably you will hear where he has passed, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they ride fast?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, get me a horse then.” + </p> + <p> + “Will monsieur come into the stables and choose one? they all belong to + the duke.” Monsoreau entered. Ten or twelve fine horses, quite fresh, were + feeding from the manger, which was filled with grain. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau looked over them, and then said, “I will take this bay.” + </p> + <p> + “Roland?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and it is his highness’s favorite horse. M. de Bussy gave him to the + duke, and it is quite a chance that it is here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Ronald was soon saddled, and Monsoreau rode out of the stable. + </p> + <p> + “In which direction did they start?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + The man pointed it out. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi!” said Monsoreau, “the horse seems to know the way.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the animal set off without being urged, and went deliberately out + of the city, took a short cut to the gate, and then began to accelerate + his pace: Monsoreau let him go. He went along the boulevard, then turned + into a shady lane, which cut across the country, passing gradually from a + trot to a gallop. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” thought Monsoreau, as they entered the woods, “one would say we were + going to Méridor. Can his highness be there?” and his face grew black at + the thought. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured he, “I who was going to see the prince, and putting off + till to-morrow to see my wife; shall I see them both at the same time?” + </p> + <p> + The horse went on, turning always to the right. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot be far from the park,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At that moment his horse neighed, and another answered him. In a minute + Monsoreau saw a wall, and a horse tied to a neighboring tree. + </p> + <p> + “There is some one,” thought he, turning pale. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LX. + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT M. DE MONSOREAU CAME TO ANNOUNCE. + </h3> + <p> + As M. de Monsoreau approached, he remarked the dilapidation of the wall; + it was almost in steps, and the brambles had been torn away, and were + lying about. He looked at the horse standing there. The animal had a + saddle-cloth embroidered in silver, and in one corner an F. and an A. + There was no doubt, then, that it came from the prince’s stables; the + letters stood for François d’Anjou. The count’s suspicions at this sight + became real alarm; the duke had come here, and had come often, for, + besides the horse waiting there, there was a second that knew the way. He + tied up his horse near to the other, and began to scale the wall. It was + an easy task; there were places for both feet and hands, and the branches + of an oak-tree, which hung over, had been carefully cut away. Once up, he + saw at the foot of a tree a blue mantilla and a black cloak, and not far + off a man and woman, walking hand in hand, with their backs turned to the + wall, and nearly hidden by the trees. Unluckily, with M. de Monsoreau’s + weight a stone fell from the wall on the crackling branches with a great + noise. + </p> + <p> + At this noise the lovers must have turned and seen him, for the cry of a + woman was heard, and a rustling of the branches as they ran away like + startled deer. At this cry, Monsoreau felt cold drops on his forehead, for + he recognized Diana’s voice. Full of fury, he jumped over the wall, and + with his drawn sword in his hand, tried to follow the fugitives, but they + had disappeared, and, there was not a trace or a sound to guide him. He + stopped, and considered that he was too much under the influence of + passion to act with prudence against so powerful a rival. Then a sublime + idea occurred to him; it was to climb back again over the wall, and carry + off with his own the horse he had seen there. He retraced his steps to the + wall and climbed up again; but on the other side no horse was to be seen; + his idea was so good, that before it came to him it had come to his + adversary. He uttered a howl of rage, clenching his fists, but started off + at once on foot. In two hours and a half, he arrived at the gates of the + city, dying with hunger and fatigue, but determined to interrogate every + sentinel, and find out by what gate a man had entered with two horses. The + first sentinel he applied to said that, about two hours before, a horse + without a rider had passed through the gate, and had taken the road to the + palace; he feared some accident must have happened to his rider. Monsoreau + ground his teeth with passion, and went on to the castle. There he found + great life and gaiety, windows lighted up, and animation everywhere. He + went first to the stable, and found his horse in the stall he had taken + him from; then, without changing his dress, he went to the dining-room. + The prince and all his gentlemen were sitting round a table magnificently + served and lighted. The duke, who had been told of his arrival, received + him without surprise, and told him to sit down and sup with him. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” replied he, “I am hungry, tired, and thirsty; but I will + neither eat, drink, nor sit down till I have delivered my important + message.” + </p> + <p> + “You come from Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in great haste.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, speak.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau advanced, with a smile on his lips and hatred In his heart, and + said, “Monseigneur, your mother is advancing hastily to visit you.” + </p> + <p> + The duke looked delighted. “It is well,” said he; “M. de Monsoreau, I find + you to-day, as ever, a faithful servant; let us continue our supper, + gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau sat down with them, but gloomy and preoccupied. He still seemed + to see the two figures among the trees, and to hear the cry of Diana. + </p> + <p> + “You are overcome with weariness,” said the prince to him, “really, you + had better go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Livarot, “or he will go to sleep in his chair.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, monseigneur, I am tired out.” + </p> + <p> + “Get tipsy,” said Antragues; “there is nothing so good when you are tired. + To your health, count!” + </p> + <p> + “You must give us some good hunts,” said Ribeirac, “you know the country.” + </p> + <p> + “You have horses and woods here,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + “And a wife,” added Livarot. + </p> + <p> + “We will hunt a boar, count,” said the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, to-morrow!” cried the gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “I am always at your highness’s orders, but I am too much fatigued to + conduct a chase to-morrow; besides which, I must examine the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “And we must leave him time to see his wife,” cried the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Granted,” cried the young men; “we give him twenty-four hours to do all + he has to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, gentlemen, I promise to employ them well.” + </p> + <p> + “Now go to bed,” said the duke, and M. de Monsoreau bowed, and went out, + very happy to escape. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE KING LEARNED THE FLIGHT OF HIS BELOVED BROTHER, AND WHAT FOLLOWED. + </h3> + <p> + When Monsoreau had retired, the repast continued, and was more gay and + joyous than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Livarot,” said the duke, “finish the recital of your flight from + Paris, which Monsoreau interrupted.” + </p> + <p> + Livarot began again, but as our title of historian gives us the privilege + of knowing better than Livarot himself what had passed, we will substitute + our recital for that of the young man. + </p> + <p> + Towards the middle of the night Henri III. was awoke by an unaccustomed + noise in the palace. It was oaths, blows on the wall, rapid steps in the + galleries, and, amidst all, these words continually sounding, “What will + the king say?” + </p> + <p> + Henri sat up and called Chicot, who was asleep on the couch. + </p> + <p> + Chicot opened one eye. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you were wrong to call me, Henri,” said he; “I was dreaming that you + had a son.” + </p> + <p> + “But listen.” + </p> + <p> + “To what? You say enough follies to me by day, without breaking in on my + nights.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you not hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh! I do hear cries.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, ‘What will the king say?’” + </p> + <p> + “It is one of two things—either your dog Narcissus is ill, or the + Huguenots are taking their revenge for St. Bartholomew.” + </p> + <p> + “Help me to dress.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will first help me to get up.” + </p> + <p> + “What a misfortune!” sounded from the antechamber. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we arm ourselves?” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “We had better go first and see what is the matter.” + </p> + <p> + And almost immediately they went out by the secret door into the gallery. + “I begin to guess,” said Chicot; “your unlucky prisoner has hanged + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; it cannot be that.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on;” and they entered the duke’s chamber. + </p> + <p> + The window was open, and the ladder still hung from it. Henri grew as pale + as death. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my son, you are not so blasé as I thought!” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Escaped!” cried Henri, in such a thundering voice that all the gentlemen + who were crowded round the window turned in terror. Schomberg tore his + hair, Quelus and Maugiron struck themselves like madmen; as for D’Epernon, + he had vanished. This sight calmed the king. + </p> + <p> + “Gently, my son,” said he, laying hold of Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “No! mordieu!” cried he, “I will kill myself!” and he knocked his head + against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Hola! help me to hold him.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be an easier death to pass your sword through your body!” said + Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Quelus, my child,” said the king, “you will be as blue as Schomberg when + he came out of the indigo.” + </p> + <p> + Quelus stopped, but Schomberg still continued to tear at his hair. + </p> + <p> + “Schomberg, Schomberg, a little reason, I beg.” + </p> + <p> + “It is enough to drive one mad!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, it is a dreadful misfortune; there will be a civil war in my + kingdom. Who did it—who furnished the ladder? Mordieu! I will hang + all the city! Who was it? Ten thousand crowns to whoever will tell me his + name, and one hundred thousand to whoever will bring him to me, dead or + alive!” + </p> + <p> + “It must have been some Angevin,” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! we will kill all the Angevins!” cried Quelus. However, the king + suddenly disappeared; he had thought of his mother, and, without saying a + word, went to her. When he entered, she was half lying in a great + armchair: She heard the news without answering. + </p> + <p> + “You say nothing, mother. Does not this flight seem to you criminal, and + worthy of punishment?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear son, liberty is worth as much as a crown; and remember, I advised + you to fly in order to gain a crown.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, he braves me—he outrages me!” + </p> + <p> + “No; he only saves himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! this is how you take my part.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that with age the feelings grow calm—that you do not love me + as much as you used to do.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, my son,” said Catherine coldly; “you are my beloved son, + but he of whom you complain is also my son.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, madame, I will go to find other counselors capable of feeling + for me and of aiding me.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, my son; and may God guide your counselors, for they will have need of + it to aid you in this strait.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, then, madame!” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Henri! I do not pretend to counsel you—you do not need me, I + know—but beg your counselors to reflect well before they advise, and + still more before they execute.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame, for the position is difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Very grave,” replied she, raising her eyes to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea who it was that carried him off?” Catherine did not + reply. + </p> + <p> + “I think it was the Angevins,” continued the king. + </p> + <p> + Catherine smiled scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “The Angevins!” + </p> + <p> + “You do not think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, really?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you think, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “To enlighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “Enlighten you! I am but a doting old woman, whose only influence lies in + her prayers and repentance.” + </p> + <p> + “No, mother; speak, you are the cleverest of us all.” + </p> + <p> + “Useless; I have only ideas of the last century; at my age it is + impossible I should give good counsel.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, mother, refuse me your counsel, deprive me of your aid. In an + hour I will hang all the Angevins in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang all the Angevins!” cried Catherine, in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, hang, slay, massacre, burn; already, perhaps, my friends are out to + begin the work.” + </p> + <p> + “They will ruin themselves, and you with them.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Blind! Will kings eternally have eyes, and not see?” + </p> + <p> + “Kings must avenge their injuries, it is but justice, and in this case all + my subjects will rise to defend me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “You will make oceans of blood flow. The standard of revolt will soon be + raised; and you will arm against you a host who never would rise for + François.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I do not revenge myself they will think I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Did any one ever think I was afraid? Besides, it was not the Angevins.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was it then? it must have been my brother’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother has no friends.” + </p> + <p> + “But who was it then?” + </p> + <p> + “Your enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “What enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “O! my son, you know you have never had but one; yours, mine, your brother + Charles’s; always the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Henri of Navarre, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Henri of Navarre.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not at Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who is at Paris, and who is not? No, you are all deaf and + blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Can it have been he?” + </p> + <p> + “My son, at every disappointment you meet with, at every misfortune that + happens to you of which the author is unknown, do not seek or conjecture; + it is useless. Cry out, it is Henri of Navarre, and you will be sure to be + right. Strike on the side where he is, and you will be sure to strike + right. Oh! that man, that man; he is the sword suspended over the head of + the Valois.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think I should countermand my orders about the Angevins?” + </p> + <p> + “At once, without losing an instant. Hasten; perhaps you are already too + late.” + </p> + <p> + Henry flew out of the Louvre to find his friends, but found only Chicot + drawing figures in the sand with a stone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW, AS CHICOT AND THE QUEEN MOTHER WERE AGREED, THE KING BEGAN TO AGREE + WITH THEM. + </h3> + <p> + “Is this how you defend your king?” cried Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is my manner, and I think it is a good one.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “I maintain it, and I will prove it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am curious to hear this proof.” + </p> + <p> + “It is easy; but first, we have committed a great folly.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” cried Henri, struck by the agreement between Chicot and his + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Chicot, “your friends are crying through the city, ‘Death + to the Angevins!’ and now that I reflect, it was never proved that they + had anything to do with the affair. And your friends, crying thus through + the city, will raise that nice little civil war of which MM. de Guise have + so much need, and which they did not succeed in raising for themselves. + Besides which, your friends may get killed, which would not displease me, + I confess, but which would afflict you, or else they will chase all the + Angevins from the city, which will please M. d’Anjou enormously.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think things are so bad?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if not worse.” + </p> + <p> + “But all this does not explain what you do here, sitting on a stone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am tracing a plan of all the provinces that your brother will raise + against you, and the number of men each will furnish to the revolt.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, Chicot, you are a bird of bad augury.” + </p> + <p> + “The owl sings at night, my son, it is his hour. Now it is dark, Henri, so + dark that one might take the day for the night, and I sing what you ought + to hear. Look!” + </p> + <p> + “At what?” + </p> + <p> + “My geographical plan. Here is Anjou, something like a tartlet, you see; + there your brother will take refuge. Anjou, well managed, as Monsoreau and + Bussy will manage it, will alone furnish to your brother ten thousand + combatants.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the minimum; let us pass to Guyenne; here it is, this figure like + a calf walking on one leg. Of course, you will not be astonished to find + discontent in Guyenne; it is an old focus for revolt, and will be + enchanted to rise. They can furnish 8,000 soldiers; that is not much, but + they are well trained. Then we have Béarn and Navarre; you see these two + compartments, which look like an ape on the back of an elephant—they + may furnish about 16,000. Let us count now—10,000 for Anjou, 8,000 + for Guyenne, 16,000 for Béarn and Navarre; making a total of 34,000.” + </p> + <p> + “You think, then, that the King of Navarre will join my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that he had anything to do with my brother’s escape?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot looked at him. “That is not your own idea, Henri.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “It is too clever, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind whose idea it was; answer my question.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I heard a ‘Ventre St. Gris’ in the Rue de la Ferronnerie.” + </p> + <p> + “You heard a ‘Ventre St. Gris!’ But it might not have been he.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw Henri of Navarre in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw my mortal enemy here, and did not tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a spy. Then there are the Guises; 20,000 or 25,000 men under the + orders of the Duc de Guise will make up altogether a nice little army.” + </p> + <p> + “But Henri of Navarre and the Duc de Guise are enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Which will not prevent them from uniting against you; they will be free + to fight with each other when they have conquered you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Chicot, and my mother is right. I will call the Swiss.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! Quelus has got them.” + </p> + <p> + “My guards, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Schomberg has them.” + </p> + <p> + “My household at least.” + </p> + <p> + “They have gone with Maugiron.” + </p> + <p> + “Without my orders?” + </p> + <p> + “And when do you ever give orders, except, perhaps, to flagellate either + your own skin, or that of others?—But about government.—Bah! + allow me to observe that you have been a long time finding out that you + rank seventh or eighth in this kingdom.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are!” cried the king, as three cavaliers approached, followed + by a crowd of men on foot and on horseback. + </p> + <p> + “Schomberg! Quelus! come here,” cried the king. They approached. + </p> + <p> + “I have been seeking you, and waiting for you impatiently. What have you + done? Do not go away again without my permission.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no more need,” said Maugiron, who now approached, “since all is + finished.” + </p> + <p> + “All is finished?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven be praised,” said D’Epernon, appearing all at once, no one knew + from whence. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have killed them?” cried the king; “well, at least the dead do + not return.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! we had not that trouble; the cowards ran away, we had scarcely time + to cross our swords with them.” + </p> + <p> + Henri grew pale. “With whom?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “With Antragues?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, he killed a lackey of Quelus’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured the king, “here is a civil war lighted up.” + </p> + <p> + Quelus started. “It is true,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Chicot. “You begin to perceive it, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “But, M. Chicot, you cried with us, ‘Death to the Angevins!’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that is a different thing; I am a fool, and you are clever men.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, peace, gentlemen; we shall have enough of war soon.” + </p> + <p> + “What are your majesty’s orders?” + </p> + <p> + “That you employ the same ardor in calming the people as you have done in + exciting them, and that you bring back all the Swiss, my guards, and my + household, and have the doors of the Louvre closed, so that perhaps + tomorrow the bourgeois may take the whole thing for a sortie of drunken + people.” + </p> + <p> + The young men went off, and Henri returned to his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said she, “what has passed?” + </p> + <p> + “All you foresaw, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “They have escaped?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What else?” + </p> + <p> + “Is not that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “The city?” + </p> + <p> + “Is in tumult; but that is not what disquiets me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is the provinces.” + </p> + <p> + “Which will revolt.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I see but one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “To withdraw the army from La Charité, and march on Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “And M. de Guise?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I will arrest him if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think violent measures will succeed?” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Your plan will not do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is your idea?” + </p> + <p> + “Send an ambassador.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “An ambassador to that traitor! You humiliate me, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “This is not a moment to be proud.” + </p> + <p> + “An ambassador will ask for peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Who will buy it if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “With what? mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + “If it were only to secure quietly, afterwards, those who have gone to + make war on you.” + </p> + <p> + “I would give much for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, the end is worth the means.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are right, mother; but whom shall I send?” + </p> + <p> + “Seek among your friends.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, I do not know a single man to whom I could confide such a + mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Confide it to a woman, then.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, would you consent?” + </p> + <p> + “My son, I am very old, and very weak, and death will perhaps await me on + my return; but I will make this journey so rapidly that your brother and + his friends will not have had time to learn their own power.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my good mother!” cried Henri, kissing her hands, “you are my support, + my benefactress!” + </p> + <p> + “That means that I am still Queen of France,” murmured she. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXIII. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT GRATITUDE WAS ONE OF ST. LUC’S VIRTUES. + </h3> + <p> + The next morning, M. de Monsoreau rose early, and descended into the + courtyard of the palace. He entered the stable, where Roland was in his + place. + </p> + <p> + “Are the horses of monseigneur taught to return to their stable alone?” + asked he of the man who stood there. + </p> + <p> + “No, M. le Comte.” + </p> + <p> + “But Roland did so yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is remarkably intelligent.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he ever done it before?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur; he is generally ridden by the Duc d’Anjou, who is a good + rider, and never gets thrown.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not thrown,” replied the count, “for I also am a good rider; no, I + tied him to a tree while I entered a house, and at my return he had + disappeared. I thought he had been stolen, or that some passer-by had + played a bad joke by carrying him away; that was why I asked how he + returned to the stable.” + </p> + <p> + “He returned alone, as monsieur said just now.” + </p> + <p> + “It is strange. Monseigneur often rides this horse, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly every day.” + </p> + <p> + “His highness returned late last night?” + </p> + <p> + “About an hour before you.” + </p> + <p> + “And what horse did he ride? was it a bay with a white star on his + forehead?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, he rode Isolin, which you see here.” + </p> + <p> + “And in the prince’s escort is there any one who rides such a horse as I + describe?” + </p> + <p> + “I know of no one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Monsoreau, impatiently, “saddle me Roland.” + </p> + <p> + “Roland?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, are there any orders against it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; on the contrary, I was told to let you have any horse you pleased.” + </p> + <p> + When Roland was saddled, Monsoreau said to the man, “What are your wages?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty crowns, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you earn ten times that sum at once?” + </p> + <p> + “I ask no better. But how?” + </p> + <p> + “Find out who rode yesterday the horse I described.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur, what you ask is very difficult, there are so many gentlemen + come here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but two hundred crowns are worth some trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, M. le Comte, and I will do my best to discover.” + </p> + <p> + “That is right, and here are ten crowns to encourage you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, M. le Comte.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell the prince I have gone to reconnoiter the wood for the chase.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he heard steps behind him, and turned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. de Bussy!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Why, M. le Comte, who would have thought of seeing you here!” + </p> + <p> + “And you, who they said was so ill.” + </p> + <p> + “So I am; my doctor orders absolute rest, and for a week I have not left + the city. Ah! you are going to ride Roland; I sold him to the duke, who is + very fond of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is an excellent animal; I rode him yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Which makes you wish for him again to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You were speaking of a chase.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the prince wishes for one.” + </p> + <p> + “Whereabouts is it to be?” + </p> + <p> + “Near Méridor. Will you come with me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, I do not feel well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried a voice from behind, “there is M. de Bussy out without + permission.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there is my doctor scolding. Adieu, comte.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy went away, and Monsoreau jumped into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” said Rémy; “you look so pale, I believe you are + really ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where he is going?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “To Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you hope he would not?” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! what will happen, after what he saw yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame de Monsoreau will deny everything.” + </p> + <p> + “But he saw her.” + </p> + <p> + “She will say he did not.” + </p> + <p> + “She will never have the courage.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, M. de Bussy, is it possible you do not know women better than that!” + </p> + <p> + “Rémy, I feel very ill.” + </p> + <p> + “So I see. Go home, and I will prescribe for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “A slice of fowl and ham, and some lobster.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am not hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “The more reason I should order you to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “Rémy, I fear that that wretch will make a great scene at Méridor. I ought + to have gone with him when he asked me.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To sustain Diana.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she will sustain herself. Besides, you ought not to be out; we agreed + you were too ill.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not help it, Rémy, I was so unquiet.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy carried him off, and made him sit down to a good breakfast. + </p> + <p> + M. de Monsoreau wished to see if it were chance or habit that had led + Roland to the park wall; therefore he left the bridle on his neck. Roland + took precisely the same road as on the previous day, and before very long + M. de Monsoreau found himself in the same spot as before. Only now the + place was solitary, and no horse was there. The count climbed the wall + again, but no one was to be seen; therefore, judging that it was useless + to watch for people on their guard, he went on to the park gates. The + baron, seeing his son-in-law coming over the drawbridge, advanced + ceremoniously to meet him. Diana, seated under a magnificent sycamore, was + reading poetry, while Gertrude was embroidering at her side. The count, + seeing them, got off his horse, and approached them. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said he, “will you grant me the favor of an interview?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “What calm, or rather what perfidy!” thought the count. + </p> + <p> + “Do you do us the honor of remaining at the chat?” asked the baron. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, until to-morrow, at least.” + </p> + <p> + The baron went away to give orders, and Diana reseated herself, while + Monsoreau took Gertrude’s chair, and, with a look sufficient to intimidate + most people, said: + </p> + <p> + “Madame, who was in the park with you yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “At what time?” said Diana, in a firm voice. + </p> + <p> + “At six.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Near the copse.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have been some one else, it was not I.” + </p> + <p> + “It was you, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the man’s name!” cried Monsoreau, furiously. + </p> + <p> + “What man?” + </p> + <p> + “The man who was walking with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell, if it was some other woman.” + </p> + <p> + “It was you, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you deny it? I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “You, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame, myself. And there is no other lady here.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong again; there is Jeanne de Brissac.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame de St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “And M. de St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Never leaves her; theirs was a love-match; you must have seen them.” + </p> + <p> + “It was not them; it was you, with some man whom I do not know, but whom I + will know, I swear. I heard your cry.” + </p> + <p> + “When you are more reasonable, monsieur, I shall be ready to hear you; at + present I will retire.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame, you shall stay.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, here are M. and Madame de St. Luc, I trust you will contain + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, M. and Madame de St. Luc approached. She bowed to Monsoreau, and + St. Luc gave him his hand; then, leaving his wife to Monsoreau, took + Diana, and after a walk they returned, warned by the bell for dinner, + which was early at Méridor, as the baron preserved the old customs. The + conversation was general, and turned naturally on the Duc d’Anjou, and the + movement his arrival had caused. Diana sat far from her husband, between + St. Luc and the baron. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0064" id="link2HCH0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXIV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE PROJECT OF M. DE ST. LUC. + </h3> + <p> + When the repast was over, Monsoreau took St. Luc’s arm and went out. “Do + you know,” said he, “that I am very happy to have found you here, for the + solitude of Méridor frightened me.” + </p> + <p> + “What, with your wife? As for me, with such a companion I should find a + desert delightful.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say no, but still——” + </p> + <p> + “Still, what?” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to have met you here.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, monsieur, you are very polite, for I cannot believe that you + could possibly fear ennui with such a companion, and such a country.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! I pass half my life in the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “The more reason for being fond of them, it seems to me. I know I shall be + very sorry to leave them; unluckily, I fear I shall be forced to do so + before long.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! monsieur, when is man the arbiter of his own destiny? He is like the + leaf of the tree, which the wind blows about. You are very fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “Fortunate; how?” + </p> + <p> + “To live amongst these splendid trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I do not think I shall stay here long; I am not so fond of nature, + and I fear these woods; I think they are not safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? on account of their loneliness, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not that, for I suppose you see friends here.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! really. How long is it since you had any visitor?” + </p> + <p> + “Not since I have been here.” + </p> + <p> + “Not one gentleman from the court at Angers?” + </p> + <p> + “Not one.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly; but why is not the park safe, are there bears here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Wolves?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Robbers?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. Tell me, monsieur, Madame de St. Luc seemed to me very pretty; + is she not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she often walk in the park?” + </p> + <p> + “Often; she adores the woods, like myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you accompany her?” + </p> + <p> + “Always.” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly always?” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you driving at?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh; mon Dieu, nothing; or, at least, a trifle.” + </p> + <p> + “I listen.” + </p> + <p> + “They told me——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “You will not be angry?” + </p> + <p> + “I never am so.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, between husbands, these confidences are right; they told me a + man had been seen wandering in the park.” + </p> + <p> + “A man.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Who came for my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I do not say that.” + </p> + <p> + “You would be wrong not to tell me, my dear Monsoreau. Who saw him? pray + tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! to tell you the truth, I do not think it was for Madame de St. Luc + that he came.” + </p> + <p> + “For whom, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I fear it is for Diana.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I should like that better.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; you know we husbands are an egotistical set. Everyone for + himself, and God for us all.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil rather.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think a man entered here?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “And I do more than think,” said St. Luc, “for I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw a man in the park?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “With Madame de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Just here to the left.” And as they had walked down to the old copse, St. + Luc pointed out the spot where Bussy always came over. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” continued he, “here is a wall in a bad state; I must warn the + baron.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you suspect?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of climbing over here to talk to my wife.” St. Luc seemed to reflect. + </p> + <p> + “Diable!” said he, “it could only have been——” + </p> + <p> + “Whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you joking, M. de St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, no; when I was first married I did such things.” + </p> + <p> + “Come! you are trying to put me off; but do not fear, I have courage. Help + me to seek, you will do me an immense favor.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc shook his head. “It must have been you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Do not jest, I beg of you; the thing is serious.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! and how does this man come?” + </p> + <p> + “Secretly.” + </p> + <p> + “Often?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so; look at the marks in the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suspected it, but I always fancied it was you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I believe you, my dear sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then——” + </p> + <p> + “It must have been some one else.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau began to look black, but St. Luc preserved his easy nonchalance. + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “If it were——” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “But, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray speak.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duc d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so at first, but I have made inquiries, and it could not have + been he.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! he is very cunning.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it was not he.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “I have another idea; if it was neither you nor the duke, it must have + been I.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You to come on horseback to the outside of the park, when you live + inside!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu! I am such a capricious being.” + </p> + <p> + “You, who fled away when you saw me!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! any one would do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you were doing wrong,” cried the count, no longer able to keep in + his anger. + </p> + <p> + “I do not say so.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mocking me,” cried the count, growing very pale, “and have been + doing so for a quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, monsieur,” said St. Luc, drawing out his watch, and + looking steadily at him; “it has been twenty minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “You insult me.” + </p> + <p> + “And you insult me with your questions like a constable.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! now I see clearly.” + </p> + <p> + “How wonderful, at ten o’clock in the morning. But what do you see?” + </p> + <p> + “I see that you act in concert with the traitor, the coward, whom I saw + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so; he is my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will kill you in his place.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! in your own house, and without crying, gare. Ah! M. de Monsoreau, + how badly you have been brought up, and how living among beasts spoils the + manners.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not see that I am furious?” howled the count. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, I do see it, and it does not become you at all; you look + frightful.” + </p> + <p> + The count drew his sword. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said St. Luc, “you try to provoke me; you see I am perfectly calm.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do provoke you.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the trouble to get over the wall; on the other side we shall be on + neutral ground.” + </p> + <p> + “What do I care!” + </p> + <p> + “I do; I do not want to kill you in your own house.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well!” said Monsoreau, climbing over. + </p> + <p> + “Take care; pray do not hurt yourself, my dear count; those stones are + loose,” said St. Luc. Then he also got over. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0065" id="link2HCH0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW M. DE ST. LUC SHOWED M. DE MONSOREAU THE THRUST THAT THE KING HAD + TAUGHT HIM. + </h3> + <p> + “Are you ready?” cried Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have the sun in my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Move then; I warn you I shall kill you.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you really? Well, man proposes, and God disposes. Look at that bed + of poppies and dandelions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I mean to lay you there.” And he laughed as he drew his sword. + Monsoreau began the combat furiously, but St. Luc parried his thrusts + skilfully. + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! M. de Monsoreau,” said he, “you use your sword very well; you + might kill any one but Bussy or me.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “As for me,” continued St. Luc, “the king, who loves me, took the trouble + to give me a great many lessons, and showed me, among other things, a + thrust, which you shall see presently. I tell you, that you may have the + pleasure of knowing you are killed by the king’s method; it is very + flattering.” And then suddenly he rushed furiously on Monsoreau, who, half + wild with rage as he was, parried five thrusts, but received the sixth + full in his chest. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said St. Luc, “you will fall just where I told you,” as Monsoreau + sank down on the poppies. Then, wiping his sword, he stood quietly by, + watching the changes which came over the face of the dying man. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have killed me!” cried Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “I intended to do so, but now I see you dying, devil take me if I am not + sorry for what I have done. You are horribly jealous, it is true, but you + were brave. Have you any last wish? If so, tell it to me; and, on the + faith of a gentleman, it shall be executed. Are you thirsty? Shall I get + you water?” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau did not reply. He turned over with his face to the earth, biting + the ground, and struggling in his blood. Then he tried to raise his head, + but fell back with a groan. + </p> + <p> + “Come, he is dead; let me think no more about him. Ah! but that is not so + easy, when you have killed a man.” And jumping back over the wall, he went + to the château. The first person he saw was Diana talking to his wife. + </p> + <p> + “How well she will look in black,” thought he. Then, approaching them, + “Pardon me,” said he, “but may I say a few words to Jeanne?” + </p> + <p> + “Do so; I will go to my father,” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Jeanne, when Diana was gone; “you look rather gloomy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu! an accident.” + </p> + <p> + “To you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not precisely to me, but to a person who was near me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “The person I was walking with.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes; poor dear man.” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” cried Jeanne, starting back in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “He who was here just now talking——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is just the cause of his death; he talked too much.” + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc, you are hiding something from me!” cried Jeanne, seizing his + hands. + </p> + <p> + “I! Nothing; not even the place where he lies.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Down there behind the wall; just where Bussy used to tie his horse.” + </p> + <p> + “It was you who killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu! that is not very difficult to discover.” + </p> + <p> + “Unlucky that you are!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, dear friend! he provoked me, insulted me, drew the sword first.” + </p> + <p> + “It is dreadful! the poor man!” + </p> + <p> + “Good; I was sure of it; before a week is over he will be called St. + Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot stay here in the house of the man you have killed.” + </p> + <p> + “So I thought at once, and that is why I came to ask you to get ready.” + </p> + <p> + “He has not wounded you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am perfectly unhurt.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, we will go.” + </p> + <p> + “As quickly as possible, for you know the accident may be discovered at + any moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Diana is a widow.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what I thought of.” + </p> + <p> + “After you killed him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, before.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will go and tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “Spare her feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not laugh. Meanwhile you get the horses saddled. But where shall we + go?” + </p> + <p> + “To Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “But the king?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! he will have forgotten everything by this time; besides, if there is + to be war, as seems probable, he will be glad of me. But I must have pen + and ink.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “To write to Bussy; I cannot leave Anjou without telling him why.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not; you will find all that you require in my room.” St. + Luc went in, and wrote,— + </p> + <h3> + “DEAR FRIEND, + </h3> + <p> + “You will learn, by report, ere long, the accident which has happened to + M. de Monsoreau; we had together, by the old copse, a discussion on + broken-down walls and horses that go home alone. In the heat of the + argument, he fell on a bed of poppies and dandelions so hard that he died + there. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend for life, + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “P. S. As you may think this rather improbable, I must add that we had our + swords in our hands. I set off at once for Paris to make peace with the + king, Anjou not seeming to me very safe after what has occurred.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes after a servant set off for Angers with this letter, while M. + and Madame de St. Luc went out by another door, leaving Diana much grieved + at their departure, and much embarrassed how to tell the baron what had + occurred. She had turned away her eyes from St. Luc as he passed. + </p> + <p> + “That is the reward for serving your friends,” said he to his wife; + “decidedly all people are ungrateful excepting me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0066" id="link2HCH0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXVI. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH WE SEE THE QUEEN-MOTHER ENTER THE TOWN OF ANGERS, BUT NOT + TRIUMPHANTLY. + </h3> + <p> + At the same time that M. de Monsoreau fell under the sword of St. Luc, a + flourish of trumpets sounded at the closed gates of Angers. It was + Catherine de Medicis, who arrived there with rather a large suite. They + sent to tell Bussy, who rose from his bed, and went to the prince, who + immediately got into his. Certainly the airs played by the trumpets were + fine, but they had not the virtue of those which made the walls of Jericho + fall, for the gates did not open. Catherine leaned out of her litter to + show herself to the guards, hoping the sight of her would do more than the + sound of the trumpets. They saw her, and saluted her courteously, but did + not open the gates. Then she sent a gentleman to demand admittance, but + they replied that Angers being in a state of war, the gates could not be + opened without some necessary formalities. Catherine was furious. At last + Bussy appeared, with five other gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “Who is there?” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “It is her majesty the queen mother, who has come to visit Angers.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, go to the left, and about eighty steps off you will find the + postern.” + </p> + <p> + “A postern for her majesty!” cried the gentleman. But Bussy was no longer + there to hear, he and his friends had ridden off towards the indicated + spot. + </p> + <p> + “Did your majesty hear?” asked the gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, monsieur, I heard; let us go there, if that be the only way to + get in.” + </p> + <p> + The cortege turned to the left, and the postern opened. + </p> + <p> + “Your majesty is welcome to Angers,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, M. de Bussy,” said the queen, descending from her litter, and + advancing towards the little door. Bussy stopped her. “Take care, madame,” + said he, “the door is low, and you will hurt yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Must I then stoop?” replied she; “it is the first time I ever entered a + city so.” + </p> + <p> + Once through the gate she re-entered her litter to go to the palace, Bussy + and his friends escorting her. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my son?” cried she; “why do I not see M. d’Anjou?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur is ill, madame, or else your majesty cannot doubt that he + would have come himself to do the honors of his city.” + </p> + <p> + Catherine was sublime in hypocrisy. + </p> + <p> + “Ill—my poor child, ill!” cried she; “ah! let us hasten to him; is + he well taken care of?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame, we do our best.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he suffer?” + </p> + <p> + “Horribly, he is subject to these sudden indispositions.” + </p> + <p> + “It was sudden, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! yes, madame.” + </p> + <p> + When they arrived at the palace, Bussy ran up first to the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Here she is!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Is she furious?” + </p> + <p> + “Exasperated.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she complain?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she does worse, she smiles.” + </p> + <p> + “What do the people say?” + </p> + <p> + “They looked at her in mute terror; now, monseigneur, be careful.” + </p> + <p> + “We stick to war?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu, ask one hundred to get ten, and with her you will only get + five.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! you think me very weak. Are you all here? Where is Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he is at Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Her majesty the queen mother!” cried the usher at the door. + </p> + <p> + Catherine entered, looking pale. The duke made a movement to rise, but she + threw herself into his arms and half stifled him with kisses. She did more—she + wept. + </p> + <p> + “We must take care,” said Antragues to Ribeirac, “each tear will be paid + for by blood.” + </p> + <p> + Catherine now sat down on the foot of the bed. At a sign from Bussy + everyone went away but himself. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not go and look after my poor attendants, M. de Bussy? you who + are at home here,” said the queen. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible not to go, so he replied, “I am happy to please your + majesty,” and he also retired. + </p> + <p> + Catherine wished to discover whether her son were really ill or feigning. + But he, worthy son of such a mother, played his part to perfection. She + had wept, he had a fever. Catherine, deceived, thought him really ill, and + hoped to have more influence over a mind weakened by suffering. She + overwhelmed him with tenderness, embraced him, and wept so much that at + last he asked her the reason. + </p> + <p> + “You have run so great a risk,” replied she. + </p> + <p> + “In escaping from the Louvre, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, after.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Those who aided you in this unlucky escape——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Were your most cruel enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “She wishes to find out who it was,” thought he. + </p> + <p> + “The King of Navarre,” continued she, “the eternal scourge of our race——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! she knows.” + </p> + <p> + “He boasts of having gained much by it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is impossible, for he had nothing to do with it; and if he had, I am + quite safe, as you see. I have not seen the King of Navarre for two + years.” + </p> + <p> + “It was not only of danger I spoke!” + </p> + <p> + “Of what, then?” replied the duke, smiling, as he saw the tapestry shake + behind the queen. + </p> + <p> + “The king’s anger,” said she, in a solemn voice; “the furious anger which + menaces you——” + </p> + <p> + “This danger is something like the other, madame; he may be furious, but I + am safe here.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it; your majesty has announced it to me yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because if you had been charged only with menaces, you would not have + come, and the king in that case would have hesitated to place such a + hostage in my hands.” + </p> + <p> + “A hostage! I!” cried she, terrified. + </p> + <p> + “A most sacred and venerable one,” replied the duke, with a triumphant + glance at the wall. + </p> + <p> + Catherine was baffled, but she did not know that Bussy was encouraging the + duke by signs. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” said she at length, “you are quite right; they are words of + peace I bring to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I listen, mother, and I think we shall now begin to understand each + other.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0067" id="link2HCH0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXVII. + </h2> + <h3> + LITTLE CAUSES AND GREAT EFFECTS. + </h3> + <p> + Catherine had, as we have seen, had the worst of the argument. She was + surprised, and began to wonder if her son were really as decided as he + appeared to be, when a slight event changed the aspect of affairs. Bussy + had been, as we said, encouraging the prince secretly at every word that + he thought dangerous to his cause. Now his cause was war at any price, for + he wished to stay in Anjou, watch M. de Monsoreau, and visit his wife. The + duke feared Bussy, and was guided by him. Suddenly, however, Bussy felt + himself pulled by his cloak; he turned and saw Rémy, who drew him gently + towards him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Rémy?” said he impatiently. “Why disturb me at such a + moment?” + </p> + <p> + “A letter.” + </p> + <p> + “And for a letter you take me from this important conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “It is from Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! thank you, my good Rémy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I was not wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what made me think it of importance; the messenger would only + give it to you yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him in.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy opened the door, and a servant entered. + </p> + <p> + “Here is M. de Bussy,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know him well,” said the man, giving the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Did she give it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; M. de St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + As Bussy read, he grew first pale, then crimson. Rémy dismissed the + servant, and Bussy, with a bewildered look, held out the letter to him. + </p> + <p> + “See,” said he, “what St. Luc has done for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Rémy, “this appears to me to be very good and St. Luc is a + gallant fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “It is incredible!” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; but that is nothing. Here is our position quite changed; I + shall have a Comtesse de Bussy for a patient.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she shall be my wife. So he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “So, you see, it is written.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it seems like a dream, Rémy. What! shall I see no more that specter, + always coming between me and happiness? It cannot be true.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true; read again, ‘he died there.’” + </p> + <p> + “But Diana cannot stay at Méridor—I do not wish it; she must go + where she will forget him.” + </p> + <p> + “Paris will be best; people soon forget at Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; we will return to the little house in the Rue des + Tournelles, and she shall pass there her months of widowhood in + obscurity.” + </p> + <p> + “But to go to Paris you must have——” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Peace in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “True; oh, mon Dieu! what time lost.” + </p> + <p> + “That means that you are going at once to Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not I, but you; I must stay here; besides, she might not like my + presence just now.” + </p> + <p> + “How shall I see her? Shall I go to the castle?” + </p> + <p> + “No; go first to the old copse and see if she is there; if she is not then + go to the castle.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Say that I am half mad.” And pressing the young man’s hand, he returned + to his place behind the tapes try. + </p> + <p> + Catherine had been trying to regain her ground. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” she had said, “it seemed to me that a mother and son could not + fail to understand each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you see that happens sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Never when she wishes it.” + </p> + <p> + “When they wish it, you mean,” said the duke, seeking a sign of + approbation from Bussy for his boldness. + </p> + <p> + “But I wish it, my son, and am willing to make any sacrifices to attain + peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear child. What do you ask?—what do you demand? Speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my mother!” said François, almost embarrassed at his own easy + victory. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, my son. You do not wish to drown the kingdom in blood—it is + not possible; you are neither a bad Frenchman nor a bad brother.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother insulted me, madame, and I owe him nothing, either as my + brother or king.” + </p> + <p> + “But I, François—you cannot complain of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame, you abandoned me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you wish to kill me. Well, a mother does not care to live to see her + children murder each other!” cried Catherine, who wished very much to + live. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not say that, madame, you tear my heart!” cried François, whose + heart was not torn at all. + </p> + <p> + Catherine burst into tears. The duke took her hands, and tried to reassure + her, not without uneasy glances towards the tapestry. + </p> + <p> + “But what do you want or ask for, mother? I will listen,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to return to Paris, dear child, to return to your brother’s + court, who will receive you with open arms.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame, it is not he whose arms are open to receive me—it is + the Bastile.” + </p> + <p> + “No; return, and on my honor, on my love as a mother, I solemnly swear + that you shall be received by the king as though you were king and he the + Duc d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + The duke looked to the tapestry. + </p> + <p> + “Accept, my son; you will have honors, guards.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, madame, your son gave me guards—his four minions!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not reply so; you shall choose your own guards, and M. de. Bussy shall + be their captain, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Again the duke glanced to the wall, and, to his surprise, saw Bussy + smiling and applauding by every possible method. + </p> + <p> + “What is the meaning of this change?” thought the duke; “is it that he may + be captain of my guards? Then must I accept?” said he aloud, as though + talking to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” signed Bussy, with head and hands. + </p> + <p> + “Quit Anjou, and return to Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” signed Bussy, more decidedly than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless, dear child,” said Catherine, “it is not disagreeable to return + to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will reflect,” said the duke, who wished to consult with Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “I have won,” thought Catherine. + </p> + <p> + They embraced once more, and separated. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0068" id="link2HCH0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW M. DE MONSOREAU OPENED AND SHUT HIS EYES, WHICH PROVED THAT HE WAS NOT + DEAD. + </h3> + <p> + Rémy rode along, wondering in what humor he should find Diana, and what he + should say to her. He had just arrived at the park wall, when his horse, + which had been trotting, stopped so suddenly that, had he not been a good + rider, he would have been thrown over his head. Rémy, astonished, looked + to see the cause, and saw before him a pool of blood, and a little further + on, a body, lying against the wall. “It is Monsoreau!” cried he; “how + strange! he lies dead there, and the blood is down here. Ah! there is the + track; he must have crawled there, or rather that good M. de St. Luc + leaned him up against the wall that the blood might not fly to his head. + He died with his eyes open, too.” + </p> + <p> + All at once Rémy started back in horror; the two eyes, that he had seen + open, shut again, and a paleness more livid than ever spread itself over + the face of the defunct. Rémy became almost as pale as M. de Monsoreau, + but, as he was a doctor, he quickly recovered his presence of mind, and + said to himself that if Monsoreau moved his eyes, it showed he was not + dead. “And yet I have read,” thought he, “of strange movements after + death. This devil of a fellow frightens one even after death. Yes, his + eyes are quite closed; there is one method of ascertaining whether he is + dead or not, and that is to shove my sword into him, and if he does not + move, he is certainly dead.” And Rémy was preparing for this charitable + action, when suddenly the eyes opened again. Rémy started back, and the + perspiration rolled off his forehead as he murmured, “He is not dead; we + are in a nice position. Yes, but if I kill him he will be dead.” And he + looked at Monsoreau, who seemed also to be looking at him earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Rémy, “I cannot do it. God knows that if he were upright + before me I would kill him with all my heart; but as he is now, helpless + and three parts dead, it would be an infamy.” + </p> + <p> + “Help!” murmured Monsoreau, “I am dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Mordieu!” thought Rémy, “my position is embarrassing. I am a doctor, and, + as such, bound to succor my fellow-creatures when they suffer. It is true + that Monsoreau is so ugly that he can scarcely be called a + fellow-creature, still he is a man. Come, I must forget that I am the + friend of M. de Bussy, and do my duty as a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Help!” repeated the wounded man. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch me a priest and a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor is here, and perhaps he will dispense with the priest.” + </p> + <p> + “Rémy,” said Monsoreau, “by what chance—” + </p> + <p> + Rémy understood all the question might mean. This was no beaten road, and + no one was likely to come without particular business. + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu!” he replied, “a mile or two off I met M. de St. Luc——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my murderer.” + </p> + <p> + “And he said, ‘Rémy, go to the old copse, there you will find a man + dead.’” + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he thought so; well, I came here and saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, tell me frankly, am I mortally wounded?” + </p> + <p> + “I will try to find out.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy approached him carefully, took off his cloak, his doublet and shirt. + The sword had penetrated between the sixth and seventh ribs. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suffer much?” + </p> + <p> + “In my back, not in my chest.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, let me see; where?” + </p> + <p> + “Below the shoulder bone.” + </p> + <p> + “The steel must have come against a bone.” And he began to examine. “No, I + am wrong,” said he, “the sword came against nothing, but passed right + through.” Monsoreau fainted after this examination. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is all right,” said Rémy, “syncope, low pulse, cold in the hands + and legs: Diable! the widowhood of Madame de Monsoreau will not last long, + I fear.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a slight bloody foam rose to the lips of the wounded man. + </p> + <p> + Rémy drew from his pocket his lancet case; then tearing off a strip from + the patient’s shirt, bound it round his arm. + </p> + <p> + “We shall see,” said he, “if the blood flows. Ah, it does! and I believe + that Madame de Monsoreau will not be a widow. Pardon, my dear M. de Bussy, + but I am a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the patient breathed, and opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” stammered he, “I thought all was over.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, my dear monsieur; it is even possible——” + </p> + <p> + “That I live!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu! yes; but let me close the wound. Stop; do not move; nature + at this moment is aiding my work. I make the blood flow, and she stops it. + Ah! nature is a great doctor, my dear sir. Let me wipe your lips. See the + bleeding has stopped already. Good; all goes well, or rather badly.” + </p> + <p> + “Badly!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not for you; but I know what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “You think I shall get well?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a singular doctor, M. Rémy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, as long as I cure you,” said he, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Do not abandon me,” said the count. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you talk too much. Diable! I ought to tell him to cry out.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; your wound is dressed. Now I will go to the castle and fetch + assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “And what must I do meanwhile?” + </p> + <p> + “Keep quite still; do not stir; breathe lightly, and try not to cough. + Which is the nearest house?” + </p> + <p> + “The château de Méridor.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the way to it?” said Rémy, affecting ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “Get over the wall, and you will find yourself in the park.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; I go.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, generous man.” + </p> + <p> + “Generous, indeed, if you only knew all.” + </p> + <p> + He soon arrived at the château, where all the inhabitants were busy + looking for the body of the count; for St. Luc had given them a wrong + direction. Rémy came among them like a thunderbolt, and was so eager to + bring them to the rescue, that Diana looked at him with surprise, “I + thought he was Bussy’s friend,” murmured she, as Rémy disappeared, + carrying with him a wheelbarrow, lint and water. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0069" id="link2HCH0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXIX. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW M. LE DUC D’ANJOU WENT TO MÉRIDOR TO CONGRATULATE MADAME DE MONSOREAU + ON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, AND FOUND HIM THERE BEFORE HIM. + </h3> + <p> + As soon as the duke left his mother, he hastened to Bussy to know the + meaning of all his signs. Bussy, who was reading St. Luc’s letter for the + fifth time, received the prince with a gracious smile. + </p> + <p> + “How! monseigneur takes the trouble to come to my house to seek me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes mordieu, I want an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “From me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I listen, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “You tell me to steel myself against the suggestions of my mother, and to + sustain the attack valiantly. I do so; and in the hottest of the fight you + tell me to surrender.” + </p> + <p> + “I gave you all those charges, monseigneur, because I was ignorant of the + object for which your mother came; but now that I see that she has come to + promote your highness’s honor and glory——” + </p> + <p> + “How! what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless: what does your highness want? To triumph over your enemies, do + you not? For I do not believe, as some people say, that you wish to become + King of France.” + </p> + <p> + The duke looked sullen. + </p> + <p> + “Some might counsel you to it, but believe me they are your most cruel + enemies. Consider for yourself, monseigneur; have you one hundred thousand + men—ten millions of livres—alliance with foreigners—and, + above all, would you turn against your king?” + </p> + <p> + “My king did not hesitate to turn against me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there you are right. Well! declare yourself—get crowned—take + the title of King of France—and if you succeed, I ask no better; I + should grow great with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who speaks of being king?” cried the duke, angrily; “you discuss a + question which I have never proposed, even to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, that is settled. Let them give you a guard and five hundred + thousand livres. Obtain, before peace is signed, a subsidy from Anjou, to + carry on the war. Once you have it, you can keep it. So, we should have + arms and money, and we could do——God knows what.” + </p> + <p> + “But once they have me at Paris, they will laugh at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! impossible, monseigneur; did you not hear what the queen mother + offered you?” + </p> + <p> + “She offered me many things.” + </p> + <p> + “That disquiets you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But, among other things, she offered you a company of guards, even if I + commanded it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she offered that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, accept; I will be captain; Antragues and Livarot lieutenants; and + Ribeirac ensign. Let us get up your company for you, and see if they dare + to laugh at you then.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! I believe you are right, Bussy; I will think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you reading so attentively when I came in?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a letter, which interests you still more than me. Where the devil + were my brains, that I did not show it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sad news, monseigneur; Monsoreau is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the duke, with a surprise which Bussy thought was a joyful + one. + </p> + <p> + “Dead, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau!” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! yes; are we not all mortal?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but so suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but if you are killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, he was killed?” + </p> + <p> + “So it seems; and by St. Luc, with whom he quarreled.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that dear St. Luc!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not think he was one of your highness’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is my brother’s, and, since we are to be reconciled, his friends + are mine. But are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “As sure as I can be. Here is a letter from St. Luc, announcing it; and I + have sent Rémy, my doctor, to present my condolences to the old baron.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Monsoreau!” cried the prince, with his malignant smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why monseigneur, one would say you hated the poor count.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it was you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did; did he not humiliate me through you?” + </p> + <p> + “You remember it still.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, monseigneur, whose friend and tool he was——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, get my horse saddled, Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To go to Méridor; I wish to pay a visit to Madame Monsoreau. I have been + projecting one for some time, and I do not know why it has not taken place + sooner.” + </p> + <p> + “Now Monsoreau is dead,” thought Bussy, “I do not care; I will protect + Diana. I will go with him, and see her.” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour after, the prince, Bussy, and ten gentlemen rode to + Méridor, with that pleasure which fine weather, turf, and youth always + inspire in men on horseback. + </p> + <p> + The porter at the château came to ask the names of the visitors. + </p> + <p> + “The Duc d’Anjou,” replied the prince. + </p> + <p> + The porter blew his horn, and soon windows were opened, and they heard the + noise of bolts and bars as the door was unfastened, and the old baron + appeared on the threshold, holding in his hand a bunch of keys. + Immediately behind him stood a lady. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there is the beautiful Diana!” cried the duke; “do you see her, + Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + Diana, indeed, came out of the house, and behind her came a litter, on + which lay Monsoreau, his eyes shining with fever and jealousy as he was + carried along. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” cried the duke to his companion, who had turned + whiter than the handkerchief with which he was trying to hide his emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Long live the Duc d’Anjou!” cried Monsoreau, raising his hand in the air + by a violent effort. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, you will hurt yourself,” said a voice behind him. It was Rémy. + </p> + <p> + Surprise does not last long at court, so, with a smile, the duke said, + “Oh, my dear count, what a happy surprise! Do you know we heard you were + dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Come near, monseigneur, and let me kiss your hand. Thank God, not only I + am not dead, but I shall live; I hope to serve you with more ardor than + ever.” + </p> + <p> + As for Bussy, he felt stunned, and scarcely dared to look at Diana. This + treasure, twice lost to him, belonged still to his rival. + </p> + <p> + “And you, M. de Bussy,” said Monsoreau, “receive my thanks, for it is + almost to you that I owe my life.” + </p> + <p> + “To me!” stammered the young man, who thought the count was mocking him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indirectly, it is true, for here is my saviour,” said he, turning to + Rémy, who would willingly have sunk into the earth. Then, in spite of his + signs, which he took for precautions to himself, he recounted the care and + skill which the young doctor had exhibited towards him. + </p> + <p> + The duke frowned, and Bussy looked thunders. The poor fellow raised his + hands to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “I hear,” continued the count, “that Rémy one day found you dying, as he + found me. It is a tie of friendship between us, M. de Bussy, and when + Monsoreau loves, he loves well; it is true that when he hates, it is also + with all his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then,” said the duke, getting off his horse, “deign, beautiful + Diana, to do us the honors of the house, which we thought to find in + grief, but which we find still the abode of joy. As for you, Monsoreau, + rest—you require it.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur!” said the count, “it shall never be said that Monsoreau, + while he lived, allowed another to do the honors of his house to you; my + servants will carry me, and wherever you go, I shall follow.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy approached Diana, and Monsoreau smiled; he took her hand, and he + smiled again. It was only the duke he feared. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a great change, M. le Comte,” said Diana. + </p> + <p> + “Alas! why is it not greater!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0070" id="link2HCH0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXX. + </h2> + <h3> + THE INCONVENIENCE OF LARGE LITTERS AND NARROW DOORS. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy did not quit Diana; the smiles of Monsoreau gave him a liberty which + he was only too glad to make use of. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said he to Diana, “I am in truth the most miserable of men. On + the news of his death, I advised the prince to return to Paris, and to + come to terms with his mother; he did so, and now you remain in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Louis,” replied she, “we dare not say that we are unhappy; so many + happy days, so many joys—do you forget them all?” + </p> + <p> + “I forget nothing, madame; on the contrary, I remember but too much, and + that is why I suffer as I do at losing this happiness. What shall I do if + I return to Paris, a hundred leagues from you? My heart sinks at the + thought, Diana.” + </p> + <p> + Diana looked at him, and saw so much grief in his eyes, that she said, + “Well, if you go to Paris, I will go also.” + </p> + <p> + “How! will you quit M. de Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he would not allow me to do so; he must come with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Wounded, ill as he is? Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “He will come, I tell you.” And, leaving Bussy, she went to the prince. + The count frowned dreadfully. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said she, “they say your highness is fond of flowers; if + you will come with me, I will show you the most beautiful in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + The duke offered her his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you about to take monseigneur?” asked Monsoreau uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Into the greenhouse.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! well, carry me there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi!” thought Rémy, “I was right not to kill him, for he will soon + kill himself.” + </p> + <p> + Diana smiled on Bussy, and said to him, in a low voice, “Do not let M. de + Monsoreau suspect that you are about to leave Anjou, and I will manage + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said Bussy, and approaching the prince, he whispered, “Do not let + Monsoreau know that we intend to make peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he might tell the queen-mother, to make a friend of her.” + </p> + <p> + “You suspect him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so do I; I believe he only counterfeited death to deceive us.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he really received a sword-thrust through his body, and but for that + fool of a Rémy, he would have died; I believe his soul must be glued to + his body.” + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the conservatory, and Diana continued to smile charmingly + on the prince. He passed first, then Diana, and Monsoreau wished to + follow, but it was impossible. His litter was too large to go through the + door. At this sight he uttered a groan. Diana went on quietly, without + looking at him, but Bussy, who understood her, said to him: + </p> + <p> + “It is useless to try, M. le Comte, your litter will not pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur!” cried Monsoreau, “do not go into that conservatory, some of + the flowers exhale dangerous perfumes.” + </p> + <p> + Then he fainted, and was carried to his room. + </p> + <p> + Bussy went to tell Diana what had happened, and she left the duke to go to + the castle. + </p> + <p> + “Have we succeeded?” said Bussy to her as she passed. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so; do not go away without having seen Gertrude.” + </p> + <p> + When Monsoreau opened his eyes again, he saw Diana standing at his + bedside. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, madame,” said he, “to-night we leave for Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy cried out in horror, but Monsoreau paid no attention. + </p> + <p> + “Can you think of such a thing, with your wound?” said Diana, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I would rather die than suffer, and were I to die on the road, we + start to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Then make your preparations.” + </p> + <p> + “My preparations are soon made, but may I ask the reason of this sudden + determination?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you, madame, when you have no more flowers to show to the + prince, and when my doors are large enough to admit litters.” + </p> + <p> + Diana bowed. + </p> + <p> + “But, madame——” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte wishes it,” replied she, “and my duty is to obey.” And she + left the room. + </p> + <p> + As the duke was making his adieux to the Baron de Méridor, Gertrude + appeared, and said aloud to the duke that her mistress regretted that she + could not have the honor of saying farewell to his highness; and softly to + Bussy that Diana would set off for Paris that evening. As they went home + again, the duke felt unwilling to leave Anjou now that Diana smiled on + him. Therefore he said, “I have been reflecting, Bussy,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “On what, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “That it is not wise to give in at once to my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, she thinks herself clever enough without that.” + </p> + <p> + “But by dragging it on for a week, and giving fêtes, and calling the + liability around us, she will see how strong we are.” + </p> + <p> + “Well reasoned, but still——” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay here a week; depend upon it I shall draw new concessions from + the queen.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy appeared to reflect. “Well, monseigneur,” said he, “perhaps you are + right, but the king, not knowing your intentions, may become annoyed; he + is very irascible.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, but I shall send some one to the king to announce my + return in a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that some one will run great risks.” + </p> + <p> + “If I change my mind, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and in spite of your promise, you would do so if you thought it your + interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they will send your messenger to the Bastile.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give him a letter, and not let him know what he is carrying.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, give him no letter, and let him know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then no one will go.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “I, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like difficult negotiations.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy, my dear Bussy, if you will do that, I shall be eternally + grateful.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy smiled. The duke thought he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “And I will give you ten thousand crowns for your journey,” added he. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, monseigneur, but these things cannot be paid for.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you like.” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better.” + </p> + <p> + “This evening if you wish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I would do anything for your highness. I will go to-night; you + stay here and enjoy yourself, and get me something good from the + queen-mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not forget.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy then prepared to depart as soon as the signal arrived from Méridor. + It did not come till the next morning, for the count had felt himself so + feeble that he had been forced to take a night’s rest. But early in the + morning a messenger came to announce to Bussy that the count had set off + for Paris in a litter, followed on horseback by Rémy, Diana, and Gertrude. + Bussy jumped on his horse, and took the same road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0071" id="link2HCH0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXI. + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT TEMPER THE KING WAS IN WHEN ST. LUC REAPPEARED AT THE LOUVRE. + </h3> + <p> + Since the departure of Catherine, Henri, however, confident in his + ambassador, had thought only of arming himself against the attacks of his + brother. He amused, or rather ennuyéd, himself by drawing up long lists of + proscriptions, in which were inscribed in alphabetical order all who had + not shown themselves zealous for his cause. The lists became longer every + day, and at the S—— and the L——, that is to say, + twice over, was inscribed the name of M. de St. Luc. Chicot, in the midst + of all this, was, little by little, and man by man, enrolling an army for + his master. One evening Chicot entered the room where the king sat at + supper. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “At Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “At the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The king rose, red and agitated. + </p> + <p> + “What has he come for? The traitor!” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + “He comes, I am sure, as deputy from the states of Anjou—as an envoy + from my rebellious brother. He makes use of the rebellion as a safe + conduct to come here and insult me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Or perhaps he comes to ask me for his property, of which I have kept back + the revenues, which may have been rather an abuse of power, as, after all, + he has committed no crime.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you repeat eternally the same thing; mort de ma vie! you tire my + patience out with your eternal ‘Who knows?’” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! mordieu! do you think you are very amusing with your eternal + questions?” + </p> + <p> + “At least you might reply something.” + </p> + <p> + “And what should I reply? Do you take me for an ancient oracle? It is you + who are tiresome with your foolish suppositions.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “M. Henri.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, my friend, you see my grief and you laugh at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not have any grief.” + </p> + <p> + “But everyone betrays me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? Ventre de biche! who knows?” + </p> + <p> + Henri went down to his cabinet, where, at the news of his return, a number + of gentlemen had assembled, who were looking at St. Luc with evident + distrust and animosity. He, however, seemed quite unmoved by this. He had + brought his wife with him also, and she was seated, wrapped in her + traveling-cloak, when the king entered in an excited state. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur, you here!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire,” replied St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Really, your presence at the Louvre surprises me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I am only surprised that, under the circumstances, your majesty did + not expect me.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, your majesty is in danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Danger!” cried the courtiers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, gentlemen, a real, serious danger, in which the king has need of the + smallest as well as the greatest of those devoted to him; therefore I come + to lay at his feet my humble services.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Chicot, “you see, my son, that I was right to say, ‘who + knows.’” + </p> + <p> + Henri did not reply at once; he would not yield immediately. After a + pause, he said, “Monsieur, you have only done your duty; your services are + due to us.” + </p> + <p> + “The services of all the king’s subjects are due to him, I know, sire; but + in these times many people forget to pay their debts. I, sire, come to pay + mine, happy that your majesty will receive me among the number of your + creditors.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Henri, in a softer tone, “you return without any other motive + than that which you state; without any mission, or safe-conduct?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I return simply and purely for that reason. Now, your majesty may + throw me into the Bastile, or have me shot, but I shall have done my duty. + Sire, Anjou is on fire; Touraine is about to revolt; Guienne is rising. M. + le Duc d’Anjou is hard at work.” + </p> + <p> + “He is well supported, is he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, M. de Bussy, firm as he is, cannot make your brother brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! he trembles, then, the rebel.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go and shake St. Luc’s hand,” said Chicot, advancing. + </p> + <p> + The king followed him, and going up to his old favorite, and laying his + hand on his shoulder, said,— + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome, St. Luc!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! sire,” cried St. Luc, kissing the king’s hand, “I find again my + beloved master.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you, my poor St. Luc, you have grown thin.” + </p> + <p> + “It is with grief at having displeased your majesty,” said a feminine + voice. Now, although the voice was soft and respectful, Henri frowned, for + it was as distasteful to him as the noise of thunder was to Augustus. + </p> + <p> + “Madame de St. Luc!” said he. “Ah! I forgot.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne threw herself at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Rise, madame,” said he, “I love all that bear the name of St. Luc.” + Jeanne took his hand and kissed it, but he withdrew it quickly. + </p> + <p> + “You must convert the king,” said Chicot to the young woman, “you are + pretty enough for it.” + </p> + <p> + But Henri turned his back to her, and passing his arm round St. Luc’s + neck, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Then we have made peace, St. Luc?” + </p> + <p> + “Say rather, sire, that the pardon is granted.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame!” said Chicot, “a good wife should not leave her husband,” and he + pushed her after the king and St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0072" id="link2HCH0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXII. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH WE MEET TWO IMPORTANT PERSONAGES WHOM WE HAVE LOST SIGHT OF FOR + SOME TIME. + </h3> + <p> + There are two of the personages mentioned in this story, about whom the + reader has the right to ask for information. We mean an enormous monk, + with thick eyebrows and large lips, whose neck was diminishing every day; + and a large donkey whose sides were gradually swelling out like a balloon. + The monk resembled a hogshead; and the ass was like a child’s cradle, + supported by four posts. + </p> + <p> + The one inhabited a cell at St. Genevieve, and the other the stable at the + same convent. The one was called Gorenflot, and the other Panurge. Both + were enjoying the most prosperous lot that ever fell to a monk and an ass. + </p> + <p> + The monks surrounded their illustrious brother with cares and attentions, + and Panurge fared well for his master’s sake. + </p> + <p> + If a missionary arrived from foreign countries, or a secret legate from + the Pope, they pointed out to him Brother Gorenflot, that double model of + the church preaching and militant; they showed Gorenflot in all his glory, + that is to say, in the midst of a feast, seated at a table in which a + hollow had been cut on purpose for his sacred stomach, and they related + with a noble pride that Gorenflot consumed the rations of eight ordinary + monks. And when the newcomer had piously contemplated this spectacle, the + prior would say, “See how he eats! And if you had but heard his sermon one + famous night, in which he offered to devote himself for the triumph of the + faith. It is a mouth which speaks like that of St. Chrysostom, and + swallows like that of Gargantua.” + </p> + <p> + Every time that any one spoke of the sermon, Gorenflot sighed and said: + </p> + <p> + “What a pity I did not write it! + </p> + <p> + “A man like you has no need to write,” the prior would reply. “No, you + speak from inspiration; you open your mouth, and the words of God flow + from your lips.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” sighed Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + However, Gorenflot was not perfectly happy. He, who at first thought his + banishment from the convent an immense misfortune, discovered in his exile + infinite joys before unknown to him. He sighed for liberty; liberty with + Chicot, the joyous companion, with Chicot, whom he loved without knowing + why. Since his return to the convent, he had never been allowed to go out. + He never attempted to combat this decision, but he grew sadder from day to + day. The prior saw this, and at last said to him: + </p> + <p> + “My dear brother, no one can fight against his vocation; yours is to fight + for the faith; go then, fulfil your mission, only watch well over your + precious life, and return for the great day.” + </p> + <p> + “What great day?” + </p> + <p> + “That of the Fête Dieu.” + </p> + <p> + “Ita,” replied Gorenflot; it was the only Latin word he knew, and used it + on all occasions. “But give me some money to bestow in alms in a Christian + manner.” + </p> + <p> + “You have your text, have you not, dear brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Confide it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, but to you alone; it is this: ‘The flail which threshes the + corn.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, magnificent! sublime!” cried the prior. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my father, am I free?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my son, go and walk in the way of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot saddled Panurge, mounted him with the aid of two vigorous monks, + and left the convent about seven in the evening. It was the same day on + which St. Luc arrived at Paris from Méridor. + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot, having passed through the Rue St. Etienne, was going to have + turned to the right, when suddenly Panurge stopped; a strong hand was laid + on his croup. + </p> + <p> + “Who is there?” cried Gorenflot, in terror. + </p> + <p> + “A friend.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot tried to turn, but he could not. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Will my venerable brother show me the way to the Corne d’Abondance?” + </p> + <p> + “Morbleu! it is M. Chicot,” cried Gorenflot, joyfully. + </p> + <p> + “Just so; I was going to seek you at the convent, when I saw you come out, + and followed you until we were alone. Ventre de biche! how thin you are!” + </p> + <p> + “But what are you carrying, M. Chicot?” said the monk, “you appear laden.” + </p> + <p> + “It is some venison which I have stolen from the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear M. Chicot! and under the other arm?” + </p> + <p> + “A bottle of Cyprus wine sent by a king to my king.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see!” + </p> + <p> + “It is my wine, and I love it much; do not you, brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!” cried Gorenflot, raising his eyes and hands to Heaven, and + beginning to sing in a voice which shook the neighboring windows. It was + the first time he had sung for a month. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0073" id="link2HCH0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXIII. + </h2> + <h3> + DIANA’S SECOND JOURNEY TO PARIS. + </h3> + <p> + Let us leave the two friends entering the Corne d’Abondance, and return to + the litter of M. Monsoreau and to Bussy, who set out with the intention of + following them. Not only is it not difficult for a cavalier well mounted + to overtake foot travelers, but it is difficult not to pass them. This + happened to Bussy. + </p> + <p> + It was the end of May, the heat was great, and about noon M. de Monsoreau + wished to make a halt in a little wood, which was near the road, and as + they had a horse laden with provisions, they remained there until the + great heat of the day had gone by. During this time Bussy passed them, but + he had not traveled, as we may imagine, without inquiring if a party on + horseback, and a litter carried by peasants, had been seen. Until he had + passed the village of Durtal, he had obtained the most satisfactory + information, and, convinced that they were before him, had ridden on + quickly. But he could see nothing of them, and suddenly all traces of them + vanished, and on arriving at La Flèche he felt certain he must have passed + them on the road. Then he remembered the little wood, and doubted not that + they had been resting there when he passed. He installed himself at a + little inn, which had the advantage of being opposite the principal hotel, + where he doubted not that Monsoreau would stop; and he remained at the + window watching. About four o’clock he saw a courier arrive, and half an + hour afterwards the whole party. He waited till nine o’clock, and then he + saw the courier set out again, and after him the litter, then Diana, Rémy, + and Gertrude on horseback. He mounted his horse and followed them, keeping + them in sight. Monsoreau scarcely allowed Diana to move from his side, but + kept calling her every instant. After a little while, Bussy gave a long, + shrill whistle, with which he had been in the habit of calling his + servants at his hotel. Rémy recognized it in a moment. Diana started, and + looked at the young man, who made an affirmative sign; then he came up to + her and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “It is he!” + </p> + <p> + “Who is speaking to you, madame?” said Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “To me, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw a shadow pass close to you, and heard a voice.” + </p> + <p> + “It is M. Rémy; are you also jealous of him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I like people to speak out, it amuses me.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some things which cannot be said aloud before M. le Comte, + however,” said Gertrude, coming to the rescue. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “For two reasons; firstly, because some would not interest you, and some + would interest you too much.” + </p> + <p> + “And of which kind is what M. Rémy has just whispered?” + </p> + <p> + “Of the latter.” + </p> + <p> + “What did Rémy say to you, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “I said, M. le Comte, that if you excite yourself so much, you will be + dead before we have gone a third of the way.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau grew deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “He is expecting you behind,” whispered Rémy, again, “ride slowly, and he + will overtake you.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau, who heard a murmur, tried to rise and look back after Diana. + </p> + <p> + “Another movement like that, M. le Comte, and you will bring on the + bleeding again,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + Diana turned and rode back a little way, while Rémy walked by the litter + to occupy the count. A few seconds after, Bussy was by her side. + </p> + <p> + “You see I follow you,” said he, after their first embrace. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I shall be happy, if I know you are always so near to me.” + </p> + <p> + “But by day he will see us.” + </p> + <p> + “No; by day you can ride afar off; it is only I who will see you, Louis. + From the summit of some hill, at the turn of some road, your plume waving, + your handkerchief fluttering in the breeze, would speak to me in your + name, and tell me that you love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak on, my beloved Diana; you do not know what music I find in your + voice.” + </p> + <p> + “And when we travel by night, which we shall often do, for Rémy has told + him that the freshness of the evening is good for his wounds, then, as + this evening, from time to time, I will stay behind, and we will tell each + other, with a rapid pressure of the hands, all our thoughts of each other + during the day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I love you! I love you!” murmured Bussy. “Oh! to see you, to press + your hand, Diana.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly they heard a voice which made them both tremble, Diana with fear, + and Bussy with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Diana!” it cried, “where are you? Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it is he! I had forgotten him,” said Diana. “Sweet dream, frightful + awaking.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Diana; we are together. Say one word, and nothing can separate us + more; Diana, let us fly! What prevents us? Before us is happiness and + liberty. One word, and we go; one word, and lost to him, you belong to me + forever.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father?” + </p> + <p> + “When he shall know how I love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a father!” + </p> + <p> + “I will do nothing by violence, dear Diana; order, and I obey.” + </p> + <p> + “It is our destiny, Bussy; but be strong, and you shall see if I know how + to love.” + </p> + <p> + “Must we then separate?” + </p> + <p> + “Comtesse!” cried the voice, “reply, or, if I kill myself in doing it, I + will jump from this infernal litter.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Bussy, he will do as he says.” + </p> + <p> + “You pity him?” + </p> + <p> + “Jealous!” said Diana, with an adorable smile. + </p> + <p> + Bussy let her go. + </p> + <p> + In a minute she was by the litter, and found the count half fainting. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried he, “where were you, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Where should I have been? Behind you.” + </p> + <p> + “At my side, madame; do not leave me again.” + </p> + <p> + From time to time this scene was renewed. They all hoped he would die with + rage; but he did not die: on the contrary, at the end of ten days, when + they arrived at Paris, he was decidedly better. During these ten days + Diana had conquered all Bussy’s pride, and had persuaded him to come and + visit Monsoreau, who always showed him much friendship. Rémy watched the + husband and gave notes to the wife. + </p> + <p> + “Esculapius and Mercury,” said he; “my functions accumulate.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0074" id="link2HCH0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXIV. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW THE AMBASSADOR OF THE DUC D’ANJOU ARRIVED AT THE LOUVRE, AND THE + RECEPTION HE MET WITH. + </h3> + <p> + As neither Catherine nor the Duc d’Anjou reappeared at the Louvre, the + dissension between the brothers became apparently every day more and more + certain. The king thought, “No news, bad news.” The minions added, + “François, badly counseled, has detained the queen-mother.” + </p> + <p> + Badly counseled. In these words were comprised all the policy of this + singular reign, and the three preceding ones. Badly counseled was Charles + IX. when he authorized the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Badly counseled + was François II. when he ordered the massacre at Amboise. Badly counseled + had been Henri II. when he burned so many heretics and conspirators. And + now they dared not say, “Your brother has the family blood in his veins; + he wishes, like the rest, to dethrone or poison; he would do to you what + you did to your elder brother; what your elder brother did to his, what + your mother has taught you to do to one another.” Therefore they said, + “Your brother is badly counseled.” + </p> + <p> + Now, as only one person was able to counsel François, it was against Bussy + that the cry was raised, which became every day more and more furious. At + last the news was spread that the duke had sent an ambassador. At this the + king grew pale with anger, and the minions swore that he should be cut to + pieces, and a piece sent to all the provinces of France as a specimen of + the king’s anger. Chicot said nothing, but he reflected. Now the king + thought much of Chicot’s reflections, and he questioned him about them. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” replied he, “if your brother sends an ambassador, it is because he + feels himself strong enough to do so; he who is prudence itself. Now, if + he is strong, we must temporize with him. Let us respect his ambassador, + and receive him with civility. That engages you to nothing. Do you + remember how your brother embraced Admiral Coligny, who came as ambassador + from the Huguenots?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you approve of the policy of my brother Charles?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so, but I cite a fact; and I say to you, do not hurt a poor devil of + a herald, or ambassador; perhaps we may find the way to seize the master, + the mover, the chief, the great Duc d’Anjou, with the three Guises; and if + you can shut them up in a place safer than the Louvre, do it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you let all your friends bellow so?” + </p> + <p> + “Bellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I would say, roar, if they could be taken for lions, but they are + more like bearded apes.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, they are my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends! I would lay any bet to make them all turn against you before + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you advise?” + </p> + <p> + “To wait, my son. Half the wisdom of Solomon lies in that word. If an + ambassador arrive, receive him courteously. And as to your brother, kill + him if you can and like, but do not degrade him. He is a great knave, but + he is a Valois; besides, he can do that well enough for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “One more lesson that you owe me. Now let me sleep, Henri; for the last + week I have been engaged in fuddling a monk.” + </p> + <p> + “A monk! the one of whom you have already spoken to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. You promised him an abbey.” + </p> + <h3> + “I?” + </h3> + <p> + “Pardieu! it is the least you can do for him, after all he has done for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “He is then still devoted to me?” + </p> + <p> + “He adores you. Apropos, my son——” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “In three weeks it will be the Fête Dieu.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “Are we to have some pretty little procession?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the most Christian king, and it is my duty to set an example to my + subjects.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will, as usual, stop at the four great convents of Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “At St. Geneviève?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is the second I stop at.” + </p> + <p> + “Good.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing—I was curious. Now I know all I want, so good night, + Henri!” + </p> + <p> + But just as Chicot prepared to leave, a great noise was heard. + </p> + <p> + “What is that noise?” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “It is ordained that I am not to sleep. Henri, you must get me a room in + the town, or I must leave your service; the Louvre becomes insupportable.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the captain of the guards entered, saying, “Sire, it is an + envoy from M. le Duc d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “With a suite?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire, alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must receive him doubly well, Henri, for he is a brave fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the king, very pale, but trying to look calm, “let all my + court assemble in the great hall.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0075" id="link2HCH0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXV. + </h2> + <h3> + WHICH IS ONLY THE END OF THE PRECEDING ONE. + </h3> + <p> + Henri sat on his throne in the great hall, and around him was grouped an + eager crowd. He looked pale and frowning. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said Quelus to the king, “do you know the name of the ambassador?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but what does it matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, it is M. de Bussy; the insult is doubled.” + </p> + <p> + “I see no insult,” said the king, with affected sang-froid. + </p> + <p> + “Let him enter,” continued he. Bussy, with his hat in his hand, and his + head erect, advanced straight to the king, and waited, with his usual look + of pride, to be interrogated. + </p> + <p> + “You here, M. de Bussy!” said the king; “I thought you were in Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I was, but you see I have quitted it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what brings you here?” + </p> + <p> + “The desire of presenting my humble respects to your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + The king and courtiers looked astonished; they expected a different + answer. + </p> + <p> + “And nothing else?” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “I will add, sire, the orders I received from the Duc d’Anjou to join his + respects to mine.” + </p> + <p> + “And the duke said nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that he was on the point of returning with the queen-mother, and + wished me to apprise your majesty of the return of one of your most + faithful subjects.” + </p> + <p> + The king was choked with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, M. de Bussy,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + Bussy turned, astonished to find a friend in that place. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, M. Chicot; I am delighted to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you have to say, M. de Bussy?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire; anything that remains to be said, will be said by the duke + himself.” + </p> + <p> + The king rose and went away, and Bussy continued to converse with Chicot, + until the king called to him. As soon as Bussy was alone, Quelus + approached him. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, M. Quelus,” said Bussy graciously; “may I have the honor of + asking how you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Very bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu! what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Something annoys me infinitely.” + </p> + <p> + “Something! And are you not powerful enough to get rid of it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not something, but some one, that M. Quelus means,” said Maugiron, + advancing. + </p> + <p> + “And whom I advise him to get rid of,” said Schomberg, coming forward on + the other side. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, M. de Schomberg! I did not recognize you.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not; is my face still blue?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so; you are very pale. Are you not well?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is with anger.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh I then you have also some one who annoys you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “And I also,” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Really, gentlemen, you all look very gloomy.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget me,” said D’Epernon, planting himself before Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, M. d’Epernon, you were behind the others, as usual, and I have + so little the pleasure of knowing you, that it was not for me to speak + first.” + </p> + <p> + It was strange to see Bussy smiling and calm among those four furious + faces, whose eyes spoke with so terrible an eloquence, that he must have + been blind or stupid not to have understood their language. + </p> + <p> + But Bussy never lost his smile. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that there is an echo in this room,” said he quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Look, gentlemen,” said Quelus, “how provincial M. de Bussy has become; he + has a beard, and no knot to his sword; he has black boots and a gray hat.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an observation that I was just making to myself, my dear sir; + seeing you so well dressed, I said to myself, ‘How much harm a few weeks’ + absence does to a man; here am I, Louis de Clermont, forced to take a + little Gascon gentleman as a model of taste.’ But let me pass; you are so + near to me that you tread on my feet, and I feel it in spite of my boots.” + </p> + <p> + And turning away, he advanced towards St. Luc, whom he saw approaching. + </p> + <p> + “Incredible!” cried all the young men, “we insulted him; he took no + notice.” + </p> + <p> + “There is something in it,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said the king, advancing, “what were you and M. de Bussy saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to know what M. de Bussy said, sire?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I trod on his foot, and insulted him, and he said nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “What, gentlemen,” cried Henri, feigning anger, “you dared to insult a + gentleman in the Louvre!” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes, sire, and he said nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I am going to the queen.” + </p> + <p> + As the king went out of the great door, St. Luc reentered by a side one, + and advanced towards the four gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, M. Quelus,” said he, “but do you still live in the Rue St. + Honoré?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear friend; why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I have two words to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “And you, M. de Schomberg?” + </p> + <p> + “Rue Béthisy,” said Schomberg, astonished. + </p> + <p> + “D’Epernon’s address I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Rue de Grenelle.” + </p> + <p> + “You are my neighbor. And you, Maugiron?” + </p> + <p> + “Near the Louvre. But I begin to understand; you come from M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind from whom I come; I have to speak to you, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “To all four of us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if you cannot speak here, let us all go to Schomberg’s; it is close + by.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it.” + </p> + <p> + And the five gentlemen went out of the Louvre arm in arm. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0076" id="link2HCH0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXVI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW M. DE ST. LUC ACQUITTED HIMSELF OF THE COMMISSION GIVEN TO HIM BY + BUSSY. + </h3> + <p> + Let us leave St. Luc a little while in Schomberg’s room, and see what had + passed between him and Bussy. + </p> + <p> + Once out of the hall, St. Luc had stopped, and looked anxiously at his + friend. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill?” said he, “you are so pale; you look as though you were + about to faint.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am only choking with anger.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not surely mind those fellows?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Bussy, be calm.” + </p> + <p> + “You are charming, really; be calm, indeed! if you had had half said to + you that I have had, some one would have been dead before this.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “You are my friend; you have already given me a terrible proof of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear friend,” said St. Luc, who believed Monsoreau dead and + buried, “do not thank me, it is not worth while; certainly the thrust was + a good one, and succeeded admirably, but it was the king who showed it me, + when he kept me here a prisoner at the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind Monsoreau; tell me about Diana. Was she pleased at last? Does + she pardon me? When will the wedding take place?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear friend, we must wait till Monsoreau is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried St. Luc, starting back as though he had put his foot on a + pointed nail. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; poppies are not such dangerous plants as you thought; he did not die + from his fall on them, but is alive and more furious than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he talks of nothing but vengeance, and of killing you on the + first occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have announced his death to everyone; he will find his heirs in + mourning. But he shall not give me the lie; I shall meet him again, and if + he escapes me a second time——” + </p> + <p> + “Calm yourself, my dear St. Luc; really, I am better off than you would + think; it is the duke whom he suspects, and of whom he is jealous. I am + his dear Bussy—his precious friend. That is only natural, for it was + that fool of a Rémy who cured him. + </p> + <p> + “What an idiot he must have been!” + </p> + <p> + “He has an idea that, as an honest man and a doctor, it is his duty to + cure people. However, Monsoreau says he owes his life to me, and confides + his wife to my care.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand that this makes you wait more patiently for his death. + However, I am quite thunderstruck at the news.” + </p> + <p> + “But, now, my friend, let us leave Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let us enjoy life while he is still ill; but once he is well, I + shall order myself a suit of mail, have new locks put on my doors, and you + must ask the Duc d’Anjou if his mother has not given him some antidote + against poison. Meanwhile, let us amuse ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear friend, you see you have only rendered me half a service.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish me to finish it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in another way.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you great friends with those four gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! we are something like cats and dogs in the sun; as long as we an + get the heat, we agree, but if one of us took the warmth from another, + then I do not answer for the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, will you go for me to M. Quelus, first?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “And ask him what day it will please him that I should cut his throat, or + he mine?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not mind it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least in the world. I will go at once if you wish it.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment; as you go, just call on M. Schomberg and make him the same + proposal.” + </p> + <p> + “Schomberg too? Diable, how you go on! Well, as you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear St. Luc, as you are so amiable, go also to M. Maugiron, and + ask him to join the party.” + </p> + <p> + “What, three! Bussy, you cannot mean it. I hope that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “No; from him go to D’Epernon.” + </p> + <p> + “Four!” + </p> + <p> + “Even so, my dear friend; I need not recommend to a man like you to + proceed with courtesy and politeness towards these gentlemen. Let the + thing be done in gallant fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall be content, my friend. What are your conditions?” + </p> + <p> + “I make none; I accept theirs.” + </p> + <p> + “Your arms?” + </p> + <p> + “What they like.” + </p> + <p> + “The day, place, and hour?” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever suits them.” + </p> + <p> + “But——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! never mind such trifles, but do it quickly; I will walk in the little + garden of the Luxembourg; you will find me there when you have executed + your commission.” + </p> + <p> + “You will wait, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be long.” + </p> + <p> + “I have time.” + </p> + <p> + We know how St. Luc found the four young men, and accompanied them to + Schomberg’s house. St. Luc remained in the ante-chamber, waiting until, + according to the etiquette of the day, the four young men were installed + in the saloon ready to receive him. Then an usher came and saluted St. + Luc, who followed him to the threshold of the saloon, where he announced + M. d’Espinay de St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + Schomberg then rose and saluted his visitor, who, to mark the character of + the visit, instead of returning it, put on his hat. Schomberg then, + turning towards Quelus, said, + </p> + <p> + “I have the honor to present to you M. Jacques de Levis, Comte de Quelus.” + </p> + <p> + The two gentlemen bowed, and then the same ceremony was gone through with + the others. This done, the four friends sat down, but St. Luc remained + standing and said to Quelus, + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte, you have insulted M. le Comte Louis de Clermont d’Amboise, + Seigneur de Bussy, who presents to you his compliments, and calls you to + single combat on any day and hour, and with such arms as may please you. + Do you accept?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; M. de Bussy does me much honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Your day and hour, M. le Comte?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning at seven o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Your arms?” + </p> + <p> + “Rapier and dagger, if that suits M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc bowed. Then he addressed the same questions to the others, and + received the same answers. + </p> + <p> + “If we all choose the same day and hour, M. de Bussy will be rather + embarrassed,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied St. Luc, “M. de Bussy may be embarrassed, but he says + that the circumstance would not be new to him, as it has already happened + at the Tournelles.” + </p> + <p> + “And he would fight us all four?” + </p> + <p> + “All four.” + </p> + <p> + “Separately?” + </p> + <p> + “Separately, or at once.” + </p> + <p> + The four young men looked at each other; then Quelus, red with anger, + said: + </p> + <p> + “It is very fine of M. de Bussy, but however little we may be worth, we + can each do our own work; we will accept, therefore, the count’s proposal, + fighting separately, or rather, which will be still better, as we do not + seek to assassinate a gallant man, chance shall decide which of us shall + fight M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “And the three others?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! M. de Bussy has too many friends, and we too many enemies, for them + to remain with folded arms. Do you agree to this, gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” cried all. + </p> + <p> + “If MM. Ribeirac, Antragues, and Livarot would join the party, it would be + complete.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said St. Luc, “I will transmit your desires to M. de Bussy, + and I believe I may promise that he is too courteous not to agree to your + wishes. It therefore only remains for me to thank you in his name.” + </p> + <p> + Then he took his leave, after throwing his purse to the four lackeys, whom + he found outside, to drink to their masters’ healths. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0077" id="link2HCH0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXVII. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHAT RESPECT M. DE ST. LUC WAS MORE CIVILIZED THAN M. DE BUSSY, THE + LESSONS WHICH HE GAVE HIM, AND THE USE WHICH M. DE BUSSY MADE OF THEM. + </h3> + <p> + St. Luc returned, proud of having executed his commission so well. Bussy + thanked him, but looked sad, which was not natural to him. + </p> + <p> + “Have I done badly?” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, my dear friend, I only regret you did not say, ‘at once.’” + </p> + <p> + “Why! what is the hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to die as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc looked at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Die! at your age, with your name, and Diana!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall kill them, I know, but I shall receive some good blow which + will tranquilize me forever.” + </p> + <p> + “What black ideas, Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “A husband whom I thought dead, and who has returned to life; a wife who + can scarcely quit the bedside of the pretended dying man. Not to see her, + smile on her, touch her hand. Mon Dieu!——” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc interrupted him with a burst of laughter. “Oh!” cried he, “the + innocent man. Why, no lover can be more fortunate than you.” + </p> + <p> + “Prove that to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the friend of M. de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am ashamed to say, he calls me his friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! be his friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! and abuse this title!” + </p> + <p> + “Is he really your friend?” + </p> + <p> + “He says so.” + </p> + <p> + “No; for he makes you unhappy. Now the end of friendship is to make one + another happy. At least, so his majesty says, and he is learned in + friendship. So, if he makes you unhappy, he is not your friend; therefore + you may treat him either as a stranger, and take his wife from him, or as + an enemy, and kill him if he murmurs.” + </p> + <p> + “In fact, I hate him. But do you not think he loves me?” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! Take away his wife and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I must continue to be a man of honor.” + </p> + <p> + “And let Madame de Monsoreau cure her husband both physically and morally. + For it is certain that if you get yourself killed, she will attach herself + to the only man who remains to her.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy frowned. + </p> + <p> + “But,” added St. Luc, “here is my wife; she always gives good advice. She + has been picking herself a bouquet in the gardens of the queen-mother, and + will be in a good humor. Listen to her; she speaks gold.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne arrived radiant, full of happiness and fun. Bussy saluted her in a + friendly manner, and she held out her hand to him, saying, with a smile, + “How go on the love affairs?” + </p> + <p> + “They are dying.” + </p> + <p> + “They are wounded and fainting; perhaps you can restore them, Jeanne?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see; show me the wound.” + </p> + <p> + “In two words, this is it: M. de Bussy does not like smiling on M. de + Monsoreau, and he thinks of retiring.” + </p> + <p> + “And leaving Diana to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! madame, St. Luc does not tell you that I wish to die.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Diana!” murmured Jeanne, “decidedly men are ungrateful.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! this is the conclusion my wife draws.” + </p> + <p> + “I, ungrateful!” cried Bussy, “because I fear to render my love vile, by + practising a disgraceful hypocrisy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! monsieur, that is only a pretext. If you were really in love, you + would fear but one thing—not to be loved in return.” + </p> + <p> + “But, madame, there are sacrifices——” + </p> + <p> + “Not another word. Confess that you love Diana no longer; it will be more + worthy of a gallant man.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy grew pale. + </p> + <p> + “You do not dare to tell her; well, I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame! madame!” + </p> + <p> + “You are rich, you men, with your sacrifices. And does she make none? + What! expose herself to be massacred by that tiger of a Monsoreau, + preserve her position only by employing a strength of will of which Samson + or Hannibal would have been incapable. Oh! I swear, Diana is sublime, I + could not do a quarter of what she does every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “And he hesitates!” continued she, “he does not fall on his knees and say + his mea culpa.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said Bussy, “I am but a man, that is to say, an imperfect + creature, inferior to the most commonplace woman.” + </p> + <p> + “It is lucky you are convinced of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you order me?” + </p> + <p> + “To go at once and pay it visit——” + </p> + <p> + “To M. de Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “Who speaks of him?—to Diana.” + </p> + <p> + “But he never leaves her.” + </p> + <p> + “When you went so often to see Madame de Barbezieux, had she not always + near her that great ape who bit you because he was jealous?” + </p> + <p> + Bussy began to laugh, and St. Luc and Jeanne followed his example. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” then said Bussy, “I am going to M. de Monsoreau’s house; adieu.” + </p> + <p> + He went there, and found the count in bed; he was delighted to see him, + and told him that Rémy promised that his wound would be cured in three + weeks. Bussy recounted to him the commission with which he had been + charged, and his visit to the court. + </p> + <p> + “The duke has still projects on foot, has he not?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not compromise yourself for that bad man; I know him: he is + perfidious, and will not hesitate to betray you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are my friend, and I wish to put you on your guard.” + </p> + <p> + “You must sleep after the dressing of your wound,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear doctor. My friend, take a turn in the garden with Madame de + Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “I am at your orders,” replied Bussy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0078" id="link2HCH0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE PRECAUTIONS OF M. DE MONSOREAU. + </h3> + <p> + St. Luc was right, and Jeanne was right, and Bussy soon acknowledged it. + As for Diana, she gave herself up to the two instincts that Figaro + recognizes as inborn in mankind, to love and to deceive. M. de Monsoreau + grew better and better. He had escaped from fever, thanks to the + application of cold water, that new remedy which Providence had discovered + to Ambrose Paré, when all at once he received a great shock at hearing of + the arrival in Paris of the duke with the queen-mother. The day after his + arrival, the duke, under the pretext of asking after him, presented + himself at his hotel, and it was impossible to close his door against a + prince who showed so much interest in him. M. de Monsoreau therefore was + obliged to receive the prince, who was most amiable to him and to his + wife. As soon as he was gone, M. de Monsoreau took Diana’s arm, and in + spite of Rémy’s remonstrances walked three times round his armchair; and, + from his satisfied air, Diana was sure he was meditating on some project. + </p> + <p> + The next day the duke came again, and this time Monsoreau walked round his + room. That evening Diana warned Bussy that her husband had certainly some + project in his head. A few minutes after, when Bussy and Monsoreau were + alone, “When I think,” said Monsoreau, “that this prince, who smiles on + me, is my mortal enemy, and tried to have me assassinated by M. de St. Luc——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, assassinated! take care, M. le Comte. St. Luc is a gentleman, and you + confess yourself that you provoked him, drew the sword first, and received + your wound in fair fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; but it is not the less true that he obeyed the wishes of M. + d’Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen! I know M. de St. Luc, and I can assure you he is devoted to the + king, and hates the duke. If your wound had come from Antragues, Livarot, + or Ribeirac, it might be so; but not from St. Luc.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know,” replied Monsoreau, obstinate in his opinion. At last he + was able to go down into the garden. “That will do,” said he; “now we will + move.” + </p> + <p> + “Why move?” said Rémy. “The air is good here, and there is plenty of + amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much; M. d’Anjou fatigues me with his visits, and he always brings + with him a crowd of gentlemen, and the noise of their spurs destroys my + nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “But where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I have ordered them to get ready my little house at the Tournelles.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy and Diana exchanged a look of loving remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “What, that little place?” cried Rémy, imprudently. + </p> + <p> + “What! do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Who does not know the houses of the chief huntsman? particularly I, who + lived in the Rue Beautrellis.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I will go there. It is a fortress, and one can see from the + window, three hundred yards off, who is coming to visit you, and avoid + them if you like, particularly when you are well!” + </p> + <p> + Bussy bit his lips; he feared a time might come when Monsoreau might avoid + him. Diana thought of the time when she had seen Bussy in that house, + lying fainting on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot do it,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Why not, if you please, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the chief huntsman of France must hold receptions—must keep + valets and equipages. Let him have a palace for his dogs, if he likes, but + not a dog-kennel for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, but——” + </p> + <p> + “But I am the doctor of the mind as of the body; it is not your residence + here that displeases you.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “That of madame; therefore send her away.” + </p> + <p> + “Separate?” cried Monsoreau, fixing on Diana a look, more of anger than + love. + </p> + <p> + “Then give up your place—send in your resignation. I believe it + would be wise; if you do not do your duty, you will displease the king, + and if you do——” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything but quit the countess,” said Monsoreau, with + closely-shut teeth. As he spoke, they heard in the courtyard a noise of + voices and horses’ feet. + </p> + <p> + “The duke again!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after the prince entered, and Monsoreau saw his first glance + given to Diana. He brought to her, as a present, one of those + masterpieces, of which the artists of that day were in the habit of + producing two or three in the course of a lifetime. It was a poniard, with + a handle of chased gold. This handle was a smelling-bottle, and on the + blade a chase was carved with admirable skill; horses, dogs, trees, game, + and hunters, mingled together in an harmonious pêle-mêle, on this blade of + azure and gold. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see,” cried Monsoreau, who feared there was a note hidden in the + handle. + </p> + <p> + The prince separated the two parts. “To you, who are a hunter,” said he, + “I give the blade: to the countess, the handle. Good-morning, Bussy, you + are then a friend of the count’s, now?” + </p> + <p> + Diana reddened, but Bussy said: + </p> + <p> + “Your highness forgets that you asked me to inquire after M. de + Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + The prince sat down, and began to talk to Diana. In a few minutes he said, + “Count, it is dreadfully warm in your rooms. I see the countess is + stifling. I will give her my arm for a turn in the garden.” + </p> + <p> + The husband looked furious. + </p> + <p> + “Give me an arm,” said he to Bussy, and he got up and followed his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the duke, “it seems you are better.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur, and I hope soon to be able to accompany Madame de + Monsoreau wherever she goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Good; but meanwhile, do not fatigue yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau was obliged to sit down, but he kept them in view. + </p> + <p> + “Count,” said he to Bussy, “will you be amiable enough to escort Madame de + Monsoreau this evening to my house at the Tournelles?” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot do that, monsieur,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because M. d’Anjou would never forgive you if you helped to play him such + a trick.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy was about to cry, “What do I care?” but a glance from Rémy stopped + him. + </p> + <p> + “Rémy is right,” said Monsoreau, “it would injure you; to-morrow I will go + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You will lose your place.” + </p> + <p> + “It is possible; but I shall keep my wife.” + </p> + <p> + The next day they went to the old house; Diana took her old room, with the + bed of white and gold damask. A corridor only separated it from that of + the count. Bussy tore his hair with rage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0079" id="link2HCH0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXIX. + </h2> + <h3> + A VISIT TO THE HOUSE AT LES TOURNELLES. + </h3> + <p> + The duke became more and more in love with Diana, as she seemed always to + escape him, and with his love for her, his hatred of Monsoreau increased. + On the other side he had not renounced his political hopes, but had + recommenced his underhand machinations. The moment was favorable, for many + wavering conspirators had been encouraged by the kind of triumph which the + weakness of the king, and the cunning of Catherine, had given to the duke; + however, he no longer confided his projects to Bussy, and showed him only + a hypocritical friendship. He was vaguely uneasy at seeing him at + Monsoreau’s house, and envious of the confidence that Monsoreau, so + suspicious of himself, placed in him. He was frightened also at the joy + and happiness which shone in Diana’s face. He knew that flowers only bloom + in the light of the sun, and women in that of love. She was visibly happy, + and this annoyed him. Determined to use his power, both for love and + vengeance, he thought it would be absurd to be stayed in this purpose by + such ridiculous obstacles as the jealousy of a husband, and the repugnance + of a wife. One day he ordered his equipages, intending to visit Monsoreau. + He was told that he had moved to his house in the Rue St. Antoine. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go there,” said he to Bussy. Soon the place was in commotion at + the arrival of the twenty-four handsome cavaliers, each with two lackeys, + who formed the prince’s suite. Both Bussy and the prince knew the house + well; they both went in, but while the prince entered the room, Bussy + remained on the staircase. It resulted from this arrangement that the duke + was received by Monsoreau alone, while Bussy was received by Diana, while + Gertrude kept watch. Monsoreau, always pale, grew livid at sight of the + prince. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, here! really it is too much honor for my poor house!” cried + he, with a visible irony. + </p> + <p> + The prince smiled. “Wherever a suffering friend goes, I follow him,” + replied he. “How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, much better; I can already walk about, and in a week I shall be quite + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it your doctor who prescribed for you the air of the Bastile?” asked + the prince, with the most innocent air possible. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not like the Rue des Petits-Pères?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur; I had too much company there—they made too much + noise.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have no garden here.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not like the garden.” + </p> + <p> + The prince bit his lips. “Do you know, comte,” said he, “that many people + are asking the king for your place?” + </p> + <p> + “On what pretext, monseigneur?” + </p> + <p> + “They say you are dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, you can answer for it that I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “I answer for nothing; you bury yourself as though you were dead.” + </p> + <p> + It was Monsoreau’s turn to bite his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I must lose my place,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Really?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there are things I prefer to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very disinterested.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my character, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Then of course you will not mind the king’s knowing your character?” + </p> + <p> + “Who will tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! if he asks me about you, I must repeat our conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! monseigneur, if all they say in Paris were reported to the king, + his two ears would not be enough to listen with.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they say at Paris, monsieur?” asked the prince sharply. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau tried to calm himself. “How should a poor invalid, as I am, + know?” said he. “If the king is angry at seeing his work badly done, he is + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, doubtless, my accident proceeds, to some extent, from him.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc, who wounded me, is a dear friend of the king’s. It was the + king who taught him the thrust by which he wounded me, and it might have + been the king who prompted him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; but still the king is the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Until he is so no longer.” + </p> + <p> + The duke trembled. “Is not Madame de Monsoreau here?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, she is ill, or she would have come to present her respects + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ill! poor woman! it must be grief at seeing you suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and the fatigue of moving.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope it will be a short indisposition. You have so skilful a + doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that dear Rémy——” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he is Bussy’s doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “He has lent him to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are, then, great friends?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my best, I might say my only, friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, come!” + </p> + <p> + As the duke raised the tapestry, he fancied he saw the skirt of a dress + disappear into the next room, and immediately Bussy appeared at his post + in the middle of the corridor. Suspicion grew stronger with the duke. + </p> + <p> + “We are going,” said he to Bussy, who ran down-stairs without replying; + while the duke, left alone, tried to penetrate the corridor where he had + seen the silk dress vanish. But, turning, he saw that Monsoreau had + followed, and was standing at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Your highness mistakes your way,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “True,” said the duke, “thank you.” And he went down with rage in his + heart. When he returned home, Aurilly glided into his room. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the duke, “I am baffled by the husband!” + </p> + <p> + “And, perhaps, also by the lover, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “The truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, then.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope your highness will pardon me—it was in your service.” + </p> + <p> + “I pardon you in advance. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “After your highness had gone up-stairs, I watched under a shed in the + courtyard.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What did you see?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a woman’s dress; I saw this woman lean forward, and then I heard + the sound of along and tender kiss.” + </p> + <p> + “But who was the man?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot recognize arms.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but you might gloves.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, it seemed to me——” + </p> + <p> + “That you recognized them?” + </p> + <p> + “It was only a guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monseigneur, they looked like the gloves of M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Buff, embroidered with gold, were they not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Bussy! yes, it was Bussy. Oh, I was blind and yet not blind; but I + could not believe in so much audacity.” + </p> + <p> + “But your highness must not believe it too lightly; might there not have + been a man hidden in her room?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless, but Bussy, who was in the corridor, would have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “And then the gloves——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and besides the kiss, I heard——” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Three words, ‘Till to-morrow evening.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + “So that, if you like, we can make sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Aurilly, we will go.” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness knows I am at your orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Bussy, a traitor! Bussy, the honest man—Bussy, who does not + wish me to be King of France;” and the duke, smiling with an infernal joy, + dismissed Aurilly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0080" id="link2HCH0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXX. + </h2> + <h3> + THE WATCHERS. + </h3> + <p> + The duke kept Bussy near him all day, so as not to lose sight of his + movements. Bussy did not care, so that he had his evenings free. At ten + o’clock he wrapped himself in his cloak, and with a rope ladder under his + arm went towards the Bastile. The duke, who did not know that he had a + ladder, and could not believe in any one walking alone at night through + the streets of Paris, thought Bussy would certainly call at his hotel for + a horse and a servant, and lost ten minutes in preparations. During those + ten minutes, Bussy, active and in love, had already gone three-fourths of + the distance. He was lucky, as brave people generally are, and met with no + accident by the way, and on arriving saw a light in the windows. It was + the signal agreed on between him and Diana. He threw his ladder up to the + balcony, it had six hooks to it, and was sure to fasten itself somewhere. + At the noise, Diana put out her light and opened the window to fasten the + ladder. The thing was done in a moment. Diana looked all around; the + street seemed deserted. Then she signed to Bussy to mount, and he was up + in five seconds. The moment was happily chosen, for while he got in at the + window, M. de Monsoreau, after having listened patiently for a quarter of + an hour at his wife’s door, descended the stairs painfully, leaning on the + arm of a confidential valet, and it so happened that he opened the + street-door just as the ladder was drawn up, and the window closed. He + looked around, but the streets were deserted. + </p> + <p> + “You have been badly informed,” said he to the servant. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, I have just left the Hôtel d’Anjou, and they told me that + the duke had ordered two horses for this evening. But perhaps it was not + to come here.” + </p> + <p> + “Where else should he go?” said Monsoreau, with a somber air. He, like all + jealous persons, thought the whole world had nothing to do but to torment + him. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I should have done better to stay in her room,” murmured he. “But + they probably have signals for corresponding; she would have warned him of + my presence, and I should have learned nothing. It is better to watch + outside. Come, conduct me to the hiding-place, whence you say one can see + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + About twenty-five steps from the door was an enormous heap of stones + belonging to demolished houses, and serving for fortifications to the + children of the neighborhood when they played at battles. In the midst was + a space, which could contain two people. The valet spread a cloak, on + which Monsoreau sat down, while his servant sat at his feet, with a loaded + musket placed beside him. Diana had prudently drawn her thick curtains, so + that scarcely a ray of light showed through, to betray that there was life + in this gloomy house. + </p> + <p> + They had been watching about ten minutes, when two horses appeared at the + end of the street. The valet pointed to them. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + The two men got off their horses, and tied them up at the corner of the + Hôtel des Tournelles. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, “I believe we have arrived too late; he must + have gone straight from your hotel and must have entered.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so; but if we did not see him go in, we can see him come out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but when?” + </p> + <p> + “When we please.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be too curious to ask how you mean to manage?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is more easy; we have but to knock at the door, and ask after M. + de Monsoreau. Our lover will be frightened at the noise, and as you enter + the house he will come out at the window, and I, who am hidden outside, + shall see him.” + </p> + <p> + “And Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “What can he say? I am his friend, and was uneasy about him, as he looked + so ill yesterday; nothing can be more simple.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very ingenious, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear what they say?” asked Monsoreau of his valet. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, but we soon shall, for they are coming nearer.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, “here is a heap of stones which seems made on + purpose for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but wait a moment, perhaps we can see through the opening of the + curtain.” And they stood for some minutes trying to find a place to peep + through. Meanwhile, Monsoreau was boiling with impatience, and his hand + approached the musket. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! shall I suffer this?” murmured he, “shall I devour this affront also? + No, my patience is worn out. Mordieu! that I can neither sleep, nor wake, + nor even suffer quietly, because a shameful caprice has lodged in the idle + brain of this miserable prince. No, I am not a complaisant valet; I am the + Comte de Monsoreau, and if he comes near, on my word, I will blow his + brains out. Light the match, René.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, just as the prince was about to seek his hiding-place, + leaving his companion to knock at the door, Aurilly touched his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur, what is it?” asked the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Come away, monseigneur, come.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not see something shining there to the left?” + </p> + <p> + “I see a spark among that heap of stones.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the match of a musket, or arquebuse.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! who the devil can be in ambush there?” + </p> + <p> + “Some friend or servant of Bussy’s. Let us go and make a detour, and + return another way. The servant will give the alarm, and we shall see + Bussy come out of the window.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; come;” and they went to their horses. + </p> + <p> + “They are going,” said the valet. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Did you recognize them?” + </p> + <p> + “They seemed to me to be the prince and Aurilly.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. But I shall soon be more sure still.” + </p> + <p> + “What will monsieur do?” + </p> + <p> + “Come.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the duke and Aurilly turned into the Rue St. Catherine, + intending to return by the boulevard of the Bastile. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau went in, and ordered his litter. + </p> + <p> + What the duke had foreseen happened. At the noise that Monsoreau made, + Bussy took the alarm, the light was extinguished, the ladder fixed, and + Bussy, to his great regret, was obliged to fly, like Romeo, but without + having, like him, seen the sun rise and heard the lark sing. Just as he + touched the ground, and Diana had thrown him the ladder, the duke and + Aurilly arrived at the corner of the Bastile. They saw a shadow suspended + from Diana’s window, but this shadow disappeared almost instantaneously at + the corner of the Rue St. Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the valet to Monsoreau, “we shall wake up the household.” + </p> + <p> + “What do I care?” cried Monsoreau, furiously. “I am master here, I + believe, and I have at least the right to do what M. d’Anjou wished to + do.” + </p> + <p> + The litter was got ready, and, drawn by two stout horses, it was soon at + the Hôtel d’Anjou. + </p> + <p> + The duke and Aurilly had so recently come in that their horses were not + unsaddled. Monsoreau, who had the entree, appeared on the threshold just + as the duke, after having thrown his hat on a chair, was holding out his + boots to a valet to pull off. A servant, preceding him by some steps, + announced M. de Monsoreau. A thunderbolt breaking his windows, could not + have astonished the prince more. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau!” cried he, with an uneasiness he could not hide. + </p> + <p> + “Myself, monseigneur,” replied he, trying to repress his emotion, but the + effort he made over himself was so violent that his legs failed him, and + he fell on to a chair which stood near. + </p> + <p> + “But you will kill yourself, my dear friend,” said the duke; “you are so + pale, you look as though you were going to faint.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; what I have to say to your highness is of too much importance; I + may faint afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, then, my dear comte.” + </p> + <p> + “Not before your people, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + The duke dismissed everyone. + </p> + <p> + “Your highness has just come in?” said Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “As you see, comte.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very imprudent of your highness to go by night in the street.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you I had been in the streets?” + </p> + <p> + “The dust on your clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau, have you another employment besides that of chief + huntsman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that of spy, monseigneur; all the world follow that calling now, + more or less, and I, like the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “And what does this profession bring you, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “It is curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Very curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell me what you have to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I came for that.” + </p> + <p> + “You permit me to sit down?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “No irony, monseigneur, towards an old and faithful servant, who comes at + this hour and in this state to do you a service. If I sat down, on my + honor, it was because I could not stand.” + </p> + <p> + “A service! to do me a service?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I come on the part of a great prince.” + </p> + <p> + “From the king?” + </p> + <p> + “No; M. le Duc de Guise.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is quite a different thing. Approach, and speak low.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0081" id="link2HCH0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXI. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW M. LE DUC D’ANJOU SIGNED, AND AFTER HAVING SIGNED, SPOKE. + </h3> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence. Then the duke said: “Well, M. le Comte, what + have you to say to me from the Duc de Guise?” + </p> + <p> + “Much, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “They have written to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; the duke writes no more since that strange disappearance of Nicholas + David. They have come to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “MM. de Guise are at Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen them.” + </p> + <p> + “They are too prudent to expose themselves or your highness to any risk.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was not told!” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you now.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they come for?” + </p> + <p> + “They come, monseigneur, to the rendezvous you gave them.” + </p> + <p> + “That I gave them!” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless; on the day when your highness was arrested you received a + letter from M. de Guise, and replied to it verbally, through me, that they + were to come to Paris from the thirty-first of May to the second of June. + It is now the thirty-first of May, and if your highness has forgotten + them, they have not forgotten you.” + </p> + <p> + François grew pale. So many events had passed since, that he had forgotten + the rendezvous. “It is true,” said he, at length, “but the relations which + then existed between us exist no longer.” + </p> + <p> + “If that be so, monseigneur, you would do well to tell them, for I believe + they think differently.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “You, perhaps, think yourself free as regards them, but they feel bound to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “A snare, my dear comte, in which a man does not let himself be taken + twice.” + </p> + <p> + “And where was monseigneur taken in a snare?” + </p> + <p> + “Where? at the Louvre, mordieu.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it the fault of MM. de Guise?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say so, but they never assisted me to escape.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been difficult; they were flying themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “But when you were in Anjou, did they not charge me to tell you that you + could always count on them, as they on you, and that the day you marched + on Paris, they would do the same?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, but I did not march on Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “You are here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but as my brother’s ally.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur will permit me to observe that he is more than the ally of + the Guises.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Their accomplice.” + </p> + <p> + The duke bit his lips. + </p> + <p> + “And you say they charged you to announce their arrival to me?” + </p> + <p> + “They did me that honour.” + </p> + <p> + “But they did not tell you the motive of their return?” + </p> + <p> + “They told me all, knowing me to be the confidant of your highness.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they have projects. What are they?” + </p> + <p> + “The same always.” + </p> + <p> + “And they think them practicable?” + </p> + <p> + “They look upon them as certain.” + </p> + <p> + “And these projects have for an aim——” + </p> + <p> + The duke stopped, not daring to finish. + </p> + <p> + “To make you King of France; yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + The duke felt the flush of joy mount to his face. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said he “is the moment favorable?” + </p> + <p> + “Your wisdom must decide.” + </p> + <p> + “My wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the facts cannot be contradicted. The nomination of the king as head + of the League was only a comedy, quickly seen through and appreciated. Now + the reaction has commenced, and the entire state is rising against the + tyranny of the king and his creatures. Sermons are a call to arms, and + churches are places where they curse the king, instead of praying to God. + The army trembles with impatience; the bourgeois league together; our + emissaries bring in nothing but signatures and new adherents to the + League. In a word, the king’s reign touches on its close. Now, do you + renounce your former projects?” + </p> + <p> + The duke did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur knows that he may speak frankly to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the duke, “that considering my brother has no children, + that his health is uncertain, and that after him the crown will come + naturally to me, there is no reason why I should compromise my name and my + dignity, in a useless struggle, and try to take, with danger, what will + come to me in due course.” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness is in error; your brother’s throne will only come to you if + you take it. MM. de Guise cannot be kings themselves, but they will only + allow to reign a king of their own making, a king whom they substitute for + the reigning one. They count on your highness, but if you refuse, they + will seek another.” + </p> + <p> + “And who will dare to seat himself on the throne of Charlemagne?” + </p> + <p> + “A Bourbon instead of a Valois, monseigneur; a son of St, Louis, instead + of a son of St. Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “The king of Navarre?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? He is young, and brave,” + </p> + <p> + “He is a Huguenot.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he not converted at the St. Bartholomew?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he abjured afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monseigneur, what he did for his wife, he will do again for the + crown.” + </p> + <p> + “They think, then, that I will yield my rights without a struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “The case is provided for.” + </p> + <p> + “I will fight.” + </p> + <p> + “They are men of war.” + </p> + <p> + “I will put myself at the head of the League.” + </p> + <p> + “They are the soul of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will join my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother will be dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I will call the kings of Europe to my aid.” + </p> + <p> + “They will think twice before making war on a people.” + </p> + <p> + “My party will stand by me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your party, I believe, consists of M. de Bussy and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am tied.” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly so. You can do nothing without the Guises; with them, everything. + Say the word, and you are king.” + </p> + <p> + The duke walked about for a few minutes, in great agitation, then stopped, + and said, “Go on, count.” + </p> + <p> + “This, then, is the plan. In eight days the Fête Dieu will take place, and + the king meditates on that day a great procession to the convents of + Paris. There, the guards will remain at the door, the king will stop + before each altar, kneel down, and say five paters and five aves.” + </p> + <p> + “I know all that.” + </p> + <p> + “He will go to St. Geneviève——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “He will enter with a suite of five or six persons, and behind them, the + doors will be closed.” + </p> + <p> + “And then——” + </p> + <p> + “Your highness knows the monks who will do the honors of the Abbey to his + majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “They will be the same——” + </p> + <p> + “Who were there when your highness was crowned.” + </p> + <p> + “They will dare to lay hands on the Lord’s anointed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! to shave him, only.” + </p> + <p> + “They will never dare to do that to a king.” + </p> + <p> + “He will not be a king then.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never heard of a holy man who preaches sermons, and is going to + perform miracles?” + </p> + <p> + “Brother Gorenflot?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “The one who wished to preach the League with his arquebuse on his + shoulder?” + </p> + <p> + “The same.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! they will conduct the king into his cell; once there, he will be + asked to sign his abdication, then, when he has signed, Madame de + Montpensier will enter, scissors in hand. She wears them now, hanging to + her side; they are charming scissors, made of gold, and admirably chased, + to do him honor. You understand the rest. We announced to the people that + the king, experiencing a holy repentance for his sins, has announced his + intention of never more leaving the convent. If there are any who doubt, + M. de Guise holds the army, M. le Cardinal the Church, and M. de Mayenne + the bourgeois; and with these three powers you can make the people believe + what you like.” + </p> + <p> + “But they will accuse me of violence,” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “You need not be there.” + </p> + <p> + “They will look on me as a usurper.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur forgets the abdication.” + </p> + <p> + “The king will refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems that Brother Gorenflot is not only clever, but strong.” + </p> + <p> + “The plan is then settled?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “And they do not fear that I shall denounce it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur; for in that case, they have another, not less sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And this one?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; they thought me too much your friend to trust me with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I yield, count. What must I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Approve.” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Words are not enough.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Writing.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a folly to suppose I will ever consent to that.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “If the conspiracy fail——” + </p> + <p> + “It is just in case it should, that they ask for your signature.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they wish to shelter themselves behind my name?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + “To refuse is to betray.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them think as they like; at all events I will choose my own danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, you choose badly.” + </p> + <p> + “I will risk it,” cried François, endeavoring to keep firm. + </p> + <p> + “For your own interest I advise you not to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall compromise myself by signing.” + </p> + <p> + “In refusing, you assassinate yourself.” + </p> + <p> + François shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “They would dare?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “They would dare anything, monseigneur. The conspirators have gone so far, + that they must succeed at any cost.” + </p> + <p> + The duke, with his usual indecision, felt terribly perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I will sign,” said he, at last. + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur; if you sign, it must be at once.” + </p> + <p> + “But M. de Guise must draw up the agreement.” + </p> + <p> + “It is already drawn-here it is;” and Monsoreau drew a paper from his + pocket: it was a full adhesion to the scheme. The duke read it though, + growing more and more pale as he did so. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the pen, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must sign?” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to do so; no one forces you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they do, since they menace me with assassination.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not menace you, monseigneur—I only warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the pen.” + </p> + <p> + And, snatching it eagerly, he signed the paper. Monsoreau watched him with + an eye full of hatred and hope, and no sooner had the duke finished than, + exclaiming “Ah!” he seized the paper, buttoned it into his doublet, and + wrapped his cloak over it. + </p> + <p> + François looked at him with astonishment, for a flash of ferocious joy + played over his face. + </p> + <p> + “And now, monseigneur, be prudent,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not run about the streets with Aurilly, as you did just now.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that, this evening, you pursued with your love a woman whom her + husband adores, and whom he is jealous of, enough to kill any one who + approaches her without permission.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it of you and your wife that you are speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur. I have married Diana de Méridor; she is mine, and no + one shall have her while I live—not even a prince; I swear it by my + name and on this poniard!” and he touched with his poniard the breast of + the prince, who started back. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you menace me!” cried François, pale with rage. + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur; once more, I say, I only warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “That no one shall make love to my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And I warn you that you are too late, and that some one makes love to her + already.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau uttered a terrible cry. “Is it you?” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “You are mad, count!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not; prove your words.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was hidden this evening, twenty steps from your door, with a musket?” + </p> + <h3> + “I.” + </h3> + <p> + “Well, comte, during that time there was a man with your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw him go in?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him come out.” + </p> + <p> + “By the door?” + </p> + <p> + “No, by the window.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you recognize him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Name him, monseigneur, or I do not answer for myself.” + </p> + <p> + The duke half smiled. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Comte,” said he, “on my faith as a prince, on my soul, within a + week I will tell you his name.” + </p> + <p> + “You swear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monseigneur, you have a week; but——” said he, touching + the paper in his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Come back in eight days.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! in eight days I shall have regained all my strength, ready for + vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0082" id="link2HCH0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXII. + </h2> + <h3> + A PROMENADE AT THE TOURNELLES. + </h3> + <p> + In course of time the Angevin gentlemen had returned to Paris, although + not with much confidence. They knew too well the king, his brother, and + mother, to hope that all would terminate in a family embrace. They + returned, therefore, timidly, and glided into the town armed to the teeth, + ready to fire on the least suspicion, and drew their swords fifty times + before the Hôtel d’Anjou on harmless bourgeois, who were guilty of no + crime but of looking at them. They presented themselves at the Louvre, + magnificently dressed in silk, velvet, and embroidery. Henri III. would + not receive them; they waited vainly in the gallery. It was MM. Quelus, + Maugiron, Schomberg, and D’Epernon who came to announce this news to them, + with great politeness, and expressing all the regrets in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, gentlemen,” said Antragues, “the news is sad, but, coming from your + mouths, it loses half its bitterness.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Schomberg, “you are the flower of grace and courtesy. + Would it please you to change the reception which you have missed into a + little promenade?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! gentlemen, we were about to propose it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we go?” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “I know a charming place near the Bastile,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “We follow you, go on.” + </p> + <p> + Then the eight gentlemen went out, arm in arm, talking gaily on different + subjects, until Quelus said, “Here is a solitary place, with a good + footing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! we thought that you would one day accompany us here to meet M. de + Bussy, who has invited us all here.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Do you accept?” said Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; we rejoice at such an honor.” + </p> + <p> + “That is well,” said Schomberg; “shall we each choose an opponent?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bussy, “that is not fair; let us trust to chance, and the first + one that is free can join the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us draw lots then,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said Bussy, “first let us settle the rules of the game.” + </p> + <p> + “They are simple; we will fight till death ensues!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but how?” + </p> + <p> + “With sword and dagger.” + </p> + <p> + “On foot?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! on horseback one’s movements are not so free.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, on foot.” + </p> + <p> + “What day?” + </p> + <p> + “The soonest possible.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said D’Epernon, “I have a thousand things to settle and a will to + make; I would rather wait five or six days.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then draw lots.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment! divide the ground into four compartments, each for a pair.” + </p> + <p> + “Well said.” + </p> + <p> + “I propose for number one, the long square between the chestnuts; it is a + fine place.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed.” + </p> + <p> + “But the sun? one would be turned to the east.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bussy, “that is not fair;” and he proposed a new position, + which was agreed to. + </p> + <p> + Schomberg and Ribeirac came first. They were the first pair; Quelus and + Antragues the second; then Livarot and Maugiron the third. D’Epernon, who + saw himself left to Bussy, grew very pale. + </p> + <p> + “Now, gentlemen,” said Bussy, “until the day of the combat, let us be + friends. Will you accept a dinner at the Hôtel Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + All agreed, and returned with Bussy to his hotel, where a sumptuous + banquet united them till morning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0083" id="link2HCH0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXIII. + </h2> + <h3> + IN WHICH CHICOT SLEEPS. + </h3> + <p> + The movements of the young men had been remarked by the king and Chicot. + The king walked up and down, waiting impatiently for his friends to + return; but Chicot followed them at a distance, and saw enough to be + satisfied of their intentions. When he returned to the house he found the + king, walking up and down, muttering. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear friend! do you know what has become of them?” cried Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Whom? your minions?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes, my poor friends.” + </p> + <p> + “They must lie very low by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Have they been killed?” cried Henri; “are they dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead I fear——” + </p> + <p> + “And you laugh, wretch?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my son, dead drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Chicot, how you terrified me. But why do you calumniate these + gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I praise them.” + </p> + <p> + “Be serious, I beg; do you know that they went out with the Angevins?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the result?” + </p> + <p> + “What I tell you; that they are dead drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “But Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “He is intoxicating them; he is a dangerous man.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot, for pity’s sake——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Bussy has given a dinner to your friends; how do you like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! They are sworn enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you good legs?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go to the river?” + </p> + <p> + “I would go to the end of the world to see such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! go only to the Hôtel Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you accompany me?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I have just come from there.” + </p> + <p> + “But——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no; I, who have seen, do not need to be convinced. Go, my son, go. + You disquiet yourself about your friends; you first pity them as if they + were dead, and when you hear they are not dead, you are uneasy still——” + </p> + <p> + “You are intolerable, M. Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have preferred that they should each have had seven or eight + wounds by a rapier?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to be able to depend on my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! ventre de biche, depend upon me; I am here, my son, only feed me. I + want pheasant and truffles.” + </p> + <p> + Henri and his only friend went to bed early, the king still sighing. + </p> + <p> + The next day, at the petite levée of the king, MM. Quelus, Schomberg, + Maugiron, and D’Epernon presented themselves. Chicot still slept. The king + jumped from his bed in a fury, and tearing off the perfumed mask from his + face, cried, “Go out from here.” + </p> + <p> + The young men looked at each other in wonder. + </p> + <p> + “But, sire, we wished to say to your majesty——” + </p> + <p> + “That you are no longer drunk, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Your majesty is in error,” said Quelus, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “And yet I have not drunk the wine of Anjou.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I understand,” said Quelus, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “If your majesty will remain alone with us, we will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate drunkards and traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” cried three of the gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “Patience, gentlemen,” said Quelus, “his majesty has slept badly, and had + unpleasant dreams. A few words will set all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak then, but be brief.” + </p> + <p> + “It is possible, sire, but difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; one turns long round certain accusations.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire, we go straight to it,” replied Quelus, looking again at Chicot + and the usher, as though to reiterate his request that they might be left + alone. The king signed to the usher to leave the room, but Chicot said, + “Never mind me, I sleep like a top,” and closing his eyes again, he began + to snore with all his strength. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0084" id="link2HCH0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXIV. + </h2> + <h3> + WHERE CHICOT WAKES. + </h3> + <p> + “Your majesty,” said Quelus, “knows only half the business, and that the + least interesting half. Assuredly, we have all dined with M. de Bussy, and + to the honor of his cook, be it said, dined well. There was, above all, a + certain wine from Austria or Hungary, which really appeared to me + marvelous. But during the repast, or rather after it, we had the most + serious and interesting conversation concerning your majesty’s affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “You make the exordium very long.” + </p> + <p> + “How talkative you are, Valois!” cried Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh! M. Gascon,” said Henri, “if you do not sleep, you must leave the + room.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu, it is you who keep me from sleeping, your tongue clacks so + fast.” + </p> + <p> + Quelus, seeing it was impossible to speak seriously, shrugged his + shoulders, and rose in anger. + </p> + <p> + “We were speaking of grave matters,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Grave matters?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said D’Epernon, “if the lives of eight brave gentlemen are worth + the trouble of your majesty’s attention.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean, my son?” said Henri, placing his hand on Quelus’s + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sire, the result of our conversation was, that royalty is menaced—weakened, + that is to say, that all the world is conspiring against you. Sire, you + are a great king, but you have no horizon before you; the nobility have + raised so many barriers before your eyes, that you can see nothing, if it + be not the still higher barriers that the people have raised. When, sire, + in battle one battalion places itself like a menacing wall before another, + what happens? Cowards look behind them, and seeing an open space, they + fly; the brave lower their heads and rush on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then forward!” cried the king, “mordieu! am I not the first + gentleman in my kingdom? Were they not great battles that I fought in my + youth? Forward, then, gentlemen, and I will take the lead; it is my custom + in the mêlée.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, sire,” cried the young men, with one voice. + </p> + <p> + “And,” said Quelus, “against these ramparts which are closing round your + majesty, four men will march, sure to be applauded by you, and glorified + by posterity.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Quelus?” cried the king, with eyes in which joy was + tempered by solicitude; “who are these four men?” + </p> + <p> + “I, and these other gentlemen,” replied Quelus, with pride; “we devote + ourselves, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “To what?” + </p> + <p> + “To your safety.” + </p> + <p> + “Against whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Against your enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Private enmities of young men?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! sire, that is the expression of vulgar prejudice; speak like a king, + sire, not like a bourgeois. Do not profess to believe that Maugiron + detests Antragues, that Schomberg dislikes Livarot, that D’Epernon is + jealous of Bussy, and that I hate Ribeirac. Oh! no. They are all young, + and agreeable, and might love each other like brothers: it is not, + therefore, a rivalry between man and man, which places the swords in our + hands; it is the quarrel of France with Anjou, the dispute as to the + rights of the populace against the prerogatives of the king. We present + ourselves as champions of royalty in those lists, where we shall be met by + the champions of the League, and we came to say, ‘Bless us, sire, smile on + those who are going to die for you.’ Your blessing will, perhaps, give us + the victory, your smile will make us die happy.” + </p> + <p> + Henri, overcome with emotion, opened his arms to Quelus and the others. He + united them in his heart; and it was not a spectacle without interest, a + picture without expression, but a scene in which manly courage was allied + to softer emotions, sanctified by devotion. Chicot looked on, and his + face, ordinarily indifferent or sarcastic, was not the least noble and + eloquent of the six. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the king, “I am proud to-day, not of being King of France, but + of being your friend; at the same time, as I know my own interests best, I + will not accept a sacrifice, of which the result will deliver me up, if + you fall, into the hands of my enemies. France is enough to make war on + Anjou; I know my brother, the Guises, and the League, and have often + conquered more dangerous foes.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sire, soldiers do not reason thus, they never take ill luck into + their calculations.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Maugiron; a soldier may act blindly, but the captain + reflects.” + </p> + <p> + “Reflect, then, sire, and let us act, who are only soldiers,” said + Schomberg: “besides, I know no ill luck; I am always successful.” + </p> + <p> + “Friend, friend,” said the king, sadly, “I wish I could say as much. It is + true, you are but twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said Quelus, “on what day shall we meet MM. Bussy, Livarot, + Antragues and Ribeirac?” + </p> + <p> + “Never; I forbid it absolutely.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, excuse us, the rendezvous was arranged before the dinner, words + were said which cannot be retracted.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, monsieur,” said Henri, “the king absolves from oaths and + promises by saying, ‘I will, or I will not,’ for the king is all-powerful. + Tell these gentlemen, therefore, that I have menaced you with all my anger + it you come to blows; and that you may not doubt it yourselves, I swear to + exile you, if——” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! sire; do not swear; because, if for such a cause we have merited + your anger, and this anger shows itself by exiling us, we will go into + exile with joy, because, being no longer on your majesty’s territories, we + can then keep our promises, and meet our adversaries.” + </p> + <p> + “If these gentlemen approach you within range of an arquebuse, I will + throw them all into the Bastile.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, if you do so we will all go barefooted, and with cords round our + necks, to M. Testu, the governor, and pray to be incarcerate with them.” + </p> + <p> + “I will have them beheaded, then; I am king, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “We will cut our throats at the foot of their scaffold.” + </p> + <p> + Henri kept silent for a long time; then, raising his eyes, said, “God will + surely bless a cause defended by such noble hearts.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are noble hearts,” said Chicot, rising; “do what they wish, and + fix a day for their meeting. It is your duty, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh I mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” murmured Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, we pray you,” cried all the four gentlemen, bending their knees. + </p> + <p> + “Well! so be it. Let us trust that God will give us the victory. But let + us prepare for the conflict in a Christian manner. If I had time, I would + send all your swords to Rome, that the Pope might bless them. But we have + the shrine of St. Genevieve, which contains most precious relics: let us + fast, and do penance, and keep holy the great day of the Fête Dieu, and + then the next day——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! sire, thanks; that is in eight days!” cried the young men. + </p> + <p> + And they seized the hands of the king, who embraced them all once more, + and, going into his oratory, melted into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Our cartel is ready,” said Quelus, “we have but to add the day and hour. + Write, Maugiron, the day after the Fête Dieu. Here is a table.” + </p> + <p> + “It is done,” said Maugiron, “now who will carry the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, if you please,” said Chicot, approaching, “but I wish to give you + a piece of advice. His majesty speaks of fasts and macerations. That is + all very well after the combat, but before, I prefer good nourishment, + generous wine, and eight hours’ sleep every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, my little lions,” replied the Gascon, “I go to the Hôtel Bussy.” + He went three steps and returned, and said, “Apropos, do not quit the king + during the Fête Dieu; do not go to the country, any of you, but stay by + the Louvre. Now, I will do your commission.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0085" id="link2HCH0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE FÊTE DIEU. + </h3> + <p> + During these eight days events were preparing themselves, as a tempest + gathers in the heavens during the calm days of summer. Monsoreau had an + attack of fever for twenty-four hours, then he rallied, and began to + watch, himself; but as he discovered no one, he became more than ever + convinced of the hypocrisy of the Duc d’Anjou, and of his bad intentions + with regard to Diana. + </p> + <p> + Bussy did not discontinue his visits by day, but, warned by Rémy of this + constant watchfulness, came no more at night to the window. + </p> + <p> + Chicot divided his time between the king, whom he watched like a child, + and his friend Gorenflot, whom he had persuaded to return to his convent. + He passed hours with him in his cell, always bringing with him large + bottles in his pocket, and the report begin to be spread that Gorenflot + had nearly persuaded him to turn monk. + </p> + <p> + As for the king, he gave constant lessons in fencing to his friends, + teaching them new thrusts, and, above all, exercising D’Epernon, to whom + fate had given so skilful an adversary, that he was visibly preoccupied by + it. + </p> + <p> + Any one walking in the streets of Paris at certain hours, might have met + the strange monks, of whom our first chapters furnished some description, + and who resembled troopers more than monks. Then, to complete the picture, + we must add that the Hôtel de Guise had become at once mysterious and + turbulent, the most peopled within and the most deserted without that can + be imagined; that meetings were held every night in the great hall, and + with all the blinds and windows hermetically closed, and that these + meetings were preceded by dinners, to which none but men were invited, and + which were presided over by Madame de Montpensier. Of all these meetings, + however, important though they were, the police suspected nothing. On the + morning of the great day, the weather was superb, and the flowers which + filled the streets sent their perfumes through the air. Chicot, who for + the last fortnight had slept in the king’s room, woke him early; no one + had yet entered the royal chamber. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Chicot!” cried the king, “you have woke me from one of the sweetest + dreams I ever had in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed that Quelus had run Antragues through the body, and was + swimming in the blood of his adversary. Let us go and pray that my dream + may be realized. Call, Chicot, call.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “My hair-cloth and my scourge.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you not prefer a good breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Pagan, would you go to hear mass on the Fête Dieu with a full stomach?” + </p> + <p> + “Even so.” + </p> + <p> + “Call, Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “Patience; it is scarcely eight o’clock, and you will have plenty of time + to scourge yourself. Let us talk first. Converse with your friend; you + will not repent it, Valois, on the faith of a Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, talk; but be quick.” + </p> + <p> + “How shall we divide our day, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “Into three parts.” + </p> + <p> + “In honor of the Trinity; very well, let me hear these three parts.” + </p> + <p> + “First, mass at St. Germain l’Auxerrois.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Return to the Louvre, for a collation.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, a procession of penitents through the streets, stopping at the + principal convente of Paris, beginning at the Jacobine and finishing at + St. Geneviève, where I have promised the prior to stay till to-morrow in + the cell of a saint, who will pray for the success of our arms.” + </p> + <p> + “I know him.” + </p> + <p> + “The saint?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better; you shall accompany me, and we will pray together.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; make yourself easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then dress yourself, and come.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “I have more to ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, then, for time passes.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the court to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Follow me.” + </p> + <p> + “And your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Will accompany me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your guard?” + </p> + <p> + “The French guard wait for me at the Louvre, and the Swiss at the door of + the Abbey.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do; now I know all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I may call?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Henri struck on his gong. + </p> + <p> + “The ceremony will be magnificent,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “God will accept our homage, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, Henri, before any one comes in, have you nothing else to say + to me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have given you all the details.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you settled to sleep at St. Genevieve?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my son, I do not like that part of the program.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “When we have dined I will tell you another plan that has occurred to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I consent.” + </p> + <p> + “Whether you consent or not, it will be all the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! here are your valets.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, the ushers opened the door, and the barber, perfumer, and + valet of the king entered, and commenced to execute upon his majesty one + of those toilets which we have described elsewhere. When the king was + dressing, the Duc d’Anjou was announced. He was accompanied by M. de + Monsoreau, D’Epernon, and Aurilly. Henri, at the sight of Monsoreau, still + pale and looking more frightful than ever, could not repress a movement of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You have been wounded, comte, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “At the chase, they told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes sire.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are better now?” + </p> + <p> + “I am well.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said the duke, “would it please you that, after our devotions, M, + de Monsoreau should go and prepare a chase for us in the woods of + Compiègne?” + </p> + <p> + “But do you not know that to-morrow——” + </p> + <p> + He was going to say, “Four of your friends are to fight four of mine;” but + he stopped, for he remembered that it was a secret. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” said the duke; “but if your majesty will inform me——” + </p> + <p> + “I meant that, as I am to pass the night at the Abbey of St. Genevieve, I + should perhaps not be ready for to-morrow; but let the count go; if it be + not to-morrow, it shall be the day after.” + </p> + <p> + “You hear?” said the duke to Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “Yes monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Quelus and Schomberg entered. The king received them with + open arms. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau said softly to the duke, “You exile me, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not your duty to prepare the chase for the king?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand—this is the last of the eight days fixed by your + highness, and you prefer sending me to Compiègne to keeping your promise.” + </p> + <p> + “No, on the contrary; I keep my promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Your departure will be publicly known.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do not go, but hide near your house; then, believing you gone, the + man you wish to know will come; the rest concerns yourself: I engage for + no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! if that be so——” + </p> + <p> + “You have my word.” + </p> + <p> + “I have better than that, I have your signature.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, mordieu! I know that.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly touched D’Epernon’s arm and said, “It is done; Bussy will not + fight to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Not fight!” + </p> + <p> + “I answer for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will prevent it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that.” + </p> + <p> + “If it be so, my dear sorcerer, there are one thousand crowns for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the king, who had finished his toilet, “to St. Germain + l’Auxerrois.” + </p> + <p> + “And from there to St. Genevieve?” asked the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied Henri, passing into the gallery where all his court + were waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0086" id="link2HCH0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXVI. + </h2> + <h3> + WHICH WILL ELUCIDATE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. + </h3> + <p> + The evening before M. de Monsoreau had returned to his home from the Hôtel + Guise, and had found Bussy there. Then, in his friendship for this brave + gentleman, he had taken him aside, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Will you permit me to give you a piece of advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Pray do.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were you, I should leave Paris to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I! and why so?” + </p> + <p> + “All that I can tell you is, that your absence may save you from great + embarrassment.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you ignorant of what is to take place to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Completely.” + </p> + <p> + “On your honor?” + </p> + <p> + “On my word as a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “M. d’Anjou has confided nothing to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; M. d’Anjou confides nothing to me beyond what all the world + knows.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I, who am not the Duc d’Anjou, who love my friends for their own + sakes, and not for mine, I will tell you, my dear count, that he is + preparing for grave events to-morrow, and that the parting of Guise and + Anjou meditate a stroke which may end in the fall of the king.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy looked at M. de Monsoreau with suspicion, but his whole manner + expressed so much sincerity that it was impossible to doubt him. + </p> + <p> + “Count,” replied he, “my sword belongs to the Duc d’Anjou. The king, + against whom I have done nothing, hates me, and has never let slip an + occasion of doing or saying something wounding to me; and to-morrow I tell + you—but you alone, remember—I am about to risk my life to + humiliate Henri de Valois in the person of his favorites.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are resolved to risk all the consequences of your adherence to + the duke?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You know where it may lead you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know where I will stop; whatever complaints I have against the king, I + will never lift a hand against him; but I will let others do what they + like, and I will follow M. d’Anjou to protect him in case of need.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear comte,” said Monsoreau, “the Duc d’Anjou is perfidious and a + traitor; a coward, capable, from jealous or fear, of sacrificing his most + faithful servant—his most devoted friend; abandon him, take a + friend’s counsel, pass the day in your little house at Vincennes, go where + you like, except to the procession of the Fête Dieu.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you follow the duke yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “For reasons which concern my honor. I have need of him for a little while + longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! that is like me; for things which concern my honor I must follow + the duke.” + </p> + <p> + The Comte de Monsoreau pressed his hand, and they parted. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Monsoreau announced to his wife his approaching departure + for Compiègne, and gave all the necessary orders. Diana heard the news + with joy. She knew from her husband of the duel which was arranged between + Bussy and D’Epernon, but had no fear for the result, and looked forward to + it with pride. Bussy had presented himself in the morning to the Duc + d’Anjou, who, seeing him so frank, loyal, and devoted, felt some remorse; + but two things combated this return of good feeling—firstly, the + great empire Bussy had over him, as every powerful mind has over a weak + one, and which annoyed him; and, secondly, the love of Bussy for Diana, + which awoke all the tortures of jealousy in his heart. Monsoreau, it was + true, inspired him with equal dislike and fear, but he thought, “Either + Bussy will accompany me and aid my triumph, and then if I triumph, I do + not care for Monsoreau, or Bussy will abandon me, and then I owe him + nothing, and I will abandon him in return.” + </p> + <p> + When they were in the church, the duke saw Rémy enter, and going up to his + master, slide a note into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is from her,” thought he; “she sends him word that her husband is + leaving Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy put the note into his hat, opened, and read it, and the prince saw + his face radiant with joy and love. The duke looked round; if Monsoreau + had been there, perhaps he would not have had patience to wait till the + evening to denounce Bussy. + </p> + <p> + The mass over, they returned to the Louvre, where a collation waited for + the king in his room, and for his gentlemen in the gallery. On entering + the Louvre, Bussy approached the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, monseigneur,” said he, “but can I say two words to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in a hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much so.” + </p> + <p> + “Will it not do during the procession? we shall walk side by side.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur must excuse me, but what I wished to ask is, that I need not + accompany you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, to-morrow is a great day, and I would wish to retire to-day + to my little house at Vincennes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not join the procession with the king and court?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monseigneur, if you will excuse me.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you not rejoin me at St. Geneviève?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I wish to have the whole day to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “But if anything should occur when I have need of my friends?” + </p> + <p> + “As monseigneur would only want me to draw my sword against my king, it is + a double reason for excusing myself,” replied Bussy; “my sword is engaged + against M. d’Epernon.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau had told the duke the night before that he might reckon on + Bussy; this change, therefore, must have been occasioned by Diana’s note. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the duke, “you abandon your chief and master?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, he who is about to risk his life in a bloody duel, as ours + will be, has but one master, and it is to Him my last devotions will be + paid.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that I am playing for a throne, and you leave me.” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur, I have worked enough for you; I will work again to-morrow, + do not ask me for more than my life.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well!” said the duke, in a hollow voice, “you are free; go, M. de + Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy, without caring for the prince’s evident anger, ran down the + staircase of the Louvre, and went rapidly to his own house. + </p> + <p> + The duke called Aurilly. “Well! he has condemned himself,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Does he not follow you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “He goes to the rendezvous?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is for this evening?” + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + “Is M. de Monsoreau warned?” + </p> + <p> + “Of the rendezvous—yes; but not yet of the man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have decided to sacrifice the count?” + </p> + <p> + “I have determined to revenge myself; I fear now but one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “That Monsoreau will trust to his strength, and that Bussy will escape + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Reassure yourself, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Is M. de Bussy irrevocably condemned?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mordieu! A man who dictates to me—who takes away from me her + whom I was seeking for—who is a sort of lion, of whom I am less the + master than the keeper—yes, Aurilly, he is condemned without mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, be easy, for if he escape Monsoreau, he will not escape from + another.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Does your highness order me to name him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “It is M. d’Epernon.” + </p> + <p> + “D’Epernon! who was to fight him to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monseigneur.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly was about to reply, when the duke was summoned; for the king was + at table, and had sent for his brother. + </p> + <p> + “You shall tell me during the procession,” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + We will now tell our readers what had passed between Aurilly and + D’Epernon. They had long known each other, for Aurilly had taught + D’Epernon to play on the lute, and, as he was fond of music, they were + often together. He called upon Aurilly to tell him of his approaching + duel, which disquieted him not a little. Bravery was never one of + D’Epernon’s prominent qualities, and he looked on a duel with Bussy as + certain death. When Aurilly heard it, he told D’Epernon that Bussy + practised fencing every morning with an artist, lately arrived, who was + said to have borrowed from all nations their best points, until he had + become perfect. During this recital D’Epernon grew livid with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am doomed,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “But it is absurd to go out with a man who is sure to kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have thought of that before making the engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “Peste! I will break the engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a fool who gives up his life willingly at twenty-five. But, now I + think of it——” + </p> + <p> + “Well.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy is sure to kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it will not be a duel, but an assassination.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it be, it is lawful to prevent an assassination by——” + </p> + <p> + “By?” + </p> + <p> + “A murder.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless.” + </p> + <p> + “What prevents me, since he wishes to kill me, from killing him first?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon Dieu! nothing; I thought of that myself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is only natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Very natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Only, instead of killing him with my own hands, I will leave it to + others.” + </p> + <p> + “That is to say, you will hire assassins?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! yes, like M. de Guise for St. Megrim.” + </p> + <p> + “It will cost you dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give three thousand crowns.” + </p> + <p> + “You will only get six men for that, when they know who they have to deal + with.” + </p> + <p> + “Are not six enough?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy would kill four before they touched him. Do you remember the + fight in the Rue St. Antoine?” + </p> + <p> + “I will give six thousand; if I do the thing, I will take care he does not + escape.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you your men?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are plenty of unoccupied men-soldiers of fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; but take care.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “If they fail they will denounce you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have the king to protect me.” + </p> + <p> + “That will not hinder M. de Bussy from killing you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Should you like an auxiliary?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like anything which would aid me to get rid of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, a certain enemy of your enemy is jealous.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is now laying a snare for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “But he wants money; with your six thousand crowns he will take care of + your affair as well as his own. You do not wish the honor. of the thing to + be yours, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! no; I only ask to remain in obscurity.” + </p> + <p> + “Send your men, and he will use them.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must know who it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I will show you in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is noble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes:” + </p> + <p> + “Aurilly, you shall have the six thousand crowns.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is settled?” + </p> + <p> + “Irrevocably.” + </p> + <p> + “At the Louvre, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + We have seen in the preceding chapter how Aurilly said to D’Epernon, “Be + easy, Bussy will not fight to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0087" id="link2HCH0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXVII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE PROCESSION. + </h3> + <p> + As soon as the collation was over, the king had entered his room with + Chicot, to put on his penitent’s robe and had come out an instant after, + with bare feet, a cord round his waist, and his hood over his face; the + courtiers had made the same toilet. The weather was magnificent, and the + pavements were strewn with flowers; an immense crowd lined the roads to + the four places where the king was to stop. The clergy of St. Germain led + the procession, and the Archbishop of Paris followed, carrying the holy + sacrament; between them walked young boys, shaking censers, and young + girls scattering roses. Then came the king, followed by his four friends, + barefooted and frocked like himself. + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Anjou followed in his ordinary dress, accompanied by his + Angevins. Next came the principal courtiers, and then the bourgeois. It + was one o’clock when they left the Louvre. Crillon and the French guards + were about to follow, but the king signed to them to remain. It was near + six in the evening before they arrived before the old abbey, where they + saw the prior and the monks drawn up on the threshold to wait for his + majesty. The Duc d’Anjou, a little before, had pleaded great fatigue, and + had asked leave to retire to his hotel, which had been granted to him. His + gentlemen had retired with him, as if to proclaim that they followed the + duke and not the king, besides which, they did not wish to fatigue + themselves before the morrow. At the door of the abbey the king dismissed + his four favorites, that they also might take some repose. The archbishop + also, who had eaten nothing since morning, was dropping with fatigue, so + the king took pity on him and on the other priests and dismissed them all. + Then, turning to the prior, Joseph Foulon, “Here I am, my father,” said + he; “I come, sinner as I am, to seek repose in your solitude.” + </p> + <p> + The prior bowed, and the royal penitent mounted the steps of the abbey, + striking his breast at each step, and the door was immediately closed + behind him. + </p> + <p> + “We will first,” said the prior, “conduct your majesty into the crypt, + which we have ornamented in our best manner to do honor to the King of + heaven and earth.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner had the king passed through the somber arcade, lined with monks, + and turned the corner which led to the chapel, than twenty hoods were + thrown into the air, and eyes were seen brilliant with joy and triumph. + Certainly, they were not monkish or peaceful faces displayed, but + bristling mustaches and embrowned skins, many scarred by wounds, and by + the side of the proudest of all, who displayed the most celebrated scar, + stood a woman covered with a frock, and looking triumphant and happy. This + woman, shaking a pair of golden scissors which hung by her side, cried: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my brothers, at last we have the Valois!” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi, sister, I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” murmured the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we have enough bourgeois guards to make head against Crillon and + his guards?” + </p> + <p> + “We have better than bourgeois guards; and, believe me, there will not be + a musket-shot exchanged.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” said the duchess. “I should have liked a little disturbance.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sister, you will be deprived of it. When the king is taken he will + cry out, but no one will answer; then, by persuasion or by violence, but + without showing ourselves, we shall make him sign his abdication. The news + will soon spread through the city, and dispose in our favor both the + bourgeois and the troops.” + </p> + <p> + “The plan is good, and cannot fail,” said the duchess. “It is rather + brutal,” said the Duc de Guise; “besides which, the king will refuse to + sign the abdication. He is brave, and will rather die.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him die, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” replied the duke, firmly. “I will mount the throne of a prince + who abdicates and is despised, but not of an assassinated man who is + pitied. Besides, in your plans you forget M. le Duc d’Anjou, who will + claim the crown.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him claim, mordieu!” said Mayenne; “he shall be comprised in his + brother’s act of abdication. He is in connection with the Huguenots, and + is unworthy to reign.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! did he not escape from the Louvre by the aid of the King of + Navarre?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Then another clause in favor of our house shall follow; this clause shall + make you lieutenant-general of the kingdom, from which to the throne is + only a step.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said the cardinal, “all that is settled; but it is probable + that the French guards, to make sure that the abdication is a genuine one, + and above all, a voluntary one, will insist upon seeing the king, and will + force the gates of the abbey if they are not admitted. Crillon does not + understand joking, and he is just the man to say to the king, ‘Sire, your + life is in danger; but, before everything, let us save our honor.’” + </p> + <p> + “The general has taken his precautions. If it be necessary to sustain a + siege, we have here eighty gentlemen, and I have distributed arms to a + hundred monks. We could hold out for a month against the army; besides, in + case of danger, we have the cave to fly to with our prey.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the Duc d’Anjou doing?” + </p> + <p> + “In the hour of danger he has failed, as usual. He has gone home, no + doubt, waiting for news of us, through Bussy or Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! he should have been here; not at home.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, brother,” said the cardinal; “the people and the nobles + would have seen in it a snare to entrap the family. As you said just now, + we must, above all things, avoid playing the part of usurper. We must + inherit. By leaving the Duc d’Anjou free, and the queen-mother + independent, no one will have anything to accuse us of. If we acted + otherwise, we should have against us Bussy, and a hundred other dangerous + swords.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! Bussy is going to fight against the king’s minions.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! he will kill them, and then he will join us,” said the Duc de + Guise; “he is a superior man, and one whom I much esteem, and I will make + him general of the army in Italy, where war is sure to break out.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said the duchess, “if I become a widow, will marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is near the king?” asked the duke. + </p> + <p> + “The prior and Brother Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he in the cell?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! he will look first at the crypt and the relics.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a bell sounded. + </p> + <p> + “The king is returning,” said the Duc de Guise; “let us become monks + again.” And immediately the hoods covered ardent eyes and speaking scars, + and twenty or thirty monks, conducted by the three brothers, went towards + the crypt. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0088" id="link2HCH0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXVIII. + </h2> + <h3> + CHICOT THE FIRST. + </h3> + <p> + The king visited the crypt, kissed the relics-often striking his breast, + and murmuring the most doleful psalms. At last the prior said, “Sire, will + it please you now to depose your earthly crown at the feet of the eternal + king?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go!” said the king. + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the cell, on the threshold of which stood Gorenflot, his + eyes brilliant as carbuncles. + </p> + <p> + Henri entered. “Hic portus salutis!” murmured he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Foulon. + </p> + <p> + “Leave us!” said Gorenflot, with a majestic gesture; and immediately the + door shut, and they were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Here you are, then, Herod! pagan! Nebuchadnezzar!” cried Gorenflot, + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Is it to me you speak, my brother?” cried the king, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to you. Can one accuse you of anything so bad, that it is not true?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother!” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! you have no brother here. I have long been meditating a discourse, + and now you shall have it. I divide it into three heads. First, you are a + tyrant; second, you are a satyr; third, you are dethroned.” + </p> + <p> + “Dethroned!” + </p> + <p> + “Neither more or less. This abbey is not like Poland, and you cannot fly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! a snare!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Valois, learn that a king is but a man.” + </p> + <p> + “You are violent, my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! do you think we imprison you to flatter you?” + </p> + <p> + “You abuse your religious calling.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no religion.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are a saint, and say such things!” + </p> + <p> + “I have said it.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak dreadfully, my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, no preaching; are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + “To do what?” + </p> + <p> + “To resign your crown; I am charged to demand it of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are committing a mortal sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I have right of absolution, and I absolve myself in advance. Come, + renounce, Brother Valois.” + </p> + <p> + “Renounce what?” + </p> + <p> + “The throne of France.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather death!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! then you shall die! Here is the prior returning. Decide!” + </p> + <p> + “I have my guards—my friends; they will defend me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you will be killed first.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me at least a little time for reflection.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an instant!” + </p> + <p> + “Your zeal carries you away, brother,” said the prior, opening the door; + and saying to the king, “Your request is granted,” he shut it again. + </p> + <p> + Henri fell into a profound reverie. “I accept the sacrifice,” he said, + after the lapse of ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + “It is done—he accepts!” cried Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + The king heard a murmur of joy and surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Read him the act,” said a voice, and a monk passed a paper to Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot read it to the king, who listened with his head buried in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + “If I refuse to sign?” cried he, shedding tears. + </p> + <p> + “It will be doubly your ruin,” said the Duc de Guise, from under his hood. + “Look on yourself as dead to the world, and do not force your subjects to + shed the blood of a man who has been their king.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not be forced.” + </p> + <p> + “I feared so,” said the duke to his sister. Then, turning to his brother, + “Let everyone arm and prepare,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “For what?” cried the king, in a miserable tone. + </p> + <p> + “For anything.” + </p> + <p> + The king’s despair redoubled. + </p> + <p> + “Corbleu!” cried Gorenflot, “I hated you before, Valois, but now I despise + you! Sign, or you shall perish by my hand!” + </p> + <p> + “Have patience,” said the king; “let me pray to my divine Master for + resignation.” + </p> + <p> + “He wishes to reflect again,” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Give him till midnight,” said the cardinal. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, charitable Christian!” cried the king: + </p> + <p> + “His brain is weak,” said the duke; “we serve France by dethroning him.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have great pleasure in clipping him!” said the duchess. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a noise was heard outside, and soon they distinguished blows + struck on the door of the abbey, and Mayenne went to see what it was. “My + brothers,” said he, “there is a troop of armed men outside.” + </p> + <p> + “They have come to seek him,” said the duchess. + </p> + <p> + “The more reason that he should sign quickly.” + </p> + <p> + “Sign, Valois, sign!” roared Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “You gave me till midnight,” said the king, piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you hoped to be rescued.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall die if he does not sign!” cried the duchess. Gorenflot offered + him the pen. The noise outside redoubled. + </p> + <p> + “A new troop!” cried a monk; “they are surrounding the abbey!” + </p> + <p> + “The Swiss,” cried Foulon, “are advancing on the right!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will defend ourselves; with such a hostage in our hands, we need + not surrender.” + </p> + <p> + “He has signed!” cried Gorenflot, tearing the paper from Henri, who buried + his face in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are king!” cried the cardinal to the duke; “take the precious + paper.” + </p> + <p> + The king overturned the little lamp which alone lighted the scene, but the + duke already held the parchment. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do?” said a monk. “Here is Crillon, with his guards, + threatening to break in the doors!” + </p> + <p> + “In the king’s name!” cried the powerful voice of Crillon. + </p> + <p> + “There is no king!” cried Gorenflot through the window. + </p> + <p> + “Who says that?” cried Crillon. + </p> + <h3> + “I! I!” + </h3> + <p> + “Break in the doors, Monsieur Crillon!” said, from outside, a voice which + made the hair of all the monks, real and pretended, stand on end. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire,” replied Crillon, giving a tremendous blow with a hatchet on + the door. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” said the prior, going to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, M. Foulon,” replied the same voice, “I want my jester, who + is in one of your cells. I want Chicot, I am ennuyé at the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have been much amused, my son,” said Chicot, throwing off his hood, + and pushing his way through the crowd of monks, who recoiled, with a cry + of terror. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the Duc de Guise, advancing to a lamp, read the signature + obtained with so much labor. It was “Chicot I.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot!” cried he; “thousand devils!” + </p> + <p> + “Let us fly!” said the cardinal, “we are lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Chicot, turning to Gorenflot, who was nearly fainting, and he + began to strike him with the cord he had round his waist. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0089" id="link2HCH0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXXXIX. + </h2> + <h3> + INTEREST AND CAPITAL. + </h3> + <p> + As the king spoke and the conspirators listened, they passed from + astonishment to terror. Chicot I. relinquished his role of apparent + terror, threw back his hood, crossed his arms, and, while Gorenflot fled + at his utmost speed, sustained, firm and smiling, the first shock. It was + a terrible moment, for the gentlemen, furious at the mystification of + which they had been the dupes, advanced menacingly on the Gascon. But this + unarmed man, his breast covered only by his arms—this laughing face, + stopped them still more than the remonstrance of the cardinal, who said to + them that Chicot’s death could serve no end, but, on the contrary, would + be terribly avenged by the king, who was the jester’s accomplice in this + scene of terrible buffoonery. + </p> + <p> + The result was, that daggers and rapiers were lowered before Chicot, who + continued to laugh in their faces. + </p> + <p> + However, the king’s menaces and Crillon’s blows became more vehement, and + it was evident that the door could not long resist such an attack. Thus, + after a moment’s deliberation, the Duc de Guise gave the order for + retreat. This order made Chicot smile, for, during his nights with + Gorenflot, he had examined the cave and found out the door, of which he + had informed the king, who had placed there Torquenot, lieutenant of the + Swiss guards. It was then evident that the leaguers, one after another, + were about to throw themselves into the trap. The cardinal made off first, + followed by about twenty gentlemen. Then Chicot saw the duke pass with + about the same number, and afterwards Mayenne. When Chicot saw him go he + laughed outright. Ten minutes passed, during which he listened earnestly, + thinking to hear the noise of the leaguers sent back into the cave, but to + his astonishment, the sound continued to go further and further off. His + laugh began to change into oaths. Time passed, and the leaguers did not + return; had they seen that the door was guarded and found another way out? + Chicot was about to rush from the cell, when all at once the door was + obstructed by a mass which fell at his feet, and began to tear its hair. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! wretch that I am!” cried the monk. “Oh! my good M. Chicot, pardon me, + pardon me!” + </p> + <p> + How did Gorenflot, who went first, return now alone? was the question that + presented itself to Chicot’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my good M. Chicot!” he continued to cry, “pardon your unworthy + friend, who repents at your knees.” + </p> + <p> + “But how is it you have not fled with the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the Lord in His anger has struck me with obesity, and I could not + pass where the others did. Oh! unlucky stomach! Oh! miserable paunch!” + cried the monk, striking with his two hands the part he apostrophized. + “Ah! why am not I thin like you, M. Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot understood nothing of the lamentations of the monk. + </p> + <p> + “But the others are flying, then?” cried he, in a voice of thunder. + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! what should they do? Wait to be hung? Oh! unlucky paunch!” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, and answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Interrogate me, M. Chicot; you have the right.” + </p> + <p> + “How are the others escaping?” + </p> + <p> + “As fast as they can.” + </p> + <p> + “So I imagine; but where?” + </p> + <p> + “By the hole.” + </p> + <p> + “Mordieu! what hole?” + </p> + <p> + “The hole in the cemetery cellar.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that what you call the cave?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no; the door of that was guarded outside. The great cardinal, just as + he was about to open it, heard a Swiss say, ‘Mich dwistel,’ which means, + ‘I am thirsty.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche! so then they took another way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear M. Chicot, they are getting out through the cellar.” + </p> + <p> + “How does that run?” + </p> + <p> + “From the crypt to the Porte St. Jacques.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie; I should have seen them repass before this cell.” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear M. Chicot; they thought they had not time for that, so they are + creeping out through the air-hole.” + </p> + <p> + “What hole?” + </p> + <p> + “One which looks into the garden, and serves to light the cellar.” + </p> + <p> + “So that you——” + </p> + <p> + “I was too big, and could not pass, and they drew me back by my legs, + because I intercepted the way for the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he who is bigger than you?” + </p> + <p> + “He! who?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Holy Virgin, I promise you a dozen wax candles, if he also cannot + pass.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “Get up.” + </p> + <p> + The monk raised himself from the ground as quickly as he could. + </p> + <p> + “Now lead me to the hole.” + </p> + <p> + “Where you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, then, wretch.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot went on as fast as he was able, while Chicot indulged himself by + giving him a few blows with the cord. They traversed the corridor, and + descended into the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Here! this way,” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, and go on.” + </p> + <p> + “There it is,” and exhausted by his efforts, the monk sank on the grass, + while Chicot, hearing groans, advanced, and saw something protruding + through the hole. By the side of this something lay a frock and a sword. + It was evident that the individual in the hole had taken off successively + all the loose clothing which increased his size; and yet, like Gorenflot, + he was making useless efforts to get through. + </p> + <p> + “Mordieu! ventrebleu! sangdien!” cried a stifled voice. “I would rather + pass through the midst of the guards. Do not pull so hard, my friends; I + shall come through gradually; I feel that I advance, not quickly, it is + true, but I do advance.” + </p> + <p> + “Ventre de biche!” murmured Chicot, “it is M. de Mayenne. Holy Virgin, you + have gained your candles.” + </p> + <p> + And he made a noise with his feet like some one running fast. + </p> + <p> + “They are coming,” cried several voices from inside. + </p> + <p> + “All!” cried Chicot, as if out of breath, “it is you, miserable monk!” + </p> + <p> + “Say nothing, monseigneur!” murmured the voices, “he takes you for + Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, heavy mass—pondus immobile; it is you, indigesta + moles!” + </p> + <p> + And at each apostrophe, Chicot, arrived at last at his desired vengeance, + let fall the cord with all the weight of his arm on the body before him. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” whispered the voices again; “he takes you for Gorenflot.” + </p> + <p> + Mayenne only uttered groans, and made immense efforts to get through. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! conspirator!” cried Chicot again; “ah! unworthy monk, this is for + your drunkenness, this for idleness, this for anger, this for greediness, + and this for all the vices you have.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Chicot, have pity,” whispered Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “And here, traitor, this is for your treason,” continued Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! why did it not please God to substitute for your vulgar carcass the + high and mighty shoulders of the Duc de Mayenue, to whom I owe a volley of + blows, the interest of which has been accumulating for seven years!” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot!” cried the duke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Chicot, unworthy servant of the king, who wishes he had the hundred + arms of Briareus for this occasion.” + </p> + <p> + And he redoubled his blows with such violence, that the sufferer, making a + tremendous effort, pushed himself through, and fell torn and bleeding into + the arms of his friends. Chicot’s last blow fell into empty space. He + turned, and saw that the true Gorenflot had fainted with terror. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0090" id="link2HCH0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XC. + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT WAS PASSING NEAR THE BASTILE WHILE CHICOT WAS PAYING HIS DEBT TO Y. + DE MAYENNE. + </h3> + <p> + It was eleven at night, and the Duc d’Anjou was waiting impatiently at + home for a messenger from the Duc le Guise. He walked restlessly up and + down, looking every minute at the clock. All at once he heard a horse in + the courtyard, and thinking it was the messenger, he ran to the window, + but it was a groom leading up and down a horse which was waiting for its + master, who almost immediately came out. It was Bussy, who, as captain of + the duke’s guards, came to give the password for the night. The duke, + seeing this handsome and brave young man, of whom he had never had reason + to complain, experienced an instant’s remorse, but on his face he read so + much joy, hope, and happiness, that all his jealousy returned. However, + Bussy, ignorant that the duke was watching him, jumped into his saddle and + rode off to his own hotel, where he gave his horse to the groom. There he + saw Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you Rémy?” + </p> + <p> + “Myself, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet in bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I have just come in. Indeed, since I have no longer a patient, it seems + to me that the days have forty-eight hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you ennuyé?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Gertrude is abandoned?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “You grew tired?” + </p> + <p> + “Of being beaten. That was how her love showed itself.” + </p> + <p> + “And does your heart not speak for her to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Why to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I would have taken you with me.” + </p> + <p> + “To the Bastile?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “Is at Compiègne, preparing a chase for the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “The order was given publicly this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well; Jourdain, my sword.” + </p> + <p> + “You have changed your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I will accompany you to the door, for two reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Firstly, lest you should meet any enemies.” Bussy smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mon Dieu, I know you fear no one, and that Rémy the doctor is but a + poor companion; still, two men are not so likely to be attacked as one. + Secondly, because I have a great deal of good advice to give you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear Rémy, come. We will speak of her; and next to the pleasure + of seeing the woman you love, I know none greater than talking of her.” + </p> + <p> + Bussy then took the arm of the young doctor, and they set off. Rémy on the + way tried hard to induce Bussy to return early, insisting that he would be + more fit for his duel on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + Bussy smiled. “Fear nothing,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear master, to-morrow you ought to fight like Hercules against + Antæus—like Theseus against the Minotaur—like Bayard—like + something Homeric, gigantic, impossible; I wish people to speak of it in + future times as the combat, par excellence, and in which you had not even + received a scratch.” + </p> + <p> + “Be easy, my dear Rémy, you shall see wonders. This morning I put swords + in the hands of four fencers, who during eight minutes could not touch me + once, while I tore their doublets to pieces.” + </p> + <p> + So conversing, they arrived in the Rue St. Antoine. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu! here we are,” said Bussy. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I wait for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “To make sure that you will return before two o’clock, and have at least + five or six hours’ sleep before your duel.” + </p> + <p> + “If I give you my word?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that will be enough; Bussy’s word is never doubted.” + </p> + <p> + “You have it then.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, adieu, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Rémy.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy watched, and saw Bussy enter, not this time by the window, but boldly + through the door, which Gertrude opened for him. Then Rémy turned to go + home; but he had only gone a few steps, when he saw coming towards him + five armed men, wrapped in cloaks. When they arrived about ten yards from + him, they said good night to each other, and four went off in different + directions, while the fifth remained stationary. + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc!” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Rémy!” + </p> + <p> + “Rémy, in person. Is it an indiscretion to ask what your lordship does at + this hour so far from the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! I am examining, by the king’s order, the physiognomy of the city. + He said to me, ‘St. Luc, walk about the streets of Paris, and if you hear + any one say I have abdicated, contradict him.’” + </p> + <p> + “And have you heard it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere; and as it is just midnight, and I have met no one but M. de + Monsoreau, I have dismissed my friends, and am about to return.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Monsoreau?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You met him?” + </p> + <p> + “With a troop of armed men; ten or twelve at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be at Compiègne.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be, but he is not.” + </p> + <p> + “But the king’s order?” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! who obeys the king?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he know you?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + “You were but five?” + </p> + <p> + “My four friends and I.” + </p> + <p> + “And he did not attack you?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, he avoided me, which astonished me, as on seeing him, I + expected a terrible battle.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was he going?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Rue de la Tixanderie.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de St. Luc, a great misfortune is about to happen.” + </p> + <p> + “To whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy! speak, Rémy; I am his friend, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! M. de Bussy thought him at Compiègne.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “And, profiting by his absence, is with Madame de Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not see? he has had suspicions, and has feigned to depart, that he + might appear unexpectedly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is the Duc d’Anjou’s doing, I believe. Have you good lungs, Rémy?” + </p> + <p> + “Corbleu! like a blacksmith’s bellows.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! let us run. You know the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on then.” And the young men set off like hunted deer. + </p> + <p> + “Is he much in advance of us?” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “About a quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “If we do but arrive in time!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0091" id="link2HCH0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE ASSASSINATION. + </h3> + <p> + Bussy, himself without disquietude or hesitation, had been received by + Diana without fear, for she believed herself sure of the absence of M. de + Monsoreau. Never had this beautiful woman been more beautiful, nor Bussy + more happy. She was moved, however, by fears for the morrow’s combat, now + so near, and she repeated to him, again and again, the anxiety she felt + about it, and questioned him as to the arrangements he had made for + flight. To conquer was not all; there was afterwards the king’s anger to + avoid, for it was not probable that he would ever pardon the death or + defeat of his favorites. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” said she, “are you not acknowledged to be the bravest man in + France? Why make it a point of honor to augment your glory? You are + already superior to other men, and you do not wish to please any other + woman but me, Louis. Therefore, guard your life, or rather—for I + think there is not a man in France capable of killing you, Louis—I + should say, take care of wounds, for you may be wounded. Indeed, it was + through a wound received in fighting with these same men, that I first + made your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself easy,” said Bussy, smiling; “I will take care of my face—I + shall not be disfigured.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, take care of yourself altogether. Think of the grief you would + experience if you saw me brought home wounded and bleeding, and that I + should feel the same grief on seeing your blood. Be prudent, my too + courageous hero—that is all I ask. Act like the Roman of whom you + read to me the other day: let your friends fight, aid the one who needs it + most, but if three men—if two men attack you, fly; you can turn, + like Horatius, and kill them one after another.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear Diana.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you reply without hearing me, Louis; you look at me, and do not + listen.” + </p> + <p> + “But I see you, and you are beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not think of my beauty just now! Mon Dieu! it is your life I am + speaking of. Stay, I will tell you something that will make you more + prudent—I shall have the courage to witness this duel.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be there.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, Diana!” + </p> + <p> + “No; listen. There is, in the room next to this, a window looking into a + little court, but with a side-view of the Tournelles.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember—the window from which I threw crumbs to the birds + the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “From there I can have a view of the ground; therefore, above all things, + take care to stand so that I can see you; you will know that I am there, + but do not look at me, lest your enemy should profit by it.” + </p> + <p> + “And kill me, while I had my eyes fixed upon you. If I had to choose my + death, Diana, that is the one I should prefer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but now you are not to die, but live.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will live; therefore tranquilize yourself, Diana. Besides, I am + well seconded—you do not know my friends; Antragues uses his sword + as well as I do, Ribeirac is so steady on the ground that his eyes and his + arms alone seem to be alive, and Livarot is as active as a tiger. Believe + me, Diana, I wish there were more danger, for there would be more honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I believe you, and I smile and hope; but listen, and promise to + obey me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you do not tell me to leave.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just what I am about to do. I appeal to your reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you should not have made me mad.” + </p> + <p> + “No nonsense, but obedience—that is the way to prove your love.” + </p> + <p> + “Order, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear friend, you want a long sleep; go home.” + </p> + <p> + “Not already.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going to pray for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray now, then.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, a pane of the window flew into pieces, then the window + itself, and three armed men appeared on the balcony while a fourth was + climbing over. This one had his face covered with a mask, and held in his + right hand a sword, and in his left a pistol. + </p> + <p> + Bussy remained paralyzed for a moment by the dreadful cry uttered by Diana + at this sight. The masked man made a sign, and the three others advanced. + Bussy put Diana back, and drew his sword. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my brave fellows!” said a sepulchral voice from under the mask; “he + is already half-dead with fear.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong,” said Bussy; “I never feel fear.” + </p> + <p> + Diana drew near him. + </p> + <p> + “Go back, Diana,” said he. But she threw herself on his neck. “You will + get me killed,” said he; and she drew back. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the masked man, “it is M. de Bussy, and I would not believe it, + fool that I was! Really, what a good and excellent friend! He learns that + the husband is absent, and has left his wife alone, and fears she may be + afraid, so he comes to keep her company, although on the eve of a duel. I + repeat, he is a good and excellent friend!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is you, M. de Monsoreau!” said Bussy; “throw off your mask.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said he, doing so. + </p> + <p> + Diana uttered another cry; the comte was as pale as a corpse, but he + smiled like a demon. + </p> + <p> + “Let us finish, monsieur,” said Bussy; “it was very well for Homer’s + heroes, who were demigods, to talk before they fought; but I am a man—attack + me, or let me pass.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau replied by a laugh which made Diana shudder, but raised Bussy’s + anger. + </p> + <p> + “Let me pass!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, draw and have done; I wish to go home and I live far off.” + </p> + <p> + During this time two other men mounted into the balcony. + </p> + <p> + “Two and four make six,” said Bussy, “where are the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Waiting at the door.” + </p> + <p> + Diana fell on her knees, and in spite of her efforts Bussy heard her sobs. + </p> + <p> + “My dear comte,” said he, “you know I am a man of honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are, and madame is a faithful wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, monsieur; you are severe, but, perhaps, it is deserved; only as I + have a prior engagement with four gentlemen, I beg to be allowed to retire + to-night, and I pledge my word, you shall find me again, when and where + you will.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I swear to you, monsieur,” said Bussy, “that when I have satisfied MM. + Quelus, Schomberg, D’Epernon, and Maugiron, I shall be at your service. If + they kill me, your vengeance will be satisfied, and if not——” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau turned to his men. “On, my brave fellows,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bussy, “I was wrong; it is not a duel, but an assassination.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “We were each deceived with regard to the other; but remember, monsieur, + that the Duc d’Anjou will avenge me.” + </p> + <p> + “It was he who sent me.” + </p> + <p> + Diana groaned. + </p> + <p> + Instantaneously Bussy overturned the prie-Dieu, drew a table towards him, + and threw a chair over all, so that in a second he had formed a kind of + rampart between himself and his enemies. This movement had been so rapid, + that the ball fired at him from the arquebuse only struck the prie-Dieu. + Diana sobbed aloud. Bussy glanced at her, and then at his assailants, + crying, “Come on, but take care, for my sword is sharp.” + </p> + <p> + The men advanced, and one tried to seize the prie-Dieu, but before he + reached it, Bussy’s sword pierced his arm. The man uttered a cry, and fell + back. + </p> + <p> + Bussy then heard rapid steps in the corridor, and thought he was + surrounded. He flew to the door to lock it, but before he could reach it, + it was opened, and two men rushed in. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! dear master!” cried a well-known voice, “are we in time?” + </p> + <p> + “Rémy!” + </p> + <p> + “And I?” cried a second voice, “it seems they are attempting assassination + here.” + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc!” cried Bussy, joyfully. “Ah! M. de Monsoreau, I think now you + will do well to let us pass, for if you do not, we will pass over you.” + </p> + <p> + “Three more men,” cried Monsoreau. And they saw three new assailants + appear on the balcony. + </p> + <p> + “They are an army,” cried St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! God protect him!” cried Diana. + </p> + <p> + “Wretch!” cried Monsoreau, and he advanced to strike her. Bussy saw the + movement. Agile as a tiger, he bounded on him, and touched him in the + throat; but the distance was too great, it was only a scratch. Five or six + men rushed on Bussy, but one fell beneath the sword of St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Rémy!” cried Bussy, “carry away Diana.” + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau uttered a yell and snatched a pistol from one of the men. + </p> + <p> + Rémy hesitated. “But you?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Away! away! I confide her to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, madame,” said Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Never! I will never leave him.” + </p> + <p> + Rémy seized her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Bussy, help me! Bussy!” cried Diana. For any one who separated her from + Bussy, seemed an enemy to her. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” cried Bussy, “I will rejoin you.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Monsoreau fired, and Bussy saw Rémy totter, and then fall, + dragging Diana with him. Bussy uttered a cry, and turned. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing, master,” said Rémy. “It was I who received the ball. She + is safe.” + </p> + <p> + As Bussy turned, three men threw themselves on him; St. Luc rushed + forward, and one of them fell. The two others drew back. + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc,” cried Bussy, “by her you love, save Diana.” + </p> + <p> + “But you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a man.” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc rushed to Diana, seized her in his arms, and disappeared through + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Here, my men, from the staircase,” shouted Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! coward!” cried Bussy. + </p> + <p> + Monsoreau retreated behind his men. Bussy gave a back stroke and a thrust; + with the first he cleft open a head, and with the second pierced a breast. + </p> + <p> + “That clears!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Fly, master!” cried Rémy. + </p> + <p> + “Diana must save herself first,” murmured he. + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” cried Rémy again, as four men rushed in through the door from + the staircase. Bussy saw himself between two troops, but his only cry was, + “Ah! Diana!” + </p> + <p> + Then, without losing a second, he rushed on the four men; and taken by + surprise, two fell, one dead, one wounded. + </p> + <p> + Then, as Monsoreau advanced, he retreated again behind his rampart. + </p> + <p> + “Push the bolts, and turn the key,” cried Monsoreau, “we have him now.” + During this time, by a great effort, Rémy had dragged himself before + Bussy, and added his body to the rampart. + </p> + <p> + There was an instant’s pause. Bussy looked around him. Seven men lay + stretched on the ground, but nine remained. And seeing these nine swords, + and hearing Monsoreau encouraging them, this brave man, who had never + known fear, saw plainly before him the image of death, beckoning him with + its gloomy smile. + </p> + <p> + “I may kill five more,” thought he, “but the other four will kill me. I + have strength for ten minutes’ more combat; in that ten minutes let me do + what man never did before.” + </p> + <p> + And rushing forward, he gave three thrusts, and three times he pierced the + leather of a shoulder-belt, or the buff of a jacket, and three times a + stream of blood followed. + </p> + <p> + During this time he had parried twenty blows with his left arm, and his + cloak, which he had wrapped round it, was hacked to pieces. + </p> + <p> + The men changed their tactics; seeing two of their number fall and one + retire, they renounced the sword, and some tried to strike with the + butt-ends of their muskets, while others fired at him with pistols. He + avoided the balls by jumping from side to side, or by stooping; for he + seemed not only to see, hear, and act, but to divine every movement of his + enemies, and appeared more than a man, or only man because he was mortal. + Then he thought that to kill Monsoreau would be the best way to end the + combat, and sought him with his eyes among his assailants, but he stood in + the background, loading the pistols for his men. However, Bussy rushed + forward, and found himself face to face with him. He, who held a loaded + pistol, fired, and the ball, striking Bussy’s sword, broke it off six + inches from the handle. + </p> + <p> + “Disarmed!” cried Monsoreau. + </p> + <p> + Bussy drew back, picking up his broken blade, and in an instant it was + fastened to the handle with a handkerchief; and the battle recommenced, + presenting the extraordinary spectacle of a man almost without arms, but + also almost without wounds, keeping six enemies at bay, and with ten + corpses at his feet for a rampart. When the fight began again, Monsoreau + commenced to draw away the bodies, lest Bussy should snatch a sword from + one of them. Bussy was surrounded; the blade of his sword bent and shook + in his hand, and fatigue began to render his arm heavy, when suddenly, one + of the bodies raising itself, pushed a rapier into his hand. It was Rémy’s + last act of devotion. Bussy uttered a cry of joy, and threw away his + broken sword: at the same moment Monsoreau fired at Rémy, and the ball + entered his brain. This time he fell to rise no more. + </p> + <p> + Bussy uttered a cry. His strength seemed to return to him, and he whirled + round his sword in a circle, cutting through a wrist at his right hand, + and laying open a cheek at his left. Exhausted by the effort, he let his + right arm fall for a moment, while with his left he tried to undraw the + bolts behind him. During this second, he received a ball in his thigh, and + two swords touched his side. But he had unfastened the bolt, and turned + the key. Sublime with rage, he rushed on Monsoreau, and wounded him in the + breast. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Bussy, “I begin to think I shall escape.” The four men rushed + on him, but they could not touch him, and were repulsed with blows. + Monsoreau approached him twice more, and twice more was wounded. But three + men seized hold of the handle of his sword, and tore it from him. He + seized a stool of carved wood, and struck three blows with it, and knocked + down two men; but it broke on the shoulder of the third, who sent his + dagger into Bussy’s breast. + </p> + <p> + Bussy seized him by the wrist, forced the dagger from him, and stabbed him + to the heart. The last man jumped out of the window. Bussy made two steps + to follow him, but Monsoreau, raising himself from the floor, where he was + lying, wounded him in the leg with his dagger. The young man seized a + sword which lay near, and plunged it so vigorously into his breast, that + he pinned him to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Bussy, “I do not know if I shall live, but at least I shall + have seen you die!” + </p> + <p> + Bussy dragged himself to the corridor, his wounds bleeding fearfully. He + threw a last glance behind him. The moon was shining brilliantly, and its + light penetrated this room inundated with blood, and illuminated the walls + pierced by balls, and hacked by blows, and lighted up the pale faces of + the dead, which even then seemed to preserve the fierce look of assassins. + </p> + <p> + Bussy, at the sight of this field of battle, peopled by him with slain, + nearly dying as he was, experienced a feeling of pride. As he had + intended, he had done what no man had done before him. There now remained + to him only to fly. + </p> + <p> + But all was not over for the unfortunate young man. On arriving on the + staircase, he saw arms shine in the courtyard; some one fired, and the + ball pierced his shoulder. The court being guarded, he thought of the + little window, where Diana had said she would sit to see the combat, and + as quickly as he could he dragged himself there, and locked the door + behind him; then he mounted the window with great difficulty, and measured + the distance with his eyes, wondering if he could jump to the other side. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall never have the strength!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + But at that moment he heard steps coming up the staircase; it was the + second troop mounting. He collected all his strength, and made a spring; + but his foot slipped, and he fell on the iron spikes, which caught his + clothes, and he hung suspended. + </p> + <p> + He thought of his only friend. + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc!” cried he, “help! St. Luc!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it is you, M. de Bussy,” answered a voice from behind some trees. + </p> + <p> + Bussy shuddered, for it was not the voice of St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “St. Luc!” cried he again, “come to me! Diana is safe! I have killed + Monsoreau!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Monsoreau is killed?” said the same voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Then Bussy saw two men come out from behind the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” cried he, “in heaven’s name, help an unfortunate nobleman, + who may still escape if you aid him.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, monseigneur?” said one. + </p> + <p> + “Imprudent!” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” cried Bussy, who heard the conversation, “deliver me, and I + will pardon you for betraying me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear?” said the duke. + </p> + <p> + “What do you order?” + </p> + <p> + “That you deliver him from his sufferings,” said he, with a kind of laugh. + </p> + <p> + Bussy turned his head to look at the man who laughed at such a time, and + at the same instant an arquebuse was discharged into his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Cursed assassin! oh, Diana!” murmured he, and fell back dead. + </p> + <p> + “Is he dead?” cried several men who, after forcing the door, appeared at + the windows. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Aurilly. “But fly; remember that his highness the Duc d’Anjou + was the friend and protector of M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + The men instantly made off, and when the sound of their steps was lost, + the duke said, “Now, Aurilly, go up into the room and throw out of the + window the body of Monsoreau.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly obeyed, and the blood fell over the clothes of the duke, who, + however, raised the coat of the dead man, and drew out the paper which he + had signed. + </p> + <p> + “This is all I wanted,” said he; “so now let us go.” + </p> + <p> + “And Diana?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi! I care no more for her. Untie her and St. Luc, and let them go.” + </p> + <p> + Aurilly disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be king of France,” murmured the duke, “but, at all events, I + shall not be beheaded for high treason.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0092" id="link2HCH0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCII. + </h2> + <h3> + HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT FOUND HIMSELF MORE THAN EVER BETWEEN A GALLOWS AND + AN ABBEY. + </h3> + <p> + The guard placed to catch the conspirators got none of them; they all + escaped, as we have seen; therefore, when Crillon at last broke open the + door, he found the place deserted and empty. In vain they opened doors and + windows; in vain the king cried, “Chicot!” No one answered. + </p> + <p> + “Can they have killed him?” said he. “Mordieu! if they have they shall pay + for it!” + </p> + <p> + Chicot did not reply, because he was occupied in beating M. de Mayenne, + which gave him so much pleasure that he neither heard nor saw what was + passing. However, when the duke had disappeared, he heard and recognized + the royal voice. + </p> + <p> + “Here, my son, here!” he cried, trying at the same time to raise + Gorenflot, who, beginning to recover himself, cried, “Monsieur Chicot!” + </p> + <p> + “You are not dead, then?” + </p> + <p> + “My good M. Chicot, you will not give me up to my enemies?” + </p> + <p> + “Wretch!” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot began to howl and wring his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I, who have had so many good dinners with you,” continued Gorenflot; “I, + who drank so well, that you always called me the king of the sponges; I, + who loved so much the capons you used to order at the Corne d’Abondance, + that I never left anything but the bones.” + </p> + <p> + This climax appeared sublime to Chicot, and determined him to clemency. + </p> + <p> + “Here they are! Mon Dieu,” cried Gorenflot, vainly trying to rise, “here + they come, I am lost! Oh! good M. Chicot, help me!” and finding he could + not rise, he threw himself with his face to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Get up,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Do you pardon me?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “You have beaten me so much.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot laughed; the poor monk fancied he had received the blows given to + Mayenne. + </p> + <p> + “You laugh, M. Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, animal.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall live?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not laugh if your Gorenflot was about to die.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not depend upon me, but on the king; he alone has the power of + life and death.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment lights appeared, and a crowd of embroidered dresses and + swords shining in the light of the torches. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Chicot! my dear Chicot, how glad I am to see you,” cried the king. + </p> + <p> + “You hear, good M. Chicot,” whispered Gorenflot, “this great prince is + glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well! in his happiness he would not refuse you a favor; ask for my + pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “What! from Herod?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! silence, dear M. Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! sire, how many have you caught?” said Chicot, advancing. + </p> + <p> + “Confiteor,” said Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Not one,” said Crillon, “the traitors must have found some opening + unknown to us.” + </p> + <p> + “It is probable.” + </p> + <p> + “But you saw them?” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “All.” + </p> + <p> + “You recognized them, no doubt?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Not recognized them?” + </p> + <p> + “That is to say, I recognized only one.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was that?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Mayenne.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Mayenne, to whom you owed——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire; we are quits.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! tell me about that, Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + “Afterwards, my son; now let us think of the present.” + </p> + <p> + “Confiteor,” repeated Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you have made a prisoner,” said Crillon, laying his large hand on the + monk’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Chicot was silent for a minute, leaving Gorenflot a prey to all the + anguish of such profound terror that he nearly fainted again. + </p> + <p> + At last Chicot said, “Sire, look well at this monk.” + </p> + <p> + “The preacher Gorenflot,” cried Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Confiteor, confiteor,” repeated he. + </p> + <p> + “Himself,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “He who——” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” interrupted Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah!” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot shook with terror, for he heard the sounds of swords clashing. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” said Chicot, “the king must know all.” And, taking him aside, “My + son,” said he, “thank God for having permitted this holy man to be born + thirty-five years ago, for it is he who has saved us all.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “It was he who recounted to me the whole plot, from the alpha to the + omega.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “About a week ago; so that if ever your majesty’s enemies catch him he + will be a dead man.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot heard only the last words, “a dead man”; and he covered his face + with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Worthy man,” said the king, casting a benevolent look on the mass of + flesh before him, “we will cover him with our protection.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot perceived the nature of the look, and began to feel relieved. + </p> + <p> + “You will do well, my king,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “What must we do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that as long as he remains in Paris he will be in danger.” + </p> + <p> + “If I gave him guards.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot heard this proposition of Henri’s. “Well!” thought he, “I shall + get off with imprisonment; I prefer that to beating, if they only feed me + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no, that is needless,” said Chicot, “if you will allow me to take him + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! take him, and then return to the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Get up, reverend father,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “He mocks me,” murmured Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, brute,” whispered Chicot, giving him a sly kick. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I have deserved it,” cried Gorenflot. + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, he is thinking over all his fatigues and his tortures, and when I + promised him your protection, he said, ‘Oh! I have well merited that.’” + </p> + <p> + “Poor devil!” said the king, “take good care of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! be easy, sire, he will want for nothing with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! M. Chicot, dear M. Chicot,” cried Gorenflot, “where am I to be taken + to?” + </p> + <p> + “You will know soon. Meanwhile, monster of iniquity, thank his majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank him, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” stammered Gorenflot, “since your gracious majesty——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” interrupted Henri, “I know all you did for me, in your journey from + Lyons, on the evening of the League, and again to-day. Be easy, you shall + be recompensed according to your merits.” + </p> + <p> + Gorenflot sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Panurge?” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “In the stable, poor beast.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! go and fetch him, and return to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, M. Chicot.” + </p> + <p> + And the monk went away as fast as he could, much astonished not to be + followed by guards. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my son,” said Chicot, “keep twenty men for your own escort, and send + ten with M. Crillon to the Hôtel d’Anjou and let them bring your-brother + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “That he may not escape a second time.” + </p> + <p> + “Did my brother——” + </p> + <p> + “Have you repented following my advice to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “No, par le mordieu.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Henri gave the order to Crillon, who set off at once. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am waiting for my saint.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will rejoin me at the Louvre?” + </p> + <p> + “In an hour; go, my son.” + </p> + <p> + Henri went; and Chicot, proceeding to the stables, met Gorenflot coming + out on his ass. The poor devil had not an idea of endeavoring to escape + from the fate that he thought awaited him. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” said Chicot, “we are waited for.” Gorenflot made no + resistance, but he shed many tears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0093" id="link2HCH0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCIII. + </h2> + <h3> + WHERE CHICOT GUESSES WHY D’EPERNON HAD BLOOD ON HIS FEET AND NONE IN HIS + CHEEKS. + </h3> + <p> + The king, returning to the Louvre, found his friends peacefully asleep, + except D’Epernon, whose bed was empty. + </p> + <p> + “Not come in yet; how imprudent,” murmured the king to Chicot, who had + also returned, and was standing with them by their beds. “The fool; having + to fight to-morrow with a man like Bussy, and to take no more care than + this. Let them seek M. d’Epernon,” said he, going out of the room, and + speaking to an usher. + </p> + <p> + “M. d’Epernon is just coming in, sire,” replied the man. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, D’Epernon came softly along, thinking to glide unperceived to his + room. + </p> + <p> + On seeing the king he looked confused. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! here you are at last,” said Henri; “come here and look at your + friends. They are wise! they understand the importance of the duel + to-morrow; but you, instead of praying and sleeping like them, have been + running about the streets. Corbleu; how pale you are! What will you look + like to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + D’Epernon was indeed pale, but at the king’s remark he colored. + </p> + <p> + “Now go to bed,” continued Henri, “and sleep if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Much time you will have. You are to fight at daybreak; and at this time + of year the sun rises at four. It is now two; you have but two hours to + sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Two hours well employed go a long way.” + </p> + <p> + “You will sleep, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sire!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are agitated; you think of to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I will sleep, sire, if your majesty will only let me.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + Indeed D’Epernon undressed and got into bed, with a calm and satisfied + look, that seemed, both to the king and Chicot to augur well. + </p> + <p> + “He is as brave as a Cæsar,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + “So brave that I do not understand it,” said Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “See, he sleeps already.” + </p> + <p> + Chicot approached the bed to look. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Look,” and he pointed to D’Epernon’s boots. + </p> + <p> + “Blood!” + </p> + <p> + “He has been walking in blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Can he be wounded?” said the king, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! he would have told us; and, besides, unless he had been wounded like + Achilles in the heel——” + </p> + <p> + “See, the sleeve of his doublet is also spotted. What can have happened to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he has killed some one to keep his hand in.” + </p> + <p> + “It is singular. Well, to-morrow, at least——” + </p> + <p> + “To-day, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! to-day I shall be tranquil.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because those cursed Angevins will be killed.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so, Henri?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it; my friends are brave.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard that the Angevins were cowards.” + </p> + <p> + “No, doubtless; but my friends are so strong; look at Schomberg’s arm; + what muscle!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! if you saw Autragues’s! Is that all that reassures you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; come, and I will show you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In my room.” + </p> + <p> + “And this something makes you confident of victory?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, and let me take leave of them. Adieu, my good friends,” murmured + the king, as he stooped and imprinted a light kiss on each of their + foreheads. + </p> + <p> + Chicot was not superstitious, but as he looked on, his imagination + pictured a living man making his adieux to the dead. + </p> + <p> + “It is singular,” thought he. “I never felt so before—poor fellows.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as the king quitted the room, D’Epernon opened his eyes; and, + jumping out of bed, began to efface, as well as he could, the spots of + blood on his clothes. Then he went to bed again. + </p> + <p> + As for Henri, he conducted Chicot to his room, and opened a long ebony + coffer lined with white satin. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Swords!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! but blessed swords, my dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed! by whom?” + </p> + <p> + “By our holy father the Pope, who granted me this favor. To send this box + to Rome and back, cost me twenty horses and four men.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they sharp?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless; but their great merit is that they are blessed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that; but still I should like to be sure they are sharp.” + </p> + <p> + “Pagan!” + </p> + <p> + “Let us talk of something else.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, be quick.” + </p> + <p> + “You want to sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “No, to pray.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case we will talk. Have you sent for M. d’Anjou?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is waiting below.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Throw him into the Bastile.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very wise: only choose a dungeon that is deep and safe—such + for example, as those which were occupied by the Constable de St. Paul, or + Armagnac.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! be easy.” + </p> + <p> + “I know where they sell good black velvet, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “Chicot! he is my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! true; the family mourning is violet. Shall you speak to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly, if only to show him that his plots are discovered.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you disapprove?” + </p> + <p> + “In your place I should cut short the conversation, and double the + imprisonment.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them bring here the Duc d’Anjou,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + A minute after the duke entered, very pale and disarmed. Crillon followed + him. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you find him?” asked the king. + </p> + <p> + “Sire, his highness was not at home, but I took possession of his hotel in + the king’s name, and soon after he returned, and we arrested him without + resistance.” + </p> + <p> + “That is fortunate.” Then, turning to the prince, he said, “Where were + you, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Wherever I was, sire, be sure it was on your business.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + François bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Come, tell me where you were while your accomplices were being arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “My accomplices!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; your accomplices.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, your majesty is making some mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! this time you shall not escape me; your measure of crime is full.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, be moderate; there is certainly some one who slanders me to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Wretch! you shall die of hunger in a cell of the Bastile!” + </p> + <p> + “I bow to your orders, whatever they may be.” + </p> + <p> + “Hypocrite! But where were you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I was serving your majesty, and working for the glory and + tranquillity of your reign.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! your audacity is great.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said Chicot, “tell us about it, my prince; it must be curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I would tell your majesty, had you treated me as a brother, but as + you have treated me as a criminal, I will let the event speak for itself.” + </p> + <p> + Then, bowing profoundly to the king, he turned to Crillon and the other + officers, and said, “Now, which of you gentlemen will conduct the first + prince of the blood to the Bastile?” + </p> + <p> + Chicot had been reflecting, and a thought struck him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” murmured he, “I believe I guess now why M. d’Epernon had so much + blood on his feet and so little in his cheeks.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0094" id="link2HCH0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCIV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE MORNING OF THE COMBAT. + </h3> + <p> + The king did not sleep all night, and very early in the morning he set + off, accompanied by Chicot, to examine the ground where the combat was to + take place. + </p> + <p> + “Quelus will be exposed to the sun,” said he; “he will have it at his + right, just in his only eye; whereas Maugiron, who has good eyes, will be + in the shade. That is badly managed. As for Schomberg, his place is good; + but Quelus, my poor Quelus!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not torment yourself so, my king, it is useless.” + </p> + <p> + “And D’Epernon; I am really unjust not to think of him; he, who is to + fight Bussy. Look at his place, Chicot, he who will have to give way + constantly, for Bussy is like a tiger, he has a tree on his right and a + ditch on his left.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said Chicot, “I am not concerned about D’Epernon.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong; he will be killed.” + </p> + <p> + “Not he; be sure he has taken precautions.” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “He will not fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not hear what he said before going to bed?” + </p> + <p> + “That is just why I think he will not fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Incredulous and distrustful!” + </p> + <p> + “I know my Gasçon, Henri; but if you will take my advice, you will return + to the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I can stay there during the combat?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish you not to love your friends, but I do wish you not to + leave M. d’Anjou alone at the Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not Crillon there?” + </p> + <p> + “Crillon is only a buffalo—a rhinoceros—a wild boar; while + your brother is the serpent, whose strength lies in his cunning.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; I should have sent him to the Bastile.” + </p> + <p> + When Chicot and the king entered, the young men were being dressed by + their valets. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, gentlemen,” said he; “I find you all in good spirits, I + hope?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “You look gloomy, Maugiron.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I am superstitious, and I had bad dreams last night, so I am + drinking a little wine to keep up my spirits.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend, remember that dreams are the impressions of the previous day, + and have no influence on the morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire,” said D’Epernon, “I also had bad dreams last night; but, in + spite of that, my hand is steady and fit for action.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Chicot, “you dreamed you had blood on your boots; that is not + a bad dream, for it signifies that you will be a conqueror, like Alexander + or Cæsar.” + </p> + <p> + “My friends,” said Henri, “remember you fight only for honor; the past + night has seated me firmly on my throne, therefore do not think of me; + and, above all things, no false bravery; you wish to kill your enemies, + not to die yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + The gentlemen were now ready, and it only remained to take leave of their + master. + </p> + <p> + “Do you go on horseback?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “No, sire, on foot.” + </p> + <p> + They each kissed his hand, and D’Epernon said, “Sire, bless my sword.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so, D’Epernon; give up your sword—I have a better one for each + of you. Chicot, bring them here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sire, send your captain of the guards; I am but a Pagan, and they + might lose their virtue by coming through my hands.” + </p> + <p> + “What are these swords, sire?” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Italian swords, my son, forged at Milan.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Now go, it is time,” said the king, who could hardly control his emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said Quelus, “shall we not have your majesty’s presence to + encourage us?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that would not be right; you will be supposed to fight without any + one being cognizant of it, and without my sanction. Let it appear to be + the result of a private quarrel.” + </p> + <p> + When they were gone, the king threw himself down in tears. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Chicot, “I will go to see this duel, for I have an idea that + something curious will happen with regard to D’Epernon.” And he went off. + </p> + <p> + Henri shut himself up in his own room, first saying to Crillon, who knew + what was to take place, “If we are conquerors, Crillon, come and tell me; + if not, strike three blows on the door.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0095" id="link2HCH0095"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE FRIENDS OF BUSSY. + </h3> + <p> + The friends of the Duc d’Anjou had passed as good and tranquil a night as + those of the king, although their master had not taken the same care of + them. After a good supper, they had all retired to sleep at Antragues’s + house, which was nearest to the field of battle. Antragues, before supper, + had gone to take leave of a little milliner whom he adored, Ribeirac had + written to his mother, and Livarot had made his will. They were up early + in the morning, and dressed themselves in red breeches and socks, that + their enemies might not see their blood, and they had doublets of gray + silk. They wore shoes without heels, and their pages carried their swords, + that their arms might not be fatigued. + </p> + <p> + The weather was splendid, for love, war, or walking; and the sun gilded + the roofs, on which the night dew was sparkling. The streets were dry, and + the air delightful. + </p> + <p> + Before leaving the house, the young men had sent to the Hôtel d’Anjou to + inquire for Bussy, and had received a reply that he had gone out the + evening before and had not yet returned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Antragues, “I know where he is; the king ordered a grand chase + at Compiègne, and M. de Monsoreau was to set off yesterday. It is all + right, gentlemen; he is nearer the ground than we are, and may be there + before us. We will call for him in passing.” + </p> + <p> + The streets were empty as they went along; no one was to be seen except + peasants coming from Montreuil or Vincennes, with milk or vegetables. + </p> + <p> + The young men went on in silence until they reached the Rue St. Antoine. + </p> + <p> + Then, with a smile, they glanced at Monsoreau’s house. + </p> + <p> + “One could see well from there, and I am sure poor Diana will be more than + once at the window,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + “I think she must be there already,” said Ribeirac, “for the window is + open.” + </p> + <p> + “True, but what can be the meaning of that ladder before it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is odd.” + </p> + <p> + “We are not the only ones to wonder,” said Livarot, “see those peasants, + who are stopping their carts to look.” + </p> + <p> + The young men arrived under the balcony. “M. de Monsoreau,” they cried, + “do you intend to be present at our combat? if so, be quick, for we wish + to arrive first.” + </p> + <p> + They waited, but no one answered. + </p> + <p> + “Did you put up that ladder?” asked Antragues of a man who was examining + the ground. + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” replied he. + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Look up.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood!” cried Ribeirac. + </p> + <p> + “The door has been forced,” said Antragues; and seizing the ladder, he was + on the balcony in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” cried the others, seeing him turn pale. + </p> + <p> + A terrible cry was his only answer. Livarot mounted behind him. “Corpses! + death everywhere!” cried he. And they both entered the room. It bore + horrible traces of the terrible combat of the previous night. A river of + blood flowed over the room; and the curtains were hanging in strips from + sword cuts. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! poor Rémy!” cried Antragues, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But a regiment of troopers must have passed through the room,” cried + Livarot. Then, seeing the door of the corridor open, and traces of blood + indicating that one or more of the combatants had also passed through + there, he followed it. Meanwhile, Antragues went into the adjoining room; + there also blood was everywhere, and this blood led to the window. He + leaned out and looked into the little garden. The iron spikes still held + the livid corpse of the unhappy Bussy. At this sight, it was not a cry, + but a yell, that Antragues uttered. Livarot ran to see what it was, and + Ribeirac followed. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” said Antragues, “Bussy dead! Bussy assassinated and thrown out of + window.” + </p> + <p> + They ran down. + </p> + <p> + “It is he,” cried Livarot. + </p> + <p> + “His wrist is cut.” + </p> + <p> + “He has two balls in his breast.” + </p> + <p> + “He is full of wounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! poor Bussy! we will have vengeance!” + </p> + <p> + Turning round they came against a second corpse. + </p> + <p> + “Monsoreau!” cried Livarot. + </p> + <p> + “What! Monsoreau also.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, pierced through and through.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! they have assassinated all our friends.” + </p> + <p> + “And his wife? Madame de Monsoreau!” cried Antragues; but no one answered. + </p> + <p> + “Bussy, poor Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they wished to get rid of the most formidable of us all.” + </p> + <p> + “It is cowardly! it is infamous!” + </p> + <p> + “We will tell the duke.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Antragues, “let us not charge any one with the care of our + vengeance. Look, my friends, at the noble face of the bravest of men; see + his blood, that teaches that he never left his vengeance to any other + person. Bussy! we will act like you, and we will avenge you.” + </p> + <p> + Then, drawing his sword, he dipped it in Bussy’s blood. + </p> + <p> + “Bussy,” said he, “I swear on your corpse, that this blood shall be washed + off by the blood of your enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Bussy,” cried the others, “we swear to kill them or die.” + </p> + <p> + “No mercy,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + “But we shall be but three.” + </p> + <p> + “True, but we have assassinated no one, and God will strengthen the + innocent. Adieu, Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Bussy!” repeated the others; and they went out, pale but resolute, + from that cursed house, around which a crowd had begun to collect. + </p> + <p> + Arriving on the ground, they found their opponents waiting for them. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Quelus, rising and bowing, “we have had the honor of + waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse us,” said Antragues, “but we should have been here before you, but + for one of our companions.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy,” said D’Epernon, “I do not see him. Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “We can wait for him,” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “He will not come.” + </p> + <p> + All looked thunderstruck; but D’Epernon exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the brave man par excellence—is he, then, afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “That cannot be,” said Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, monsieur,” said Livarot. + </p> + <p> + “And why will he not come?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” cried they all, but D’Epernon turned rather pale. + </p> + <p> + “And dead because he has been assassinated,” said Antragues. “Did you not + know it, gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “No; how should we?” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, is it certain?” + </p> + <p> + Antragues drew his sword. “So certain that here is his blood,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy assassinated!” + </p> + <p> + “His blood cries for vengeance! do you not hear it, gentlemen?” said + Ribeirac. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Seek whom the crime profits,’ the law says,” replied Ribeirac. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! gentlemen, will you explain yourselves?” cried Maugiron. + </p> + <p> + “That is just what we have come for.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick! our swords are in our hands!” said D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you are in a great hurry, M. le Gascon; you did not crow so loud when + we were four against four!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it our fault, if you are only three?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is your fault; he is dead because you preferred him lying in his + blood to standing here; he is dead, with his wrist cut, that that wrist + might no longer hold a sword; he is dead, that you might not see the + lightning of those eyes, which dazzled you all. Do you understand me? am I + clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, gentlemen!” said Quelus. “Retire, M. d’Epernon! we will fight + three against three. These gentlemen shall see if we are men to profit by + a misfortune which we deplore as much as themselves. Come, gentlemen,” + added the young mall, throwing his hat behind him, and raising his left + hand, while he whirled his sword with the right, “God is our judge if we + are assassins!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I hated you before,” cried Schomberg, “and now I execrate you!” + </p> + <p> + “On your guard, gentlemen!” cried Antragues. + </p> + <p> + “With doublets or without?” said Schomberg. + </p> + <p> + “Without doublets, without shirts; our breasts bare, our hearts + uncovered!” + </p> + <p> + The young men threw off their doublets and shirts. + </p> + <p> + “I have lost my dagger,” said Quelus; “it must have fallen on the road.” + </p> + <p> + “Or else you left it at M. de Monsoreau’s, in the Place de la Bastile,” + said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + Quelus gave a cry of rage, and drew his sword. + </p> + <p> + “But he has no dagger, M. Antragues,” cried Chicot, who had just arrived. + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse for him; it is not my fault,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0096" id="link2HCH0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCVI. + </h2> + <h3> + THE COMBAT. + </h3> + <p> + The place where this terrible combat was to take place was sequestered and + shaded by trees. It was generally frequented only by children, who came to + play there during the day, or by drunkards or robbers, who made a + sleeping-place of it by night. + </p> + <p> + Chicot, his heart palpitating, although he was not of a very tender + nature, seated himself before the lackeys and pages, on a wooden + balustrade. + </p> + <p> + He did not love the Angevins, and detested the minions, but they were all + brave young men, and in their veins flowed a generous blood, which he was + probably destined to see flow before long. + </p> + <p> + D’Epernon made a last bravado, “What! you are all afraid of me?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue,” said Antragues. + </p> + <p> + “Come away, bravest of the brave,” said Chicot, “or else you will lose + another pair of shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that there will soon be blood on the ground, and that you will + walk in it, as you did last night.” + </p> + <p> + D’Epernon became deadly pale, and, moving away, he seated himself at some + distance from Chicot. + </p> + <p> + The combat began as five o’clock struck, and for a few minutes nothing was + heard but the clashing of swords; not a blow was struck. At last Schomberg + touched Ribeirac in the shoulder, and the blood gushed out; Schomberg + tried to repeat the blow, but Ribeirac struck up his sword, and wounded + him in the side. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us rest a few seconds, if you like,” said Ribeirac. + </p> + <p> + Quelus, having no dagger, was at a great disadvantage; for he was obliged + to parry with his left arm, and, as it was bare, on each occasion it cost + him a wound. His hand was soon bleeding in several places, and Antragues + had also wounded him in the breast; but at each wound he repeated, “It is + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Livarot and Maugiron were still unwounded. + </p> + <p> + Ribeirac and Schomberg recommenced; the former was pierced through the + breast, and Schomberg was wounded in the neck. + </p> + <p> + Ribeirac was mortally wounded, and Schomberg rushed on him and gave him + another; but he, with his right hand, seized his opponent’s, and with his + left plunged his dagger into his heart. + </p> + <p> + Schomberg fell back, dragging Ribeirac with him. Livarot ran to aid + Ribeirac to disengage himself from the grasp of his adversary, but was + closely pursued by Maugiron, who cut open his head with a blow of his + sword. Livarot let his sword drop, and fell on his knees; then Maugiron + hastened to give him another wound, and he fell altogether. + </p> + <p> + Quelus and Maugiron remained against Antragues. Quelus was bleeding, but + from slight wounds. + </p> + <p> + Antragues comprehended his danger; he had not the least wound, but he + began to feel tired, so he pushed aside Quelus’ sword and jumped over a + barrier; but at the same moment, Maugiron attacked him behind; Antragues + turned, and Quelus profited by this movement to get under the barrier. + </p> + <p> + “He is lost!” thought Chicot. + </p> + <p> + “Vive le roi!” cried D’Epernon. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, if you please, monsieur,” said Antragues. At this instant + Livarot, of whom no one was thinking, rose on his knees, hideous from the + blood with which he was covered, and plunged his dagger between the + shoulders of Maugiron, who fell, crying out, “Mon Dieu! I am killed!” + </p> + <p> + Livarot fell back again, fainting. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Quelus,” said Antragues, “you are a brave man; yield—I offer + you your life.” + </p> + <p> + “And why yield?” + </p> + <p> + “You are wounded, and I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “Vive le roi!” cried Quelus; “I have still my sword!” And he rushed on + Antragues, who parried the thrust, and, seizing his arm, wrested his sword + from him, saying, “Now you have it no longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a sword!” cried Quelus; and, bounding like a tiger on Antragues, he + threw his arms round him. + </p> + <p> + Antragues struck him with his dagger again and again, but Quelus managed + to seize his hands, and twisted round him like a serpent, with arms and + legs. Antragues, nearly suffocated, reeled and fell, but on the + unfortunate Quelus. He managed to disengage himself, for Quelus’ powers + were failing him, and, leaning on one arm, gave him a last blow. + </p> + <p> + “Vive le r——” said Quelus, and that was all. The silence and + terror of death reigned everywhere. + </p> + <p> + Antragues rose, covered with blood, but it was that of his enemy. + </p> + <p> + D’Epernon made the sign of the cross, and fled as if he were pursued by + demons. + </p> + <p> + Chicot ran and raised Quelus, whose blood was pouring out from nineteen + wounds. + </p> + <p> + The movement roused him, and he opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Antragues,” said he, “on my honor, I am innocent of the death of Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I believe you, monsieur,” cried Antragues, much moved. + </p> + <p> + “Fly!” murmured Quelus; “the king will never forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot abandon you thus, even to escape the scaffold.” + </p> + <p> + “Save yourself, young man,” said Chicot; “do not tempt Providence twice in + one day.” + </p> + <p> + Antragues approached Ribeirac, who still breathed. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “We are victors,” said Antragues, in a low tone, not to offend Quelus. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Ribeirac; “now go.” + </p> + <p> + And he fainted again. + </p> + <p> + Antragues picked up his own sword, which he had dropped, then that of + Quelus, which he presented to him. A tear shone in the eyes of the dying + man. “We might have been friends,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Now fly,” said Chicot; “you are worthy of being saved.” + </p> + <p> + “And my companions?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take care of them, as of the king’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + Antragues wrapped himself in a cloak which his squire handed to him, so + that no one might see the blood with which he was covered, and, leaving + the dead and wounded, he disappeared through the Porte St. Antoine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0097" id="link2HCH0097"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XCVII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <p> + The king, pale with anxiety, and shuddering at the slightest noise, + employed himself in conjecturing, with the experience of a practised man, + the time that it would take for the antagonists to meet and that the + combat would last. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he murmured first, “they are crossing the Rue St. Antoine—now + they are entering the field—now they have begun.” And at these + words, the poor king, trembling, began to pray. + </p> + <p> + Rising again in a few minutes, he cried: + </p> + <p> + “If Quelus only remembers the thrust I taught him! As for Schomberg, he is + so cool that he ought to kill Ribeirac; Maugiron, also, should be more + than a match for Livarot. But D’Epernon, he is lost; fortunately he is the + one of the four whom I love least. But if Bussy, the terrible Bussy, after + killing him, falls on the others! Ah, my poor friends!” + </p> + <p> + “Sire!” said Crillon, at the door. + </p> + <p> + “What! already?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I have no news but that the Duc d’Anjou begs to speak to your + majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “He says that the moment has come for him to tell you what service he + rendered your majesty, and that what he has to tell you will calm a part + of your fears.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let him come.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment they heard a voice crying, “I must speak to the king at + once!” + </p> + <p> + The king recognized the voice, and opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Here, St. Luc!” cried he. “What is it? But, mon Dieu! what is the matter? + Are they dead?” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, St. Luc, pale, without hat or sword, and spotted with blood, + rushed into the king’s room. + </p> + <p> + “Sire!” cried he, “vengeance! I ask for vengeance!” + </p> + <p> + “My poor St. Luc, what is it? You seem in despair.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, one of your subjects, the bravest, noblest, has been murdered this + night—traitorously murdered!” + </p> + <p> + “Of whom do you speak?” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, you do not love him, I know; but he was faithful, and, if need + were, would have shed all his blood for your majesty, else he would not + have been my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the king, who began to understand; and something like a gleam + of joy passed over his face. + </p> + <p> + “Vengeance, sire, for M. de Bussy!” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, M. de Bussy, whom twenty assassins poniarded last night. He killed + fourteen of them.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Bussy dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he does not fight this morning?” + </p> + <p> + St. Luc cast a reproachful glance on the king, who turned away his head, + and, in doing so, saw Crillon still standing at the door. He signed to him + to bring in the duke. + </p> + <p> + “No, sire, he will not fight,” said St. Luc; “and that is why I ask, not + for vengeance—I was wrong to call it so—but for justice. I + love my king, and am, above all things, jealous of his honor, and I think + that it is a deplorable service which they have rendered to your majesty + by killing M. de Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Anjou had just entered, and St. Luc’s words had enlightened the + king as to the service his brother had boasted of having rendered him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what they will say?” continued St. Luc. “They will say, if + your friends conquer, that it is because they first murdered Bussy.” + </p> + <p> + “And who will dare to say that?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! everyone,” said Crillon. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, they shall not say that,” replied the king, “for you shall + point out the assassin.” + </p> + <p> + “I will name him, sire, to clear your majesty from so heinous an + accusation,” said St. Luc. + </p> + <p> + “Well! do it.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc d’Anjou stood quietly by. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” continued St. Luc, “last night they laid a snare for Bussy, while + he visited a woman who loved him; the husband, warned by a traitor, came + to his house with a troop of assassins; they were everywhere—in the + street—in the courtyard, even in the garden.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of his power over himself, the duke grew pale at these last + words. + </p> + <p> + “Bussy fought like a lion, sire, but numbers overwhelmed him, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And he was killed,” interrupted the king, “and justly; I will certainly + not revenge an adulterer.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, I have not finished my tale. The unhappy man, after having defended + himself for more than half an hour in the room, after having triumphed + over his enemies, escaped, bleeding, wounded, and mutilated: he only + wanted some one to lend him a saving hand, which I would have done had I + not been seized by his assassins, and bound, and gagged. Unfortunately, + they forgot to take away my sight as well as my speech, for I saw two men + approach the unlucky Bussy, who was hanging on the iron railings. I heard + him entreat them for help, for in these two men he had the right to reckon + on two friends. Well, sire, it is horrible to relate—it was still + more horrible to see and hear—one ordered him to be shot, and the + other obeyed.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know the assassins?” cried the king, moved in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said St. Luc, and turning to the prince, with an expression of + intense hatred, he cried, “the assassin, sire, was the prince, his + friend.” + </p> + <p> + The duke stood perfectly quiet and answered, “Yes, M. de St. Luc is right; + it was I, and your majesty will appreciate my action, for M. de Bussy was + my servant; but this morning he was to fight against your majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie, assassin!” cried St. Luc. “Bussy, full of wounds, his hands cut + to pieces, a ball through his shoulder, and hanging suspended on the iron + trellis-work, might have inspired pity in his most cruel enemies; they + would have succored him. But you, the murderer of La Mole and of Coconnas, + you killed Bussy, as you have killed, one after another, all your friends. + You killed Bussy, not because he was the king’s enemy, but because he was + the confidant of your secrets. Ah! Monsoreau knew well your reason for + this crime.” + </p> + <p> + “Cordieu!” cried Crillon, “why am I not king?” + </p> + <p> + “They insult me before you, brother,” said the duke, pale with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Leave us, Crillon,” said the king. The officer obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Justice, sire, justice!” cried St. Luc again. + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said the duke, “will you punish me for having served your + majesty’s friends this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” cried St. Luc, “I say that the cause which you espouse is + accursed, and will be pursued by the anger of God. Sire, when your brother + protects our friends, woe to them.” The king shuddered. + </p> + <p> + Then they heard hasty steps and voices, followed by a deep silence; and + then, as if a voice from heaven came to confirm St. Luc’s words, three + blows were struck slowly and solemnly on the door by the vigorous arm of + Crillon. Henri turned deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “Conquered,” cried he; “my poor friends!” + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you, sire?” cried St. Luc. “See how murder succeeds.” + </p> + <p> + But the king saw nothing, heard nothing; he buried his face in his hands, + and murmured. “Oh! my poor friends; who will tell me about them?” + </p> + <p> + “I, sire,” said Chicot.—“Well!” cried Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Two are dead, and the third is dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the third?”—“Quelus.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?”—“At the Hôtel Boissy.” + </p> + <p> + The king said no more, but rushed from the room. + </p> + <p> + St. Luc had taken Diana home to his wife, and this had kept him from + appearing sooner at the Louvre. Jeanne passed three days and nights + watching her through the most frightful delirium. On the fourth day, + Jeaune, overcome by fatigue, went to take a little rest: two hours after, + when she returned, Diana was gone. + </p> + <p> + Quelus died at the Hôtel Boissy, in the king’s arms, after lingering for + thirty days. + </p> + <p> + Henri was inconsolable. He raised three magnificent tombs for his friends, + on which their effigies were sculptured, life-size, in marble. He had + innumerable masses said for them, and prayed for their souls himself night + and morning. For three months Chicot never left his master. In September, + Chicot received the following letter, dated from the Priory of Beaume: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR M. CHICOT—The air is soft in this place, and the vintage + promises to be good this year. They say that the king, whose life I saved, + still grieves much. Bring him to the priory, dear M. Chicot; we will give + him wine of 1550, which I have discovered in my cellar, and which is + enough to make one forget the greatest grief; for I find in the Holy Writ + these words, ‘Good wine rejoices the heart of man.’ It is in Latin. I will + show it you. Come, then, dear M. Chicot; come, with the king, M. + d’Epernon, and M. de St. Luc, and we will fatten them all. + </p> + <p> + “The reverend prior, + </p> + <h3> + “DOM GORENFLOT, + </h3> + <p> + “Your humble servant and friend. + </p> + <p> + “P.S.—Tell the king that I have not yet had time to pray for the + souls of his friends; but when the vintage is over; I shall not fail to do + so.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Chicot; “here are poor devils well recommended to Heaven.” + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Chicot the Jester, by Alexandre Dumas, Pere + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHICOT THE JESTER *** + +***** This file should be named 7426-h.htm or 7426-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/4/2/7426/ + +Produced by Robert J. 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