CHAPTER XXII. ‘LA FEMME DISPOSE.’
The moment the equerry’s foot touched the uppermost stair I advanced upon him. ‘Where is your mistress, man?’ I said. ‘Where is Mademoiselle de la Vire? Be quick, tell me what you have done with her.’
His face fell amazingly. ‘Where is she?’ he answered, faltering between surprise and alarm at my sudden onslaught. ‘Here, she should be. I left her here not an hour ago. Mon Dieu! Is she not here now?’
His alarm increased mine tenfold. ‘No!’ I retorted, ‘she is not! She is gone! And you—what business had you, in the fiend’s name, to leave her here, alone and unprotected? Tell me that!’
He leaned against the balustrade, making no attempt to defend himself, and seemed, in his sudden terror, anything but the bold, alert fellow who had ascended the stairs two minutes before. ‘I was a fool,’ he groaned. ‘I saw your man Simon here; and Fanchette, who is as good as a man, was with her mistress. And I went to stable the horses. I thought no evil. And now—My God!’ he added, suddenly straightening himself, while his face grew hard and grim, ‘I am undone! My master will never forgive me!’
‘Did you come straight here?’ I said, considering that, after all, he was no more in fault than I had been on a former occasion.
‘We went first to M. de Rosny’s lodging,’ he answered, ‘where we found your message telling us to come here. We came on without dismounting.’
‘Mademoiselle may have gone back, and be there,’ I said. ‘It is possible. Do you stay here and keep a good look-out, and I will go and see. Let one of your men come with me.’
He uttered a brief assent; being a man as ready to take as to give orders, and thankful now for any suggestion which held out a hope of mademoiselle’s safety. Followed by the servant he selected, I ran down the stairs, and in a moment was hurrying along the Rue St. Denys. The day was waning. The narrow streets and alleys were already dark, but the air of excitement which I had noticed in the morning still marked the townsfolk, of whom a great number were strolling abroad, or standing in doorways talking to their gossips. Feverishly anxious as I was, I remarked the gloom which dwelt on all faces; but as I set it down to the king’s approaching departure, and besides was intent on seeing that those we sought did not by any chance pass us in the crowd, I thought little of it. Five minutes’ walking brought us to M. de Rosny’s lodging. There I knocked at the door; impatiently, I confess, and with little hope of success. But, to my surprise, barely an instant elapsed before the door opened, and I saw before me Simon Fleix!
Discovering who it was, he cowered back, with a terrified face, and retreated to the wall with his arm raised.
‘You scoundrel!’ I exclaimed, restraining myself with difficulty. ‘Tell me this moment where Mademoiselle de la Vire is! Or, by Heaven, I shall forget what my mother owed to you, and do you a mischief!’
For an instant he glared at me viciously, with all his teeth exposed, as though he meant to refuse—and more. Then he thought better of it, and, raising his hand, pointed sulkily upwards.
‘Go before me and knock at the door,’ I said, tapping the hilt of my dagger with meaning.
Cowed by my manner, he obeyed, and led the way to the room in which M. de Rambouillet had surprised us on a former occasion. Here he stopped at the door and knocked gently; on which a sharp voice inside bade us enter. I raised the latch and did so, closing the door behind me.
Mademoiselle, still wearing her riding-coat, sat in a chair before the hearth, on which a newly kindled fire sputtered and smoked. She had her back to me, and did not turn on my entrance, but continued to toy in an absent manner with the strings of the mask which lay in her lap. Fanchette stood bolt upright behind her, with her elbows squared and her hands clasped; in such an attitude that I guessed the maid had been expressing her strong dissatisfaction with this latest whim of her mistress, and particularly with mademoiselle’s imprudence in wantonly exposing herself, with so inadequate a guard as Simon, in a place where she had already suffered so much. I was confirmed in this notion on seeing the woman’s harsh countenance clear at sight of me; though the churlish nod, which was all the greeting she bestowed on me, seemed to betoken anything but favour or good-will. She touched her mistress on the shoulder, however, and said, ‘M. de Marsac is here.’
Mademoiselle turned her head and looked at me languidly, without stirring in her chair or removing the foot she, was warming. ‘Good evening,’ she said.
The greeting seemed so brief and so commonplace, ignoring, as it did, both the pains and anxiety to which she had just put me and the great purpose for which we were here—to say nothing of that ambiguous parting which she must surely remember as well as I—that the words I had prepared died on my lips, and I looked at her in honest confusion. All her small face was pale except her lips. Her brow was dark, her eyes were hard as well as weary. And not words only failed me as I looked at her, but anger; having mounted the stairs hot foot to chide, I felt on a sudden—despite my new cloak and scabbard, my appointment, and the same I had made at Court—the same consciousness of age; and shabbiness and poverty which had possessed me in her presence from the beginning. I muttered, ‘Good evening, mademoiselle,’ and that was all I could say—I who had frightened the burly Maignan a few minutes before!
Seeing, I have no doubt, the effect she produced on me, she maintained for some time an embarrassing silence. At length she said, frigidly, ‘Perhaps M. de Marsac will sit, Fanchette. Place a chair for him. I am afraid, however, that after his successes at Court he may find our reception somewhat cold. But we are only from the country,’ she added, looking at me askance, with a gleam of anger in her eyes.
I thanked her huskily, saying that I would not sit, as I could not stay. ‘Simon Fleix,’ I continued, finding my voice with difficulty, ‘has, I am afraid, caused you some trouble by bringing you to this house instead of telling you that I had made preparation for you at my lodgings.’
‘It was not Simon Fleix’s fault,’ she replied curtly. ‘I prefer these rooms. They are more convenient.’
‘They are, perhaps, more convenient,’ I rejoined humbly, ‘But I have to think of safety, mademoiselle, as you know. At my house I have a competent guard, and can answer for your being unmolested.’
‘You can send your guard here,’ she said with a royal air.
‘But, mademoiselle—’
‘Is it not enough that I have said that I prefer these rooms?’ she replied sharply, dropping her mask on her lap and looking round at me in undisguised displeasure. ‘Are you deaf, sir? Let me tell you, I am in no mood for argument. I am tired with riding. I prefer these rooms, and that is enough!’
Nothing could exceed the determination with which she said these words, unless it were the malicious pleasure in thwarting my wishes which made itself seen through the veil of assumed indifference. I felt myself brought up with a vengeance, and in a manner the most provoking that could be conceived. But opposition so childish, so utterly wanton, by exciting my indignation, had presently the effect of banishing the peculiar bashfulness I felt in her presence, and recalling me to my duty.
‘Mademoiselle,’ I said firmly, looking at her with a fixed countenance, ‘pardon me if I speak plainly. This is no time for playing with straws. The men from whom you escaped once are as determined and more desperate now. By this time they probably know of your arrival. Do, then, as I ask, I pray and beseech you. Or this time I may lack the power, though never the will, to save you.’
Wholly ignoring my appeal, she looked into my face—for by this time I had advanced to her side—with a whimsical smile. ‘You are really much improved in manner since I last saw you,’ she said.
‘Mademoiselle!’ I replied, baffled and repelled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say,’ she answered, flippantly. ‘But it was to be expected.’
‘For shame!’ I cried, provoked almost beyond bearing by her ill-timed raillery, ‘will you never be serious until you have ruined us and yourself? I tell you this house is not safe for you! It is not safe for me! I cannot bring my men to it, for there is not room for them. If you have any spark of consideration, of gratitude, therefore—’
‘Gratitude!’ she exclaimed, swinging her mask slowly to and fro by a ribbon, while she looked up at me as though my excitement amused her. ‘Gratitude—‘tis a very pretty phrase, and means much; but it is for those who serve us faithfully, M. de Marsac, and not for others. You receive so many favours, I am told, and are so successful at Court, that I should not be justified in monopolising your services.’
‘But, mademoiselle—’ I said in a low tone. And there I stopped. I dared not proceed.
‘Well, sir,’ she answered, looking up at she after a moment’s silence, and ceasing on a sudden to play with her toy, ‘what is it?’
‘You spoke of favours,’ I continued, with an effort. ‘I never received but one from a lady. That was at Rosny, and from your hand.’
‘From my hand?’ she answered, with an air of cold surprise.
‘It was so, mademoiselle.’
‘You have fallen into some strange mistake, sir,’ she replied, rousing herself, and looking at me indifferently ‘I never gave you a favour.’
I bowed low. ‘If you say you did not, mademoiselle, that is enough,’ I answered.
‘Nay, but do not let me do you an injustice, M. de Marsac,’ she rejoined, speaking more quickly and in an altered tone. ‘If you can show me the favour I gave you, I shall, of course, be convinced. Seeing is believing, you know,’ she added, with a light nervous laugh, and a gesture of something like shyness.
If I had not sufficiently regretted my carelessness, and loss of the bow at the time, I did so now. I looked at her in silence, and saw her face, that had for a moment shown signs of feeling, almost of shame, grow slowly hard again.
‘Well, sir?’ she said impatiently. ‘The proof is easy.’
‘It was taken from me; I believe, by M. de Rosny,’ I answered lamely, wondering what ill-luck had led her to put the question and press it to this point.
‘It was taken from you!’ she exclaimed, rising and confronting me with the utmost suddenness, while her eyes flashed, and her little hand crumpled the mask beyond future usefulness. ‘It was taken from you, sir!’ she repeated, her voice and her whole frame trembling with anger and disdain. ‘Then I thank you, I prefer my version. Yours is impossible. For let me tell you, when Mademoiselle de la Vire does confer a favour, it will be on a man with the power and the wit—and the constancy, to keep it, even from M. de Rosny!’
Her scorn hurt, though it did not anger me. I felt it to be in a measure deserved, and raged against myself rather than against her. But aware through all of the supreme importance of placing her in safety, I subjected my immediate feelings to the exigencies of the moment and stooped to an argument which would, I thought, have weight though private pleading failed.
‘Putting myself aside, mademoiselle,’ I said, with more formality than I had yet used, ‘there is one consideration which must weigh with you. The king—’
‘The king!’ she cried, interrupting me violently, her face hot with passion and her whole person instinct with stubborn self-will. ‘I shall not see the king!’
‘You will not see the king?’ I repeated in amazement.
‘No, I will not!’ she answered, in a whirl of anger, scorn, and impetuosity. ‘There! I will not! I have been made a toy and a tool long enough, M. de Marsac,’ she continued, ‘and I will serve others’ ends no more. I have made up my mind. Do not talk to me; you will do no good, sir. I would to Heaven,’ she added bitterly, ‘I had stayed at Chize and never seen this place!’
‘But, mademoiselle,’ I said, ‘you have not thought—’
‘Thought!’ she exclaimed, shutting her small white teeth so viciously I all but recoiled. ‘I have thought enough. I am sick of thought. I am going to act now. I will be a puppet no longer. You may take me to the castle by force if you will; but you cannot make me speak.’
I looked at her in the utmost dismay, and astonishment; being unable at first to believe that a woman who had gone through so much, had run so many risks, and ridden so many miles for a purpose, would, when all was done and the hour come, decline to carry out her plan. I could not believe it, I say, at first; and I tried arguments, and entreaties without stint, thinking that she only asked to be entreated or coaxed.
But I found prayers and even threats breath wasted upon her; and beyond these I would not go. I know I have been blamed by some and ridiculed by others for not pushing the matter farther; but those who have stood face to face with a woman of spirit—a woman whose very frailty and weakness fought for her—will better understand the difficulties with which I had to contend and the manner in which conviction was at last borne in on my mind. I had never before confronted stubbornness of this kind. As mademoiselle said again and again, I might force her to Court, but I could not make her speak.
When I had tried every means of persuasion, and still found no way of overcoming her resolution the while Fanchette looked on with a face of wood, neither aiding me nor taking part against me—I lost, I confess, in the chagrin of the moment that sense of duty which had hitherto animated me; and though my relation to mademoiselle should have made me as careful as ever of her safety, even in her own despite, I left her at last in anger and went out without saying another word about removing her—a thing which was still in my power. I believe a very brief reflection would have recalled me to myself and my duty; but the opportunity was not given me, for I had scarcely reached the head of the stairs before Fanchette came after me, and called to me in a whisper to stop.
She held a taper in her hand, and this she raised to my face, smiling at the disorder which she doubtless read there. ‘Do you say that this house is not safe?’ she asked abruptly, lowering the light as she spoke.
‘You have tried a house in Blois before?’ I replied with the same bluntness. ‘You should know as well as I, woman.’
‘She must be taken from here, then,’ she answered, nodding her head, cunningly. ‘I can persuade her. Do you send for your people, and be here in half an hour. It may take me that time to wheedle her. But I shall do it.’
‘Then listen,’ I said eagerly, seizing the opportunity and her sleeve and drawing her farther from the door. ‘If you can persuade her to that, you can persuade to all I wish. Listen, my friend,’ I continued, sinking my voice still lower. ‘If she will see the king for only ten minutes, and tell him what she knows, I will give you—’
‘What?’ the woman asked suddenly and harshly, drawing at the same time her sleeve from my hand.
‘Fifty crowns,’ I replied, naming in my desperation a sum which would seem a fortune to a person in her position. ‘Fifty crowns down, the moment the interview is over.’
‘And for that you would have me sell her!’ the woman cried with a rude intensity of passion which struck me like a blow. ‘For shame! For shame, man! You persuaded her to leave her home and her friends, and the country where she was known; and now you would have me sell her! Shame on you! Go!’ she added scornfully. ‘Go this instant and get your men. The king, say you? The king! I tell you I would not have her finger ache to save all your kings!’
She flounced away with that, and I retired crestfallen; wondering much at the fidelity which Providence, doubtless for the well-being of the gentle, possibly for the good of all, has implanted in the humble. Finding Simon, to whom I had scarce patience to speak, waiting on the stairs below, I despatched him to Maignan, to bid him come to me with his men. Meanwhile I watched the house myself until their arrival, and then, going up, found that Fanchette had been as good as her word. Mademoiselle, with a sullen mien, and a red spot on either cheek, consented to descend, and, preceded by a couple of links, which Maignan had thoughtfully provided, was escorted safely to my lodgings; where I bestowed her in the rooms below my own, which I had designed for her.
At the door she turned and bowed to me, her face on fire.
‘So far, sir, you have got your way,’ she said, breathing quickly. ‘Do not flatter yourself, however, that you will get it farther—even by bribing my woman!’
CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST VALOIS.
I stood for a few moments on the stairs, wondering what I should do in an emergency to which the Marquis’s message of the afternoon attached so pressing a character. Had it not been for that I might have waited until morning, and felt tolerably certain of finding mademoiselle in a more reasonable mood then. But as it was I dared not wait. I dared not risk the delay, and I came quickly to the conclusion that the only course open to me was to go at once to M. de Rambouillet and tell him frankly how the matter stood.
Maignan had posted one of his men at the open doorway leading into the street, and fixed his own quarters on the landing at the top, whence he could overlook an intruder without being seen himself. Satisfied with the arrangement, I left Rambouillet’s man to reinforce him, and took with me Simon Fleix, of whose conduct in regard to mademoiselle I entertained the gravest doubts.
The night, I found on reaching the street, was cold, the sky where it was visible between the eaves being bright with stars. A sharp wind was blowing, too, compelling us to wrap our cloaks round us and hurry on at a pace which agreed well with the excitement of my thoughts. Assured that had mademoiselle been complaisant I might have seen my mission accomplished within the hour, it was impossible I should not feel impatient with one who, to gratify a whim, played with the secrets of a kingdom as if they were counters, and risked in passing ill-humour the results of weeks of preparation. And I was impatient, and with her. But my resentment fell so far short of the occasion that I wondered uneasily at my own easiness, and felt more annoyed with myself for failing to be properly annoyed with her, than inclined to lay the blame where it was due. It was in vain I told myself contemptuously that she was a woman and that women were not accountable. I felt that the real secret and motive of my indulgence lay, not in this, but in the suspicion, which her reference to the favour given me on my departure from Rosny had converted almost into a certainty, that I was myself the cause of her sudden ill-humour.
I might have followed this train of thought farther, and to very pertinent conclusions. But on reaching M. de Rambouillet’s lodging I was diverted from it by the abnormally quiet aspect of the house, on the steps of which half a dozen servants might commonly be seen lounging. Now the doors were closed, no lights shone through the windows, and the hall sounded empty and desolate when I knocked. Not a lackey hurried to receive me even then; but the slipshod tread of the old porter, as he came with a lantern to open, alone broke the silence. I waited eagerly wondering what all this could mean; and when the man at last opened, and, recognising my face, begged my pardon if he had kept me waiting I asked him impatiently what was the matter.
‘And where is the Marquis?’ I added, stepping inside to be out of the wind, and loosening my cloak.
‘Have you not heard, sir?’ the man asked, holding up his lantern to my face. He was an old, wizened, lean fellow. ‘It is a break-up, sir, I am afraid, this time.’
‘A break-up?’ I rejoined, peevishly. ‘Speak out, man! What is the matter? I hate mysteries.’
You have not heard the news, sir? That the Duke of Mercoeur and Marshal Retz, with all their people, left Blois this afternoon?’
‘No?’ I answered, somewhat startled. ‘Whither are they gone?’
‘To Paris, it is said, sir,—to join the League.’
‘But do you mean that they have deserted the king?’ I asked.
‘For certain, sir!’ he answered.
‘Not the Duke of Mercoeur?’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, man, he is the king’s brother-in-law. He owes everything to him.’
‘Well, he is gone, sir,’ the old man answered positively. ‘The news was brought to M. le Marquis about four o’clock, or a little after. He got his people together, and started after them to try and persuade them to return. Or, so it is said.’
As quickly as I could, I reviewed the situation in my mind. If this strange news were true, and men like Mercoeur, who had every reason to stand by the king, as well as men like Retz, who had long been suspected of disaffection, were abandoning the Court, the danger must be coming close indeed. The king must feel his throne already tottering, and be eager to grasp at any means of supporting it. Under such circumstances it seemed to be my paramount duty to reach him; to gain his ear if possible, and at all risks; that I and not Bruhl, Navarre not Turenne, might profit by the first impulse of self-preservation.
Bidding the porter shut his door and keep close, I hurried to the Castle, and was presently more than confirmed in my resolution. For to my surprise I found the Court in much the same state as M. de Rambouillet’s house. There were double guards indeed at the gates, who let me pass after scrutinising me narrowly; but the courtyard, which should have been at this hour ablaze with torches and crowded with lackeys and grooms, was a dark wilderness, in which half a dozen links trembled mournfully. Passing through the doors I found things within in the same state: the hall ill lit and desolate; the staircase manned only by a few whispering groups, who scanned me as I passed; the ante-chambers almost empty, or occupied by the grey uniforms of the Switzer guards. Where I had looked, to see courtiers assembling to meet their sovereign and assure him of their fidelity, I found only gloomy faces, watchful eyes, and mouths ominously closed. An air of constraint and foreboding rested on all. A single footstep sounded hollowly. The long corridors, which had so lately rung with laughter and the rattle of dice, seemed already devoted to the silence, and desolation which awaited them when the Court should depart. Where any spoke I caught the name of Guise; and I could have fancied that his mighty shadow lay upon the place and cursed it.
Entering the chamber, I found matters little better there. His Majesty was not present, nor were any of the Court ladies; but half a dozen gentlemen, among whom I recognised Revol, one of the King’s secretaries, stood near the alcove. They looked up on my entrance, as though expecting news, and then, seeing who it was, looked away again impatiently. The Duke of Nevers was walking moodily to and fro before one of the windows, his hands clasped behind his back: while Biron and Crillon, reconciled by the common peril, talked loudly on the hearth. I hesitated a moment, uncertain how to proceed, for I was not yet so old at Court as to feel at home there. But, at last making up my mind, I walked boldly up to Crillon and requested his good offices to procure me an immediate audience of the king.
‘An audience? Do you mean you want to see him alone?’ he said, raising his eyebrows and looking whimsically at Biron.
‘That is my petition, M. de Crillon,’ I answered firmly, though my heart sank. ‘I am here on M. de Rambouillet’s business, and I need to see his Majesty forthwith.’
‘Well, that is straightforward,’ he replied, clapping me on the shoulder. ‘And you shall see him. In coming to Crillon you have come to the right man. Revol,’ he continued, turning to the secretary, ‘this gentleman bears a message from M. de Rambouillet to the king. Take him to the closet without delay, my friend, and announce him. I will be answerable for him.’
But the secretary shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. ‘It is quite impossible, M. de Crillon,’ he said gravely. ‘Quite impossible at present.’
‘Impossible! Chut! I do not know the word,’ Crillon retorted rudely. ‘Come, take him at once, and blame me if ill comes of it. Do you hear?’
‘But his Majesty—’
‘Well?’
‘Is at his devotions,’ the secretary said stiffly.
‘His Majesty’s devotions be hanged!’ Crillon rejoined—so loudly that there was a general titter, and M. de Nevers laughed grimly. ‘Do you hear?’ the Avennais continued, his face growing redder and his voice higher, ‘or must I pull your ears, my friend? Take this gentleman to the closet, I say, and if his Majesty be angry, tell him it was by my order. I tell you he comes from Rambouillet.’
I do not know whether it was the threat, or the mention of M. de Rambouillet’s name, which convinced the secretary. But at any rate, after a moment’s hesitation, he acquiesced.
He nodded sullenly to me to follow him, and led the way to a curtain which masked the door of the closet. I followed him across the chamber, after muttering a hasty word of acknowledgment to Crillon; and I had as nearly as possible reached the door when the bustle of some one entering the chamber caught my ear. I had just time to turn and see that this was Bruhl, just time to intercept the dark look of chagrin and surprise which he fixed on me, and then Revol, holding up the curtain, signed to me to enter.
I expected to pass at once into the presence of the king, and had my reverence ready. Instead, I found myself to my surprise in a small chamber, or rather passage, curtained at both ends, and occupied by a couple of guardsmen—members, doubtless, of the Band of the Forty-Five who rose at my entrance and looked at me dubiously. Their guard-room, dimly illumined by a lamp of red glass, seemed to me, in spite of its curtains and velvet bench, and the thick tapestry which kept out every breath of wholesome air, the most sombre I could imagine. And the most ill-omened. But I had no time to make any long observation; for Revol, passing me brusquely, raised the curtain at the other end, and, with his finger on his lip, bade me by signs to enter.
I did so as silently, the heavy scent of perfumes striking me in the face as I raised a second curtain, and stopped short a pace beyond it; partly in reverence—because kings love their subjects best at a distance—and partly in surprise. For the room, or rather that portion of it in which I stood, was in darkness; only the farther end being illumined by a cold pale flood of moonlight, which, passing through a high, straight window, lay in a silvery sheet on the floor. For an instant I thought I was alone; then I saw, resting against this window, with a hand on either mullion, a tall figure, having something strange about the head. This peculiarity presently resolved itself into the turban in which I had once before seen his Majesty. The king—for he it was—was talking to himself. He had not heard me enter, and having his back to me remained unconscious of my presence.
I paused in doubt, afraid to advance, anxious to withdraw; yet uncertain whether I could move again unheard. At this moment while I stood hesitating, he raised his voice, and his words, reaching my ears, riveted my attention, so strange and eerie were both they and his tone. ‘They say there is ill-luck in thirteen,’ he muttered. ‘Thirteen Valois and last!’ He paused to laugh a wicked, mirthless laugh. ‘Ay,—Thirteenth! And it is thirteen years since I entered Paris, a crowned King! There were Quelus and Maugiron and St. Megrin and I—and he, I remember. Ah, those days, those nights! I would sell my soul to live them again; had I not sold it long ago in the living them once! We were young then, and rich, and I was king; and Quelus was an Apollo! He died calling on me to save him. And Maugiron died, blaspheming God and the saints. And St. Megrin, he had thirty-four wounds. And he—he is dead too, curse him! They are all dead, all dead, and it is all over! My God! it is all over, it is all over, it is all over!’
He repeated the last four words more than a dozen times, rocking himself to and fro by his hold on the mullions. I trembled as I listened, partly through fear on my own account should I be discovered, and partly by reason of the horror of despair and remorse—no, not remorse, regret—which spoke in his monotonous voice. I guessed that some impulse had led him to draw the curtain from the window and shade the lamp; and that then, as he looked down on the moonlit country, the contrast between it and the vicious, heated atmosphere, heavy with intrigue and worse, in which he had spent his strength, had forced itself upon his mind. For he presently went on.
‘France! There it lies! And what will they do with it? Will they cut it up into pieces, as it was before old Louis XI? Will Mercoeur—curse him! be the most Christian Duke of Brittany? And Mayenne, by the grace of God, Prince of Paris and the Upper Seine? Or will the little Prince of Bearn beat them, and be Henry IV., King of France and Navarre, Protector of the Churches? Curse him too! He is thirty-six. He is my age. But he is young and strong, and has all before him. While I—I—oh, my God, have mercy on me! Have mercy on me, O God in Heaven!’
With the last word he fell on his knees on the step before the window, and burst into such an agony of unmanly tears and sobbings as I had never dreamed of or imagined, and least of all in the King of France. Hardly knowing whether to be more ashamed or terrified, I turned at all risks, and stealthily lifting the curtain, crept out with infinite care; and happily with so much good fortune as to escape detection. There was space enough between the two curtains to admit my body and no more; and here I stood a short while to collect my thoughts. Then, striking my scabbard against the wall, as though by accident, and coughing loudly at the same moment, I twitched the curtain aside with some violence and re-entered, thinking that by these means I had given him warning enough.
But I had not reckoned on the darkness in which the room lay, or the excitable state in which I had left him. He heard me, indeed, but being able to see only a tall, indistinct figure approaching him, he took fright, and falling back against the moonlit window, as though he saw a ghost, thrust out his hand, gasping at the same time two words, which sounded to me like ‘Ha! Guise!’
The next instant, discerning that I fell on my knee where I stood, and came no nearer, he recovered himself with an effort, which his breathing made very apparent, he asked in an unsteady voice who it was.
‘One of your Majesty’s most faithful servants,’ I answered, remaining on my knee, and affecting to see nothing.
Keeping his face towards me, he sidled to the lamp and strove to withdraw the shade. But his fingers trembled so violently that it was some time before he succeeded, and set free the cheerful beams, which, suddenly filling the room with radiance, disclosed to my wondering eyes, instead of darkness and the cold gleam of the moon, a profusion of riches, of red stuffs and gemmed trifles and gilded arms crowded together in reckless disorder. A monkey chained in one corner began to gibber and mow at me. A cloak of strange cut, stretched on a wooden stand, deceived me for an instant into thinking that there was a third person present; while the table, heaped with dolls and powder-puff’s, dog-collars and sweet-meats, a mask, a woman’s slipper, a pair of pistols, some potions, a scourge, and an immense quantity of like litter, had as melancholy an appearance in my eyes as the king himself, whose disorder the light disclosed without mercy. His turban was awry, and betrayed the premature baldness of his scalp. The paint on his cheeks was cracked and stained, and had soiled the gloves he wore. He looked fifty years old; and in his excitement he had tugged his sword to the front, whence it refused to be thrust back.
‘Who sent you here?’ he asked, when he had so far recovered his senses as to recognise me, which he did with great surprise.
‘I am here, sire,’ I answered evasively, ‘to place myself at your Majesty’s service.’
‘Such loyalty is rare,’ he answered, with a bitter sneer. ‘But stand up, sir. I suppose I must be thankful for small mercies, and, losing a Mercoeur, be glad to receive a Marsac.’
‘By your leave, sire,’ I rejoined hardily, ‘the exchange is not so adverse. Your Majesty may make another duke when you will. But honest men are not so easily come by.’
‘So! so!’ he answered, looking at me with a fierce light in his eyes. ‘You remind me in season, I may still make and unmake! I am still King of France? That is so sirrah, is it not?’
‘God forbid that it should be otherwise!’ I answered earnestly. ‘It is to lay before your Majesty certain means by which you may give fuller effect to your wishes that I am here. The King of Navarre desires only, sire—’
‘Tut, tut!’ he exclaimed impatiently, and with some displeasure, ‘I know his will better than you, man. But you see,’ he continued cunningly, forgetting my inferior position as quickly as he had remembered it, ‘Turenne promises well, too. And Turenne—it is true he may play the Lorrainer. But if I trust Henry of Navarre, and he prove false to me—’
He did not complete the sentence, but strode to and fro a time or two, his mind, which had a natural inclination towards crooked courses, bent on some scheme by which he might play off the one party against the other. Apparently he was not very successful in finding one, however; or else the ill-luck with which he had supported the League against the Huguenots recurred to his mind. For he presently stopped, with a sigh, and came back to the point.
‘If I knew that Turenne were lying,’ be muttered, ‘then indeed—. But Rosny promised evidence, and he has sent me none.’
‘It is at hand, sire,’ I answered, my heart beginning to beat, ‘Your Majesty will remember that M. de Rosny honoured me with the task of introducing it to you.’
‘To be sure,’ he replied, awaking as from a dream, and looking and speaking eagerly. Matters to-day have driven everything out of my head. Where is your witness, man? Convince me, and we will act promptly. We will give them Jarnac and Moncontour over again. Is he outside?’
‘It is a woman, sire,’ I made answer, dashed somewhat by his sudden and feverish alacrity.
‘A woman, eh? You have her here?’
‘No, sire,’ I replied, wondering what he would say to my next piece of information. ‘She is in Blois, she has arrived, but the truth is—I humbly crave your Majesty’s indulgence—she refuses to come or speak. I cannot well bring her here by force, and I have sought you, sire, for the purpose of taking your commands in the matter.’
He stared at me in the utmost astonishment.
‘Is she young?’ he asked after a long pause.
‘Yes, sire,’ I answered. ‘She is maid of honour to the Princess of Navarre, and a ward also of the Vicomte de Turenne.’
‘Gad! then she is worth hearing, the little rebel!’ he replied. ‘A ward Of Turenne’s is she? Ho! ho! And now she will not speak? My cousin of Navarre now would know how to bring her to her senses, but I have eschewed these vanities. I might send and have her brought, it is true; but a very little thing would cause a barricade to-night.’
‘And besides, sire,’ I ventured to add, ‘she is known to Turenne’s people here, who have once stolen her away. Were she brought to your Majesty with any degree of openness, they would learn it, and know that the game was lost.’
‘Which would not suit me,’ he answered, nodding and looking at me gloomily. ‘They might anticipate our Jarnac; and until we have settled matters with one or the other our person is not too secure. You must go and fetch her. She is at your lodging. She must be brought, man.’
‘I will do what you command, sire,’ I answered. ‘But I am greatly afraid that she will not come.’
He lost his temper at that. ‘Then why, in the devil’s name, have you troubled me with the matter?’ he cried savagely. ‘God knows—I don’t—why Rosny employed such a man and such a woman. He might have seen from the cut of your cloak, sir, which is full six months behind the fashion, that you could not manage a woman! Was ever such damnable folly heard of in this world? But it is Navarre’s loss, not mine. It is his loss. And I hope to Heaven it may be yours too!’ he added fiercely.
There was so much in what he said that I bent before the storm, and accepted with humility blame which was as natural on his part as it was undeserved on mine. Indeed I could not wonder at his Majesty’s anger; nor should I have wondered at it in a greater man. I knew that but for reasons, on which I did not wish to dwell, I should have shared it to the full, and spoken quite as strongly of the caprice which ruined hopes and lives for a whim.
The king continued for some time to say to me all the hard things he could think of. Wearied at last by my patience, he paused, and cried angrily. ‘Well, have you nothing; to say for yourself? Can you suggest nothing?’
‘I dare not mention to your Majesty,’ I said humbly, ‘what seems to me to be the only alternative.’
‘You mean that I should go to the wench!’ he answered—for he did not lack quickness. ‘“SE NON VA EL OTERO A MAHOMA, VAYA MAHOMA AL OTERO,” as Mendoza says. But the saucy quean, to force me to go to her! Did my wife guess—but there, I will go. By God I will go!’ he added abruptly and fiercely. ‘I will live to ruin Retz yet! Where is your lodging?’
I told him, wondering much at this flash of the old spirit, which twenty years before had won him a reputation his later life did nothing to sustain.
‘Do you know,’ he asked, speaking with sustained energy and clearness, ‘the door by which M. de Rosny entered to talk with me? Can you find it in the dark?’
‘Yes, sire,’ I answered, my heart beating high.
‘Then be in waiting there two hours before midnight,’ he replied. ‘Be well armed, but alone. I shall know how to make the girl speak. I can trust you, I suppose?’ he added suddenly, stepping nearer to me and looking fixedly into my eyes.
‘I will answer for your Majesty’s life with my own,’ I replied, sinking on one knee.
‘I believe you, sir,’ he answered gravely, giving me his hand to kiss, and then turning away. ‘So be it. Now leave me. You have been here too long already. Not a word to any one as you value your life.’
I made fitting answer and was leaving him; but when I had my head already on the curtain, he called me back. ‘In Heaven’s name get a new cloak!’ he said peevishly, eyeing me all over with his face puckered up. ‘Get a new cloak, man, the first thing in the morning. It is worse seen from the side than the front. It would ruin the cleverest courtier of them all!’
CHAPTER XXIV. A ROYAL PERIL.
The elation with which I had heard the king announce his resolution quickly diminished on cooler reflection. It stood in particular at a very low ebb as I waited, an hour later, at the little north postern of the Castle, and, cowering within the shelter of the arch to escape the wind, debated whether his Majesty’s energy would sustain him to the point of action, or whether he might not, in one of those fits of treacherous vacillation which had again and again marred his plans, send those to keep the appointment who would give a final account of me. The longer I considered his character the more dubious I grew. The loneliness of the situation, the darkness, the black front, unbroken by any glimmer of light, which the Castle presented on this side, and the unusual and gloomy stillness which lay upon the town, all contributed to increase my uneasiness. It was with apprehension as well as relief that I caught at last the sound of footsteps on the stone staircase, and, standing a little to one side, saw a streak of light appear at the foot of the door.
On the latter being partially opened a voice cried my name. I advanced with caution and showed myself. A brief conversation ensued between two or three persons who stood within; but in the end, a masked figure, which I had no difficulty in identifying as the king, stepped briskly out.
‘You are armed?’ he said, pausing a second opposite me.
I put back my cloak and showed him, by the light which streamed from the doorway, that I carried pistols as well as a sword.
‘Good!’ he answered briefly; ‘then let us go. Do you walk on my left hand, my friend. It is a dark night, is it not?’
‘Very dark, sire,’ I said.
He made no answer to this, and we started, proceeding with caution until we had crossed the narrow bridge, and then with greater freedom and at a better pace. The slenderness of the attendance at Court that evening, and the cold wind, which swept even the narrowest streets and drove roisterers indoors, rendered it unlikely that we should be stopped or molested by any except professed thieves; and for these I was prepared. The king showed no inclination to talk; and keeping silence myself out of respect, I had time to calculate the chances and to consider whether his Majesty would succeed where I had failed.
This calculation, which was not inconsistent with the keenest watchfulness on my part whenever we turned a corner or passed the mouth of an alley, was brought to an end by our safe arrival at the house. Briefly apologising to the king for the meanness and darkness of the staircase, I begged leave to precede him, and rapidly mounted until I met Maignan. Whispering to him that all was well, I did not wait to hear his answer, but, bidding him be on the watch, I led the king on with as much deference as was possible until we stood at the door of mademoiselle’s apartment, which I have elsewhere stated to consist of an outer and inner room. The door was opened by Simon Fleix, and him I promptly sent out. Then, standing aside and uncovering, I begged the king to enter.
He did so, still wearing his hat and mask, and I followed and secured the door. A lamp hanging from the ceiling diffused an imperfect light through the room, which was smaller but more comfortable in appearance than that which I rented overhead. I observed that Fanchette, whose harsh countenance looked more forbidding than usual, occupied a stool which she had set in a strange fashion against the Inner door; but I thought no more of this at the moment, my attention passing quickly to mademoiselle, who sat crouching before the fire, enveloped in a large outdoor cloak, as if she felt the cold. Her back was towards us, and she was, or pretended to be, still ignorant of our presence. With a muttered word I pointed her out to the king, and went towards her with him.
‘Mademoiselle, I said in a low voice, ‘Mademoiselle de la Vire! I have the honour—’
She would not turn, and I stopped. Clearly she heard, but she betrayed that she did so only by drawing her cloak more closely round her. Primed by my respect for the king, I touched her lightly on the shoulder. ‘Mademoiselle!’ I said impatiently, ‘you are not aware of it, but—’
She shook herself free from my hand with so rude a gesture that I broke off, and stood gazing foolishly at her. The king smiled, and nodding to me to step back a pace, took the task on himself. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he said with dignity, ‘I am not accustomed—’
His voice had a magical effect. Before he could add another word she sprang up as if she had been struck, and faced us, a cry of alarm on her lips. Simultaneously we both cried out too, for it was not mademoiselle at all. The woman who confronted us, her hand on her mask, her eyes glittering through the slits, was of a taller and fuller figure. We stared at her. Then a lock of bright golden hair which had escaped from the hood of her cloak gave us the clue. ‘Madame!’ the king cried.
‘Madame de Bruhl!’ I echoed, my astonishment greater than his.
Seeing herself known, she began with trembling fingers to undo the fastenings of her mask; but the king, who had hitherto displayed a trustfulness I had not expected in him, had taken alarm at sight of her, as at a thing unlooked for, and of which I had not warned him. ‘How is this?’ he said harshly, drawing back a pace from her and regarding me with anger and distrust. ‘Is this some pretty arrangement of yours, sir? Am I an intruder at an assignation, or is this a trap with M. de Bruhl in the background? Answer, sirrah!’ he continued, working himself rapidly into a passion. ‘Which am I to understand is the case?’
‘Neither, sire,’ I answered with as much dignity as I could assume, utterly surprised and mystified as I was by Madame’s presence. ‘Your Majesty wrongs Madame de Bruhl as much by the one suspicion as you injure me by the other. I am equally in the dark with you, sire, and as little expected to see madame here.’
‘I came, sire,’ she said proudly, addressing herself to the king, and ignoring me, ‘out of no love to M. de Marsac, but as any person bearing a message to him might come. Nor can you, sire,’ she added with spirit, ‘feel half as much surprise at seeing me here, as I at seeing your Majesty.’
‘I can believe that,’ the king answered drily. ‘I would you had not seen me.’
‘The King of France is seen only when he chooses,’ she replied, curtseying to the ground.
‘Good,’ he answered. ‘Let it be so, and you will oblige the King of France, madame. But enough,’ he continued, turning from her to me; ‘since this is not the lady I came to see, M. de Marsac, where is she?’
‘In the inner room, sire, I opine,’ I said, advancing to Fanchette with more misgiving at heart than my manner evinced. ‘Your mistress is here, is she not?’ I continued, addressing the woman sharply.
‘Ay, and will not come out,’ she rejoined, sturdily keeping her place.
‘Nonsense!’ I said. ‘Tell her—’
‘You may tell her what you please,’ she replied, refusing to budge an inch. ‘She can hear.’
‘But, woman!’ I cried impatiently, ‘you do not understand. I MUST speak with her. I must speak with her at once! On business of the highest importance.’
‘As you please,’ she said rudely, still keeping her seat. ‘I have told you you can speak.’
Perhaps I felt as foolish on this occasion as ever in my life; and surely never was man placed in a more ridiculous position. After overcoming numberless obstacles, and escaping as many perils, I had brought the king here, a feat beyond my highest hopes—only to be baffled and defeated by a waiting-woman! I stood irresolute; witless and confused; while the king waited half angry and half amused, and madame kept her place by the entrance, to which she had retreated.
I was delivered from my dilemma by the curiosity which is, providentially perhaps, a part of woman’s character, and which led mademoiselle to interfere herself. Keenly on the watch inside, she had heard part of what passed between us, and been rendered inquisitive by the sound of a strange man’s voice, and by the deference which she could discern I paid to the visitor. At this moment, she cried out, accordingly, to know who was there; and Fanchette, seeming to take this as a command, rose and dragged her stool aside, saying peevishly and without any increase of respect, ‘There, I told you she could hear.’
‘Who is it?’ mademoiselle asked again, in a raised voice.
I was about to answer when the king signed to me to stand back, and, advancing himself, knocked gently on the door. ‘Open, I pray you, mademoiselle,’ he said courteously.
‘Who is there?’ she cried again, her voice trembling.
‘It is I, the king,’ he answered softly; but in that tone of majesty which belongs not to the man, but to the descendant, and seems to be the outcome of centuries of command.
She uttered an exclamation and slowly, and with seeming reluctance, turned the key in the lock. It grated, and the door opened. I caught a glimpse for an instant of her pale face and bright eyes, and then his Majesty, removing his hat, passed in and closed the door; and I withdrew to the farther end of the room, where madame continued to stand by the entrance.
I entertained a suspicion, I remember, and not unnaturally, that she had come to my lodging as her husband’s spy; but her first words when I joined her dispelled this. ‘Quick!’ she said with an imperious gesture. ‘Hear me and let me go! I have waited long enough for you, and suffered enough through you. As for that, woman in there, she is mad, and her servant too! Now, listen to me. You spoke to me honestly to-day, and I have come to repay you. You have an appointment with my husband to-morrow at Chaverny. Is it not so?’ she added impatiently.
I replied that it was so.
‘You are to go with one friend,’ she went on, tearing the glove she had taken off, to strips in her excitement, ‘He is to meet you with one also?’
‘Yes,’ I assented reluctantly, ‘at the bridge, madame.’
‘Then do not go,’ she rejoined emphatically. ‘Shame on me that I should betray my husband; but it were worse to send an innocent man to his death. He will meet you with one sword only, according to his challenge, but there will be those under the bridge who will make certain work. There, I have betrayed him now!’ she continued bitterly. ‘It is done. Let me go!’
‘Nay, but, madame,’ I said, feeling more concerned for her, on whom from the first moment of meeting her I had brought nothing but misfortune, than surprised by this new treachery on his part, ‘will you not run some risk in returning to him? Is there nothing I can do for you—no step I can take for your protection?’
‘None!’ she said repellently and almost rudely, ‘except to speed my going.’
‘But you will not pass through the streets alone?’
She laughed so bitterly my heart ached for her. ‘The unhappy are always safe,’ she said.
Remembering how short a time it was since I had surprised her in the first happiness of wedded love, I felt for her all the pity it was natural I should feel. But the responsibility under which his Majesty’s presence and the charge of mademoiselle laid me forbade me to indulge in the luxury of evincing my gratitude. Gladly would I have escorted her back to her home—even if I could not make that home again what it had been, or restore her husband to the pinnacle from which I had dashed him—but I dared not do this. I was forced to content myself with less, and was about to offer to send one of my men with her, when a hurried knocking at the outer door arrested the words on my lips.
Signing to her to stand still, I listened. The knocking was repeated, and grew each moment more urgent. There was a little grille, strongly wired, in the upper part of the door, and this I was about to open in order to learn what was amiss, when Simon’s voice reached me from the farther side imploring me to open the door quickly. Doubting the lad’s prudence, yet afraid to refuse lest I should lose some warning he had to give, I paused a second, and then undid the fastenings. The moment the door gave way he fell in bodily, crying out to me to bar it behind him. I caught a glimpse through the gap of a glare as of torches, and saw by this light half a dozen flushed faces in the act of rising above the edge of the landing. The men who owned them raised a shout of triumph at sight of me, and, clearing the upper steps at a bound, made a rush for the door. But in vain. We had just time to close it and drop the two stout bars. In a moment, in a second, the fierce outcry fell to a dull roar; and safe for the time, we had leisure to look in one another’s faces and learn the different aspects of alarm. Madame was white to the lips, while Simon’s eyes seemed starting from his head, and he shook in every limb with terror.
At first, on my asking him what it meant, he could not speak. But that would not do, and I was in the act of seizing him by the collar to force an answer from him when the inner door opened, and the king came out, his face wearing an air of so much cheerfulness as proved both his satisfaction with mademoiselle’s story and his ignorance of all we were about. In a word he had not yet taken the least alarm; but seeing Simon in my hands, and madame leaning against the wall by the door like one deprived of life, he stood and cried out in surprise to know what it was.
‘I fear we are besieged, sire,’ I answered desperately, feeling my anxieties increased a hundredfold by his appearance—‘but by whom I cannot say. This lad knows, however,’ I continued, giving Simon, a vicious shake, ‘and he shall speak. Now, trembler,’ I said to him, ‘tell your tale?’
‘The Provost-Marshal!’ he stammered, terrified afresh by the king’s presence: for Henry had removed his mask. ‘I was on guard below. I had come up a few steps to be out of the cold, when I heard them enter. There are a round score of them.’
I cried out a great oath, asking him why he had not gone up and warned Maignan, who with his men was now cut off from us in the rooms above. ‘You fool!’ I continued, almost beside myself with rage, ‘if you had not come to this door they would have mounted to my rooms and beset them! What is this folly about the Provost-Marshal?’
‘He is there,’ Simon answered, cowering away from me, his face working.
I thought he was lying, and had merely fancied this in his fright. But the assailants at this moment began to hail blows on the door, calling on us to open, and using such volleys of threats as penetrated even the thickness of the oak; driving the blood from the women’s cheeks, and arresting the king’s step in a manner which did not escape me. Among their cries I could plainly distinguish the words, ‘In the king’s name!’ which bore out Simon’s statement.
At the moment I drew comfort from this; for if we had merely to deal with the law we had that on our side which was above it. And I speedily made up my mind what to do. ‘I think the lad speaks the truth, sire,’ I said coolly. ‘This is only your Majesty’s Provost-Marshal. The worst to be feared, therefore, is that he may learn your presence here before you would have it known. It should not be a matter of great difficulty, however, to bind him to silence, and if you will please to mask, I will open the grille and speak with him.’
The king, who had taken his stand in the middle of the room, and seemed dazed and confused by the suddenness of the alarm and the uproar, assented with a brief word. Accordingly I was preparing to open the grille when Madame de Bruhl seized my arm, and forcibly pushed me back from it.
‘What would you do?’ she cried, her face full of terror. ‘Do you not hear? He is there.’
‘Who is there?’ I said, startled more by her manner than her words.
‘Who?’ she answered; ‘who should be there? My husband! I hear his voice, I tell you! He has tracked me here! He has found me, and will kill me!’
‘God forbid!’ I said, doubting if she had really heard his voice. To make sure, I asked Simon if he had seen him; and my heart sank when I heard from him too that Bruhl was of the party. For the first time I became fully sensible of the danger which threatened us. For the first time, looking round the ill-lit room on the women’s terrified faces, and the king’s masked figure instinct with ill-repressed nervousness, I recognised how hopelessly we were enmeshed. Fortune had served Bruhl so well that, whether he knew it or not, he had us all trapped—alike the king whom he desired to compromise, and his wife whom he hated, mademoiselle who had once escaped him, and me who had twice thwarted him. It was little to be wondered at if my courage sank as I looked from one to another, and listened to the ominous creaking of the door, as the stout panels complained under the blows rained upon them. For my first duty, and that which took the PAS of all others, was to the king—to save him harmless. How, then, was I to be answerable for mademoiselle, how protect Madame de Bruhl?—how, in a word, redeem all those pledges in which my honour was concerned?
It was the thought of the Provost-Marshal which at this moment rallied my failing spirits. I remembered that until the mystery of his presence here in alliance with Bruhl was explained there was no need to despair; and turning briskly to the king I begged him to favour me by standing with the women in a corner which was not visible from the door. He complied mechanically, and in a manner which I did not like; but lacking time to weigh trifles, I turned to the grille and opened it without more ado.
The appearance of my face at the trap was greeted with a savage cry of recognition, which subsided as quickly into silence. It was followed by a momentary pushing to and fro among the crowd outside, which in its turn ended in the Provost-Marshal coming to the front. ‘In the king’s name!’ he said fussily.
‘What is it?’ I replied, eyeing rather the flushed, eager faces which scowled over his shoulders than himself. The light of two links, borne by some of the party, shone ruddily on the heads of the halberds, and, flaring up from time to time, filled all the place with wavering, smoky light. ‘What do you want?’ I continued, ‘rousing my lodging at this time of night?’
‘I hold a warrant for your arrest,’ he replied bluntly. ‘Resistance will be vain. If you do not surrender I shall send for a ram to break in the door.’
‘Where is your order?’ I said sharply. ‘The one you held this morning was cancelled by the king himself.’
‘Suspended only,’ he answered. ‘Suspended only. It was given out to me again this evening for instant execution. And I am here in pursuance of it, and call on you to surrender.’
‘Who delivered it to you?’ I retorted.
‘M. de Villequier,’ he answered readily. ‘And here it is. Now, come, sir,’ he continued, ‘you are only making matters worse. Open to us.’
‘Before I do so,’ I said drily, ‘I should like to know what part in the pageant my friend M. de Bruhl, whom I see on the stairs yonder, proposes to play. And there is my old friend Fresnoy,’ I added. ‘And I see one or two others whom I know, M. Provost. Before I surrender I must know among other things what M. de Bruhl’s business is here.’
‘It is the business of every loyal man to execute the king’s warrant,’ the Provost answered evasively. ‘It is yours to surrender, and mine to lodge you in the Castle. ‘But I am loth to have a disturbance. I will give you until that torch goes out, if you like, to make up your mind. At the end of that time, if you do not surrender, I shall batter down the door.’
‘You will give the torch fair play?’ I said, noting its condition.
He assented; and thanking him sternly for this indulgence, I closed the grille.