"IGNATIUS LOYOLA, GENERAL OF THE SOCIETY OF JESUS
"A. M. D. G.
"(Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam)
"Despite the incorrectness of their style and other defects of form, the within manuscripts may, especially since the invention of the printing press, become a weapon of great mischief.
"This narrative, transmitted from century to century at the domestic hearth to obscure generations of common people could not, before the invention of the printing press, have any evil effect further than to perpetuate execrable traditions within a single family. It is so no longer. These rhapsodies are stamped with the race hatred borne by the Gauls towards the Franks, the conquered towards the conquerors, the serf towards the seigneur, the subject towards the Crown and the Church. To-day these rhapsodies could be multiplied indefinitely through the printing press, and thus diffused among the evil-minded people, ever but too prone to rebellion against the pontifical and royal authorities. Enlightened by these narratives upon historical events that should forever be a closed book to them, if they are to entertain a feeling of blind submission, a sense of respect, and a wholesome dread for the throne and the altar, the evil-minded common people would in the future engage with ever greater audacity in those revolts that not a single century has hitherto been wholly free from,—a state of things that the Society of Jesus, with the aid of God, will reduce to order.
"Therefore, it is urgent that these manuscripts be destroyed without delay, as proposed by our beloved son Lefevre, and that the traditions of the Lebrenn family be shattered by the following means:
"To cause the father and mother to be sentenced as heretics. The proofs of their heresy are plentiful. The torture and the pyre for the infamous wretches.
"To lock up in a convent the son and the daughter (Hena and Hervé) now in Paris, and compel them to take the vows.
"As to the youngest son, Odelin, fifteen years of age, and at present traveling in Italy with Master Raimbaud, an armorer, who is also reported to be a heretic, the return of the lad to Paris must be awaited, and then the identical course pursued towards him—capture him, lock him up in a convent, and compel him to take the vows. He is fifteen years old. Despite the taint of his early bringing-up, it will be easy to operate upon a child of that age. If, contrary to all likelihood, he can not be reduced to reason, he shall be kept in the convent until eighteen. Then he shall be pronounced guilty of heresy, and burned alive.
"I insist—it is important, not only to destroy the said manuscripts, but also to shatter the traditions of the Lebrenn family, and extinguish the same, either by delivering it to the secular arm on crimes of heresy, or by burying its last scions forever in the shadow of the cloister.
"The fact must be kept well in mind—there is no such thing as small enemies. The slightest of causes often produces great effects. At a given moment, on the occasion of a rebellion, one resolute man may be enough to carry the populace with him. Due to its secular traditions, the Lebrenn family might produce such a man. Such an eventuality must be prevented; the family must be uprooted.
"If, supposing the impossible, the measures herein indicated should fail of success, if this dangerous stock should perpetuate itself, then, it is necessary that our ORDER, equally perpetual, always keep its eye upon these Lebrenns, who are certain to generate infamous scoundrels.
"The instance of this family is one instance among the thousand that go to prove the necessity of the register I have often mentioned. I order that one be kept in each division by the provincial of our Society. I order that the names of the families upon whom the attention of our Society should be particularly directed, be inscribed in these registers. These records, preserved and transmitted from century to century, will furnish our Society the means of surveillance and of action upon future generations. Such is my will.
"Our beloved son Lefevre will therefore start the register for the province of France by entering in it the name of the Lebrenn family. There shall also be entered the names of Robert Estienne, of Gaspard of Coligny, of the Prince of Gerolstein, of Ambroise Paré, of Clement Marot, of Bernard Palissy, of the Viscount of Plouernel and of others, too numerous to recite at this place, but who will be found on the heretics' lists furnished by Gainier to the Criminal Lieutenant, who shall furnish the said documents without delay to our beloved son Lefevre, whom may God guard.
"I. L."
"Ignatius Loyola!" explained Christian translating the initials I and L pronounced by Robert Estienne, who gazed upon the artisan dumbfounded. The latter proceeded with a mournful and bitter tone: "The orders of Ignatius Loyola were followed. My wife—" and he choked a sob, "my wife was arrested and imprisoned for a heretic. Blessed be Thou, Oh, God! she died in prison. Her death saved her, no doubt, from the stake! My daughter was taken to the convent of the Augustinian sisters, where the poor child was yesterday compelled to pronounce eternal vows. My son Hervé—Oh, the monster no longer deserves to be called a son—"
"What is there against him?"
"A letter of my daughter, written to her mother, whose death she was not aware of, put me on the scent of a horrible secret. This morning I questioned my brother-in-law, who, happier than I, had the opportunity of seeing Bridget in her prison. He unveiled to me a distressful mystery—"
"Proceed with your tale, my friend."
Wiping away the cold perspiration that bathed his forehead, the artisan went on to say: "Hervé entered the Convent of the Cordeliers, not against his will, but joyfully! He will not part from Fra Girard, the demon who led him astray. They are now waiting for my son Odelin to return from Italy. Alas, the boy is on his way to Paris and I have not been able to notify Master Raimbaud of what has happened, not knowing where to address a letter to him. They will fall into the hands of our enemies."
"Just heavens!" exclaimed Robert Estienne, struck by a sudden thought and breaking in upon Christian. "There can be no doubt about it. A minute ago, as I listened to your account of how the orders of Ignatius Loyola were followed, I wondered how—even in these sad days when the freedom and lives of our citizens are at the mercy of the good or ill will of Cardinal Duprat and his agent, the Criminal Lieutenant, John Morin—I wondered how the plot concocted against your whole family could be executed with such rapidity. I now wonder no longer. Ignatius Loyola exercises a powerful influence over the Cardinal, who has joined the Society of Jesus."
"Is, then, the Society of Jesus already so highly connected?"
"No doubt about it! When I went to entreat the intercession of Princess Marguerite in behalf of Mary La Catelle, John Dubourg, Laforge and others of our friends, my protectress inquired from me whether I knew a certain nobleman, still young of years and lame of foot, who almost every day held protracted conferences with the Cardinal, over whom he wielded an absolute sway. Thanks to the information I had from you, I was able to enlighten the Princess concerning the chief of the new Order of Jesuits. It is evident that it was with the connivance of the Cardinal that Ignatius Loyola was enabled to smite your family. But what I could not yet understand was the reason that drove that man to pursue you with such inveteracy and to aim at your very life."
"Ignatius Loyola undoubtedly does not pardon my having surprised the secret of his Order. Lefevre, one of his disciples and a former friend of mine, saw me on the occasion of that fatal night concealed behind a big boulder at the bottom of the quarry. He affected not to notice me, in order not to awaken my suspicions, and the very next day he led the archers of the patrol to my house, seized my family papers, with which I had made him acquainted, and climbed to the garret, where, finding some scraps of letters left behind him by John Calvin, he must by those means have been put upon the track of the council of the reformers held at Montmartre. Only an hour or two after the arrival of our co-religionists the quarry was invaded by the archers."
"But how did your family chronicles and the note about them fall back into your hands?"
"Also through the efforts of my wife's brother, the soldier of adventure I have often spoken of to you. Josephin, that is my brother-in-law's name, was going to our house when Bridget and my children were arrested. He saw them taken away. He also saw a man, clad in a black frock, with the cowl over his head, carry off the casket that contained our legends. That man was my friend Lefevre. Once out of my house, and no longer deeming it necessary to conceal his face, he raised his cowl and Josephin recognized him. The discovery was a revelation to me. That night my brother-in-law could not attempt to free my wife and children from the hands of the archers. He remained in the neighborhood on the watch for me. It was by him I was apprized of the arrest of my family. At length, yesterday, having encountered near my house an Augustinian monk, who left the convent surreptitiously, he learned from him that my daughter had been made to take the veil. Once posted upon where Hena was to be found, the Franc-Taupin decided to abduct her from the cloister, helped therein by two other resolute fellows. He succeeded in the perilous undertaking. Finally, having no doubt that the casket containing my family chronicles was in Lefevre's possession, he repaired early in the morning to Montaigu College with his two trusty companions, and took away from the Jesuit the casket in which, jointly with our family chronicles, was the note of Ignatius Loyola. These he brought to me at noon to-day."
"What devotion! Thanks to the brave adventurer, your daughter is restored to you! The monk to whom you have extended hospitality is, I suppose, the same who escaped from the convent, and placed the Franc-Taupin in position to deliver your daughter. The situation begins to look less dangerous."
"Yes, Monsieur Estienne. And now I implore you, lighten my path with your advice. My head swims. I am a prey to cruel perplexities."
"Are you afraid your daughter may be traced to this house?"
"That fear is terrible enough, but is not what troubles me most."
"What is it that troubles you?"
Christian sobbed aloud: "You do not yet know all. The monk is Brother St. Ernest-Martyr."
"He is a true disciple of Christ! Often did Mary La Catelle tell me he inclined towards the Reformation."
"Listen, Monsieur Estienne. The monk was hardly in the house, where he arrived worn to a skeleton by a slow fever, when he lost consciousness. I gave him all the care I could. I divested him of his frock, laid him in my bed, and watched over him. A few leaves of paper dropped out of his clothes. I picked them up. As I ran my eyes over them I read the name of my daughter. I admit that I yielded to an impulse of curiosity, blameworthy, perhaps, but irresistible. I opened the leaves. What a discovery!"
"The leaves of paper—"
"Contained fragments of a sort of diary, to which the thoughts of the young monk were confided. From them I learned that he was chosen for the confessor and instructor of my daughter at the convent of the Augustinian sisters—and he became enamored of her. He loves Hena to distraction!"
"Does he know you to be aware of his secret?"
"Yes. When he recovered consciousness he saw the fragments of his journal in my hands. He uttered a cry of fear. 'Be calm,' I said to him; 'it is the soul of an honest man that stands reflected in these revelations. I can only pity you.'"
"Is your daughter here in the house with him?"
"My daughter," answered Christian, turning to Robert Estienne a face bathed in tears, "my daughter is not aware of the young monk's passion—and, in her turn, she loves him."
"Unhappy child!"
"Her love is killing her. It was one of the reasons that decided her to take the veil. She has told me all, with her natural candor."
"Have Hena and the young monk met since they are here?"
"No. The poor young man—his name was Ernest Rennepont before he took orders—the moment he learned from me of my daughter's presence in the house, wanted to deliver himself forthwith to the Superior of his Order, lest we be all taken for accomplices in his flight. I firmly objected to his determination, seeing it meant the loss of his life."
"Then these young folks are unaware that their love is reciprocated?"
"It will be her death, Monsieur Estienne, it will be her death! I lose my head endeavoring to find a way out of this tangle of ills. What am I to do? What shall I decide? I asked you to come to me without saying why, because I rely upon your great wisdom. You may, perhaps, be able to light the chaos of these afflictions which cause me to stagger with despair. I see only pitfalls and perils around us."
Christian paused.
Robert Estienne remained a few minutes steeped in silent reflection.
"My friend," said the latter, "you know the life of Luther as well as I. That great reformer, a monk like Ernest Rennepont, and, like him, one time full of faith in the Roman Church, withdrew from her fold on account of the scandals that he witnessed. Do you think Ernest Rennepont is ready to embrace the Reformation?"
"I do not know his intentions in that regard. But when he saw I was informed of his love for Hena, he exclaimed: 'Miserable monk that I am, by loving Hena I have committed a crime in the eyes of the Church. And yet, God is my witness, the purity of my love would do honor to any upright man, not condemned to celibacy.'"
"Let us return to Luther. That reformer always took the stand with irresistible logic against the celibacy of clergymen—"
"Great God!" cried Christian breaking in upon Robert Estienne. "What recollections your words awaken in my memory! The fragments of the diary written by the unfortunate monk mention a dream in which he saw himself a pastor of the Evangelical religion, and husband of Hena, giving, like herself, instruction to little children."
"Why should not Ernest Rennepont conform his conduct with the precepts of Luther?"
"Oh, monsieur!" murmured Christian, carrying both his hands to his burning temples. "Hope and doubt disturb my reason. I dare not give myself over to such a thought, out of fear that I be miserably disillusioned. And yet, your words bear the stamp of wisdom and good will."
"My friend, let us reason calmly. Control your anxiety for a moment. The young monk is a man of heart; we may not doubt that. Has not his conduct during these recent circumstances increased your affection for him?"
"It is true. I esteem him greatly."
"Does not, as he expressed it, his pure and noble love for Hena do honor to any upright man?"
"I firmly believe so after reading the pages which Ernest Rennepont believed he wrote for none but his own eyes."
"Now, my friend, let us suppose he embraces the reformed religion. His knowledge, his good habits and his liking for teaching little children—all that would render him worthy of being a minister of the new church. I feel almost certain our friend would present his name with joy to our brothers for election, and these will acclaim him their pastor. Never could the Evangelical word have a worthier interpreter."
"Oh, Monsieur Estienne, have mercy! Do not cheer my heart with such supreme hopes, destined, perhaps, to be dashed."
"Alas, you have suffered so much, that I can well understand your hesitation to foster a consoling hope. But reflect an instant, and you will admit that the hope is in no wise an exaggerated one. Let us sum up—Ernest Rennepont renounces his Order, embraces the Reformation, is chosen a pastor, and he can then contract marriage. Granting all this, do you not believe your daughter will consent to the union, if you approve of it?"
"She is dying of that fatal love, believing herself separated from Ernest Rennepont by an unbridgeable chasm of impossibilities. She surely would not refuse to wed the man she loves."
"Well, then, my friend, what other obstacles do you see? Do not these expectations, so far from being deceptive, become certainties? Does not the grief of the unfortunate couple change into ineffable bliss? You remain worried, dejected."
"Monsieur Estienne, the project is too beautiful!"
"Christian! How can you, a man of sense and firmness, succumb to such weakness of spirit!"
"The death of my wife, the lamentable position in which my beloved daughter finds herself, the crime of the wretch whom I can no longer call my son—so many sorrows, heaped one upon the other, have cracked the springs of my soul. I feel myself overwhelmed and nerveless."
"And yet, at no time have you been in greater need of energy. You say, my friend, that the plan is too beautiful? But, should it be realized, do you not still run grave dangers? Do you forget that your freedom and life are both threatened? Do you forget that, at this very hour, they are seeking to track Ernest Rennepont and your daughter? Regain courage with the hope of triumphing over your enemies. We must carry on the struggle without truce or let."
"Thanks, Monsieur Estienne; thanks! Your words comfort me. Yes; nevertheless, the plan you propose and which would snatch my daughter from the despair that is killing her—that plan is yet far from being accomplished."
"This is what I shall do. Should the errand embarrass you, I shall myself see Ernest Rennepont, shall propose to him to embrace the Reformation and become a pastor of the new church in order to verify his dream—provided Hena accepts the union. When we shall have made sure of Ernest Rennepont's consent, you shall see your daughter. I do not believe there is any doubt about her answer. The marriage being agreed upon, we must make haste. The disappearance of Hena and the forceful restitution of your family archives will redouble the zeal of your persecutors. Neither you, your daughter, nor her husband would any longer be safe in the neighborhood of Paris. I have already considered the emergency when this retreat would cease to offer security to you. I have a friend who is a printer in La Rochelle, a fortified town, rich, industrious, well armed, wholly devoted to the Reformation, and so full of reliance on the power of her municipal franchise, her ramparts and the bravery of her numerous inhabitants, as confidently to defy our enemies. You and yours will be there in perfect safety. You can live there on the fruit of your labor. Better than anyone else, I know how skilled a mechanic you are. Finally, if you should have to leave Paris before the return of Odelin—"
"Oh, Monsieur Estienne, I tremble at the thought of that Lefevre on the watch for the lad's return in order to kidnap him! What a blow that would be to me! What a fate have our enemies in store for my poor Odelin!"
"I shall take charge of that. To-morrow I shall see Madam Raimbaud. Her husband has probably notified her when she may expect him home from Italy. If so, and even otherwise, your brother-in-law, the Franc-Taupin, who already has given you so many proofs of his devotion, will be able to aid us in preventing your son from being kidnapped. I greatly rely upon his assistance."
"May heaven hear you!"
"Travelers from Italy usually enter Paris by the Bastille Gate."
"Yes. Besides, seeing that Master Raimbaud, like most all armorers, resides in the neighborhood of that fortress, it is almost certain he will come by the suburb of St. Antoine. That point is settled."
"If Madam Raimbaud is informed upon the date of her husband's arrival, the Franc-Taupin must be placed on watch along the road from Italy, or near the Bastille. He will then warn your son not to enter the city, and deliver to him a letter from you directing him to meet you in La Rochelle. I shall take charge of supplying Odelin with the necessary funds for the journey. When in La Rochelle, near you, he will continue his armorer's trade. And now, Christian, I share your prevision. The times are approaching when, more than ever, there will be work for those whose occupation is the forging of implements of war. Come, courage! Let us reserve ourselves for the struggle."
"How can I express my gratitude to you. You think of everything."
"My friend, for the space of two generations your family and mine have mutually rendered each other so many services that it is impossible to say on which side the debt lies heavier. Let us not lose an instant's time. Take me to Ernest Rennepont. So soon as I shall know his mind, I shall inform you. You will then propose the marriage to your daughter with the caution that the occasion requires. In her present delicate condition, after all the sufferings she has undergone, care must be taken not to shock her even with joy. Joy may kill, as well as despair."
Christian led Robert Estienne to the apartment of the young monk, and leaving the two alone, impatiently awaited the issue of their interview, whereupon he was to see Hena.
Sister St. Frances-in-the-Tomb, as Hena Lebrenn was christened in religion, occupied in the cottage a chamber contiguous to that of her father. The young girl still wore the nun's garb. The pallor of her visage, framed in the folds of her coif and her long white veil, was hardly distinguishable from the dull whiteness of the linen. Pain and resignation were traced on her features, that emaciation rendered almost transparent. Seated near a window, her hands clasped over her knees, and her large blue eyes raised to heaven, she seemed to contemplate without seeing them the somber clouds which the north wind drove before it with weird moanings. Hena's thoughts turned upon the events of the last three days. Despite her decision to devote herself to a nun's life, as the only means of again seeing her family, to live never again under the same roof with her brother whose passion for her inspired the maid with invincible horror, and to bury forever in the chilly shadows of the cloister her fatal love for St. Ernest-Martyr—despite these sentiments, on the night that, her vows being pronounced, she was praying in the solitude of the Virgin's chapel, she welcomed her uncle Josephin as a liberator, and never hesitated an instant to flee with him from the convent of the Augustinian sisters. She was ignorant of her mother's fate. The hope of soon, after so cruel a separation, being again in the embrace of the parents she loved so dearly, occupied all her thoughts. When, upon seeing Christian again, the young girl learned of her mother's death, the persecutions that he himself was the object of, and the presence of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr in the same retreat, her head reeled. Weakened by suffering and bewildered by so many unexpected events, the girl's mind threatened for a moment to go astray. Her native vigor carried, however, the day. She said to herself:
"My duty is clear. I shall stay near my father. I shall endeavor with my tenderness to soften his sorrow for the loss of my mother. He must flee this place. I shall accompany him in his exile. I shall also take my mother's place to my brother Odelin. I shall not endeavor to forget Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. But, while preserving this love sacred in the recesses of my heart, to you, O, my God, I pray—grant through Your infinite mercy that this love do not kill me—grant to preserve my life for the sake of my father, who stands in need of my care and my affection!"
Such were the reflections of the young girl, when, some hours after his interview with Robert Estienne, she saw Christian enter her chamber. The printer's face reflected suppressed happiness. Tears, sweet tears they now were, flowed from his eyes. Despite his desire not to betray his joy before his daughter, lest he cause her too deep an emotion, he could not withhold pressing her repeatedly to his heart, and covering her face with kisses. Touched by such tender effusion, and struck by the change in her father's appearance, Hena cried:
"God be praised, father, you bring me good news! Are you no longer pursued? You will no longer have to keep in hiding?"
Christian shook his head, and still holding his daughter in his arms, contemplated her, enraptured. He sat down; placed her on his knees, as a little child is placed; and in a voice that trembled with emotion, said:
"Yes, my dear Hena; yes, my beloved child, I have good news for you—but not what you thought. We are soon to leave this retreat, where our persecutors might discover us, and we shall go far away from here, in order to escape all pursuit."
"And yet, father, your voice trembles with joy. I read happiness on your face."
"The good, the unexpected tidings that I bring—concern you—you alone—"
"Me alone, father?"
"No; not you alone—what is good to you, is it not good to me also?"
Hena looked at her father, surprised. The latter hesitated to say more, fearing the consequences of too sudden a revelation. He paused for a moment and proceeded:
"Do you know, my child, what the pastor of the reformed religion is?"
"I believe he is a minister of the Evangelium; is it not?"
"Yes, the pastors spread the Evangelical word. But, contrary to the Catholic priests, who are condemned to celibacy by the Church, the ministers of the reformed cult are free to contract matrimony, and to fulfil its obligations."
A smile of sadness flitted over Hena's lips. Her father followed her closely with his eyes. He fathomed her secret thoughts.
"The right of its ministers to be husbands and fathers, recognized by the Evangelical church, has induced several Catholic priests to break with Rome and embrace the Reformation."
Dropping her head upon her father's shoulder, Hena wept. Christian drew himself slightly back in order to raise the tear-bedewed visage of his daughter, whom he still kept upon his knees, his arms around her, and his heart beating with hope.
"Hena, no doubt you have been thinking to yourself: 'Alas, Brother St. Ernest-Martyr is a Catholic priest!'"
"You have guessed my thoughts, dear father. I thought to myself there was nothing for me but to bow before so fatal a state of things. But let us talk about that good news which you seem so anxious to impart to me."
"Very well, dear child—but in order not to have to return again to a matter painful to you, I shall begin by saying that Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, or rather Ernest Rennepont, which is his real name, withdraws himself from the Catholic Church and embraces the Reformation."
Christian felt Hena trembling convulsively upon his knees. The poor child carried both her hands to her face, whence fresh drops of tears flowed down upon her robe.
"My dear child," resumed the artisan, hardly able to repress his gladness, "there is still another confession which I expect from your frankness. You are saying to yourself, are you not: 'Ernest Rennepont abjured his vows—he is free—he can now choose a wife—if he would only love me!'"
"Father, good father, let us drop such thoughts!"
"Oh, my beloved child!" cried the artisan radiant with joy. "Oh, my only support, my only consolation! Courage! Courage! Not now any more in order to resist sorrow—but to defend you—from the transports that an unexpected happiness often causes us—"
"An unexpected happiness, father?"
"Yes, the gladsome tidings that I bring to you are—first, Ernest Rennepont's resolution to become a pastor of the Evangelical church. Thus he is free to marry, without discontinuing his services to God. Yes, and do you know, Hena, that if the most cherished wish of his heart is verified, do you know, Hena, who would be the wife of his choice? It would be—it would be you—you, my treasure! Ernest Rennepont loves you to distraction since the day he first saw you at Mary La Catelle's."
Despite the precautions taken by her father, Hena could not resist the shock of the revelation. Still holding his daughter upon his knees, Christian saw her lose color, her head dropped upon his shoulder, she lost consciousness. He rose, carried the girl to her bed, at the head of which he knelt down, and awaited the end of the crisis that the excess of joy had brought on. A moment later he heard a rap at the door. He asked:
"Is it you, Monsieur Estienne?"
"Yes—and I am not alone."
"Do not come in now," answered Christian. "Hena is in a swoon. I fear that in recovering consciousness the sight of her betrothed might cause an immediate relapse."
Certain motions of Hena, and the light flush that by degrees returned to her cheeks, announced the girl's gradual recovery. Her eyes remained half shut. She turned her haggard face towards her father. Presently, fixing upon him her still partly veiled eyes, she seemed to interrogate her confused recollections.
"No, my dear child," said the artisan; "it is not a dream. You are not the sport of an illusion. Ernest Rennepont renounces the monastic life; he embraces the Evangelical creed, of which he will be a pastor. He has long loved you with the purest and noblest love. I surprised the secret of his soul. Never did father wish for his daughter a husband more worthy of esteem and affection." And pointing with his finger to the door: "He is there, accompanied by our friend, Monsieur Estienne. Do you feel yourself strong enough to receive them, my poor, dear child? Would you like to have them come in?"
"He loves me!" cried Hena, taking her father's hands and kissing them. "He loves me, also! Since when?"
"Yes, yes—he will tell you all that himself," answered Christian with a smile of ineffable happiness. "He is there. He awaits but your consent to come to you, my dear child."
Hena sat up on her couch, placed one of her hands on her heart to restrain its throbs and still too much moved to speak, made to her father an affirmative sign. The artisan thereupon introduced Robert Estienne, supporting on his arm Ernest Rennepont. At that moment the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard from the yard. Yielding to an involuntary sense of uneasiness, Christian ran to the window, and was at once put at ease at seeing his brother-in-law the Franc-Taupin alighting from his mount. Hena and Ernest Rennepont, strangers to what went on around them, saw but each other. When the young man was near enough to the couch on which Hena was seated, he dropped on his knees before her, clasped his hands, and raised up to her his pale visage, now radiant with celestial bliss. Unable to utter a word, the two contemplated each other, absorbed. Robert Estienne could not hold back the tears that gathered in his eyes. The artisan stepped towards the two lovers, took Hena's hand, placed it in Ernest Rennepont's, who had remained on his knees, and said in a voice broken with emotion:
"Be betrothed—never have nobler hearts been worthier of each other."
Christian was pronouncing these solemn words when the Franc-Taupin entered. Already informed by his brother-in-law of the mutual love of the two young folks, the soldier of adventure thrilled with joy at seeing them united.
"Know the rest, my friend," said the artisan to Josephin. "My daughter and he who from this day is my son owe their liberty to you. You are entitled to know all that concerns them. Ernest Rennepont renounces his monastic vows; he abjures Catholicism and embraces the Reformation, of which he is to be a pastor. As you know, the Evangelical pastors can marry."
"It is my advice that the marriage be promptly concluded," answered the Franc-Taupin in a low voice as he led Christian and Robert Estienne to the window, while the betrothed couple remained under the spell of a profound ecstasy, hearing nothing, seeing nothing of what happened around them. The Franc-Taupin proceeded in a low voice: "I have come from Paris in a hurry. I heard an announcement made to the sound of trumps, to the effect that Sister St. Frances-in-the-Tomb and Brother St. Ernest-Martyr are adjudged relapsed, and subject to the punishment visited upon such a sin—the stake!"
"The stake!" muttered Robert Estienne, shivering with horror, while making an instant sign intended to check an exclamation of terror that Christian was on the point of giving vent to.
"Time presses," proceeded the Franc-Taupin. "My brother-in-law, his daughter and the young monk must leave this house this very night. It will not be safe to-morrow."
"I am of your opinion," answered Robert Estienne. "This is the way we shall proceed: You, Josephin, will return to Paris on the spot with a letter from me to one of our pastors, urging him to come here this very evening in order to take the abjuration of Ernest Rennepont, and give his nuptial benediction to the betrothed couple. Immediately after, Hena and her husband will set out, with you, and Christian, who will take my horse. His daughter will ride on the crupper."
"The young monk shall ride behind me on my nag," said the Franc-Taupin. "I shall escort the fugitives to a distance of five or six leagues from Paris."
"When you come back here bring with you lay clothes for the young couple," said Robert Estienne, handing his purse to the Franc-Taupin. "You will also pay the price of your nag to the stableman from whom you have the animal. Ernest Rennepont shall keep it, and ride on it with Christian and his daughter to La Rochelle. Only there will they all three be safe. There is not an instant to lose. Quick, to horse, Josephin, to horse! The lives of us all are at stake."
The Franc-Taupin left hurriedly, casting a tender look upon Hena and Ernest Rennepont. The two, their hearts in heaven, remained ignorant of the new dangers that threatened them. The eyes of the Society of Jesus were open.
Midnight soon arrived. Robert Estienne, Christian, his daughter, Ernest Rennepont and the Franc-Taupin assembled in the parlor of the country house, the unsafe refuge that they were soon to quit. An old man, with long white hair, the pastor of the Evangelical church, responded to the call of Robert Estienne, in order to receive the abjuration of the betrothed couple and bestow upon them his nuptial benediction. A table with a few wax candles stood at the rear of the apartment. On the table were also an ink-horn, pens, paper, and a little pocket Bible with silver clasps. Hena and Ernest Rennepont were in front of the table. Behind it stood the pastor. Robert Estienne, Christian and the Franc-Taupin assisted the betrothed couple. The agitation caused by so many unexpected events, and the intoxication of repressed happiness animated the recently pallid countenances of the bride and bridegroom. Wrapped in meditation, and their thoughts turning to the past, they raised their souls to God in a transport of speechless gratitude. They implored the mercy of their Creator. There was nothing terrestrial in their love. They saw in the consecration of their marriage only the right to devote themselves to each other, to vie in mutual sacrifices and abnegation, and to serve the holy cause of progress. They knew the perils that the apostles of the new doctrine must confront.
Taking from the table a sheet of paper, the pastor read in a solemn voice the following act of abjuration:
"'On this 19th day of December, 1534, appeared before us Ernest Rennepont, called in his religion Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, and Louise Hena Lebrenn, called in her religion Sister St. Frances-in-the-Tomb, who declare they desire to renounce the Roman idolatry, and swear to confess the Evangelical religion, to live and die in the faith, and to participate in the holy sacrament of communion. Upon these conditions Louise Hena Lebrenn and Ernest Rennepont have been informed that they will be admitted to the Evangelical church'[37]—Be pleased to sign the act of abjuration."
Hena and Ernest signed the act with steady hands. Thereupon they knelt down upon two seats brought in by Christian and the Franc-Taupin. The pastor resumed, and addressed the couple with a moved voice:
"You, Hena Lebrenn, and you, Ernest Rennepont, will you live together in the marriage state that God himself has instituted, and which St. Paul represents as among the most honorable of conditions? If that is your intention, Hena Lebrenn and Ernest Rennepont, make your will known. Are you willing to be united to each other?"
"Yes," answered Ernest, raising his eyes as if to take heaven for his witness.
"Yes," answered Hena in her turn.
"Then," resumed the pastor, "may the Lord deign to bless your wishes. You, Ernest Rennepont, do you declare, here before God, that you have taken and do hereby take Hena Lebrenn, here present, for your wife? Do you promise to live holily with her, to be true to her, as is the duty of a good and faithful husband, and God commands you by His word?"
"Yes!" answered Ernest Rennepont.
"And you, Hena Lebrenn, do you declare here before God, that you have taken and do hereby take Ernest Rennepont, here present, for your husband? Do you promise to love him, to live holily with him, and to keep your troth to him as is the duty of a faithful wife, and as God commands you by His word?"
"Yes," answered Hena, with her eyes modestly cast down.
"Keep your promises to each other," said the pastor in conclusion. "Seeing God has united you in the sacred bonds of matrimony, live together in peace, in unity, in purity, helpful to each other, and faithful to your pledge, obedient to the divine command. Oh, Lord God! Lord of wisdom and of goodness!" added the Evangelical pastor, joining his venerable hands in prayer, "since it has pleased Thee to call this man and this woman to the holy state of matrimony—should it be Thy will that children be born to them, cause them, as worthy husband and wife, to raise their offspring in piety and to train them to virtue."[38]
The touching solemnity of the ceremony was suddenly interrupted by the precipitate entrance of Michael, the gardener. Pale and distracted he rushed to the house and threw the door open, crying:
"Monsieur Estienne—malediction upon me! You are betrayed!"
A moment of silent stupor ensued upon these words. Hena threw herself instinctively into her father's arms. Ernest Rennepont approached her. The Franc-Taupin dashed to the window and listened in the direction of the yard, while the pastor raised his eyes heavenward, saying:
"Oh, Lord, if Thou reservest me for martyrdom, the victim is ready, may Thy will be done!"
"We are betrayed, Michael?" cried Robert Estienne. "Who could have betrayed us?"
"My wife—Oh, that accursed confession! Alison revealed to our curate that a monk and a nun were here in hiding. My wife has just admitted it to me amid tears. The curate departed post haste to Paris, immediately after confessing and extracting the secret from her. Death and a curse upon the infamous wretch!"
And throwing himself at the feet of Robert Estienne, Michael cried with clasped hands:
"My good and worthy master! Do not take me for a wicked or dishonorable man. I am not guilty of the treason!"
"To horse!" bellowed the Franc-Taupin. "We must depart at once! The curate will have notified his bishop, the bishop will have notified Cardinal Duprat, and he will have issued orders to the Criminal Lieutenant. By this time the archers must be on the road to St. Ouen. Let us lose not an instant—to horse! Mine is saddled—have yours saddled, Monsieur Estienne. Christian will take his daughter on the crupper of his horse. I shall take Ernest Rennepont on my nag—and, away at a gallop! We shall soon be out of reach."
Putting the word to the deed, the Franc-Taupin dashed out of the parlor, dragging Ernest Rennepont with him almost against his will. Realizing the wisdom of the Franc-Taupin's orders, Christian put one arm around Hena, sustained and led her in the steps of the Franc-Taupin. Robert Estienne and the pastor hastened to follow them, while the despairing gardener lamented his fate, repeating:
"That accursed confession! The infamous curate!"
The Franc-Taupin was hurrying his horse out of the stable and Robert Estienne was precipitately saddling his own with the help of Michael, when Alison, running in all in a flurry from the bypath that led to the outer gate of the cottage, cried:
"Oh, my poor man, all is lost! The mounted archers are here! I heard the tramp of their horses down the avenue. I saw their muskets glistening through the hedges along the road."
"Is the iron gate locked?" asked the Franc-Taupin, the only one to preserve coolness in the presence of the imminent danger. "Is the gate strong?"
"It is strong and locked—double locked," answered the gardener. "The key is in my house."
"It will take them some time to force the gate," observed the Franc-Taupin; and addressing Robert Estienne: "Is there any issue, besides the gate, to leave the place?"
"None other—the garden is enclosed by a wall."
"Is the wall high?"
"About ten feet."
"Then," replied the Franc-Taupin, "we need not despair."
At that moment the clank of sabres and muskets was heard down the principal avenue, and a voice called out:
"Open! In the name of the King, open!"
"There are the archers!" cried Hena stricken with terror. "It is done for us!"
"I shall deliver myself up!" cried Ernest Rennepont, rushing out towards the alley. "The archers may thereby be induced not to push their search any further. May the all-powerful God protect you!"
The Franc-Taupin seized Hena's bridegroom by the sleeve of his coat, and prevented him from taking another step. Turning to the gardener, he asked:
"Have you a ladder?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fetch it quick."
Michael obeyed, while the archers redoubled their clamor and threatened to force the gate if it was not opened.
"Monsieur Estienne," said the Franc-Taupin, "go forward quickly and speak with the archers. Ask them what brings them here, at this hour. Engage them in conversation all you can. Keep them outside. Gain time. I take charge of the rest. If you can succeed in keeping the soldiers off for about ten minutes, we shall have won. They will find no one else at the house."
Robert Estienne turned to Christian, who still held Hena in his arms:
"Come, Christian! Courage! Coolness! The situation is hedged in with dangers; but it is not forlorn." Saying this he walked to the iron gate, at the moment when the gardener reappeared carrying a long ladder on his shoulder.
"What is there outside of the garden," asked the Franc-Taupin, "a highroad or fields?"
"Fields, sir; they are separated from the walls by a path and hedges. Beyond are meadows, as far as the eye extends."
Josephin listened a moment, and noticing that the clamor of the archers at the gate had subsided, he said:
"Courage! All's well! Monsieur Estienne is parleying with the soldiers. We shall have time to flee." And addressing the gardener: "Lead us quickly to the furthest end of the garden."
Michael led the fugitives along a narrow path. After having walked about three hundred paces, he stepped before a wall, against which he placed the ladder.
"Quick!" ordered the Franc-Taupin, again stopping to listen. "The archers are becoming impatient. They are about to force the gate."
Christian was the first to ascend the ladder; he climbed to the top of the wall, straddled it, and, stooping down, reached his hand out to Hena. He took firm hold of her, raised her, and seated her, still holding her in his arms, in front of him on the top of the wall, where he was successively joined by Ernest Rennepont and the Franc-Taupin. The latter drew the ladder up, with the help of the gardener, tipped it over to the other side, and quickly planted it outside the wall. One by one the fugitives descended and alighted upon a path bordered by thick and high hedges.
"We are saved!" cried Christian, passionately clasping Hena to his heart. "We are saved, my dear child!"
"Not yet!" came thundering upon their ears.
An archer rose from behind the hedge where he had been lying in ambush. Immediately he sounded the alarm at the top of his voice:
"Here, comrades! Here! This way!"
To leap over the hedge at a bound; to seize the archer by the throat with one hand, while with the other he drew his sword—these were the rapid moves of the Franc-Taupin. It was too late. The alarm given by the soldier was heard. Several other foot soldiers, who came on the cruppers of the mounted archers, and were posted around the walls, hurried to the spot, preceded by a sergeant, and all cried in chorus:
"Kill all who resist! Keep only the monk and the nun alive!"
A melee ensued in the semi-darkness of the night. After superhuman efforts to tear his daughter from the soldiers, Christian was hewed down with a sword. Ernest Rennepont and Hena remained in the hands of the armed men. After almost strangling the soldier who had given the alarm, the Franc-Taupin profited by the darkness to creep on hands and feet to a hedge under which he blotted himself from sight. From his hiding place he heard Christian drop to the ground and call out in a fainting voice: "I am killed—help! help!"
The artisan was left for dead by the archers. Obedient to the orders from their chief, their main object was the capture of the monk and the nun, whom they now carried safely away. Little by little silence returned to the sequestered region. Soon the sound of a retreating troop of horsemen announced the departure of the archers for Paris. The Franc-Taupin emerged from his place of concealment, ran to Christian, knelt beside him, opened his coat and shirt soaked in blood, and placed his hand upon his heart. He felt it beat.
"There is but one chance of safety for Christian," said the Franc-Taupin to himself. "If the gardener has not been arrested, he will consent to grant asylum to the wounded man. Let me endeavor to snatch my brother-in-law from death—after that, I swear, you shall be avenged, Oh, my sister! Avenged shall be also your daughter, whose horrid fate I well foresee!"
Michael and his wife consented to take in the wounded man, and nurse him in Robert Estienne's house. The latter and the pastor were taken prisoners to Paris by the archers.
On the 21st of January, 1535, a few weeks after the seizure of Hena Lebrenn and Ernest Rennepont at the cottage of Master Robert Estienne, two riders crossed the Charenton bridge on their way to Paris. Master Raimbaud, the armorer, one of the riders, was a man in robust middle age, and of an open and resolute countenance. His headgear consisted of a broad-brimmed felt hat; he wore a coat of mail over his jacket, and large traveling boots on his sturdy legs. A cutlass hung from his side, his holsters were furnished with pistols, and his wide brown coat flowed down over the crupper of his horse. The other rider, Odelin Lebrenn, was then just fifteen. His candid and pleasant features, slightly browned by the sun of Italy, recalled those of his sister Hena. A black bonnet, ornamented with a little red feather and placed slightly aslant over the lad's blonde hair, left wholly exposed the smiling face that radiated with increasing joy in the measure that he approached the end of his journey. The apprentice and his master were at that moment ascending a steep hill, at a steady pace. Despite the steepness of the hill, however, Odelin's mount frequently broke out into a trot, surreptitiously urged thereto by the spurs of the boy. Master Raimbaud smiled under his brown beard, as he guessed the cause of Odelin's impatience, while he himself kept his own horse well in hand. He had just once more baffled the innocent manoeuvre of his apprentice, who had run ahead:
"Well, Odelin," he called after him, "there is your horse again breaking out into a trot. One would think he'd got the devil at his heels."
"Master Raimbaud, it is not my fault," answered the youngster, somewhat abashed, and reining in, to his regret. "My horse forces my hand. It must be the flies that torment him. That's why he runs ahead."
"God's head! Flies in the month of January, my boy!" replied the armorer jovially, as he came abreast of his apprentice. "You must be thinking yourself still in summer on the roads of Milan."
"Well, I shall not insist on my fib, Master Raimbaud. I must admit to you that the nearer we approach Paris, where my mother, and father, and sister, and brother, and my good uncle Josephin are expecting me, I feel such a thrill of joy, that without my knowledge my spurs approach the flanks of my horse—and then the beast starts trotting."
"I can understand your impatience, my lad. It does credit to your heart. But endeavor to control yourself a little. We have ridden a long stretch to-day. We should not wind our horses. Certain of the joy in wait for you, what is the use of running after it?"
"That's true, Master Raimbaud," replied Odelin, red with emotion and his eyes dimmed with moisture. "Within two hours I shall see again all those whom I love; I shall embrace them—"
"And I shall add to their happiness at seeing you back again, by telling them how well pleased I have been with you during our trip."
"How could I otherwise than endeavor to please you, Master Raimbaud? If I were your own son you could not treat me with greater tenderness, or more attention."
"For the simple reason that a worthy son would not behave differently toward me than yourself, my little Odelin. Such are the fruits of the bringing up you have received from your worthy father and your excellent mother."
"Oh, Master Raimbaud, when I think of the caresses that await me!"
"Look to your spurs, my lad! Look to your spurs. We shall now soon be at the top of the hill. Stop your horse a moment. One of the straps of your valise is loose. Fasten it."
"Oh, heaven! If I had lost my valise!" cried the apprentice, reddening at the thought. Stopping his horse, he turned in his saddle, and hastened to fasten the strap, enumerating with childish glee as he did so the treasures contained in the bag: "Had I lost you, my dear valise, it would then have been adieu to my little presents—the brooch of chiseled silver for my mother, the Quintus Curtius printed in Bologna for my good and learned father, a vermillion pin for my handsome sister Hena, a bronze writing case, with all its accessories, for the studious Hervé—"
"And that famous flask of Imola wine for your uncle, the Franc-Taupin, who will be delighted to taste the Italian nectar."
"That's not all, Master Raimbaud; I also have for my uncle a fine steel Milanese dagger, which I forged myself at the workshop of Master Gaspard during my idle moments. Oh, dear uncle, I would fear to offend him if I brought him a wine flask only."
"Come, the strap is now fast. Let us resume our way. Once we reach the top of the hill we shall start on a trot, my impatient fellow. I said a trot, did you understand? No galloping! We must husband the strength of our mounts."
Master Raimbaud and his apprentice resumed their route at a rapid pace. Already they descried in the distant horizon the numerous spires and belfries of the churches of Paris. As they were passing before an isolated house on the road, the battered sign of which announced it as a roadside tavern, they heard someone loudly call out to them:
"Master Raimbaud! Odelin! Halloa! Halloa, there!"
"It is my uncle!" cried the lad, startled, and quickly making his horse rear on its haunches. "I recognize my uncle's voice!"
"He must have come out to meet us, apprized by my wife of the day of our arrival," explained the armorer, also reining in. But looking to the right, and to the left, and all around him, he added, not a little surprised: "Where the devil may the Franc-Taupin be niched? He is not in heaven, I suppose, although the voice seemed to come from above."
No less astonished than his patron, Odelin also looked in all directions, when he saw, emerging from the tavern which they had ridden by, a tall Capuchin friar with his face almost wholly concealed in the cowl of his frock, and a chaplet of large beads girdling his waist. The monk moved with long strides towards the travelers.
"Good God!" cried Odelin as the cowl of the monk who ran towards them was blown back by the wind. "My uncle Josephin has become a Capuchin friar!"
"God's head!" exclaimed the armorer, sharing the astonishment of his apprentice. "May the fire of my forge consume me if I ever expected to see such a metamorphosis! The Franc-Taupin a Capuchin friar!"
Seeing that his nephew, upon whom he kept his eyes fixed, was about to jump down to the ground, the soldier of fortune checked him with a wave of his hand, saying:
"Remain on horseback, my boy!"
And addressing the armorer:
"Master Raimbaud, let us go into the tavern. It is a safe place, and there is a stable for your horses. We have matters to talk over."
"Halt here? No, indeed! I am in too great a hurry to embrace my wife. A few hours later, if you should feel so disposed, we may empty a pot of wine at my own house, my gay friend!" answered the armorer, misunderstanding the Franc-Taupin's invitation. "Everything in its season. Business before pleasure. I wish to be back in Paris before night. So, then, good-bye!"
"Master Raimbaud, you can not enter Paris before dark and without great precautions," said the Franc-Taupin in a low voice. "Follow me into the tavern. You can stable your horses there, and I shall impart to you grave tidings, the saddest that you can imagine—but not a word of that to Odelin."
"Be it so! Let us go in," answered Master Raimbaud, turning his horse's head, while evil presentiments assailed him. Ignorant of the secret information whispered by his uncle to the armorer, the apprentice followed the two into the tavern, asking himself with increasing wonderment how the Franc-Taupin could have become a friar.
Josephin pulled down over his face the cowl of his frock and led the two travelers to the yard of the tavern, from which access was had to the stable.
"Unsaddle the horses, my friend," said Master Raimbaud to Odelin, "and give them feed. Join us in the tavern when that is attended to."
"What, Master Raimbaud, are we to stay here when we are barely two hours from Paris!"
"Mind the horses, my boy. I shall tell you afterwards why we must stop here."
Obedient to his master's orders, Odelin unwillingly alighted and threw himself upon his uncle's neck, saying with a voice broken with affectionate remembrances: "My dear uncle! How are mother, father, sister and brother? All well at home?"
Without answering his nephew, Josephin held him in a close embrace. The boy felt upon his cheeks the tears that flowed from his uncle's eyes.
"Uncle, you weep!"
"With joy, my boy!" answered Josephin in a broken voice. "It is out of joy to see you after such a long absence." And disengaging himself from his nephew's arms, he proceeded: "You will join us presently. Ask the tavern-keeper the way to the room in the attic facing the road." Then turning to the armorer: "Come, Master Raimbaud, come!"
Overjoyed at having met his uncle, and consoling himself with the thought that, after all, the hour of seeing his family, so impatiently awaited, might not be greatly delayed, Odelin busied himself with unsaddling the horses and furnishing them with provender. The goodhearted boy, thereupon, in his hurry to offer the Franc-Taupin the little presents he brought him from Italy, rummaged in his valise for the flask of Imola wine and the dagger that he himself forged for him. The boy was anxious to show his affection to Josephin even before he was back home in Paris.
The Franc-Taupin led Master Raimbaud to a room on the top floor of the tavern, facing the highroad. There he informed the armorer of the death of Bridget and of the capture of Hena and Ernest Rennepont, who were since held imprisoned as relapsed sinners; and, finally, of Christian's departure for La Rochelle. The Franc-Taupin's hopes had been verified. The presence of his brother-in-law at Robert Estienne's country house was not suspected. The last ineffectual searches, undertaken by the archers at the house, sheltered him against any further visitations. The influence of Princess Marguerite, and the luster shed upon the reign of Francis I by the marvelous productions of Robert Estienne's printing establishment, combined to save the printing master once more—alas, it was to be the last time!—from the hatred of his enemies. Although a relapsed monk and nun were found on his premises, he was set free and left unmolested. Accordingly, Christian awaited in safety the time when, healed of his wound by the skill of the surgeon Ambroise Paré, who visited him secretly, he could take his departure for La Rochelle. The casket containing the narratives of the Lebrenn family had been concealed by the Franc-Taupin with admirable foresight among the brush of the garden, on the very night after the archers seized Hena. As soon as Christian was able to undertake the journey, he assumed the disguise of a traveling seller of chaplets and relics. The religious traffic was essential to his safety along the road. Carrying on his back his pack of religious trumpery, among which his family legends were secreted, he tramped to La Rochelle, where he arrived safe and sound.
Dumbfounded by these revelations, seeing the deep interest he harbored for Christian and his family, Master Raimbaud exclaimed in distraction:
"Poor Odelin! What an unexpected blow for the unhappy boy! Only a short time ago the mere thought of seeing his family threw him into transports of joy—and now he is to learn—Oh, it is horrible!"
"Horrible!" echoed the Franc-Taupin in sinister accents. "But blood calls for blood! A soldier of adventure since my fifteenth year, already I had become a wolf—now I shall be a tiger! The reformers will draw the sword to avenge their martyrs—no quarter for the assassin priests! By my sister's death!" proceeded the Franc-Taupin, livid with rage and raising his clenched fist heavenward, "call me a wooden-bowled cripple and a lame poltroon if I do not tear up the papists with my very teeth! But," restraining himself, he resumed: "Let us consider what now most presses. Master Raimbaud, here is a letter from your wife. I know its contents. She conjures you not to go back to your establishment, and to take shelter in the place of safety that she mentions. She will join you there in order to consider with you what is to be done. She is a cautious and resolute woman."
"My good Martha alarms herself unnecessarily," observed the armorer after reading his wife's letter. "However violent the persecution of the reformers may be, and although a heretic myself, I have nothing to fear. I work for several seigneurs of the court; I have fashioned their finest arms; they will not refuse me their protection."
"Master Raimbaud, do the papist court jays, with the feathers of peacocks and the talons of vultures, owe you any money?"
"Indeed, they owe me large sums."
"They will burn you to cancel their debts. Make no doubt of that."
"God's head! You may be telling the truth, Josephin! I must consider that."
"Well, then, return secretly to Paris; remain in hiding a few days, gather all your valuables—and flee to La Rochelle. Place yourself beyond the reach of the tigers' claws. It is the best thing you can do."
"But what of the poor lad—Odelin?"
"My nephew and myself will accompany you to La Rochelle. I scent battle and carnage in that quarter. When I say 'battle' I see things red. Here is to the red! I love wine—I shall drink blood! Oh, blood! You shall flow streaming and warm from the breast of the papists, like wine from the bung-hole of a cask. By my sister's death! Oh, for the day when I shall avenge Bridget—Hena—my two poor martyrs!"
After a moment's silent reflection the armorer blurted out: "My head reels under so many afflictions. I forgot to ask you where is Christian's daughter, Hena?"
"She is a prisoner at the Chatelet. Her trial is on," and burying his face in his hands the soldier of adventure added in heartrending tones: "She will be pronounced guilty, sentenced, and brought to the stake—burned alive as a relapsed nun."
"Great God, is such barbarity possible?"
"Hena!" Josephin proceeded without answering Master Raimbaud, "you sweet and dear creature! Image of my sister! Poor child whom, when a baby, I rocked upon my knees—you shall be avenged—"
The Franc-Taupin could not utter another word; he broke down into sobs.
"Unhappy Christian!" exclaimed Master Raimbaud pitifully. "What must not have been his agony!"
"We had to fabricate a tale before we could induce him to depart," answered the Franc-Taupin, wiping his burning eye with the back of his hand. "Monsieur Estienne assured Christian that the Princess had obtained grace for Hena's life, but under the condition that she was to spend her existence in some convent far away from Paris. Christian then decided to flee and preserve himself for his only remaining child, Odelin. He is now safe at La Rochelle."
"And Hervé? You have not mentioned him."
"By my sister's death! Do not mention the name of that monster. I could strangle him with my own hands, child of Bridget's though he be. He has joined the Cordelier monks. He has already preached in their church upon the necessity of exterminating the heretics. The Queen was present on the occasion. They extol the eloquence of the young monk. Death and damnation!" Shivering with horror and disgust, the Franc-Taupin proceeded after a pause: "Never again mention the monster's name in my hearing! May hell swallow him up!"
Uninformed upon the events that led to Hervé's taking orders, the armorer was no less stupefied at the news of the young man's having become a monk than at hearing Josephin give vent to his execration of his sister's son. Nevertheless, unwilling to aggravate the sorrow of the Franc-Taupin, he refrained from dwelling upon a subject that so greatly inflamed him.
"The tidings you have brought me have so upset me that it did not yet occur to me to ask you the reason for your assuming the garb you wear—"
"The reason is quite simple," Josephin broke in; "I was described to the spies of the Criminal Lieutenant; and probably informed against by the two bandits who helped me in the abduction of my niece from the convent. My size and the plaster over my eye make me an easy mark for capture. I took the robe of a Capuchin mendicant because it best enables me to conceal my face. These friars have no convent of their own in the city. A few of them straggle into Paris from time to time from their hives at Chartres or Bourges, to pick up crumbs. If any one of them, coming from Chartres, addresses me, I would say: 'I am from Bourges.' To those from Bourges I shall say: 'I am from Chartres.' I have been established in this tavern for the last three days. I told the inn-keeper that I expected a stranger upon business of my Order. I pay for my lodging regularly every morning. The inn-keeper has not manifested any curiosity about me. Thus, in short, runs the explanation of my disguise. For your own guidance, Master Raimbaud, I shall add that the exasperation of the Catholics against the reformers is just now at white heat. They even talk of slaughtering the Huguenots in mass."
"What are these threats, this increased hatred, attributed to?"
"To certain printed placards clandestinely posted on the walls of Paris by the activity of Christian's friend Justin. The placards scourge the priests, the monks and all other papists. A large number of heretics have already been arrested and sentenced to the stake; others have been massacred by the brutified populace—that huge she-greyhound, with bloody craw, as the monks say when they refer to the poor and ignorant masses. You may judge from that what dangers you would run in Paris, were you to attempt to enter the city openly, you who are pointed at as a heretic. My nephew Odelin runs the same danger. They are ready to seize him the moment he steps into your house."
"What! They want to arrest a child?"
"Children become men with time—and they fear men. I should have stabbed you to death, Ignatius Loyola, when I was your page! It is you who order the father and mother to be burned as heretics, and the three children to be clapped into cloisters to the end of uprooting a stock that you pronounce accursed! But the father has escaped death, and I shall know how to thwart your search after his last child! After that—battle and carnage! By my sister's death—I shall cause the blood of papists to run like water. Time presses—let us make haste. You can not return home, Master Raimbaud, any more than my nephew could safely step into your house. This is the plan I submitted to Monsieur Robert Estienne, and which he approves: I have provided myself with a second Capuchin frock for Odelin. He and I will go to Paris, our bags on our backs, without awakening suspicion. We shall turn in at a friend's on St. Honoré Street, where Monsieur Estienne will call to see us. It is a safe place. Monsieur Estienne has taken upon himself the painful task of informing Odelin concerning the misfortunes that have smitten his family. To-morrow evening we leave Paris again in our disguise, and I shall take my nephew to his father at La Rochelle. Should you also decide to change your residence, and to move to La Rochelle with your wife, we may agree upon some town near Paris in which Odelin and myself could join you. This is for you to consider and decide."
"Your plan seems wise to me, Josephin; I shall probably decide to follow it. From what is happening in Paris, I perceive I would not be safe there."
"Well, then, Master Raimbaud, leave the horses behind in the tavern. One of your employees may come to-morrow for them. Do not enter Paris until after dark and keep your head well hooded. Proceed straight to the house that your wife mentions to you—"
The Franc-Taupin was interrupted in the directions he was issuing by the entrance of his nephew, holding in one hand a flask wrapped in fine paper, and in the other a steel dagger. He held out the two objects with a radiant face to Josephin, saying with exquisite kindness:
"Dear uncle, I forged this dagger for you out of the best steel there was in Milan; I bring you this flask of old Imola wine for you to celebrate this happy day and to drink to the speedy reunion of our family."
So poignant was the contrast between the lad's words and the sad reality of which he still remained in ignorance, that Master Raimbaud and the Franc-Taupin exchanged sad glances and remained silent. Josephin's cowl, now resting wholly upon his shoulders, left his face entirely exposed. So visible were the traces of sorrow and mental suffering that face revealed, that Odelin, now seeing his uncle for the first time wholly uncovered, drew back a step. Immediately he also noticed the profound sadness of Master Raimbaud. Alarmed at the silence of the two, Odelin felt oppressed. He felt a vague presentiment of some great misfortune. Touched by the token of his nephew's affection, the Franc-Taupin took the flask and the dagger, examined the weapon, placed it in his belt under his frock, and muttered to himself:
"Ah, a good blade. You are given to me by the son—you shall wreak vengeance for the mother, the father—and their daughter!" He then placed the flask down beside him, and embracing Odelin, added aloud: "Thank you, my dear boy. The dagger will be useful to me. As to the flask—tastes change—I drink wine no more. Now to business. I have a note for you from your father. Post yourself upon its contents."
"But am I not to see father shortly, at home?"
Not a little astonished, Odelin read: