About nine o'clock we came to a country inn where I decided to halt, and the troopers, well pleased at the prospect of refreshment, proceeded to stable the horses, while the hostess showed madame and her niece into the best room of the house. The arrival of such a large party caused some consternation, but the host and his servants bustled about cheerfully, and the soldiers were soon sitting down to a rough but abundant meal.
Having seen them satisfactorily settled, I was debating whether to intrude myself on the ladies or not, when the innkeeper informed me that they desired to see me. Accordingly, after speaking a word to the sergeant, I went upstairs, and entered the room where they sat at table.
Madame Coutance, who shortly before had sulked like a spoiled child, had now regained her good humour, and received me with smiles.
"Come, Sir Gaoler, it is not polite to keep your guests waiting," she exclaimed, and I excused myself on the ground of being uncertain whether my presence would be agreeable.
"Certainly! we require you as a taster. The Duke of Beaufort was allowed one at Vincennes, and you would not count him of more consequence than two ladies?"
"I' faith!" I exclaimed, glancing at the viands, "if I am to play that part, there will be little for those who come after me. The night's ride has given me a wolf's appetite!"
"In that case," said Marie laughing, "we will be our own tasters. Sit down, Albert, and let us begin."
For some reason best known to herself, or perhaps for no reason at all, Madame Coutance had become reconciled to the situation. I was received into favour again. We laughed and joked merrily, and resumed the journey in the best of good humour. The leathern coverings were fastened back, and I rode beside the open carriage more as an attendant cavalier than as the officer of an escort. This was far more agreeable to me, though I found it rather awkward to answer some of the questions which madame asked concerning the Cardinal.
"It is a pity the plot was discovered," she said; "in a day or two at the outside Mazarin would have been lost."
"Condé is still in prison," I remarked meaningly.
"He will soon be free. The people are rising, and Mazarin will not dare to keep him in captivity. Ah, my friend, the tables will be turned then!"
"I wish these useless squabbles were at an end," said Marie.
"Have patience, child," exclaimed her aunt, "all will come right in time," and, turning to me, she added, "how long am I expected to remain at Aunay?"
"The Cardinal mentioned a month or two."
"Good faith!" she exclaimed with a toss of her head, "the Cardinal will be over the borders before then!"
"It may be so," I admitted, not anxious to dispute the point.
We were still several miles from Aunay, when the sergeant, who rode with two men in the rear, trotted forward briskly, and reining up my horse, I waited for the soldier to speak.
"Are we likely to be pursued, monsieur?" asked he.
"It is just possible. Why?"
"Because there are a score of horsemen on our track. Pierre, who has keen sight, declares they are cavaliers, young bloods most likely, from Paris."
In a few minutes they came within sight, and, as they approached more closely, I recognised that Pierre's description was correct. They certainly were not ordinary soldiers, and the only doubt remaining was whether they were friends or foes.
The grizzled sergeant decided the question for me.
"Frondeurs, monsieur," he announced with the utmost coolness.
"Then they intend to rescue our prisoners. Can we throw them off?"
"We can try, monsieur, but they will probably overtake us in ten minutes."
"Then we must fight, though the odds are terribly against us."
"As monsieur pleases; we have only to obey orders," and without another word he recalled the soldiers who were in advance.
"What is it?" cried Madame Coutance, excitedly, as I returned to the carriage, "what has happened?"
"Nothing as yet," I answered smiling; "but some of your party have followed us from Paris. For what purpose I leave you to guess."
She clapped her hands and laughed like a child; it just suited her to be the central figure in any kind of adventure.
"A rescue!" she cried. "Marie, do you hear? Our brave cavaliers think we are being dragged to prison, and have come to rescue us. Ah, the fine fellows! How vexed Mazarin will be! Perhaps he imagined I had no friends!"
"Their folly can only do harm, madame," I replied.
"Chut! what absurdity! It is a rich joke, and Scarron shall make a song about it. How they will laugh when I explain that we are going to Aunay and not to prison!"
During this conversation Marie, had remained silent, but now in a low voice she asked, "Are there many, Albert?"
"A score, perhaps," I replied; "but do not be alarmed. As your aunt says, they will probably regard the venture as a rich joke. Now I must go to my men," and I ordered the coachman to drive on rapidly.
The six troopers rode three abreast behind the coach, which rattled along swiftly, while the sergeant and I followed. Each instant brought our pursuers nearer, and it soon became evident that they were able to ride us down.
"Pardon, monsieur," said the sergeant, "but if there is to be a fight we had better get it over. At present we are only spoiling our horses."
"True," I replied, and called on the troopers to halt.
The cavaliers were advancing at a gallop. Foremost of the throng rode my cousin Henri and Baron Maubranne, while close in their rear pressed Peleton, and half a dozen horsemen with whose features I was unacquainted. Behind these again came several men whom I had met at Perret's—Armand d'Arçy, Lautrec, and finally, Raoul.
The sword trembled in my hand, and my heart sank on recognising Raoul. How could I fight against the staunch comrade who had always been dearer to me than a brother? It was impossible. For the sake of our friendship I must endeavour to avert a struggle.
The Frondeurs, I gladly believe, would have listened to reason but for Peleton and Baron Maubranne, who, with raised swords, rushed at me, yelling "Down with the Mazarin!"
In self-defence I was compelled to parry their blows, and Peleton, lunging rather wildly, received the point of my sword in his chest. At this the cavaliers, headed by Maubranne, charged us in a body, but my troopers withstood the shock manfully, and the baron rolled to the ground.
At the first clash of swords all thoughts of peace took wing; the intoxication of the fight got into our blood, and made us reckless. Spurring into the throng, I called on my men, who attacked with such zest that the cavaliers began to give way.
Henri, however, quickly rallied them; the fight was renewed with increased fury, and the air was filled with the clatter of steel and the shouts of the combatants.
The old sergeant had not praised his men without cause. They were seasoned soldiers, hard and tough as iron, and without the least sense of fear. Fighting was their trade, and they were masters of the craft.
As for myself, I could ride, and handle a sword, but this was my first experience of a fight. I forgot the lessons in sword-play my father had taught me, and struck out wildly, hitting right and left. I saw D'Arçy's smiling face go down before me, felt Lautrec's sword pierce my arm, and then came directly in front of Raoul.
As it chanced I was able to stay my hand at the very moment of striking, but Raoul, poor lad, had not the same good fortune, and, just as I lowered my weapon, his sword passed through my body. I am an old man now, but I can still see the look of horror on his face, and hear his cry of anguish. I remember smiling at him feebly and trying to speak; then the fading daylight vanished, and with the darkness came unconsciousness.
The next thing I can remember was Raoul asking some one if I should die. Not being able to see him I stretched out my hand, and he, bending over me, spoke my name softly.
"My men?" I whispered faintly.
"They are all living! Do you know who I am?"
"Yes. Raoul."
"If you do not go away, M. Beauchamp, you will kill my patient."
This was said in a voice soft and sweet as a child's, and I concluded the speaker was a doctor. Raoul made some reply, but I could not understand his words, and gradually my sense of hearing failed altogether. For weeks I lay hovering between life and death, and when at length I was able to look about me and realise something of what went on, I was painfully weak and helpless.
Thrice every day there came into my room a tall, grave, white-bearded man, who sometimes smiled kindly, but more often shook his head in a sorrowful manner. And always, throughout the day and night, there sat by my bedside a grief-stricken youth who tended me with the utmost care. This youth, so sad and melancholy, was Raoul, but Raoul so altered as to be scarcely recognisable. For hours he would sit motionless as a statue, then, rising gently, he would give me the medicine according to the doctor's orders, or smooth the tumbled pillow which I was helpless to re-arrange for myself.
One morning, waking after a long sleep, I felt considerably better. My comrade sat as usual beside the bed, but, wearied by the night watch, his head had sunk on his breast, and he had fallen asleep. I half turned to look at him more closely, but at the first movement he started up wide awake.
"Raoul!" I whispered.
"Albert!"
"It is all right, old friend; I shall get on now."
Grasping my hand, which lay outside the coverlet, he pressed it gently, and, kneeling down, gave thanks to God for this first step in my recovery.
"Amen to that," said I. "And now, my dear Raoul, tell me the news. Remember that I am ignorant of everything."
"First let me hear you say that you forgive me."
"Forgive you, old comrade? Peste! there is nothing to forgive. Is it your fault that I am the less skilful hand with the sword?"
"That is nonsense," he replied slowly. "You could have killed me, but you refused to strike."
"Friendship stayed my arm in time."
"But not mine!"
"Then after all I am the more skilful swordsman!"
"I nearly killed you," he said, and his lip quivered.
"But not quite. Let us forget all about it."
From that morning I began to regain strength, and could soon converse with Raoul without fatigue. From him I learned that the safety of the troopers was due to Marie, who, leaving the carriage, and running to the scene of the fight, had called upon the Frondeurs to sheathe their swords.
"Two of your men were wounded, though not seriously," said Raoul; "young D'Arçy received a nasty cut; Maubranne was picked up insensible, and Peleton will not forget you for some time."
"But for him and Maubranne, there need not have been a fight."
"They have a spite against you, and will make mischief if they can."
"Never mind them. What became of the escort?"
"The wounded men were taken to the inn; the others returned to Paris. Madame Coutance insisted on your being brought to Aunay, and here you have remained ever since."
"Then really," I said, when Raoul gave me this information, "you have all done your best to fulfil Mazarin's orders!"
"It was a mistake. We believed the ladies were to be imprisoned at Reuil, and, besides, it was possible that Madame Coutance had possession of a valuable document."
"You should have searched the Palais Royal for that," I remarked with a laugh.
"You have spoiled our scheme for a time. Your cousin did the Fronde an ill turn when he advised you to go to Paris; you have proved a thorn in our side from the very first day."
I asked after D'Arçy, and found that he had returned with his friends to the capital, where new and startling plots were being hatched.
"Without a doubt we shall crush the Cardinal this time," exclaimed my comrade, whose good spirits revived with my increasing strength. "He will miss his trusty henchman, and there is really no one of importance on his side."
"Then De Retz has not received his red hat?"
"No! Mazarin played him a fine trick over that, and set all Paris laughing for weeks. The little abbé is desperately angry, and intends taking ample vengeance."
"How Marie's aunt must wish she were back in the Rue Crillon!"
"She has vowed not to leave Aunay till you have recovered. The doctor declares you owe your life to her and Marie, who nursed you during the first fortnight. By the way, your doublet was spoiled; so I sent for another; you shall put it on in the morning."
"To go downstairs?'
"If you can persuade the doctor to grant you permission. And now try to sleep, or you will be ill again."
The doctor appeared rather reluctant next morning to give his consent, but I begged so hard that at last he yielded, and Raoul helped me to dress. Then, leaning on the arm of my comrade, and partly supported by the medical man, I made my way to the drawing-room, where the ladies gave me a hearty welcome. The disagreeable part I had played in carrying out Mazarin's orders was forgotten; Madame Coutance could talk only about the fight, and her niece about my wounds.
"Between you all," I said, "you have saved my life."
"Next to God you have the doctor and Raoul to thank," remarked Marie.
"Raoul certainly," exclaimed her aunt laughing. "But for his sword-cut in the first place we could not have nursed you at all."
"It was, indeed, very kind of you," I replied, ignoring the first part of her speech, "especially as I am in the pay of the hated Mazarin."
"That is nothing, absolutely nothing. We are winning, and can afford to be generous. The Cardinal stands on the edge of a mine which will shortly explode. De Retz and your cousin Henri have made things certain this time; there will be no more mistakes."
There was something in her speech and manner which made me wonder why she was so bitter against the Cardinal. My recent adventures had taught me valuable lessons, and I knew that many of those who talked so loudly of liberty and justice had their own private schemes to advance at the expense of the public welfare; and I was half-inclined to think that Marie's aunt was a Frondeuse of this description. However, she was very kind to me, and I still look back on those early days of my recovery with a certain amount of pleasure.
From the date of my leaving home I had lived at high pressure, in a maze of intrigue and strife. My wits, such as they were, had ever been employed; my life had been in danger a score of times. The calm which followed this incessant scheming and fighting was delicious, and I did not feel very sorry that Raoul had given me a dig with his sword.
Though sorely needed by his patron, he refused to leave Aunay as long as I was in the slightest danger; the ladies treated me like a brother, while the doctor spared neither time nor trouble to bring about the restoration of my health. It was new to me to be thus petted, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Madame would not hear of my going home.
"That would be a fine thing indeed!" she exclaimed banteringly. "I mean to claim the credit of your recovery. But as soon as your strength returns you shall write, and I will provide a messenger to deliver your letter."
"My mother will be anxious," I said. "No doubt Belloc has told her something of what has happened."
"Make yourself easy on that head," exclaimed Raoul. "I thought of that, and sent D'Arçy to caution him. He will only mention that you have met with a slight accident."
This was very thoughtful as well as kind of my comrade, and I thanked him heartily.
Three weeks after my first coming downstairs, he took his departure for the capital. His patron had already sent him several urgent messages, and now that the doctor had pronounced me out of danger he felt it his duty to go.
"We are nearing the end," said he; "and the Duke has need of all his friends. Mazarin may make a desperate effort, but I prophesy that by the time you are well he will be dead or banished."
"In either case Paris will be no place for me, and I shall return to the farm."
"Not at all," he answered earnestly. "I shall speak to the Duke, and he will take you into his service."
Unwilling to vex him, I let the subject drop, though not having the slightest intention of joining the Cardinal's enemies. So I hobbled into the courtyard to witness his departure, and echoed his farewell, "Till we meet again," as he passed through the gateway.
At first I missed him a great deal, but each succeeding day increased my strength; I was able to walk alone, and altogether felt very comfortable. Either by myself or accompanied by the ladies I took the air on the terrace, or, wandering through the charming grounds, strolled by the margin of the silvery stream skirting the chateau.
The bitter strife of clashing interests, the tumult and horrors of the capital, did not extend to this peaceful spot; it might have been the heart of another country. The peasants were courteous and respectful, toiling patiently like oxen in yoke. As yet they had not learned their power, and the noble was still a master to be obeyed without murmur or complaint. Much to her aunt's annoyance, Marie went among them, smiling pleasantly, speaking kind words, bearing help to the distressed, soothing the sick, and treating them all, in fact, like human beings. At Aunay she was really happy, and her face wore an expression of content which one never saw in Paris.
"I could wish to live in the country always," she remarked once, "it is so peaceful after noisy, brawling Paris."
So the days glided by till there came to us in the chateau strange echoes of the outside world. The wildest rumours were repeated by the gentry of the neighbouring estates. One day we heard Condé was marching on Paris with ten thousand soldiers; the next that he had been poisoned in his cell at Havre. Some asserted that Mazarin, having made peace with De Retz, had triumphed over all his enemies, others that Orleans had hanged the Cardinal out of hand.
These tales agitated Madame Coutance, and I knew she longed to be back in the midst of the storm. While I remained at Aunay this was impossible, but, in spite of her desire, she would not let me depart.
"You will become a vegetable at Vançey," she said, "and I want to push your fortunes. Mazarin must soon be beaten, and you shall join the great prince. I have influence with him, and will use it."
Thanking her warmly, I pointed out that, having pledged my word to Mazarin, I could not accept the prince's favours.
"Bah!" she exclaimed, "no one can help a fallen favourite!"
"Then there is the Queen-Mother; I cannot range myself among her enemies."
"You are very simple," said madame smiling. "Anne of Austria has no enemies; we all bow to her and the little King. Condé is her chief friend," and with that she went away, leaving me to think over the matter.
Every day now the rumour of Mazarin's defeat grew louder, but, knowing the man well, I doubted if all France could disturb his position. And though I felt little personal liking for the Cardinal, it seemed to me that the country was safer in his hands than it would be in the hands of those opposed to him.
De Retz, a noisy brawler, stirred up the mob in his own interests; Gaston of Orleans, unstable as water, was a mere shuttle-cock tossed to and fro by any strong man who chose to make use of him; Condé, though a brave and skilful general, already grasped more power than a subject should possess. Between them they had turned Paris into a hot-bed of rebellion and discontent.
I was musing over these things one evening when a horseman came at walking pace into the courtyard of the chateau. The animal appeared tired out, and the man himself was covered with dust and dirt.
"A special messenger from Paris," I muttered, and, going forward, recognised Pillot, whom I had treated so scurvily at the inn.
The little man displayed no malice, but his eyes twinkled as he slipped from the back of his exhausted horse.
"You have ridden fast," I remarked, and, calling a servant, ordered him to give the animal a good feed and a rub down.
"Thanks, monsieur, he deserves it. A plague on these troublesome journeys. Why do people live outside Paris, I wonder?"
Laughing at the question, I inquired if he had come to see me.
"No, monsieur; this is an unexpected pleasure," and he showed his teeth in a broad grin. "I have brought a letter certainly, but this time there can be no mistake, as it is for a lady."
"If it is for Madame Coutance, you had better come to the house."
Madame had just returned from riding with Marie, but she at once received the messenger, and then sent him to obtain some much-needed refreshment. Breaking the seal, she read the letter hurriedly, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
"It is from Henri!" she exclaimed, excitedly, "and contains startling news. The old fox is beaten at last! De Retz has declared for Condé, who will soon take the reins into his own hands."
"Is Gaston left out in the cold?"
"Pouf! Henri doesn't even mention him; he is only a puppet."
"But he has a strong party!"
"Young scatter-brains like Raoul Beauchamp and Armand d'Arçy! Nice boys, but nothing more. Marie, we must go to the court to congratulate the Queen on her freedom."
"Or rather on her change of masters!" laughed the girl.
Later in the evening I went to find Pillot. Having eaten and drunk well, Henri's messenger was in a good temper, and willing to inform me of the most recent events.
"It is time to make a fresh move, monsieur," he said mockingly. "With so many brave Frenchmen to lead us we have no need of a beggarly foreigner. The first step was to join our forces, which made us so strong that Mazarin fled. By now, no doubt, Condé is out of prison."
"Then you are all friends together! How long will that last?"
"How long, monsieur? What a question!"
"Till you come to divide the spoils, I suppose?"
Pillot's eyes twinkled, and he answered roguishly, "Monsieur has learned the ways of the world. It is true thieves often quarrel over their booty, but on the other hand they do not share it with their victim's friends."
"What does that mean?"
"Simply that Paris at present is not a suitable place for a Mazarin. While dogs are growling over a bone, they are apt to snap at a passer-by."
"One should wait till they have turned to fighting among themselves," I remarked.
"If one has the patience, monsieur!"
"Oh, the quarrel soon begins. In less than a month's time you will be flying at each other's throats, and Mazarin will return with more power than ever."
"You are mistaken there, monsieur. Whatever else happens, we have finished with the Italian. Were he to set foot in Paris again, the people would tear him limb from limb."
"I suppose De Retz pays you well for your services?"
"I have little to do with the Abbé now," he said. "I am in the service of monsieur's cousin, and a man could have no better master."
That night when the household had retired to rest, I sat at my bedroom window looking out over the park. It was a beautiful scene; everything was hushed and still, and the quiet earth lay bathed in silvery moonlight. Pillot's talk had set me thinking. My wound had completely healed, and I felt strong enough to take a further part in the struggle. The situation was, however, puzzling. Mazarin's downfall had left me without a patron, and I could not join his enemies, most of whom, utterly and heartlessly selfish, cared for nothing but their own welfare. Their senseless squabbles were dragging France through the mire, and I longed to see my country strong and powerful.
From the dwarf's remarks I gathered that Condé intended going to Paris as the Queen's friend, but this could be nothing more than play-acting of the flimsiest character. It was as if a housebreaker took it upon himself to protect the building he had just robbed.
Reflecting calmly on these matters, I saw my duty plain. The Lady Anne was the natural guardian of the young King, and she required the aid of every honest Frenchman till her son became of an age to rule for himself. Reasoning thus, I resolved to set out straightway for Paris, and, having made up my mind, I closed the window and went to bed.
As soon as Madame Coutance heard of my intention she urged me to stay longer, but the look of relief in her eyes showed she was really pleased at my resolve. The country wearied her; she was eager to return to the old life, and after my departure there would be no necessity for her to remain at Aunay.
"We must make the most of Albert to-day, ma chère," she exclaimed brightly. "The house will be positively gloomy without him."
"When do you start?" asked Marie.
"To-morrow at day-break. I am strong enough now to use a sword, and the Queen-Mother has not too many friends around her."
Marie sighed. "I am tired of a contest in which selfishness plays so large a part," she remarked.
"Yet it is distinctly droll," observed her aunt. "For example, here is Albert, anxious to serve the Queen, while his cousin does his best for De Retz. On the other hand I wish to help the prince, while our friend Raoul takes orders from the King's uncle. Oh, it is a charming play!"
"Meanwhile the people die of starvation!" said Marie.
"That is unfortunate, certainly. But what would you? There must always be some to suffer."
"It is the people now; it will be the turn of the nobles later. The peasants won't always stand being ground down and starved," I said.
"Chut! my dear Albert, you talk like a carter. What have the people to do with us beyond cultivating our land? You should join De Retz, who intends doing so much for the canaille in the future."
"The very distant future," I said drily, and she laughed.
Personally she cared no more for the people than for the oxen on her estate, and said so openly.
During the afternoon I went for a turn in the park with Marie, when, strolling as far as the rivulet, we sat for a while on its bank. It was good to drink in the calm beauty of this scene, so utterly different from any Paris could offer; and the memory of it returned to me long afterwards, when, faint with hunger, and weary with fighting, I lay amid the dead and dying on a stricken battle-field. In the lengthening shadows we returned to the house, little dreaming what strange events would happen before we next wandered together in the park at Aunay.
It was not a cheerful evening, though madame laughed and said many smart things, in her brilliant way, to raise our spirits. At length she rose to retire to her own room.
"I will not say 'good-bye,'" she exclaimed saucily, "as we are certain to meet again. If you act on my advice it will be in the palace of Condé. The prince loves a lad of mettle."
"Albert must consult his own honour," said Marie.
"And ruin his prospects for an empty whim! Don't listen to her, Albert, and above all things, don't let Mazarin drag you down. Keep constantly in your mind that he has had his day, and will never return to power. Last of all, remember you are always welcome in the Rue Crillon, whether fortune treat you well or ill."
When they had gone I sent for Pillot, who was still in the house. Food and rest had performed wonders for the little man, who looked as jaunty and self-possessed as ever.
"Has your horse recovered?" I asked.
"Perfectly, monsieur."
"I am starting for the capital at day-break. If you care to ride with me, I shall be glad of your company."
"Monsieur honours me!" said he, making a bow.
"Then tell the servants to prepare you an early breakfast, and join me in the courtyard at seven."
"I shall be there, monsieur," and the rascal tripped off smiling, while I, taking a candle, went to bed, hoping to obtain a good night's rest.
It was a glorious morning when we left Aunay, and Étienne, an old retainer on the estate, came to the gate to wish us God-speed.
"Give my respects to your mistress and to Mademoiselle de Brione," I said as we rode away.
The air was fresh and cool; dew-drops gemmed the earth's green carpet, and hung like pendants of brilliants from the leaves of the trees; hundreds of songsters poured forth delicious hymns of praise to the opening day; the rising sun tinted the distant peaks with purple and gold; the whole earth seemed like fairy-land.
Shaking his handsome mane, my horse, of his own accord, broke into a canter, while I, almost involuntarily, trolled forth a well-known hunting song.
Pillot, who rode at my side, was a merry companion, full of quips, and jests, and odd conceits, which lightened the tedium of the journey. The fellow was undoubtedly a rogue of the first water, but he possessed many amiable traits, and had a fine sense of humour.
Not being in a particular hurry, and still feeling the effects of my recent illness, I resolved to stay for the night at Aviers, a village about thirty miles from Aunay. The inn was dirty, the accommodation meagre, and the landlord a surly boor, who behaved as if we had done him a grievous injury by stopping at his house. After providing a feed for the horses, his resources appeared to be exhausted, and, but for Pillot, I should doubtless have gone to bed without supper. He, however, had a keen appetite, and meant to satisfy it.
"Stay here, monsieur," said he, cheerfully; "if there is anything eatable in the place we will soon have it on the table. Peste! things are coming to a fine pass when a gentleman cannot be served with food at an inn!"
He skipped away, and I heard him storming at our host in a high-pitched voice, threatening all manner of penalties unless supper was immediately forthcoming. Precisely what arguments he used I cannot say, but presently he returned in triumph with the surly innkeeper, carrying bread, butter, cheese, poached eggs, and a bottle of wine.
"There is a fowl cooking on the spit," said he, "but I thought that, meanwhile, monsieur would not object to begin with this."
He was right, I made no objections whatever, and, having finished the first course, was equally ready to proceed with the second. The fowl was done to a turn, and when at length the innkeeper came to clear away, he looked aghast at the wreck of his provisions.
"An excellent supper, Pillot!" I exclaimed contentedly. "I have no doubt that my cousin finds your services valuable."
"We all have our gifts," he replied laughing, "and the wise folk are those who know how to make use of them. But a word in your ear, monsieur. To-night it will be as well to sleep lightly. These villagers are hangdog looking fellows, and if they fancy we are worth plundering, why——" and he finished with a most comical shrug of the shoulders.
"It is a queer world, Pillot," I remarked. "Here at Aviers you do your best to keep me from harm; in Paris most likely you will be doing all in your power to kill me."
"Only in the way of business, monsieur, and for the good of the Cause!"
"What do you call the Cause?"
"The filling of my pocket, monsieur."
He was a thorough rascal, but not a hypocrite, and so far was a better man than those he served. He marched to battle under the banner of Pillot, and gathered in the spoils openly. He had a stout heart, too, and did not whine when the luck was against him, as he had shown at La Boule d'Or. Altogether, I could not help feeling a sort of liking for the rogue.
The chamber to which the innkeeper showed me after supper was small, dark, and low in the ceiling, but, as I have mentioned, the inn itself was a poor place. I looked to the fastenings of the door; they were very slight, and completely useless as a protection.
"Take no notice, monsieur," whispered Pillot, rapidly. "The boor has given me a sleeping place downstairs, but presently I shall return here quietly, and then—ah well, we shall see."
Then he wished me good-night loudly, and followed the landlord downstairs, while I, blowing out the light, lay fully dressed on the bed, and with my weapons close at hand. In spite of Pillot's warning I fell asleep, but it was still dark when I wakened with a curious feeling that something was happening. Being unable to see, I lay still and listened intently.
Creak! Creak! The sound was very low, but I recognised that some one was opening the door from the outside. Another creak, and then silence. Very quietly I reached for my sword and prepared to spring from the bed. Presently, as if satisfied that the sound had not disturbed me, my uninvited guest pushed the door ajar and slipped into the room. I could not perceive him, yet I knew he was creeping closer to my side.
"Pouf!" I thought to myself, "there will be an unwelcome surprise for you in a moment, my friend."
Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud and terrified cry, followed by a harsh laugh. Then there was a rush of feet towards the door, and, jumping to the ground, I groped for the tinder-box and procured a light. Running to the landing and holding up the candle, I was just in time to behold a most comical sight. One of the villagers was running down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him, and screaming with fright, while Pillot clung firmly to his back.
"Help! help!" shouted the fellow; "help! the Evil One has got me," and very soon every one in the house was running to discover the cause of the tumult. At the bottom of the stairs the two passed from sight, but the screams continued, and presently we heard a smash as if a door had been burst open.
"What is it?" cried one of the trembling servants.
"It was Pierre Angin who called," said another, "I would swear to his voice."
The innkeeper turned to me appealingly, and willing to give them a further fright I said, "It is simple enough. This fellow came to rob, perhaps to kill me. I heard him in my room. For the rest I do not think he will turn thief again in a hurry."
In the midst of the hubbub, Pillot came towards us, rubbing his eyes sleepily, and asking in a cross voice what the mischief was, and why a man could not be allowed to sleep without all that clatter. So well did he act that, but for my glimpse of him on the stairs, I should not have guessed he was the author of the trick.
"If monsieur will lend me the candle," said he, "we will make a search," and he gravely led the way downstairs.
"This is the way," cried the innkeeper, "see here!" and, perspiring with excitement, he pointed to the door which led into the stable yard. In his desperate efforts to escape, the fellow had burst it open at a blow.
No one in the inn went to sleep again that night. Pillot returned to my room, and told with evident enjoyment all about his trick. He was lying in wait when the man first entered, and, as the fellow crouched to the ground, had sprung lightly on his back.
"He thought the Evil One had him, monsieur, to a certainty, and yelled loud enough to waken the dead. I do believe that till his dying day Pierre Angin will be an honest man!"
As soon as it was light the innkeeper, still looking white and scared, prepared some breakfast, and afterwards ordered our animals to be brought to the door. From the joyful way he pocketed the coin I gave him, it was evident he had not counted on payment, which perhaps explained the surliness of his manners. Might was right in those dark days of the Fronde, and the folk of the strong hand cared little for justice. Pillot, I am sure, thought me crazy, to pay this simple boor in money, when a cut with a whip would, in his opinion, have done just as well.
The weather remained beautifully fine, and, until near the capital, our ride was very pleasant. During the last part of the journey, however, my cheerfulness was dashed by the universal signs of desolation and decay. The ground lay bare and unfilled, the fat beeves and sturdy oxen had vanished, to be replaced here and there by a lean scraggy beast or two, all skin and bone; the yards were destitute of ricks, the hovels were deserted or inhabited by diseased and half-starved scarecrows; erstwhile honest villagers, rendered desperate by hunger, prowled in the woods to pounce on any unwary traveller whom chance should deliver into their hands.
Pillot saw to his pistols and I loosened my sword, since it was probable we should have occasion for both. One ragged, unkempt fellow did take a shot at us from behind a tree, but, missing his aim, he dashed into the thick wood and was lost to sight.
"Parbleu! these peasants need not talk of the wickedness of Paris!" exclaimed my companion, "when a peaceful citizen cannot travel in safety on the king's highway."
"Starving men rarely distinguish between right and wrong, and these people have been turned into wild beasts. Robbed and beaten as they are, I don't wonder that they rise against those who oppress them!"
"Ah!" cried Pillot with a grin, "it is all the doing of the wicked Cardinal, and these poor people perhaps recognise monsieur as his friend."
"I wonder you are not afraid to ride with me," said I, laughing at his impudence.
After this trifling adventure we rode warily, keeping a sharp look-out for any further ambush, but perhaps our display of weapons frightened the robbers, as no one interfered with us again until we arrived at the gate of St. Denis just before it closed for the night. Here I parted with Pillot, who had to make his report to my cousin Henri.
"Till our next merry meeting, monsieur!" cried he heartily. "By that time I hope we shall both be on the same side. Mazarin is gone for good, and you cannot do better than join us—we play the winning game."
The rascal bowed low and rode off, while I turned towards the city.
Paris seemed much as usual. The streets were filled with noisy bands of turbulent people, but there were fewer cries of "Down with Mazarin!" the mob contenting itself with cheering for Condé and De Retz, though several times I heard the Prince's name uttered with every sign of anger and disapproval.
Fortunately my former rooms were still vacant, so, having stabled my horse at the inn two doors below, I took possession, and soon had the satisfaction of sitting down to an ample supper.
"Monsieur has been long away," remarked the landlord on coming to remove the things.
"I have been in the country for the benefit of my health," I replied carelessly. "Affairs have changed since I was here last."
"Ah, yes! The Cardinal has fled, and Condé will be master now. The stupid Fronde is done with, monsieur, and we are all brothers together."
"And the Queen?" I asked curiously, "does she approve of all these changes?"
"She is delighted, monsieur. There will be no rough places or crooked paths for her any more; the prince is so powerful that no one dares to attack her," and the honest fellow departed, smiling with pleasure at the prospect of peace.
Early the next morning I walked across to the Palais Royal, wondering what was best to be done, when, to my lively joy, I found that Belloc still held a command there. I gave my name to the officer on duty, and was immediately admitted to the old soldier's quarters. He was sitting in his room, looking harassed and worn, which rather surprised me, because as a rule nothing troubled him. He greeted me kindly, and as we sat chatting I thought he was trying to make up his mind on some knotty point.
"Were you in the city last night?" he asked presently.
"Yes! The people are wild with delight at the idea of seeing Condé."
Casting an anxious glance round the room, he said in a low voice, "Come nearer, Albert, I am going to reveal a secret. First of all, the Prince is still in prison, and if all goes well this evening he will stay there. You are a brave lad, and honest, and I think you can help me."
"I will do my best," said I, flushing with pleasure at his praise.
"The adventure is dangerous, and it worries me, not for myself but for others. If it succeeds, the Cardinal will be stronger than ever; if it fails——" and he finished with a shrug of his shoulders.
"You may count on me."
"Yes, I am sure of it. Well, this is what we intend to do. At present the Queen has few friends in Paris, but the country will fight for the King. Now, the plan is to smuggle them out of the city, when they will join the Cardinal, and take up arms for the freedom of the throne. Without Condé, the rest will be able to accomplish nothing."
"A good plan," said I, "and the sooner it is carried out the better."
"If all goes well, to-morrow morning will find us far away from Paris. Everything is ready, but I cannot trust the Queen's coachman. He is an honest fellow enough, but timid, and likely to lose his head at the first sign of danger. Do you think you can drive the coach safely?"
"Let me choose my horses!"
"You can have the pick of the royal stables. But, mind you, Albert, this is no child's play. If the mob gets wind of the affair there will be a terrible struggle. I shall not think the worse of you if you decide to leave the business alone."
"I will undertake it, old friend, but you must supply me with a coachman's dress."
"That can be obtained easily; there are plenty for sale in the city, and I will send a trusty fellow to buy one which will fit you."
He left the room, hinting it would be better that I should not show myself, and leaving me in a high state of excitement to ponder over the coming venture. It was a risky one, but I was young and hot-headed, and did not fully realise the danger.
The old soldier returned about noon, bringing my fresh clothes with him, and I put them on. Then he browned my face and hands with some colouring matter, and I was transformed into a very fair specimen of a coachman.
"Parbleu!" cried he, rubbing his hands, "you will do famously. Now I will take you to the stables; choose your horses; have them ready, and bring them round to Mazarin's private entrance at six o'clock precisely. You have your pistols? Right. I don't know about your sword, but perhaps it will be useful. I will have it placed on the seat of the coach. First of all, though, you must have something to eat, and I will serve you myself; it is doubtful which of the servants can be trusted."
During the meal he repeated his instructions, and it was plain that the terrible responsibility had made him extremely anxious.
"Mind," said he, as we rose at length to leave the room, "from this moment your life is no longer your own. You must sacrifice it, if need be, for the Queen."
"I am willing to do that, monsieur, though I hope there will be no occasion."
Passing along the corridor, and descending a flight of steps, we reached a part of the palace which I had not visited before, and were met by M. Corveau, who was really in command of the stables, though most of the fees went to a much more distinguished person.
M. Belloc introduced us to each other, and with a last whispered word of advice returned to his duties. I accompanied my new acquaintance to the stables, and after some delay chose two animals for the work in hand.
"You evidently know something of horseflesh," said Corveau, smiling, "but these are rather difficult to drive; they are too spirited."
"They will make it the more awkward for any one who happens to get in their way."
"True; but are you strong enough in the wrists to hold them?"
"I believe I can manage it."
"Well," he said, "I wish you good luck," but his tone clearly showed that he did not expect it.
However, it was useless being alarmed; so, putting a bold face on the matter, I made friends with the horses, fed and watered them myself, and spent all the afternoon with them. A quarter before six I had them put to, and, mounting the box, drove the carriage—a private one borrowed for the occasion—slowly round to the appointed place. It still wanted a few minutes to six when the bells of the city churches clanged forth in thunderous peals, and, though ignorant of the cause, I felt somewhat alarmed.
"That will be awkward for our plan," I muttered. "There is a tumult of some sort going on, and the streets will be crowded. So much the worse for us."
Five minutes passed, but no one had opened the door of the Palace; another five minutes slipped away and the animals were growing restless, when suddenly Belloc himself appeared. One glance at his face was sufficient to tell me that something had gone amiss.
"Get your weapons," he cried, "send the horses back to the stables, and come inside."
As soon as I had joined him, he fastened the door, and led the way upstairs.
"What has happened?" I asked, feeling strangely bewildered.
"Treachery," said he sternly; "we have been betrayed. Orleans has seized the gates, and the streets are filled with a shouting mob. Change your dress quickly, we shall need every sword."
"But the mob will not dare——"
"Peste! the mob will dare anything! De Retz has called the people to arms, and presently they will attack the Palace. Paris will swim in blood before morning."
"But De Retz will prevent the canaille from going too far."
"Bah! you speak like a boy! Once they are roused, De Retz can no more hold them back than he can fondle a starving tigress without being bitten. Make haste and come to me."
By the time I had cleansed the stain from my hands and face, and resumed my ordinary apparel, every one in the Palace was aware of the terrible danger. Trembling servants went about with white faces; high-born cavaliers lined the corridors leading to the royal apartments; officers silently posted their men; everything was made ready for a fierce struggle.
"No surrender!" was the cry from every fighting man. "Let us die where we stand."
Gradually the noise and tumult outside came nearer; we could hear the tramp of marching feet and the savage shouts of the populace clamouring to see the King. Choosing the post of danger, M. Belloc had stationed himself with a few trusty soldiers near the main entrance, where I joined him. The veteran was fuming with impatience; he only awaited an order from the Palace to sally forth upon the advancing multitude.
"The King!" roared the excited mob; "where is the King? show us the King!" and our leader glanced at me as if to say, "I told you the plot had been betrayed."
Meanwhile the Queen and her attendants, working hard, had restored the Palace to its usual appearance; Louis was in bed, sleeping soundly, and all traces of the intended flight had been removed.
Presently a note was brought from the Queen to Belloc, who, reading it hastily, told the messenger to inform her Majesty that her commands should be obeyed; then turning to us, he added that no one was to fire a shot until he himself gave the signal.
"Her Majesty," he explained, "hopes no blood will be shed, but that the mob having discovered its mistake will disperse quietly."
"A fig for the mob!" said a grim-looking trooper to a comrade; "let our leader give the word and we will soon clear the courtyard."
"Here comes an officer," said another; "he is wearing the Orleans colours. What does he want?"
"Bah!" cried a third trooper, who spoke with a strange accent, "this isn't the way to quell a riot. My old master lost his head through not knowing how to deal with rebels. The block for the leaders and a whipping for the others would soon teach them their manners."
The words and the accent made me look at the speaker more closely. He was a young fellow with fair hair and blue eyes like D'Arçy, but he was built more stoutly and looked stronger altogether. His name, I learned afterwards, was John Humphreys, and he was the son of an English gentleman who had lost his estates through fighting for his King, Charles I. At the moment, however, I could not think much of this young exile, my attention being engrossed by the Orleanist officer, who rode across the courtyard towards us.
"Raoul!" I exclaimed to myself, and drew back into the shadow, not caring that he should notice me. He did not seem very happy, and approached our leader as if thoroughly ashamed of his errand.
"I am Captain of the Guard to the Duke of Orleans," he explained, "and am desired by the Duke to seek an audience with her Majesty the Queen-Mother."
"Are those your followers?" asked Belloc scornfully, pointing to the howling mob outside.
Raoul returned no answer, but bit his lip deeply, while the other continued, "It is no fault of mine, M. Raoul Beauchamp, that you gain admittance to the Palace. But for the Queen's orders I would gladly send you back to your friends who make war so bravely—on a woman and a boy."
"Your speech is a trifle unjust, M. Belloc," said Raoul; "I am a soldier, and cannot question the commands of my chief. As to my own feelings—well that is another matter," and with a studied bow he passed into the building.
Meanwhile the mob was increasing in numbers and violence every moment, and, as the soldiers had received orders not to fire, the courtyard was soon filled with excited people who howled, and danced, and shouted for the King to be produced. Two or three times I glanced anxiously at Belloc, wondering how much longer his patience would last.
"Open the doors," cried the foremost rioters; "we will enter and see for ourselves where the King is."
"The King is in bed!" cried M. Belloc angrily.
"Ah! at St. Germain!" shouted a fellow dressed like a street hawker, but whose voice I recognised, "We are betrayed!"
It was very stupid to interfere, but I could not resist the chance.
"Ha! ha! friend Peleton, then for once you are on the wrong side!" I laughed. "Generally it is you who do the betraying."
The fellow rushed at me savagely, but the young Englishman drove him back, saying, "Down, dog! Keep with your kind! You are not wanted with honest men."
"Peace!" cried M. Belloc angrily, for he saw, what I did not, that the crowd was gradually working itself into a fit of passion.
Fortunately, just then the door was opened, and Raoul, coming outside, was immediately recognised as the messenger of the Duke of Orleans.
"The King!" they yelled; "Where is he?" "Have you seen him?" "Speak or we will pull the place down."
Raoul stood on the topmost step, and raised his hand for silence. His face was pale, but he looked very handsome, and was evidently not in the least afraid.
"You have been deceived," he said. "The King is within the Palace. I have seen him; he is sound asleep. Go away quietly, or you will waken him."
They would probably have taken his advice but for Peleton, who cried lustily, "We are betrayed! How can we tell what is true, unless we see for ourselves."
"Yes, yes," shouted the mob; "that is the best way; we will see the King with our own eyes!"
Again Raoul raised his hand and spoke, telling them the King was asleep; they would not be satisfied, but demanded loudly that they should be admitted to the Palace. The situation was growing critical; we stood, as it were, upon a mine, which a spark might explode at any moment. M. Belloc's face was pale but determined; his brows were knitted; he gazed at the mob with angry scorn.
"Give us the word, sir," said the young Englishman, "and we will scatter them like chaff!"
This, I knew well, was mere reckless bravery; we were but a handful compared with the multitude, and would quickly have been lost in the human sea. Still, I liked the speaker none the less for his daring, and more than one trooper grimly growled approval.
Raoul was white now, and the perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. At first I did not understand why he should be afraid, but his hurried words to our leader made the reason plain.
"Unless something is done quickly," he exclaimed, "there will be a frightful tragedy. I will write a note to the Duke, and you shall send it by a private way. He is the only man who can induce these people to disperse."
"He, or De Retz," said Belloc with a sneer.
I had never seen the old warrior so angry. He was playing a part for which he had no liking. It was not in his nature to stand quietly by while his sovereign was insulted; his fingers strayed nervously towards the hilt of his sword; he would have leaped for joy had his Queen sent him permission to charge headlong at the rabble. But he realised, as we did, that the safety of the Royal Family depended more on tact than on brute courage, and he had just agreed to Raoul's proposal when a note was handed him from the Palace.
"Parbleu!" he exclaimed savagely, having mastered its contents, "this goes against the grain, but the Queen's commands must be obeyed. Here is an order, monsieur, to admit a part of the canaille into the Palace! Perhaps, monsieur, you will select the sturdiest of your ruffians for the honour."
Raoul did not resent the insult, though his face burned like fire, but facing the angry people he spoke to them boldly.
"Citizens," cried he, in a clear ringing voice, "I have a message for you from Her Majesty. I have told you the King is in bed and asleep, but you are not satisfied. That you may be quite sure, the Queen-Mother desires that a deputation shall visit the royal apartments. Will you be content with the report of your own friends?"
"Yes, yes," shouted the mob; "let us see the King!"
"One word more," continued Raoul sternly, when the hubbub had subsided. "I am, as you are aware, for the Duke of Orleans, and he, mind you, is loyal to the crown."
"So are we! Vive le roi!"
"And I will run my sword through the first man who insults the Queen-Mother by word or look."
I was proud of Raoul at that moment, and Belloc gripped his hand, saying heartily, "Forgive my rough words, Beauchamp; you are made of the right stuff after all!"
Directly the door was opened the mob pressed forward, and I called mockingly to Peleton to come inside the Palace, but that worthy, having finished his work, slunk away.
To relieve the pressure other doors were opened, and soon we had a motley throng of carters, hawkers, and shopkeepers, waiting to be led to the King's room. At a sign from Belloc I accompanied them, and for the first time Raoul perceived me. He dared not speak just then, but his face showed how completely he detested his errand.
After a short delay the procession was marshalled into something like order, and I must say, in justice to our uninvited visitors, that, now their point was gained, no one could grumble with their behaviour. They walked softly, and spoke in whispers, and as we approached the royal apartments every man bared his head. The soldiers were out of sight, and the Queen-Mother was attended only by the ladies of her household. The Lady Anne's face betrayed no sign of fear. From her manner one would have thought she was receiving a deputation from the crowned heads of Europe.
The King, as Raoul had declared, was in bed, and sleeping so soundly that the tumult and confusion failed to awaken him. Very softly the men stole past on tip-toe, and, as they gazed at the handsome boy, more than one grimy unkempt fellow murmured, "God bless him!"
All danger was at an end, the raging tigers who had stormed in the courtyard were changed into lambs, and the only cry to reach the soldiers on guard at the gates was, "Vive le roi!" As soon as the last man had departed, the doors of the Palace were securely fastened, and then M. Belloc despatched me by a private way to discover what was happening in the city. In order to avoid undue attention I threw a plain cloak over my gaudy apparel, but there was no danger. A few hired agitators endeavoured to stir up the tumult afresh, but the men who had beheld the sleeping King would not give them hearing.
"The Duke has been deceived," shouted one burly ruffian. "I have been to the Palace and seen the King asleep. The Queen does not wish to leave Paris, I tell you!"
In this, of course, he was wrong, but his words had effect, and the mob at that point breaking up dispersed to their homes. For two hours I roamed about, and then, finding the streets rapidly clearing, returned to the Palais Royal with the assurance that, for the time at least, De Retz and his friends had failed.
"Had I my way," exclaimed Belloc wrathfully, "both De Retz and Orleans should find lodgings in the Bastille. However, we have done our best, and must wait events. This night's work means that Condé must be set at liberty. A plague on it!"
"Then we may bid a long adieu to the Cardinal!"
"Don't be so sure of that, my boy. Mazarin may have a fall or two, but he generally wins at the finish. And now, go to my room and rest; we will have a further talk in the morning."