Arthur Blane; or, The Hundred Cuirassiers

CHAPTER XIII.

LOUIS THE THIRTEENTH.

Leaving me in some danger of suffocation, and to my own reflections, among which the warnings of the Marquis de Gordon occupied a prominent place, the fair Countess had just time to conceal the key of the cabinet in her bosom, when the arras rose and fell, and Louis XIII. stood before her, with his broad plumed hat under his left arm, and wearing a short velvet cloak and long silver-hilted sword, tilting it up behind him as he continued to bow and advance with a mincing jaunty step, and ended by kissing the hand of the Countess thrice. At his neck hung the plain gold cross usually worn by him when he officiated as one of the twenty canons of the cathedral church of Ambrun—a solemn farce.

Louis the Just—so named because in an age which was still infected by the poisonings and astrologies of the infamous Catherine de Medicis, he had been born under the sign of the Zodiac, called Libra, or the Balance—was not of a very amorous nature; but being left almost entirely alone even amid the splendour of his court, and being coldly treated by Anne of Austria his queen, who, like all the great people of Paris, followed in the retinue of the formidable Cardinal Richelieu, his minister and, scandal added, her lover, he had but two or three domestics whom he loved and trusted; and who, besides the huntsmen and hounds, were his chief favourites and companions. Among these was particularly Boizenval, his valet de chambre, who usually bore his presents and love letters to Clara, but whom he banished in 1637, for delivering all his tender billets doux—especially those addressed to the fair and unfortunate Fayette—first to the tyrannical, prying and overweening Cardinal premier, to whose care, as well as to that of 'our blessed Lady,' Louis boasted he had consigned his crown and kingdom, and so troubled himself no more about them, believing like his successor, that 'they would last his time.'

Gallantry had been gradually resolving itself into a grand system during his reign. The brilliant assemblies and gay circles by which Francis I., of magnificent memory, had encouraged the polished intercourse of his court; the gross sensuality which had been introduced by the wicked and Machiavelian Catherine de Medicis, whose fair dames of honour lured to death their Huguenot lovers; when 'murders were hatched in the arms of love, and massacre was planned in the cabinet of pleasure;' with the shameless libertinism of Henry IV., were all united now to the serious gallantry which Anne of Austria had brought with her from Spain; and thus under Louis XIII.—though he was very little of a gallant himself—love, in his good city of Paris, became a science like astrology, and was analysed like metaphysics; and thus, as I have said, it was formed into a system, which rendered it the serious occupation of every one, and the way was easily prepared for that more absurd state of things which we find under the Grand Monarque his successor, when affairs of state were debated, and solemn councils of war held, round a courtesan lounging on a sofa, or in a pretty woman's bedroom; and when a revolution in the heart of a great man's mistress was an event of nearly as much consequence as a war on the Rhine, or an invasion of Flanders. But to resume—

'What the deuce is this I hear now, ma belle?' said the King, as he seated himself just where I had sat a moment before; 'here is the Mercure Francois publicly affirming—for M. Richelieu never tells me anything—that Mademoiselle Marie Louise of Lorraine—Duke Charles' daughter—is now in Paris, with her brother the Prince of Vaudemont, suborning my officers. 'Tis a serious thing to assert!'

''Tis impossible, sire!' exclaimed the Countess, changing colour very visibly; 'and that is more than improbable.'

'Nothing is impossible to those accursed Lorraines.'

'Your Majesty forgets that I am of Lorraine,' said the Countess with considerable hauteur.

'Nay, pardon me; but I had hoped you had been long enough in Paris to forget that wicked province.'

'Lorraine is an independent duchy, sire.'

'Was you mean, madame, till Henry II., in 1552, reduced it to obedience under the oriflamme, and left there a garrison which cost Charles V. some trouble, and thirty thousand of the best soldiers in Spain too! Moreover Metz, Toul, and Verdun were all confirmed to France by the treaty of Château Cambresis in '59.

'Your Majesty is excessively tiresome.'

'I regret to hear it; but how is this, sweetheart,' said Louis, knitting his brows as he surveyed the glittering dress of the lovely Countess; 'will nothing content you but a robe of blue, powdered with fleurs-de-lis?'

'It becomes me, sire, does it not?'

'Who alone are permitted to wear such?'

'Princesses of the blood royal; but am not I the life of your heart?'

'Under Henry IV., even the Duchess de Vendosme dared not have worn these, after she was publicly affronted by the Count de Soissons for doing so.'

'Henry IV. was a bear who should never have left the woods of the Lower Pyrenees. Your Majesty is in a horrible humour this morning; but here is luncheon, and there are chessmen—which do you prefer to me?'

'Neither, sweetheart, yet I will have you all; luncheon now, chess after, and you all the while.'

With these words the capricious King sat down to table, and was assisted to various niceties by the white hands of the Countess, with whom he afterwards sat down to chess, of which he was so passionately fond that he played it in his carriage, where the men were pegs inserted into holes in the squares of a perforated board, so that the motion could not displace them.

'Ah, Countess,' he mumbled as the game began, 'you have the most adorable hands heaven ever formed!'

'Yet they are the hands of a Lorrainer.'

'Have you ever seen this Marie Louise, of whom all men talk?'

'No;' replied the Countess, coldly; 'but why, sire?'

'Because we are told that she is full of the most dangerous beauty, united to the sweetest sensibility.'

'Ah; she is cunning perhaps, and is one of those who rule by tender glances, tears and sighs, or by an affectation of enthusiasm she never feels. I have known many women of this kind.'

'You are piqued, my dear Countess—she is a mere girl—a child.'

'So is the Duchess de Montbazon—yet she has had eight lovers.'

'You are severe, Clara; Madame de Montbazon is the wife of a peer of France.'

'I care not—for every lover she has, I could easily reckon ten, were I not devoted to your Majesty.'

'Thank you—but you forget your game.'

'Ah! sire—a woman forgets the universe itself, when he whom she truly loves is present.'

'Thou flatterest me, Clara,' said the poor silly King, trembling with pleasure, and in turn playing the deuce with his game.

'And now I have two or three pretty little requests to make.'

'Peste! I thought so. Did not the jewels I sent by M. Boizenval satisfy you?'

'Oh! sire, my letter of thanks expressed all I felt—but you mean not to grudge them to your Clara?'

'No—no!—and this request—'

'Monseigneur—(I did not catch the name) departed to the company of the saints yesterday, and has left a fine estate, the baton of a marshal of France, the cross of Saint Esprit, and a regiment of dragoons behind him.'

'Well,' said the King, wincing, and making a grimace; ''tis fortunate that he could not take them all to heaven with him, as I wanted them sorely.'

'So do I—the baton for Colonel Hepburn, the Scot, who dresses so magnificently—the cross, and the colonelcy of horse, I leave to your Majesty.

'Thank you, madame, you are exceedingly liberal; Hepburn, shall have his baton, I promise you; but not until he has marched into Lorraine.'

'Sire, the cross of the Holy Ghost, vacant by the execution of the Duke de Montmorenci, Campmaster of the regiment de Normandie, is not yet filled up.'

'Well?'

'I wish it, if you love me,' said the Countess, starting from the table, and throwing her arms round Louis.

'What—Countess, you with a cross of my first order?'

'Marion de l'Orme got one of St. Sepulchre, from the Cardinal, for her lover Senecterre.'

'And for whom do you wish it?' asked the King, suspiciously.

'For no lover, but a friend who will give me a thousand crowns for it—Raynold Cheyne of the Scottish Guard.'

'The cross worn by a peer and marshal of France, the descendant of four constables, one whose patent dates, like our Scottish League, from Charles the Great, for a private gentleman of our guard? Peste!—well, well, 'tis yours, Clara.'

'Thanks, sire,' said she, kissing him.

'Ha! what noise is that in the cabinet?—see, your dog snarls as if some one—'

''Tis mice, only mice, sire; but here are pen and ink; please to confirm these gifts; I deserve them, since I have been able to anticipate my enemy, the Cardinal.'

The King confirmed them by a line or two, which he handed to the Countess, saying,

'There is no man in all the Scottish Guard, I value more than Raynold Cheyne, or would trust more—'

'With anything, but a pretty girl, sire.'

'True, Madame de Bouillon has quite spoiled him; but favours to our soldiers are not thrown away at present; we have this day decided on the war with Lorraine.'

Through a chink in the old cabinet, I could perceive the Countess start with visible emotion at these words, and as she gave a furtive glance towards a part of the arras, I thought that a fair face, and a tress of golden hair were visible for a moment, as if some one was listening.

'Would not your Majesty rather send an envoy to the Duke, and seek to arbitrate this matter?'

'Countess, Richelieu means to send two envoys.'

'He does, sire!'

'Yes—the Cardinal Duke de Lavalette, and your friend the Camp-Marechal Hepburn.'

'How—'

'With fifty thousand men.'

'Alas! my poor native province!'

'Such is our resolve.'

'And which way do they march?'

'By the road direct for the frontier, and Elsace Zaberne.'

Another glance, and most palpable nod of intelligence were exchanged between the Countess and the eavesdropper, whom I suspected to be her attendant.

'If this Duke of Lorraine had four heads, by the bones of St. Louis, I would spike them all on the gate of St. Marcel, beside that of the traitor Guy de Beaumanoir!'

'Before that happens, I fear me, that the little Dauphin will have been hailed as Louis XIV.'

'Indeed, Countess!' said the King, with a sardonic grimace.

'Yes, sire, and you will be on your way to St. Denis, borne by the twenty-four Scots of the Garde du Corps.'

'Perhaps so,' said the easy King; 'but mort de tout les diables! let us have no more of politics, for I love to avoid them, and to come here when I am weary of display. The parade and routine of royalty are veritable slavery. Do you remember that fool the Prince of Condé entering Paris in 1616 with no less than fifteen hundred nobles and chevaliers and a thousand partizans in his train, and how he alarmed our royal mother, Mary de Medicis, who thought he had come to sack the city? By-the-by, in that year she had just finished the Hotel de Gondi to the tune of forty thousand crowns.'

'Sire, you forget that in 1616 I was but a girl,' said the Countess, pouting again.

'Four o'clock,' said the King, rising, as the hall-clock of the château struck in the turret of the quadrangle; 'and I promised to meet the grand huntsman and grand falconer at Versailles this evening about some little improvements I am making in the kennels and falconry. Fortunately, M. Richelieu does not interfere with them. I must go.'

'So soon, sire!'

'But you will accompany me, Countess, I hope.'

'If your Majesty would excuse me—'

She paused, for the pettish Louis knit his brow.

'Countess!'—he began impressively.

'This morning I was so unwell, and slept so little—'

''Tis the mice in this old château, Countess,' said the King, glancing round him suspiciously; 'and this old cabinet—some of M. le Duc de Sully's furniture,' he added, giving it a knock that made my heart to leap, 'seems a very receptacle for them. We must have it broken and burned!'

The Countess was terrified.

'I will go, sire,' she faltered.

'Thanks, dear Clara; your hand.'

He led her out with his jaunty step again, and they retired.

I heard the wheels of the royal carriage in the avenue a moment after, and then the hoofs of the musketeer escort. As these sounds died away, my heart sank within me, for I was locked in the cabinet, and its key was in the bosom of the Countess, who might return to release me heaven alone knew when!

CHAPTER XIV.

THE OAK CABINET.

My reflections were of a somewhat chequered nature. The amorous dalliance I had observed, and the conversation I had been forced to overhear, shocked and cooled, while it exasperated me. On one hand I found the Countess evidently taking money from officers, peers, and gentlemen for titles and crosses cajoled from the facile king; and on the other, I perceived her drawing from him intelligence concerning the intended war against the Duke of Lorraine, in whose secret interest she and her attendant, as natives of his duchy, were perhaps naturally enough enlisted. Then I thought of my present predicament—locked up in a secret cabinet, in a remote part of this ancient château, where my outcries might be unheard. Clara might be induced, or perhaps by circumstances compelled, to remain at Versailles for a night; perhaps for three nights, or even longer!

The perspiration burst over me with this idea!

I was for duty next day at the Louvre, and if I did not appear—— I strove to break open the door of the oak cabinet, but it was strong and immovable as the face of a bastion.

While these thoughts were passing through my mind I heard a voice singing the burden of the old provincial song,—

'Vive le tils d'Harlette,
    Normands,
Vive le fils d'Harlette!'

and two cavaliers richly dressed, and each armed with sword and dagger, and a pair of handsome pistols suspended by silver hooks from their belts, entered laughing, and evidently bent on a frolic. In one I recognized the Chevalier d'Ische. He was still pale from the effects of his wound. The other, I had no doubt, was his companion on that night of the brawl about the girl Nicola in the Place de la Grève.

'Prince, are your pistols loaded?' asked the Chevalier.

'Mordieu! I should think so. But why?'

'Dost see the carved face on the door of that old worm-eaten cabinet?'

'A satyr's head among leaves—yes.'

''Tis just where a man's breast would be.'

'Well?'

'Ten louis to a denier you don't hit it, Prince.'

'Done! But how if the shot is heard?'

'Diable! what do I care?'

'But the Countess's antique cabinet!'

''Tis only an old wooden box at best.'

'But the Countess—'

'Tush!'

'What will she say?'

'Say—morbleu, M. le Prince—what she pleases. Will you fire?'

'Peste! since you will have it so,' muttered the other, drawing a pistol from his girdle.

'You fear my challenge?'

'Tudieu! Chevalier, I fear nothing!'

The reader may imagine my sensations during this challenge to a trial of skill. I remembered the story Raynold Cheyne and the Chevalier Livingstone had told me, of our Marechal de Logis shooting a man in the boot of the queen's carriage, at the Hotel de Sens; and though my soul seemed to tremble within me, at the sudden prospect of death, true to the spirit of honour and of the age, I held my breath, and while my heart forgot to beat, I resolved to die rather than speak, or disgrace the Countess by uttering a sound.

The Prince cocked and levelled his pistol.

The Chevalier uttered a loud laugh, arrested his arm, and springing forward, unlocked and opened the door of the cabinet, saying,

'Come forth, M. Blane—by Jupiter, how pale you look!'

'Morbleu! but you are a gallant fellow!' exclaimed he (who was styled Prince), with astonishment; 'I knew not that there was any one within.'

'He is brave as Bayard! I knew of it, and did this but to test his courage.'

'How knew you that I was in the cabinet, Chevalier?' I asked, leaping out.

'Nicola, the Countess's attendant—'

'She with the beautiful hair?' said I.

'Ah—thou hast observed that!' said the Prince, knitting his brows.

'How could I fail to do so? Well, and the pretty Mademoiselle Nicola—'

'Brought me the key of the cabinet, which, with a significant glance, the Countess threw to her from the carriage unseen, as she drove off with the King; and mademoiselle told me to release you. But, my friend, to be one of the Scottish Guard, you are engaged in a perilous game, I think. Peste! if King Louis discovers you playing at bo-peep in Clara's apartment, I would not give much for your chance of promotion, unless at the Place de la Grève.'

'These risks are my own, Chevalier,' I replied coldly; 'but pray what Prince is this whom I have the honour of being before?'

'Your word of honour that you will not mention his name to any one?'

I gave the promise, laying a hand on my heart.

'Allow me to make known to each other,' said the Chevalier, with somewhat of a mock reverence, 'M. Arthur Blane, of the Garde du Corps Ecossais, and Monseigneur the Prince of Vaudemont.'

'Son of Charles IV. of Lorraine!' I exclaimed, aghast.

'The same—Duke Charles, for whom I am governor of the city of La Mothe, and bailiff of Bassignie. Oho! we have been spending a jovial month in Paris, overhearing and overseeing all King Louis' pretty little preparations for a war upon the Rhine, and we shall be delighted to see you in Lorraine, and all other brave gallants of the Guard. Ma foi! but we will perfume your new moustaches for you! To-morrow, or so, will be the grand ceremony of taking the terrible banner of the oriflamme from St. Denis; but we shall see that too. And now, my dear M. Blane, away to Paris as fast as you may! You are acting rashly, as others have done before you; but beware of your game, and that king Louis does not checkmate you; for this cabinet has more than once led to the Bastille.'

'Thanks, M. d'Ische; but why do you concern yourself about me?'

'Because you are a bold fellow, whose hands can keep his head. But away, I tell you; in Lorraine we will meet ere long, and try again those little sword-thrusts which we exchanged so awkwardly on the Quai de la Grève.'

'Come with us, monsieur,' said the Prince, a handsome and winning young man, 'we have a fiacre in waiting to take me to Paris. We go to Marion de l'Orme's to-night, disguised as officers of Swiss, and we will set you down at the Pont de Notre Dame.'

'Allons,' said the Chevalier; 'let us begone then.'

An hour after this, we separated at the bridge of the Seine: they wheeled off to the salons of the most beautiful but most dissipated woman in Paris; whilst I, glad to be rid of companions so dangerous as the spies and enemies of the King, returned slowly, thoughtfully, and somewhat crest-fallen, to the Louvre.

CHAPTER XV.

NICOLA.

After these occurrences, a fortnight elapsed, and during all that time I did not visit the Countess, and I never received any message from her, a circumstance which rather piqued and surprised me; so, during that fortnight I imitated a little of the dissipation of my companions.

One night Raynold Cheyne and I had a desperate brawl in the Rue St. Honoré with the archers of the Provost des Marchands, led by the Chevalier de Guet, or commander of the night watch; but we knocked them over like nine-pins, and fought our way off. Moreover, in this devilish fortnight, I was involved in no less than two duels, having to fight one for myself and another for a friend.

I had become acquainted with a pretty little actress of the Hotel d'Argent aux Marais, and we used to take occasional rambles together in the Garden of Plants, and have other meetings, which were duly arranged for us by little Foquelin, the Molière of later times. These proceedings one of M. de Treville's musketeers resented so highly, that he asked me to give him a meeting, which I did one morning about five o'clock. Why abroad so early? the reader may ask; but the truth is, that to suit my own convenience I met him on my way home to the Louvre. We engaged, but after a few passes he burst into a fit of laughter, sheathed his sword, and proposed that we should toss up for my actress over a bottle of the wine of Artois, which we did accordingly, and, as fortune would have it, she fell to him.

My next affair was more serious.

Our comrade, the Viscount Dundrennan, when crossing at the ferry of the Nesle, was incommoded by a chevalier of St. Esprit, and a meeting was arranged; but the Viscount having to attend an assignation with a little citoyenne, in the Marais, asked me to take his place; and, wearing his rocquelaure and a lofty plume, by which he was as well known in Paris as the statue of Henry IV., I met the chevalier of St. Esprit outside the gate of St. Marcel, and at the fourth pass disarmed and laid him flat on his back by a blow with my shell on the mouth. As he was a friend of Mademoiselle de l'Orme, I feared that for this exploit I might have to cool my heels in Holland, and take service under those very pious and proper persons, the States General; but the Countess stood my friend with the Procureur du Roi, the Chevalier got a false set of teeth, the affair blew over, and Dundrennan was my friend for life.

One night I was sentinel at a private gate of the Louvre, armed completely, in helmet, breast and back plates, with sword and carbine. My orders simply were, to admit none by that postern without receiving from them the parole, which, as already related, the King daily gave to the Marquis de Gordon. In the chapel of the ancient palace, Louis was holding a solemn chapter of the fifty knights of the Holy Ghost (an order instituted by himself), for the purpose of receiving my friend, Cheyne of Dundargle, whose new honours were owing to the interest taken in his affairs by Madame d'Amboise.

I had still the miniature of that gay countess, and while whistling or humming an air to wile away the lonely two hours of my watch, I occasionally, by a lamp that hung overhead, surveyed this effort of the pencil of Poussin, who had caught with wonderful skill her voluptuous style of beauty, the wanton lustre that shone in her rich hazel eye, and the seductive droop of her eyelash.

Two old crones connected with the palace amused me for some time by gravely discussing whether Madame la Marechale d'Ancre really lodged devils at her house in Paris, and consequently deserved the stake; and then of the newer sorceries of Urbain Grandier among the poor nuns at Loudun, in the Vienne, which began to be much talked of about that time; and as all the ladies were in turn possessed by devils, which were only expelled by bringing them before a statue of our Lady of Recovery, the Carmelites, its possessors, were making quite a fortune by the fame of its miracles. After a little, the two crones shut their windows, and all became still and silent, save the strains of music that came at times from the illuminated windows of the Hôtel de Bourbon, which stood opposite; and now the time approached when the venerable clock of St. Germain l'Auxerrois would toll the hour for relieving me until morning.

A dark figure, about a pistol-shot distant, glided across the rays of light that fell from the Hotel windows towards the postern, and attracted my attention.

'Qui vive?' I challenged.

Without replying, a female, masked, and shrouded from head to foot in a long black veil, approached hurriedly, and, to my great surprise, laid a hand timidly upon my arm, saying—

'Ah! M. Arthur, I overheard some one say you were on duty here.'

'At your service, mademoiselle,' I replied, while my heart beat rapidly on recognising my little masker of the Place de la Grève, Nicola, the attendant of the Countess; 'but why are you alone here, and at this time of night?'

'Why was I alone that night in the Quai de la Grève?'

'I know not; you are a charming enigma, Nicola; but twelve will strike shortly. Ah! mademoiselle, if you have a lover!'

'I have been at the masque in the Hotel de Bourbon; I have been close to the Cardinal twenty times, and heard him discuss some notable projects with the Chevalier Hepburn and the Duke de Lavalette.'

'Projects—concerning what?'

'The war in Lorraine.'

'Then your information will be of considerable value to my friend, M. le Chevalier d'Ische,' said I, angrily.

'Hush!' said she, haughtily, and with alarm, while she cast a rapid glance over the mighty mass of the Louvre; 'it is not of d'Ische, but of yourself I came to speak.'

'A thousand thanks, dear mademoiselle,' said I, surveying with a new emotion of pleasure her beautiful golden hair, which shone beneath her veil, in the lamp that swung in the archway above me.

She trembled, and said—

'I know not how to begin all I have to say, but the message comes to you partly from the Chevalier d'Ische, and from the Prince, his companion.'

'De Vaudemont?'

'Hush! oh, hush!' she cried, in a stifled voice; 'were that name heard here I should be destroyed. Well, monsieur, they are charmed by your courage and bearing.'

'They do me infinite honour, mademoiselle, no less by the compliment than by the messenger they have chosen; and this message—'

'Concerns Madame d'Amboise.'

'Your mistress?'

'My mistress?' reiterated Nicola, with a haughty laugh.

'Your friend then.'

'Neither my mistress nor my friend; but one day you may know this enigma. Well, 'tis of this lady I would speak: M. Blane, you do not love this woman—foolish boy, you cannot love her!'

'You call me boy, who are but yourself a girl.'

'A girl? true; but a woman in experience. We begin life early in this lively city of Paris, my dear M. Blane. Can you hope to fix such a heart as that of the Countess?'

'I dare hope anything,' said I, as all Clara's beauty and fascination came before me.

'Is it worth fixing, a heart that is full of vanity, and finds no charm in religion, or in virtue? You cannot raise this woman to the rank even of a citizen's wife if you married her.'

'Married her!' I reiterated; 'by my faith, mademoiselle,' I added, after a long pause of perplexity, 'you are a bold little chit to speak thus of the Countess—'

'Of the wretched mistress of Louis XIII.!' said Nicola, with a gesture of contempt.

'Marriage was never thought of, by me, at least; on my honour, I assure you, Nicola.'

''Tis well,' she replied, with singular dignity; 'for by that act you would lower yourself for ever, and adopt the stigma of her shame, and of her crimes.'

'Crimes! oh, mademoiselle, whither is your energy carrying you?'

'Crimes, or sins, you would soon learn to despise her, while your own purity would render you an object of hate; your youth, as contrasted with her riper years, an object of intolerant jealousy. Avoid her, M. Blane, and love one who is young, beautiful, and worthy of you.'

'Like yourself, charming Nicola,' said I, gallantly, and attempting to take her hand; 'the deuce! you are reading me quite a motherly lecture, little one.'

She blushed under her velvet mask, and drew back, for kindness and earnestness had borne her thus away, and my perhaps mistimed gallantry offended her.

'Do you not perceive how she receives you? She is always dressing her hair, or reclining on a couch, her neck and shoulders bare; her dress a dishabille. Her eyes are ever rolling, drooping, or languishing, and she courts compliments and kisses, which take the rouge from her cheeks; and thus has she dallied with many before you knew her. Oh, fie! M. Blane, you have been both very naughty, and very silly. There is no love in all this, it is mere allurement. Pure love,' she added, in her tremulously gentle voice, 'should be pure and chaste as an infant's dream.'

'May such a love be yours, beautiful Nicola!' said I, struck by the truth of all she advanced, and charmed by the kindness of this interesting girl; 'I will ever esteem you as my kindest friend.'

'Money or favour may find you a hundred mistresses, but never a friend. Shameless and intriguing, brilliant and subtle, the Countess seeks only to allure you, as she has allured others, by studied coquetry, and inviting you by a thousand pretty ways to love her; but everything on earth passes away, and so, I trust, will your regard for Madame d'Amboise: her love for you is but the fancy of an hour, and it will pass, leaving perhaps shame, and it may be danger or death behind it.'

I stood for a minute silent, confounded by the lofty bearing, impressed by the sense, and piqued by the monitory tone of this little waiting-maid, whose excessive beauty gave her the privilege of an empress, and, in truth, she seemed quite disposed to take it.

'Mademoiselle,' said I, 'whether all these admonitions have come from the reckless chevalier, or are the pure offspring of your own amiable heart, I shall not be vain enough to determine; but war will fortunately soon remove me from the sphere you deem so dangerous, for to remain in it, and treat the Countess with real or apparent coldness, would destroy me as readily as if the King discovered her troublesome passion for me.'

'Farewell, M. Blane, I am glad that you see your position so well,' said she, giving me her white hand to kiss; 'farewell! remember all I have said; that I shall ever be your friend, and as a proof that I am well informed, be prepared for a journey—you will leave Paris to-morrow evening!'

'To-morrow?'

'Farewell!'

'But how will you reach the château?'

'Antoine awaits me with a fiacre, at the corner of the Rue de l'Arbre Sec.'

'But an escort?'

'I have the Chevalier d'Ische, and his friend, disguised as Swiss musketeers—adieu!'

'Adieu, dear Nicola!' and we separated.

'Fool that I was not to get a parting kiss from her!' thought I, as she tripped away and disappeared. 'In all this there is some strange mystery; that young girl is no more a waiting-maid than I am shah of Persia!'

At that moment the clock of St. Germain l'Auxerrois struck twelve, and the Viscount Dundrennan came to take my place at the postern.

'Bravo! a petticoat!' said he, just as Nicola disappeared; 'are the sentinels doubled here at night? I deemed this the most dreary post on the Louvre.'

I made him an answer in the same jocular vein, and rejoined my comrades in the guard-room, or salon of the Garde du Corps Ecossais, and the events of the morrow left me little time for reflection, and less for inquiry.

CHAPTER XVI.

WAR.

With dawn next day came an order from M. de la Ferte Imbault, Colonel-General des Ecossais, in the name of the King, for the cuirassiers of the Scottish Guard to march that evening towards Lorraine. Thus did the whispered tidings of Nicola become verified!

During the long war which desolated Germany by the armies of Sweden under Gustavus, Horn, and Banner, and those of the Empire under Tilly, Pappenheim, and the Duke of Friedland, Cardinal Richelieu had ruled France with a rod of iron, and, instead of fighting abroad, contented himself by counteracting the innumerable plots, and rendering abortive the desperate intrigues formed against his government by Mary de Medicis or the Duc d'Orleans, until he conceived the plan of rendering his services as Premier unavoidable, by involving poor Louis XIII. in a war with the formidable empire; and acting on a hint, some say, from Marion de l'Orme, of whom he was secretly enamoured, he resolved to put his Majesty in possession of Philipsburg, in the fine frontier-province of Alsace.

Exasperated by this wanton and projected usurpation, the Duke of Lorraine, to whom this territory belonged, placed himself under the protection of the German emperor.

Duke Charles IV. was esteemed by all, as a brave, generous, and skilful soldier; he had commanded in the Imperial army at the battle of Prague, and fought the Duke of Saxe-Weimar and Marshal Gustaf Horn at the battle of Nerling. He fought for seven hours in his saddle at the attacks on Poligni and Brissac, and had been more than one hundred times under fire. By his first wife, the Princess Nicola of Lorraine, he had a daughter, Marie-Louise, who was famous throughout France for her wit, beauty, and accomplishments; by his second wife he had a son, the Prince de Vaudemont, a tall youth of eighteen years (in after times the Governor of Milan), who had already attained a name for adventurous bravery, and to whom I have twice had the honour of introducing the reader.

Immediately on war being declared against the Empire by Louis, who did it with great formality, by sending, in the ancient fashion, a herald-at-arms to Brussels, the Duke of Lorraine, after victualling and fortifying all his castles, placed strong garrisons in them, and, at the head of eight hundred horse and two thousand foot, joined the Emperor.

The most Christian King was sorely perplexed by all the turmoil and warlike bustle in which he found himself involved; and he spent more time than ever in the silver and blue boudoir of Madame d'Amboise, or in his dog-kennel at Versailles, while Richelieu, restless, active, and able, enrolled the Arrière Ban, and poured five armies into the field, after laying in the lap of his beautiful monitress the plan of the new campaign, which, he boasted, would carry the frontiers of France far beyond the borders of Champagne and Picardy, and all the outlines of which, the Prince de Vaudemont and the Chevalier d'Ische, disguised as abbés, or musketeers, had heard freely discussed in the salons of Paris, and duly transmitted to the Duke and to the Emperor.

The oriflamme was taken from the Abbey of St. Denis; in a week, the whole country vibrated with war; all the troops in France were concentrated at five points, and on the march.

The first army, under the Dukes d'Angoulême and De la Force, marched towards Lorraine, and assailed the troops of Duke Charles, under the terrible John de Wert, and stormed St. Michel and other places.

The second, led by the Duke de Rohan, after fortifying many places in the Valteline, had a desperate conflict near Bormio, and defeated Serbellon with the loss of five thousand men.

The third, twenty-six thousand strong, led by the Marechal Duke de Crecqui, entered Italy, laid siege to Valenza, and stormed the castle of Fontana, when the gallant Marechal de Thoiras was slain in the assault.

The fourth, under the Marechals de Breze and Chatillon (who had still the garter of Mademoiselle de Guerchi tied to his sword-arm), entered Picardy, attacked Prince Thomas of Savoy, and defeated him with the loss of five thousand slain, taking fifteen hundred men, ninety-five standards, and sixteen brass guns.

The fifth was led by the Cardinal Duke de Lavalette and Camp-Marechal Sir John Hepburn of Athelstaneford, in Lothian, who had then the proud pre-eminence of being esteemed "THE BRAVEST SOLDIER IN THE WORLD;" and it is of this army alone I shall treat, for, in its ranks, I had the honour to serve against the veterans of the Empire and the high-spirited chevaliers of the house of Lorraine.

In this army were the ancient regiments of Piedmont, Normandy, Navarre, and Picardy, styled les vieilles bandes. The latter corps was six thousand strong, and led by Louis de Bethune, Duc de Charost. We had also the younger corps, La Tour du Pin, Bourbonnais, Auvergne, Belsunce, Meilly, and the distinguished regiment du Hoi. Then we had also the Scottish regiments of Ramsay, Lesly, and Hepburn; the latter was seven thousand strong; the other Scots regiments were about five thousand each. We had with us a fine train of artillery and a body of cavalry, the flower of which were the gendarmerie, all clad in coats of scarlet, richly laced with cuirasses and helmets; the light horse of the Guard, consisting of two hundred gallant gentlemen of Navarre, and the hundred cuirassiers of the Scottish Guard, who were second to none in the world. Our foot company remained in Paris to guard the King. All the horse had triple-barred cabossets, back and breast pieces, iron gloves, buff coats, and jack-boots. The infantry had nearly laid aside defensive armour, or it was worn by their officers alone; their uniforms were white, richly faced and laced.

We had with us the heavy dragoons of Marechal de Brissac, commanded by Roger de St. Lacy, for whom the charming Mademoiselle de Chevreuse had recently obtained a coronet, with the title of Duc de Bellegarde, and thus he carried her glove on his helmet. These dragoons were wont to boast that they "were the Scots of the French army."

In France, I often found the high chivalric bearing of the noblesse clouded by a lofty imperiousness towards inferiors—a bearing unknown to us in Scotland, where all men went abroad armed, and where the ties of kin and clanship gave the peer and the peasant a community of name and blood. In France, none but men of 'good birth' were permitted to wear a sword; in Scotland, every man went armed to the teeth. On attaining his fifteenth year, the son of the French noble was ceremoniously conducted to church, accoutred with belt and sword; his parents preceded him with lighted tapers to the altar, where the priest, at the offertory, took the weapon from his boyish hand, and, after a solemn consecration, returned it to the youth, who did not sheath it until the conclusion of mass, after which he was entitled to wear it in peace and war, as a badge of rank and honour. Such were the ideas impressed in boyhood on the young French nobles; hence their spirit was matchless—their military honour unblemished.

It was on a warm and sunny day of spring when we bade farewell to the gay and beautiful city of Paris, and with all our trumpets sounding and kettle-drums beating a lively Scottish air; with our long swords gleaming around the Cardinal Duke de Lavalette, whose escort we formed, the hundred cuirassiers of the Garde du Corps Ecossais took the road to Lorraine, thousands sending their cheers and prayers after us, while hundreds of pretty girls strewed the way before us with the early flowers of the summer that was at hand—the summer that many of us might never live to see.

It was evening when we defiled through the barriers, and I remembered with surprise how true the warning of the pretty Nicola had proved.

'M. le Cardinal,' asked the King, as the troops marched from Paris, 'how are all these armies to be victualled?'

'That is the enemy's affair, sire—not ours,' was the reply of the imperturbable Richelieu.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE MARCH.

The army of Lavalette covered all the roads that led towards Lorraine, and the aspect of the column to which our Scottish cuirassiers were attached was brilliant and imposing as it poured through the pastoral province of Champagne, with corslets and cabossets gleaming in the sun, and all their bright points glittering, their plumes and banners waving among the brigades of pikemen and musketeers, dragoons, artillery, baggage, and trains of pontooneers and petardiers.

After traversing a spacious plain we crossed the Marne at Meaux, which made a march of thirty-two miles. This was severe enough for heavily-armed cavalry, so we halted all next day and heard Father Gilbert Blackhall, a Scottish Jesuit, preach in the cathedral of St. Stephen. Continuing our march we passed Colomiers (which was soon after to be made a peerage for Henry of Orleans, Duke of Longoville) and La Ferte sous Jouarre, which lies in a narrow valley twelve miles eastward of it. We crossed the river by an old wooden bridge, and our captain, the Marquis de Gordon, took up his quarters in the ancient castle, which had been burned by the Huguenots in 1562, in those days when religion and rapine, slaughter and conversion went hand in hand; and ere long our trumpets made the old ruined streets of Sezanne—which was still half in ashes, just as the Huguenots had left it in the days of Charles IX.—resound as they blew the cavalquet in the market-place. The town is prettily situated between two small rivers, and having a good market for corn, wine, and wood, formed a convenient halting-place, and here we remained for three days by the advice of our Marechal de Logis.

We carried little baggage. Our horses were well inured to fatigue, and had been kept constantly in condition by drilling, marching, and galloping at full speed by squadrons. On these occasions rider and horse were always fully armed and accoutred; thus all our movements became characterized by unusual spirit and velocity.

I thought frequently of the Countess, from whom I was now completely separated; but being beyond the sphere and fascination of her presence, my regret was not very poignant. Then the softer and gentle image of Nicola would come before me.

'Pshaw!' thought I; 'a little intriguing waiting-maid—absurd!'

On the march towards Sezanne we passed hundreds of French stragglers, who had sunk under fatigue and lay by the wayside; but never a Scottish musketeer of Ramsay, Hepburn, or Leely left his colours, though their regiments composed half our force of infantry; but our Scots have naturally the gift of enduring fatigue, and the habit of marching—for it is a habit which other soldiers have generally to acquire.

'Well,' said the Viscount Dundrennan, shrugging his shoulders, as we received our billets on the bourgeoisie; 'I suppose, M. le Maire, you have neither a theatre or other place of entertainment here?'

'At this distance from Paris, M. le Gend'arme, I should think not! but,' he added, with a twinkle in his eye—for this paunchy magistrate and wine-merchant was an old Huguenot—'there is a pretty convent of Ursulines on the height yonder.'

'Yes, monsieur.'

'A convent?'

'A charming little place, monsieur; the walls are covered with roses—'

'Ah! to conceal the broken bottles and iron spikes below, I suppose.'

'Yes, monsieur,' said the Maire, grinning and bowing.

'Say monseigneur, M. le Maire; you are addressing a Viscount,' said the Chevalier Livingstone; and the magistrate bowed thrice to his red garters.

'There is a piece of the true cross there,' he added, with his impudent smile, 'in a golden shrine that cost a thousand louis d'ors, and the abbess is only four-and-twenty years old, while there is not a novice over sixteen.'

'Tête Dieu!' exclaimed the Chevalier; 'do you say so?'

'Not one over sixteen, messieurs, and all high born and beautiful.'

'By the devil's death, I shall visit them,' said Dundrennan, putting his foot in his stirrup; 'I must see all these pretty ones, hap what may.'

'But how?' I asked.

'Viscount, you are mad!' exclaimed Cheyne and others.

'How so, gentlemen?' said he, mounting; 'I am the grandson of a commendator.'

'The devil!' exclaimed the Chevalier, laughing; 'dost think the nuns will esteem you the more for that?'

'But how will you enter?' I asked.

''Tis very simple. I fall sick at the gate or am thrown from my horse, and the sympathizing abbess, the kind nuns and pretty little novices, carry me in; they remove my helmet—they bathe my temples with perfumes, and with their own soft hands, and thus the fortress is taken by stratagem.'

'Beware, Viscount, I beseech you,' said I; 'such pranks may bring you to the Bastille.'

'Viscount, you are incorrigible!' said Sir Quentin Home.

'Ten crowns to one, you don't get entrance,' said the reckless Chevalier Livingstone.

'You shall see, gentlemen—my ten crowns are won,' cried the madcap Viscount, as he galloped away with all his brilliant accoutrements flashing in the sun; and the waggish maire rubbed his hands with glee, as he saw him cross the bridge and ascend the height on which the sequestered convent stood.

In an hour be rejoined us, looking rather grave and a little ashamed of himself and of his prank.

'How about our little bet?' asked Livingstone.

'You have lost, Chevalier,' said Dundrennan; 'so order dinner for us all at the hotel.'

He had fully succeeded; but the nuns proved to be all old women; there was not a novice in the house, and the abbess was in her sixty-seventh year. She was a lady of noble and magnificent presence, and on discovering her visitor to be a gentleman of the Scottish Guard, announced herself to be Mary Stuart—that mysterious nun who was then so well known in France as the Mother of Resurrection, and who was openly affirmed to be the daughter of the wicked Earl of Bothwell, and the unhappy Mary Queen of Scots—born in Lochleven, and kidnapped to France—a descent also claimed by an eminent divine in Scotland.

She had received the Viscount kindly, gracefully, and told him who she was supposed to be; and he returned to us, in a more sober mood than we had seen him in for many a day.

During our halt, the convent parlour was thronged by the gentlemen of the Scottish forces; and our illustrious Camp-Marechal Hepburn presented to the abbess a valuable gold medal, which, in the German wars, he had torn from the neck of the terrible Count Pappenheim, the hero of a hundred wounds.

Weary with marching in all our harness, half choked by the spring dust, that rolled along the roads of Upper Champagne, under the feet of so many thousand infantry, and the wheels of many powder-waggons, baggage-wains, and field-pieces, just as the sun was setting, we gladly halted one evening, in the little town of La Fere Champenoise, and resigned our horses to our grooms, servants, or pages.

As we rambled along the streets in search of refreshment, the welcome voice of a tapster, shouting to passengers in the old fashion, drew us towards a tavern or hostelry.

'Messieurs,' he continued to cry, 'we have here good wine and good oats! will you have a chopin for yourself and a measure for your charger? enter, messieurs, enter!'

This tavern was styled the Count of Champagne, from its sign-board, which bore an imaginary head of that personage in a barbed helmet of the middle ages; and from the circumstance of the quaint old house having been a residence of Theobauld V., last Count of Champagne and Brie; consequently our tavern was quite historical, and at least four hundred years old.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TWO ABBÉS.

Dundrennan, Sir Quintin Home, Raynold Cheyne and I, entered the common hall, or room of the tavern, and after bowing politely to two abbés who were seated in a corner conversing over a stoup of French wine, and reading the columns of the 'Mercury,' we ordered dinner.

'A poor tavern this,' said Sir Quentin, surveying the old gloomy room and worm-eaten furniture.

'True; but our swords are sheathed in leather just now—not crimson velvet,' said the Viscount, pithily.

'That ride from Mailly to-day has given me an appetite,' said Cheyne; 'dinner—dinner, quick!'

'And jovial stoups of your wine of champagne all round,' added Sir Quentin.

'What the deuce, my Laird of Redden!' exclaimed the Viscount, 'thy purse actually rings with the sound of metal; hast thou inherited a fortune?'

'Or been upon the highway?' added Cheyne, in the same tone of banter.

'I have been overmuch upon the highway since I rid myself of yonder English captain in the bounds of Berwick,' replied the Baronet, with a grim smile; 'since that unfortunate day, my purse has usually been the lightest thing about me.'

'Except thy heart, gallant Home,' added Dundrennan.

'Viscount, I thank you.'

'And yet, Sir Quentin,' said I, 'rumour avers that the fair Mademoiselle de Chevreuse views you with favour, and we all know that she has eighty thousand francs per annum.'

'Eighty thousand! Ah, Heaven! think of that!' sighed the poor Baronet; 'if she were tenderly inclined, mademoiselle might make me the happiest man in France, and her paternal coat would look very well when quartered with the lion rampant of Home argent armed and langued gules.'

'But think of De Guerchi, whose heart might break, though Chatillon wears her garter.'

'Pshaw! is not one pretty girl as good as another, Viscount?'

'If their purses be of the same weight.'

'Of course, Viscount. Ouf! how mercenary we have become among these Parisians. But beware, gentlemen, we have a couple of abbés here,' said Home, lowering his voice, and to mention my name with that of Mademoiselle de Chevreuse in their hearing might bring upon me the eyes of monseigneur the Archbishop of Paris; and there are certain devilish contrivances in France known as lettres de cachet, which lead to an unpleasant place called the Bastille.'

'Ten devils!' said the Viscount; 'don't think of them.'

'The archbishop was a capital swordsman when he was known simply as the little Abbé Gondi; but I have no wish to measure swords or strength with him now.'

'Here comes the dinner at last,' said Dundrennan, flinging aside his belt and gauntlets; 'bravo, maitre d'hôtel! are all these fine children yours?'

'Tush, Viscount, don't ask unpleasant questions,' said Cheyne, still in his spirit of banter; 'they are, at least, the children of his wife, Madame la Comtesse de Champagne, our generous lady of the signboard.'

And so, amid gaiety and laughter, heedless of the two reverend abbés who sat in the corner, we sat down to dinner.

It was then the custom in France, when one was invited to dinner, to send a servant with one's knife, fork, and spoon, as these things were never provided for guests. We all produced our apparatus from our pockets, and attacked the viands, as we would have done the enemy.

The two abbés, who had been quite silent since we entered the room, now began to talk while our jaws were otherwise employed; but as they invariably became silent when any of us spoke, and sat in shadow, with their faces turned from us, I conceived, without knowing why, an instinctive mistrust of their character, and watched them narrowly. One was dark in complexion; the other fair, and ten years younger in face and manner; but the knowledge that the costume of an abbé was then the usual attire, or disguise of French gentlemen when travelling, rendered me wary of drawing attention to their presence, or to their conversation, the scraps of which were somewhat to the following effect.

'She is very lovely, with her violet eyes and golden hair,' said the younger abbé; 'Marie Louise herself is not superior to her!'

'Ah, you know her, then—this Madame de Charost?' asked the elder and darker abbé.

'Too well for my own peace; but you smile.'

'She is one of the most faithful wives in Paris.'

'To her husband?'

'No, to his dear friend——'

'Diable! who is he?'

'Ah, your hand wanders to where your sword should be. There is great wisdom in consigning these tools to the tapster, when we visit a tavern.'

'But who is this friend?'

'The new camp-master of the regiment de Normandie.'

'The Marquis de Toneins, son of the Duke de la Force?'

'Yes.'

'Good,' said the fair abbé, angrily; 'I shall remember that when we meet again. Ah, poor little Charost—she is indeed an innocent!'

'Yes, a pretty innocent, who sings comic operas, and reads romances in Lent,' whispered the older abbé, in his bantering tone.

Deeming this conversation about the gay and divorced Duchess of Charost rather odd in its tenor to be maintained by two churchmen, I now gave all my attention to them.

'Mon Dieu! and so you actually fought a duel with this young spark De Toneins?' exclaimed the dark abbé.

'Yes, because duelling being strictly forbidden in the camp, we fought about everything; even the peccadilloes of the girls at the Hôtel d'Argent, or about who was the best hand with cards, a case of pistols, anything in short. But he fairly ran me through the body.'

'I think you have a luck that way. Ouf! after this, I would have paid a priest to curse him.'

'Bah!' replied the fair abbé, with a bitter smile, 'I can do it cheaper myself.'

'True,' replied the other, and while drumming with his fingers on the table, hummed half-abstractedly—

'Fille d'un simple pelletier,
    Elle était gentillette;
Robert en galant chevalier
    Vint lui conter fleurette.'

This song, together with the voice, stirred an immediate chord in my memory; and while pretending to examine certain pictures of farriers' shops, riding-houses, and Dutch market-places, by Albert Kuyp, with which the room was decorated, I drew near the two reverend abbés, and observed them more particularly; and despite their perukes, in imitation of the inventor, the absurd Abbé la Rivière, I recognised in the elder and darker, the devil-may-care Chevalier Raoul d'Ische; and in the younger and fair-haired, the Prince of Vaudemont, the son of that Duke of Lorraine, whose territories we were about to enter.

Perplexity and astonishment at the cool daring of these two cavaliers kept me silent; and they continued to converse without observing me.

'You are right,' said the Prince, in reply to some remark of the Chevalier; 'the risks run by Marie Louise, whose beauty and delicacy render her so suspiciously attractive, are a source of great unhappiness to me.'

'But her presence in Paris is as necessary to us, as twenty thousand men upon the frontier,' replied the Chevalier, in the same low, guarded tone. 'The Countess—'

'What Countess?'

'Madame d'Amboise. You have read and destroyed her last despatch from Paris, I hope?'

'Yes, Chevalier; and deposited the answer.'

'Where, M. le Prince?'

'In the place agreed upon; the old oak at the fountain on the highway; 'tis, as usual, in ciphers, which she of course alone can read, having the key. Moreover—'

'Hush, M. l'Abbé—we are observed.'

'Then let us retire.'

They rose abruptly and withdrew; but this unguarded conversation convinced me more than ever that the famous Princess Marie Louise of Lorraine was living concealed in Paris; that the mistress of the King was betraying both him and Richelieu, and, being a Lorrainer, was in the interest of Duke Charles and his people.

'Comrades, excuse me for a minute,' said I, and followed these Lorrainers, whom I found in the act of receiving their swords from the tapster, and mounting their horses, which were strong and active nags, accoutred with valises and holster-pistols.

'Monseigneur,' said I, saluting the Prince, 'I have discovered you; indeed I must have been blind or mad, had I failed to do so.'

'Hola! upon my soul, 'tis our very good friend, M. Blane of Garde Ecossais!' said the Chevalier, with as much surprise as if he had not been observing me for an hour past. 'Well, sir?'

'Retire—leave our vicinity; this espionnage is not honourable, and you trust me too far.'

'Ah! you begin to threaten us—eh?'

'If, in one hour hence, I find you near our cantonments, by Heaven, messieurs, I will denounce you both to the Duke de la Lavalette!'

'Mort de tout les diables! he does threaten us, Chevalier,' said the Prince, haughtily. 'Very well, M. Blane, I command my father's troops at Bitche, the first town upon the Alsatian frontier; you will find me there in other guise than that of an abbé.'

'And if you pass Bitche with bones unbroken, and come the length of La Mothe,' added the Chevalier, 'you will find me there, with my helmet on, my young soldier. I shall then be at the head of Duke Charles's old steel crabs, whose claws are sharp enough, believe me—and so till then, adieu, my dear Garde Ecossais.'

'Adieu, messieurs,' said I, and we separated with cold salutes.

They galloped away, and I rejoined my three companions, who were singing vociferously an old Scottish rant, and becoming more jolly than ever, over the sparkling wine of Champagne.