"Summary of the matters primarily agreed upon between the Duke of Montmorency, Constable; the Duke of Guise, Grand Master and Peer of France; and Marshal St. André, for the conspiracy of the triumvirate, and subsequently discussed at the entrance of the sacred and holy Council of Trent, and agreed upon by the parties herein concerned at their private council held against the heretics and the King of Navarre, because of his maladministration of the affairs of Charles IX, minor King of France, the which King of Navarre is a partisan of the new sect which now infests France."
The Jesuit looked surprised. Deeply interested, he asked: "How is your Majesty in possession of this secret pact?"
"It matters not how."
"In order that the affair be conducted under the highest authority, it is agreed to vest the superintendence of the whole plan in the Very Catholic King of all the Spains, Philip II, who shall conduct the enterprise. He is to remonstrate with the King of Navarre on the score of the support that he affords to the new religion; and if the said Navarrais proves intractable, the said King Philip II is to endeavor to draw him over to him with the promise of the restitution of Navarre, or some other gift of great profit or emolument. By these means the said King Philip II is to soften him, to the end of inducing him to conspire against the heretical sect. If he still resists, King Philip II shall raise the necessary forces in Spain, and fall unexpectedly upon the territory of Navarre, which he will be easily able to be overrun, while the Duke of Guise, declaring himself at the same time chief of the Catholic confession, shall from his side gather armed men, and, thus pressed from two sides, the territory of Navarre can be easily seized."
"So you see, reverend Father, the pact dates back to 1651—eight years ago—and already then did Francis of Guise declare himself chief of the Catholic confession, under the protection of the King of Spain. Neither myself, the Regent, nor my son, the King of France, although then a minor, is at all taken into consideration."
The Jesuit proceeded to read aloud:
"The Emperor of Germany and other Princes who have remained Catholic shall block the passages to France during the war in that country, in order to prevent the Protestant Princes from coming to the aid of the Navarrais, and they will also see to it that the Swiss cantons remain quiet. To that end it will be necessary that the Catholic cantons declare war upon the Protestant ones, and that the Pope give all the assistance in his power to the said Catholic cantons, and that he subsidize them with money and other necessaries for the war.
"While war is thus keeping France and Switzerland busy, the Duke of Savoy shall fall unexpectedly upon Geneva and Lausanne, shall seize the two cities, and shall put all the inhabitants who resist to the sword, and all the others shall be thrown into the lake, WITHOUT DISTINCTION OF AGE OR SEX, to the end that all may be made to feel that divine Providence has compensated for the postponement of punishment with its grandeur, and wills that the children suffer for the heresy of their parents, obedient to the Biblical text."
"Oh, we must all admit, madam," exclaimed the Jesuit, interrupting his reading, "Duke Francis of Guise is nourished with the marrow of Catholicism—"
"We of the house of Valois will suck the identical bone, and we will verify the dream of the Guisard, who was assassinated the very day after he signed this pact—"
Again the Jesuit proceeded to read:
"The same in France. For good and just reasons all the heretics, without distinction, must be massacred at one blow. The peace shall be put to that use. And this mission of exterminating all the members of the new religion shall be entrusted to the Duke of Guise, who shall, moreover, be charged with entirely effacing the name and stock of the lineage of the Navarrian Bourbons, lest from them there may arise some one to undertake the revenge of these acts, or the restoration of the new religion. All these matters are to be kept in mind.
"Matters being thus disposed of in France, it will be well to invade Protestant Germany with the aid of the Emperor and the bishops, and to restore that country to the holy apostolic See. To this end, the Duke of Guise shall lend the Emperor and other Catholic Princes all the moneys proceeding from the confiscations and spoils of so many nobles and rich bourgeois, KILLED in France as HERETICS. The Duke of Guise shall be later reimbursed from the spoils of the Lutherans, who, by reason of the same taint of heresy shall have been killed in Germany.
"The Cardinals of the Sacred College have no doubt that, in the same manner, all the other kingdoms can be turned into the flocks of the apostolic shepherd. But, first of all, may it please God to help and favor these purposes, they being HOLY AND FULL OF PIETY."[65]
"Holy and full of piety were these Catholic purposes!" exclaimed the reverend Father Lefevre laying the pact of the triumvirate upon the table. "Alas, death palsied the hand of the Duke of Guise at the very beginning of his great work!"
"The Lord evidently wished, my reverend Father, to reserve for us, the Valois, the execution of the project that the Guisard organized with a motive of purely personal ambition. I shall hatch the bloody egg that the Lorrainian laid. But the chick can not break the egg except during peace. Then the Huguenots will have ceased to be on their guard; then they will be dozing in false security. The work of extermination will be accomplished with the help of a peace that we shall have brought about. All will be killed—men and women, children and the aged. Not one heretic will escape the avenging sword. Let Rome and Madrid give me time to move! Let Pius V and Philip II give over harassing me continually with their threats on the ground that the war is dragging along! Are hostilities to be suddenly stopped? No, indeed! I must profit, as I have already profited, by all opportunities to destroy as many Huguenots as possible, especially their leaders. The Duke of Alva is right: 'One salmon is worth more than a thousand minnows.' At the first favorable juncture I shall negotiate peace with the Protestants, and grant them all they may demand. The more favorable the treaty shall be to the Huguenots, all the smoother will the rope run that is to strangle them. When the edict is promulgated it shall be scrupulously carried out, in order to induce our adversaries to disarm. At the right moment we shall organize the general massacre, for one day, all over France."
"The Holy Father and the King of Spain shall be posted on your Majesty's project. They will be notified that it is thanks to you, the Duke of Deux-Ponts, Dandelot and the Prince of Condé have been dismissed to appear before their natural Judge."
"People of your cloth, my reverend Father," replied the Queen, "know how to impart an ingenious and peculiar turn to the description of events."
"Madam, seeing we are considering those people in whose behalf we simply advance the hour of final judgment, I wish above all to recommend to the attention of your Majesty that most dangerous German Prince—Franz of Gerolstein."
"The young Prince came last year to my court shortly before the reformers took up arms. He is brilliant, daring and gifted with great military talent. It was due to his influence that the Duke of Deux-Ponts decided to bring to the Protestant army the reinforcement it received of German troops. To-day Franz of Gerolstein is the real head of the forces over which Wolfgang of Mansfeld exercises but titular authority."
"Do you expect to deliver the Church of that pestilential Gerolstein?"
"One of my maids of honor is to take charge of that delicate mission, my reverend Father—" and stopping suddenly short and listening in the direction of a little door that communicated with the apartment, Catherine De Medici asked: "Did you not hear a sound, something like a suppressed cry outside there?"
"No, madam."
"It seems to me I heard a voice behind that door. Throw it open," whispered Catherine to Father Lefevre; "see, I beg you, if there is someone listening!"
The Jesuit rose, pushed open the door, looked out, and returned: "Madam, I can see nobody; the corridor is dark."
"I must have deceived myself. It must have been the moaning of the wind that I heard."
"Madam," said Father Lefevre as he resumed his seat, "once we are considering dangerous persons, I request you to mention to your generals two heretics in particular—Odelin Lebrenn and his son, armorers by trade, who serve in the Admiral's army as volunteers. I would urge you to recommend to your generals that they spare the lives of both heretics if they are ever taken prisoners."
"Did I understand you correctly, my reverend Father? The lives of the two miscreants are to be spared?"
"The grace extended to them will be but a short respite, which we would put to profit by wresting from them certain valuable secrets with the aid of the rack—before dismissing them to their supreme Judge."
"Those are details, my reverend Father, with which I can not burden myself. Upon such matters you must treat with Count Neroweg of Plouernel, the chief of my escort."
At the name of Neroweg of Plouernel the Jesuit gave a slight start. With a face expressive of gratification he remarked: "Madam, Providence seconds my wishes. There is none fitter than the Count of Plouernel for me to address myself to in this affair."
"Let us return to more weighty questions, my reverend Father. I have still two words to say to you concerning the Cardinal of Lorraine. This evening the Guisard strove to make me believe that Marshal Tavannes, the commandant of the army of my son of Anjou, was treating secretly with Coligny. According to the Cardinal, the plot is to offer my son the sovereignty of the Low Countries, besides Guyenne and other provinces, upon condition that he embrace the Reformed religion. Have you received any inkling of these projects through your spies? Unless your own interests render it necessary for you to deceive me on this head, answer me truthfully. I know how to hear and bear the full truth on all matters."
The Jesuit reflected for a moment; he then made answer: "Yes, madam; we are informed on those negotiations—indeed, it is due to that very information that it was decided to send me upon the present mission to your Majesty."
"And, with the view of thwarting the plot, did the Cardinal of Lorraine induce Philip II to propose the Duke of Alva to me for general-in-chief of the Catholic army, with young Henry of Guise, the Cardinal's nephew, and his brother, the Duke of Aumale, as Alva's lieutenants?"
"The proposition was made to the King of Spain. It is true."
"Who, no doubt, received it favorably?"
"Yes, madam. But his Catholic Majesty was not then aware of the latest happenings which you communicated to me, the same as he is still ignorant of your resolution to put an end to the heresy when the moment shall have come to strike the decisive blow, as you explained it."
"You are now informed on the contents of the letter which I showed you from my son of Anjou, regarding the project against Coligny. The Cardinal lied knowingly when he accused my son of dealing with the Admiral. Of course he knows the Marshal and my son will stoutly deny the charge. He merely seeks to arouse doubts and suspicions in my mind, hoping I may be frightened into transferring the command of the French army into the hands of the Duke of Alva and his nephew."
"The Cardinal's falsehood, madam, did not lack skill. It was an adroit diplomatic move."
"Now, my reverend Father, let me sum up our interview—war upon the Huguenots, merciless war, while it lasts; thereupon the offer or acceptance of a peace, which is to be utilized by us in preparing their extermination. That is my line of conduct."
"My mission to you is ended, madam. To-morrow I shall take my departure and return to inform the King of Spain and the Holy Father of the happy deeds done, and those in contemplation, all of which guarantee the execution of your promises for the future."
"My reverend Father, is it in my power to bestow any favor upon you, to grant you a present? It is a right enjoyed by all negotiators."
"Madam, we care but little for the goods and honors of this world. All I shall ask of you is to cause your son, King Charles IX, to change his confessor, and take one from our Society, the reverend Father Auger. He is an able and accommodating man, skilful in understanding everything, permitting everything—and advising everything."
"I promise you I shall induce my son Charles to take Father Auger for his confessor. Good night, my reverend Father, go and rest. I shall see you to-morrow before your departure and deliver to you a letter for the Holy Father."
The Queen rang twice the little bell that lay at her elbow. A page entered: "Conduct the reverend Father to Count Neroweg of Plouernel."
She then rang again, not twice, but three times. After bowing to Catherine De Medici the Jesuit withdrew upon the steps of the page. Almost immediately Anna Bell stepped into the apartment through the door that opened upon the corridor.
Catherine De Medici was struck by the pallor and the troubled, almost frightened, looks of her maid of honor as she presented herself upon the summons of the bell. Fastening a penetrating look upon Anna Bell, the Queen said:
"You look very pale, dearest; your hands tremble; you seem unable to repress some violent emotion."
"May your Majesty deign to excuse me—"
"What is the cause of your great agitation?"
"Fear, madam. I was hurrying to answer your summons, and—as I crossed the dark corridor—whether it was an illusion or reality, I know not, madam, I thought I saw a white figure float before me—"
"It must be the ghost of some deceased belle, who, expecting still to find here the sturdy abbot of the monastery, came to pay him a nocturnal visit. But let us leave the dead to themselves, and turn our thoughts to the living. I love you, my pet, above all your companions."
"Your Majesty has taken pity upon a poor girl."
"Yes; it is now about eight or nine years ago, that, as Paula, one of my women, was crossing the Chatelet Square, she saw an old Bohemian wench holding a little girl by the hand. Struck by the beauty and comeliness of the little one, Paula offered to buy her. The gypsy quickly closed the bargain. Paula told me the story. I desired to see her protegé. It turned out to be yourself. The Bohemian woman must have kidnapped you from some Huguenot family, I fear, judging from a little lead medal that hung from your neck and bore the legend—A Pastor calling the sheep of the Church out of the desert—a common expression in the cabalistic cant of those depraved people."
"Alas! madam, I preserve no other memento of my family—you will pardon me for having kept the medal."
"Well, from the instant that Paula brought you before me I was charmed with your childish gracefulness. I had you carefully trained in the art of pleasing, and placed you among my maids of honor."
"Your Majesty enjoys my unbounded gratitude. Whenever you commanded I obeyed, even when you exacted a sacrifice—whatever it may have cost me—"
"You are alluding, my pet, to the conversion of the Marquis of Solange! I said to you: 'Solange is a Huguenot; he is influential in his province; should war break out again, he may become a dangerous enemy to me; he contemplates leaving the court;—make him love you, and be not cruel to him; a handsome lass like you is well worth a mass.' The bargain was struck. We now have one Catholic more, and one virgin less."
Anna Bell hid her face, purple with shame.
Without seeming to notice the young girl's confusion, Catherine De Medici proceeded: "By the virtue of your beautiful eyes Solange has become a fervent Catholic and one of my most faithful servitors. You gave me in that instance proof of your complete devotion. For the rest, it was a sweet sacrifice on your part, my pet; Solange is an accomplished nobleman, young, handsome, brave and witty. It is not now about that lover that we have business on hand. I have other plans for you. I am thinking of marrying you. I wish to make a Princess of you, and verify the most cherished of your secret wishes—which I have guessed. Anna Bell, you do not love Solange; you never loved him; and you nourish in the recesses of your heart a desperate passion for the young Prince Franz of Gerolstein."
"Good God! Madam. Have pity upon me! Mercy!"
"There is nothing pitiful in the matter. The Prince is made to be loved. His reputation for bravery, magnificence and gallantry ran ahead of him to my court, where you saw him last year. He often conversed with you tête-a-tête. When other women sought to provoke him with their allurements your face grew somber. Oh, nothing escapes me! Affairs of state do not absorb me to the point that I can not follow, with the corner of my eye, the cooings of my maids of honor. It is my mental relaxation. I love to see beauty in its youth devote itself to the cult of Venus, and put in practice the saying of Rabelais' Thalamite—'Do what you please!' How often did I not seat myself among you, my dear girls, to chat about your gallants, your appointments, your infidelities! What delightful tales did we not tell! How you all led the poor youngsters by the nose! Truth to say, they returned you tit for tat, and with usury, to the greater glory of the goddess Aphrodite! And yet, my pet, although I had trained you a true professional of the Abbey of Thalamia, with Cupid for your god and Voluptuousness for your patron saint, you ever remained out of your element among your companions. Serious and melancholy, you are a sort of nun among my other maids. What you need is devoted and faithful love; a husband whom you can adore without remorse; a brood of children to love. That is the reason, my pet, why I wish to marry you to Franz of Gerolstein."
"It pleases your Majesty to mock me—take pity upon poor Anna."
"No joke! You admit you love the young and handsome German Prince. I can read in your soul better than you could yourself. I shall tell you what your thoughts are at this moment: 'Yes, I love Franz of Gerolstein! But a deep abyss separates us two, and will always separate me from him. He is in the camp opposed to that of the Queen, my benefactress; he is the head of a sovereign house; he is ignorant of my passion, and if he did know, he never could think of wedding me! What am I? A poor girl picked up from the street. I already have had one gallant. Besides, Catherine De Medici's maids of honor enjoy a bad, a deservedly bad, reputation. The satires and the pasquils designate us with the appellation of the Queen's Flying Squadron. I should be crazy to think of marriage with Franz of Gerolstein—'"
"Madam, take pity upon me!" broke in Anna Bell, no longer able to restrain her tears. "Even if what you say is true, even if you read to the very core of my thoughts—please do not sport with my secret sorrows."
"My pet, hand me the little casket of sandal wood, ribbed in gold, that lies upon yonder table. It contains wonderful things."
Anna Bell obeyed. The Queen selected one of the little keys attached to her girdle and opened the casket. Nothing could be more fascinating to the eyes than the contents of the chest—embroidered and perfumed gloves, smelling apples, dainty-looking vermillion confectionery boxes, filled with sugar plums of all colors, and several vials of gold and crystal. Catherine De Medici picked out one of these, reclosed the casket carefully and returned it to Anna Bell. The maid of honor replaced it upon the table and returned to the Queen. Smiling benignly and holding up the golden, glistening vial before her victim, the Queen said: "Do you see this, my pet? This little vial encloses the love of Franz of Gerolstein."
"What a suspicion!" was the thought that flashed through Anna Bell's mind and froze her to the floor. But the terror-stricken girl quickly regained her self-control at that critical moment. "I must not," was the second thought that flashed through her mind close upon the first, "I must not allow the Queen to notice that I know her purpose."
"Do you believe, my pet, in the potency of love-philters?"
"This evening," answered the young girl with an effort to control her emotions, "this very evening Clorinde of Vaucernay was telling us, madam, that a lady of the court succeeded by means of one of those enchanted potions in captivating a man who, before then, had a strong dislike for her."
"You, then, believe in the potency of philters?"
"Certainly, madam," answered Anna Bell anxious not to awaken the Queen's suspicions; "I must have full confidence in their efficacy, seeing it is proved by such incontestable facts."
"The merest doubt on the subject is unallowable, my pet; to doubt would be to shut one's eyes and deny the light of day. Now, my little beauty, the philter contained in this vial, is put together by Ruggieri, my alchemist, under the conjunction of marvelously favorable planets. It is of such virtue that only a few drops, if poured out by a woman who wishes to be loved by a man, would suffice to turn him permanently amorous of her. Take this philter, my pet—go and find your Prince Charming. Let him drink the contents of this vial—and grant him the gift of an amorous mercy."
Anna Bell no longer suspected, she comprehended the Queen's intentions. For a moment she was seized with terror and remained silent, mechanically holding the vial in her hand. The Queen, on her part, attributing the stupor and silence of Anna Bell to an excess of joy, or, perhaps, to the apprehension caused her by the thought of the many and great dangers to overcome in order to approach her Prince, proceeded to allay her fears:
"Poor dear girl, you are as speechless as if, awakened with a start from a dream, you find it a reality. You are surely asking yourself what to do in order to reach Franz? Nothing easier—provided your courage is abreast of your love."
Controlling her troubled mind, Anna Bell answered with composure: "I hope, madam, I do not lack courage."
"Listen to me carefully. We are only a few leagues from the enemy's army. I shall issue orders to Count Neroweg of Plouernel to furnish you with a safe conduct up to the Huguenot outposts. You shall be carried in one of my own litters, drawn by two mules. By dawn to-morrow morning you can not fail to run against some scout or other making the rounds of the Protestant camp—"
"Great God! madam. I tremble at the bare thought of falling into the hands of the Huguenots!"
"If your courage fail you, all will run to water. But you may be quite certain that you run no risk whatever. The Huguenots do not kill women—especially not such handsome ones as yourself. You will be merely the prisoner of the miscreants."
"And what am I to do then, madam?"
"You will say to those who will arrest you: 'Messieurs, I am one of the Queen's maids of honor; I was on my way to join her Majesty; the leader of my litter struck a wrong road; please take me to Prince Franz of Gerolstein.' The rest will go of itself. The Huguenots will take you to the Prince. Like the nobleman that he is, my little beauty, he will keep you at his lodgings or in his tent, he will yield you the place of honor at his table—and—in his bed. You will have more than one opportunity to improve Franz's wine with a few drops of the philter."
The Queen's instructions were interrupted at this point by the entrance of a page who came to announce that Count Neroweg of Plouernel prayed for admission to the Queen's presence upon pressing and important matters. Catherine ordered the page to introduce the Count, and she bade Anna Bell godspeed, kissing her on the forehead and adding these last instructions:
"Prepare immediately for your journey, my pet. The Count of Plouernel will appoint the guide who is to accompany you. One of my equerries will get a litter ready. I expect to see you again before your departure."
The maid of honor followed the Queen's instructions. Seeing that the interview with the Count of Plouernel lasted longer than she had anticipated, Catherine De Medici was prevented from seeing Anna Bell again, and sent her a note to depart without delay.
Towards one o'clock in the morning the maid of honor mounted in one of the Queen's litters, left the Abbey of St. Severin.
The sun was rising. Its early rays gilded the crest of a forest about a league distant from St. Yrieix, a large burg that served as the center of the Protestant encampment. A chapel, formerly dedicated to St. Hubert by an inveterate hunter, raised its dilapidated walls on the edge of the wood, the skirts of which were now guarded by mounted scouts, posted at long intervals. The chapel had been devastated during the religious wars. Its belfries, the capitals and the friezes of its portico were broken; its windows were smashed in; the statue of St. Hubert, the patron of hunters, lay decapitated in the midst of other debris, along with that of the seigneur who founded the holy shrine, chosen by him for his sepulcher. The fragments of his marble image, representing him lying prone, with hands joined in prayer, hunting horn slung over his shoulder, his favorite greyhound stretched at his feet—all lay strewn around the mortuary vault, now gaping wide open and cumbered with ruins. The interior of the chapel now served as a stable, and also as guardhouse to a picket squad of the Huguenot army, posted at the spot. The pickets' horses, ready saddled and bridled, stood drawn up in double row in one of the low-roofed aisles and on either side of a door that communicated with the old vestry. For want of forage the beasts were eating the green leaves of large bunches of branches thrown at their feet. The riders, either standing, or seated, or stretched out at full length, wrapped in their cloaks, were not dressed in uniform. Their offensive and defensive arms, however, dissimilar and worn, were in usable condition.
This band of Huguenot volunteers took the name of the Avengers of Israel. Josephin, the Franc-Taupin, named by the Catholics "The One-Eyed," was their commander. On all occasions the Avengers of Israel approved themselves animated by an intrepidity that was matchless, always claiming for themselves the post of greatest danger, and always found first in battle. The indomitable courage of the Franc-Taupin, his exceptional skill in guerilla warfare, his pitiless hatred for the papists, upon whom he swore to avenge the fate of his sister Bridget and his niece Hena, earned for him the leadership of these resolute men.
On this day, at sunrise, the commander presided at a species of tribunal consisting of several of his companions in arms, all seated in the midst of the ruins of the chapel of St. Hubert. The years had whitened the hair and beard of the Franc-Taupin, without impairing the fiber of his energy. An old rust-covered steel breastplate over his chest answered the purpose of corselet; his wide hose of red cloth were half covered by a pair of high leather boots heavy with dust; at his belt, which also contained his cartridges, hung a short stick suspended from a piece of pack-thread, and indented with sixteen notches—each tallying the death of a priest or monk. The dagger of fine Milan steel, a present from Odelin, hung on the Franc-Taupin's right side, while at his left he wore a long sword with an iron hilt. The Franc-Taupin's bronzed and haggard features, rendered all the more sinister by the large black patch which covered one eye, were at this moment expressive of sardonic cruelty. He was sitting in judgment upon a Cordelier, a man of tall and robust build, who was captured in the early morning prowling in the forest. Some letters found about his person proved that the tonsured gentleman was a spy of the royalist army, and one of the Avengers of Israel recognized him as one of the monks who took part in the carnage of Mirebeau, where nearly twelve hundred Huguenot prisoners were put to death with frightful refinements of cruelty. Surrounded by several of his companions, who, like himself, were seated upon the ruins of the altar, the Franc-Taupin drew his dagger and was engaged in leisurely sharpening it upon a stone that he held between his knees, without looking at the monk who, livid with rage and terror, and standing a few steps aside with his arms tied behind his back, was uttering maledictions at the top of his voice:
"Accursed and sacrilegious wretches! You abuse your strength! The hand of the Lord will fall heavy upon you! Heretical dogs!"
The Franc-Taupin calmly sharpened his dagger. "Good!" he exclaimed. "Be brave, my reverend! Disgorge your monastic bile! Crack your apostolic hide! It will not make your fate any worse. Be prepared for the worst, and you will still be far behind what I have in store for you. We care nothing for your threats."
"Neither can anything render your fate worse than it will be, reprobates," howled the Cordelier, "when the whole pack of you, to the very last one, will be hurled into the pit of everlasting flames!"
"By my sister's death!" the Franc-Taupin answered. "You make a mistake to mention 'flames.' You remind me of what I never forget—the fate of my niece, who, poor innocent creature, was plunged twenty-five times into the burning pyre. Brothers, instruct the tonsured fellow upon our reasons for enrolling ourselves in the corps of the Avengers of Israel, and why we are pitiless."
Accordingly, while the Franc-Taupin continued to whet his dagger, one of the Huguenot soldiers thus addressed the monk:
"Monk, listen! In full peace, after the Edict of Orleans, my house was invaded during my absence by a band of fanatics. The vicar of the parish led them. My old and blind father, who remained at home in my house, was strangled to death. It is to avenge my father that I enrolled myself with the militia of the Avengers of Israel. Therefore, death to the papist Church! Death to all the tonsured felons!"
"Marshal Montluc held command in Guyenne," continued a second Huguenot. "Six soldiers, attached to his ordnance company, lodged at our farm-house. One day they forced the cellar door, drank themselves drunk, and violated my brother's wife. Wounded with cutlass cuts in his endeavor to defend her, he dragged himself bleeding to the headquarters of Marshal Montluc to demand justice. Montluc ordered him to be hanged! Monk, I have sworn to avenge my brother! Death to the papists!"
"I also am from Guyenne, like my companion," came from another Huguenot. "One Sunday, relying upon the Edict of Longjumeau, I attended services with my mother and sister. A company of Marshal Montluc's swashbucklers, led by a chaplain, invaded the temple, chased out the women, locked up the men in the building, and set it on fire. There were sixty-five of us inside, all without arms. Nine succeeded in making their escape from the flames. The rest, burned, smothered by the smoke, or crushed under the falling roof, all perished. The women and young girls were dragged to a nearby enclosure; they were stripped to the skin; they were then compelled at the point of pikes to dance naked before the papist soldiers; and were finally forced to submit to the lechery of their persecutors. My mother was killed in her endeavor to save my sister from that crowning outrage; nine months later my sister died in childbed of the fruit of her rape. Monk, I swore to avenge my sister! I swore to avenge my mother! Death to the papist seigneurs and nobles!"
"I come from Montaland, near Limoges," a fourth Huguenot proceeded. "Three months after the new edict, I attended services with my young son. A band of peasants, led by two Carmelites and one Dominican, rushed into the temple. My poor boy's head—he was not yet fifteen—was cut off with a scythe, and stuck upon a pole. Monk, I swore to avenge my son! Death to the whole monastic vermin!"
"Was it I, perchance, who committed the acts that you are seeking to avenge?" howled the Cordelier. "Cowardly felons!"
At this the Franc-Taupin interrupted the sharpening of his dagger, cast a sardonic look at the monk, and cried: "Oh! Oh! This is the seventeenth time I hear that identical remark—you being the seventeenth tonsured gentleman whom I sentence. Do you see this little stick? I cut a notch in it at each reprisal. When I shall have reached twenty-five the bill will be settled—my sister's daughter was plunged twenty-five times into the furnace, at the order of the Catholic priests, the agents of the Pope.
"Monk, it stands written in the Bible: 'Life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.'[66] Well, now, instead of burning you, as should be done, I purpose to make you a Cardinal."
Saying this the soldier of fortune described with the point of his dagger a circle around his head. The monk understood the meaning of the frightful pantomime. The Avengers of Israel threw him down and held him fast at the foot of the altar. The Franc-Taupin passed his thumb along the edge of his weapon, and sat down upon his haunches beside the patient. At that moment one of the riders rushed precipitately into the chapel, shouting:
"A good prize! A good prize! A maid of honor of Jezebel!"
The arrival of the captive girl suspended the torture of the monk who remained pinioned at the feet of Josephin. The Franc-Taupin rose, and cast a look upon the female captive, who was none other than Anna Bell. The features of the hardened soldier relaxed, a tremor ran over his frame, he hid his face in his hands and wept. It seemed to him as if he saw in the young captive Hena, the poor martyr he so deeply mourned! The otherwise inexorable man remained for a moment steeped in desolate thoughts, in the midst of the profound silence of the Avengers of Israel. The maid of honor stood cold with fright. She realized she was in the power of the terrible One-Eyed man, the ferocity of whom spread terror among the Catholics.
The Franc-Taupin passed the back of his hand over his burning and hollow eye, the fierce fire of which seemed kindled into fiercer flame by the tear that had just bathed it. Turning with severity to Anna Bell he ordered her to step nearer:
"You are a maid of honor to the Queen?"
With a trembling voice Anna Bell replied: "Yes, monsieur, I belong to her Majesty the Queen."
"Where do you come from?"
"From Meilleret. Tired with travel, I stopped for rest at the village. From there I proceeded on my journey to join the Queen.—My guide lost his way. Your riders stopped my litter.—Have pity upon me and order that I be taken to Monsieur the Prince of Gerolstein. I think I may rely upon his courtesy."
"At what hour did you leave Meilleret?"
"About one this morning."
"You lie! It is hardly five o'clock now—you traveled in a litter—it takes more than eight hours to come from Meilleret to this place on horseback and riding fast."
"Monsieur, I conjure you, have me taken to the Prince of Gerolstein—it is the only favor I entreat of your kindness," cried Anna Bell, trembling and stammering.
Struck by the insistence with which the maid of honor requested to be taken to Prince Franz of Gerolstein, the Franc-Taupin contemplated her with mistrust. Suddenly he ordered:
"Search the woman!"
Two Huguenots executed the order, and extracted from Anna Bell's pockets a purse, a letter and the gold vial. The Franc-Taupin opened the letter, the seal of which was broken; read it; looked puzzled over a passage in the missive and remained for a moment thoughtful. But immediately struck by a sudden inspiration, he darted a fierce glance at the maid of honor, examined the gold vial in silence, and holding it up to Anna Bell, said:
"Woman, what does that vial contain?"
With a great effort, Anna Bell replied, "I—I—know not."
"Oh, you know not!" cried the Franc-Taupin, breaking out in a sardonic guffaw. "Miserable creature. You seem to have the audacity of a criminal."
He stepped slowly towards the young girl, seized her by the arm, and holding the vial to her lips, cried:
"Drink it on the spot, or I stab you to death!"
Anna Bell, terror-stricken and fainting, dropped upon her knees, crying: "Mercy! Mercy! I beg of you, mercy! Pity! Mercy!"
"Poisoner!" exclaimed the Franc-Taupin.
The maid of honor crouched still lower upon her knees, hid her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. The Huguenots looked at one another stupefied. Again silence reigned.
"Brothers," said the Franc-Taupin, breaking the silence, "listen to the letter that you have just taken from this woman's pocket:
"A courier from my son Charles has arrived from Paris, my pet, compelling me to have an immediate conference with the Cardinal. I can not see you before your departure. Adieu, and courage. You will reach your Prince. I forgot one important recommendation to you. The philter must be emptied quickly after the stopper is removed from the vial.
"The letter is signed 'C. M.'—Catherine De Medici! Here we have it! The Queen sends one of her strumpets to poison Franz of Gerolstein!"
Still under the shock of the cowardly assassination of Condé, and of the recent deaths by poison of the Duke of Deux-Ponts and the Admiral's brother, the Huguenots broke out into imprecations. The youth and beauty of the maid of honor only rendered her criminal designs all the more execrable in their eyes. The moment was critical. Anna Bell made a superhuman effort—a last endeavor to escape the fate that threatened her. She rose on her knees and with clasped hands cried:
"Mercy! Listen to me! I shall confess everything!"
"O, Hena," cried the Franc-Taupin with savage exaltation. "Poor martyr! I shall avenge your death upon this infamous creature—beautiful like yourself—young like yourself! Throw together outside of the chapel the branches that our horses have bared of their leaves. The wood is green—it will burn slowly. We'll tie the poisoner and the monk back to back upon the pyre the instant I have ordained him a Cardinal."
In chorus the Huguenots shouted: "To the pyre with the monk and the poisoner!"
Anna Bell's mind began to wander. Livid and shivering she crouched in a heap upon the ground, her voice choked in her throat, already rigid with terror, and escaped only in convulsive sobs. The Avengers of Israel hurried to heap up the bare branches around a tall oak-tree planted before the portico of the chapel. The Franc-Taupin stepped towards the Cordelier, who muttered in an agonizing voice, "Miserere mei, Domine—miserere!"
Again the solemnity of ordaining the monk a Cardinal was suddenly interrupted. The sound of an approaching and numerous cavalcade reached the Avengers of Israel. A moment later Prince Franz of Gerolstein appeared at the head of a mounted troop.
The personage who now stepped upon the scene was the grandson of Charles of Gerolstein, who in 1534 assisted at the council of the Calvinists in the quarry of Montmartre, together with Christian the printer. The young Prince was twenty-five years of age. The short visor of his helmet exposed his features. Their regularity and symmetry were perfect; they expressed at once benevolence and resolution. Of tall and wiry build, the young man's heavy black cuirass, worn German fashion, and his thick armlets, seemed not to weigh upon him. His wide hose, made of scarlet cloth, were almost overlapped by his long boots of buff leather armed with silver spurs. A wide belt of white taffeta—the Protestants' rallying sign—was fastened with a knot on one side.
Immediately upon entering the chapel the Prince addressed the Franc-Taupin:
"Comrades, I have just learned that your scouts have arrested one of the Queen's maids of honor—"
Before the Franc-Taupin had time to answer the Prince, Anna Bell jumped up, ran to Franz, and threw herself at his feet, crying: "For mercy's sake, monsieur, deign to hear me!"
Franz of Gerolstein recognized the young girl at once. He reached out his hand to her and made her rise, saying: "I remember to have met you, mademoiselle, at the French court, last year. Be comforted. There must be some untoward misunderstanding in regard to you."
Anna Bell in turn seized the Prince's hands and covered them with kisses and tears. "I am innocent of the horrible crime that they charge me with!" she cried.
"Prince," broke in the Franc-Taupin, "the woman must die! The wretch is a poisoner; she is an emissary of Catherine De Medici; and you were singled out for her victim. We are about to do justice to the case."
"No pity for the prostitutes of the Italian woman! None for her messengers of death!" cried several Huguenots.
But Franz of Gerolstein interposed, saying: "My friends, I can not believe in the crime that you charge this young girl with. I knew her at the court of France. I often spoke with her. Whatever the deplorable reputation of her companions, she is a happy exception among them."
"Oh! thank you, monsieur," exclaimed Anna Bell in accents of ineffable gratitude. "Thank you, for testifying so warmly in my favor—"
"Prince, the hypocrite had her mask on when she conversed with you!" insisted the inexorable Franc-Taupin. "Read this letter from the Queen. You will learn from it the reason why her maid of honor threw herself intentionally into the hands of our outposts, and immediately requested to be taken to your tent. As to this vial," he turned to Anna Bell, "does it contain poison, yes or no?"
"Monsieur, do not allow appearances to deceive you—if you only knew!" cried Anna Bell, in distress.
Franz of Gerolstein cast upon the maid of honor a frigid look; then, turning away his head, he stepped towards the door of the chapel. Anna Bell rushed after the Prince, fell again at his feet, clasped his knees and cried: "Monsieur, do not forsake me! In the name of your mother, deign to listen to me! It is not death I fear—what I fear is your contempt—I am innocent!"
The accent of truthfulness often touches the most prejudiced of hearts. Moved, despite himself, Franz of Gerolstein stopped, and looking down upon the maid of honor with pain and pity, said:
"I grant your prayer—I wish still to doubt the crime that you are accused of—explain the mystery of your movements." He looked around, and noticing the vestry door that led from one of the aisles of the chapel, he added, "Come, mademoiselle, I shall listen to you without witnesses in yonder private place."
With an effort Anna Bell arose, and with staggering steps she followed Franz of Gerolstein into the vestry. Arrived there, the maid of honor collected her thoughts for a moment, and then addressed the young Huguenot Prince with a trembling voice in these words:
"Monsieur, before God who hears me—here is the truth: Last evening, shortly before midnight, at the Abbey of St. Severin where the Queen halted for rest, she summoned me to her, and after reminding me of all that I owed to her generosity, because," and Anna Bell broke down weeping, "I am a waif, picked up from the street—out of charity—one of the Queen's serving-women bought me about ten years ago, as she informed me, from a Bohemian woman who made me beg before the parvise of Notre Dame in Paris—"
"How came you to become a maid of honor to Catherine De Medici?"
"The woman who took me in showed me to the Queen, and, to my misfortune!—to my disgrace!—the Queen interested herself in me!"
"To your misfortune? To your disgrace?"
"Monsieur," answered Anna Bell as if the words were wrung from her heart, "Alas! although barely beyond girlhood, two years ago, thanks to the principles and the instructions that I received, and the examples set to me, my education was perfect and complete, I was found worthy of forming part of the Queen's 'Flying Squadron'!"
"I understand you! Poor girl!"
"That is not all, monsieur. The day came when I was to prove my gratitude to the Queen. It happened during the truce in the religious wars. The Marquis of Solange, although a Protestant, often came to court. He was to be detached from his cause, monsieur. He had manifested some inclination towards me. The Queen called me apart. 'The Marquis of Solange loves you,' she said; 'he will sacrifice his faith to you—provided you are not cruel towards him.' I yielded to the pressure from the Queen. I had no consciousness of the indignity of my conduct until the day when—"
Anna Bell could proceed no further; she seemed to strangle with confusion, and was purple with shame. Suddenly frightful cries, proceeding from the interior of the chapel, startled the oppressive silence in the vestry. The cries were speedily smothered, but again, ever and anon, and despite the gag that suppressed them, they escaped in muffled roars of pain. Frightened at these ominous sounds, the maid of honor precipitately took refuge by the Prince's side, seeming to implore his protection and muttering amid sobs:
"Monsieur—do you hear those cries—do you hear the man's moans?"
"Oh!" answered Franz of Gerolstein, visibly depressed with grief. "Forever accursed be they, who, through their ferocity, were the first to provoke these acts of cruel reprisal!"
The moans that reached the vestry gradually changed into muffled and convulsive rattles that grew fainter and fainter. Silence prevailed once more. The expiring monk was ordained Cardinal by the Franc-Taupin.
"I arrived in time, mademoiselle, to rescue you from the vengeance of those pitiless men," resumed the Prince. "The candor of your words would denote the falseness of the accusations raised against you. And yet, this letter from the Queen, this vial, would seem to furnish convincing testimony against you."
"Last evening," Anna Bell proceeded, "notified by our governess that the Queen wished to speak to me, I awaited her orders in a dark corridor that separated my chamber from the Queen's apartments. At the very moment I was about to open the door I heard your name mentioned, monsieur. The Queen was speaking about you with Father Lefevre, a priest of the Society of Jesus, one of the counselors of the King of Spain."
"To what purpose was my name mentioned by the Queen and the Jesuit?"
"It seems that, in their opinion, monsieur, you are a redoubtable enemy, and the Queen promised Father Lefevre to rid herself of you. One of her maids of honor was to be commissioned to execute the murder through poison. The maid of honor chosen was myself. Madam Catherine selected me for this horrible deed. Frightened at what I had overheard, an involuntary cry of horror escaped me. Almost immediately I heard footsteps approach the door of the Queen's apartment. Luckily I had time to regain my own chamber without being heard or even suspected of having overheard the Queen's words. Presently she rang for me. The Queen began by reminding me of her acts of kindness to me, and added she decided to fulfil the dearest and most secret wishes of my heart. 'Anna Bell,' she said, 'you no longer love the Marquis of Solange; you have transferred your affections to the Prince of Gerolstein, whom you saw at court last year.' Take this vial. It contains a philter that makes one beloved. A guide will take you to the outposts of the Huguenots; you will fall into their hands; you will then ask to be taken to the Prince of Gerolstein. He is a nobleman, he will take pity upon you, he will lodge you in his tent. Love will inspire you. You will find the opportunity to pour a few drops of this philter into Franz of Gerolstein's cup—thus you will reach your Prince'—and these are the words which the Queen repeated to me in her letter."
"And guessing that the philter was poison, and fearing to awaken the Queen's suspicions, you feigned readiness to accept the mission of death? That, I suppose, is the complement of your story?"
"Yes, monsieur. I hoped to warn you to be on guard against the dangers that threaten you!"
Exhausted by so many emotions, and crushed with shame, the poor girl dropped down upon one of the benches in the vestry, hid her face in her hands, and wept convulsively.
The revelation, bearing as it did the stamp of irresistible candor, awakened in the heart of Franz of Gerolstein a deep interest for the ill-starred young woman.
"Mademoiselle," he said to her in a firm yet kind tone, "I believe in your sincerity—I believe your account of your misfortunes."
"Now, monsieur, I can die."
"Dismiss such mournful thoughts—perhaps an unexpected consolation awaits you. Owing to certain details that you mentioned concerning your early years, I am almost certain I know your parents. You must have been born at La Rochelle, and was not your father an armorer?"
"Yes!" cried Anna Bell. "Yes! I remember how the sight of glistening arms delighted my eyes in my childhood."
"Did you not, at the time you were kidnapped from your family, wear any collar or other trinket that you may have preserved?"
"I wore around my neck, and have preserved ever since, a little lead medal. I have it here attached to this chain."
Franz of Gerolstein ran to the door of the vestry and called for Josephin. The Franc-Taupin approached, stepping slowly, and engaged in imparting the latest notch to the stick that hung from his cartridge belt: "Seventeen! There are still eight wanting before we reach twenty-five! Oh! My bill shall be paid, by my sister's death! My bill shall be paid!"
Franz of Gerolstein inquired from the Franc-Taupin: "What was the age of Odelin's child when she was kidnapped!"
With a look of surprise the Franc-Taupin answered: "The poor child was eight years old. It is now ten years since the dear little girl disappeared."
"Did she wear anything by which she might be identified?" pursued Franz.
"She wore from her neck," said the Franc-Taupin with a sigh, "a medal of the Church of the Desert, like all other Protestant children. It was a medal that I presented to her mother the day of the little creature's birth."
Franz of Gerolstein held before the Franc-Taupin the medal that Anna Bell had just given him, and said: "Do you recognize this medal? Josephin, this young girl was kidnapped from her family ten years ago—she carried this medal from her neck—"
"Oh!" cried the Franc-Taupin, looking at Anna Bell with renewed confusion. "She is Odelin's daughter! That accounts for my having been from the first struck with her resemblance to Hena."
"Do you, monsieur, know my parents?" it was now Anna Bell's turn to ask. "Pray tell me where I can find them."
But overcome with emotion, the Franc-Taupin said: "But Oh! what a shame for the family! What a disgrace! A maid of honor to the Queen!"
The Franc-Taupin was quickly drawn from his mixed emotions of sorrow and joy. More important work was soon to be done. An officer entered the vestry, bringing orders from Admiral Coligny for the vanguards and outposts to fall back without delay toward St. Yrieix. Franz of Gerolstein immediately conveyed the Admiral's orders to the Avengers of Israel, who crowded behind the officer, and then turned to Anna Bell, saying:
"Mademoiselle, come; remount your litter. We shall escort you to St. Yrieix. I shall impart to you on the road tidings concerning your family—of which I am a member."
"What a revelation to Odelin—and to Antonicq!" the Franc-Taupin thought to himself, "when they learn within shortly, at St. Yrieix, that this unfortunate creature—the disgraced and dishonored maid of honor to the Queen is the daughter of the one and the sister of the other!"
The Avengers of Israel and the squadron of German horsemen, with Franz of Gerolstein at their head, completed their reconnoisance about the forest and fell back upon St. Yrieix. The chapel of St. Hubert remained deserted and wrapped in silence. The morning breeze swung the body of the monk as it hung limp from a branch of the oak-tree in front of the portico of the holy place. Horrible to look at were the features of the corpse. They preserved the impress of the Cordelier's last agonies. The skin was ripped from the head. It had the appearance of being covered with a red skull cap.
Abominable reprisals, without a doubt; and yet less abominable than the crimes of which they record the expiatory vengeance.
The burg of St. Yrieix stood in the center of the staked-in camp occupied by the army of Admiral Coligny. An inflexible disciplinarian, Admiral Coligny maintained rigorous order among his troops. Never was pillage allowed; never marauding. His soldiers always paid for all that they demanded from city folks or peasants. He went even further. Whenever it happened that, scared at the approach of armed forces, the peasants fled from their villages, the officers, executing the express orders of Admiral Coligny, left in the houses the price of the vegetables and forage with which the soldiers provisioned themselves and their beasts in the absence of the masters of the place. Finally, as a necessary and terrible example—thieves caught redhanded were inexorably hanged, and the stolen objects tied to their feet. Finally there never were seen at the Huguenot camps the swarms of women of ill fame that ordinarily encumbered the baggage of the Catholic army, and that, according to the ancient practice, were placed under the supervision of the "King of the Ribalds."
The habits of the Protestants in the army of Admiral Coligny were pious, austere and upright. This notwithstanding, the Admiral found it impossible to impose rigid discipline upon the numerous bands that from time to time attached themselves to his main forces, usually conducted a guerilla warfare, and emulated the royalists in rapine and cruelty.
The Admiral, the Princes of Orange, of Nassau and of Gerolstein, the sons of the Prince of Condé who was assassinated upon orders from the Duke of Anjou, young Henry of Bearn, besides many other Protestant chiefs, occupied several houses at St. Yrieix. The ancient priory served as the Admiral's quarters. Early in the morning, as was his wont, Admiral Coligny left his lodgings accompanied by his servants, to attend the prayers held in the Huguenot camp and called the "Prayer of the Guard." The officers and soldiers of the Admiral's post, together with those of some neighboring ones, filled on these occasions the courtyard of the priory, and standing erect, bareheaded, silent, they awaited in meditation the hour of raising their souls to God. Old soldiers grey of beard and seamed with scars; young recruits, barely beyond adolescence; rich noblemen, raised in the spacious halls of castles; field laborers, as well as artisans from the cities, who rallied to the defense of the "Church of the Desert"—all animated with an ardent faith, would there unite upon the level of Evangelical equality. The seigneur, battling side by side with his vassal for the holy cause of freedom of conscience, saw in him only a brother. Thus germinated among the Protestants the tendencies toward fraternity that were later to cause the distinctions of castes and races, so much prized by royalists, to vanish. A slight murmur, betokening the affection and respect that he inspired, greeted the Admiral's arrival. The rude fatigues of many wars had bent his tall and one-time straight figure. His white hair and beard, together with the pallor of his noble visage, now profoundly changed since the death of his brother, who was treacherously poisoned, imparted to the aspect of the supreme chieftain of the Protestant armies a venerable and touching expression. Encased from his neck down in armor of burnished iron, without any ornament whatever, and half concealed under a flowing cloak of white cloth—the Huguenot color—the Admiral was bareheaded. Beside him stood the brave Francis of Lanoüe, a young Breton nobleman. Courage, honor, kindness, were stamped upon his manly and loyal countenance. A sort of steel arm, artistically forged by Odelin Lebrenn, with the aid of which Monsieur Lanoüe could guide his horse, replaced the arm that the daring captain had lost in battle. When the murmur that greeted the Admiral's arrival subsided, one of the pastors, Feron by name, who attended the army, uttered in a benign voice the following short prayer:
"Our trust lies in God, who made the heavens and the earth.
"Our Father and Savior, since it has pleased You, in the midst of the dangers of war, to preserve us last night and until this day, may it please You to cause us to employ it wholly in Your service. Oh, heavenly Father! Our brothers rely upon our vigilance. They rely upon us, their defenders. Deign by Your grace to help us in faithfully fulfilling our charge, without negligence, or cowardice. Finally, may it please You, O Lord of Hosts, to change these calamitous times into happy times where justice and religion shall reign! Not then shall we any longer be reduced to the necessity of defending ourselves; then will Your holy name be glorified more and more the world over! All these things, O Lord, our Father! O, good God! we beg of You in the name and by the grace of our Savior Jesus Christ. We pray to You to increase our faith which we now confess, saying: I believe in God the omnipotent Father, and in his Son the Redeemer.
"May the blessing of God the Father, the grace and the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ remain and dwell forevermore among us in the communion of the Holy Ghost.
"Amen!"[67]
"Amen!" responded Admiral Coligny devoutly and in a grave voice.
"Amen!" answered the soldiers.
The morning prayer had been said.
While the Admiral was religiously attending morning service in the courtyard at his headquarters, Dominic, the servant of his household who was captured shortly before by the royalists, was engaged in executing the crime plotted by the Duke of Anjou jointly with the captain of his guards.
Dominic stepped into the chamber of Coligny; he moved about cautiously, with eyes and ears alert, watching from all sides whether he was either seen or heard; he approached a table on which, standing beside several scrolls of paper, was an earthen bowl containing a refreshing drink that Coligny was in the habit of taking every morning, and which his faithful equerry Nicholas Mouche always prepared for him. Mouche was at the moment at prayers with the Admiral, together with the rest of the household servants. Dominic purposely did not join his comrades that morning; he figured upon their absence to carry out his nefarious deed. The poisoner took up the earthen bowl to drop the poison in. For an instant he hesitated. Brought up in the house of Coligny and ever treated by his master with paternal kindness, the thoughts of the wretch for an instant conjured up the past before him. Then cupidity stifled pity in the assassin's breast. He took out of his pocket a scent-bag containing some grey powder, shook the contents into the bowl, and stirred it, in order to mix the poison well with the liquid. Dominic was placing the bowl back from where he took it when he heard steps approaching. Quickly and tremblingly he slid away from the table. It was Odelin Lebrenn, bringing back the Admiral's casque, which was sent to him to repair, it having been bent in the day before by a ball from a large arquebus while the Admiral was on a reconnoitering expedition. Although serving as a volunteer with his son Antonicq in the Protestant army, Odelin exercised his trade with the help of a portable forge. Thirty-three years had elapsed since the day when he returned to Paris with Master Raimbaud. He was now bordering on his forty-eighth year. His beard and hair were grizzled with grey. His features betokened frankness and resolution. Odelin had not seen Dominic since his capture by the Catholics. He now congratulated him heartily upon his escape from the enemy, but remarking the wretch's pallor, he added:
"What is the matter, my dear Dominic? You look ashy pale."
"I do not know—what—you mean—" stammered Dominic, saying which the poisoner rushed out precipitately.
The hurry of the man's departure, his pallor and flutter, awakened the armorer's suspicion; but these thoughts were quickly crowded out of his mind by the sudden appearance of his son Antonicq, who ran in with flustered face and tears in his eyes, crying:
"Oh, father! Come quick! In heaven's name come to the Prince of Gerolstein who is just back to camp with uncle Josephin, the Franc-Taupin."
At this moment, Nicholas Mouche, the Admiral's confidential equerry entered his master's room. Not seeing the face of either Odelin or his son, both having their backs turned to the door, he cried out in surprise and alarm:
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" But instantly recognizing the armorer and his son, for whom he entertained warm esteem, he added: "Excuse me, my dear Lebrenn, I did not recognize you at first. Excuse me. You and your son are really members of the household. Your presence here need not alarm me for my master's safety."
"I brought back Monsieur Coligny's casque," Odelin explained, "and my son came after me. I do not yet know the cause of his excitement. See how flustered his face is! What extraordinary thing has happened, my boy?"
"My sister—Marguerite—whom we thought lost forever—has been found—"
"Great God!"
"Come, father—the Prince—and my uncle—will tell you all about it—they will narrate to you the extraordinary affair—"
"What!" exclaimed Nicholas Mouche, looking at Odelin. "Is the poor child who disappeared so long ago found again! Heaven be praised!"
"Oh, I can not yet believe such a happy thing possible!" said Odelin, his heart beating between doubt and hope.
"Come, father, you will know all!"
"Adieu!" said the armorer to Nicholas, as he followed his son, no less wrought up than the young man.
"Poor father!" mused the old equerry as he followed Odelin with his eyes. "Provided only he is not running after some cruel disappointment!" Approaching his master's writing table to assure himself that the Admiral was supplied with ink, Nicholas's eyes fell upon the earthen bowl. He noticed that it was full to the brim—untouched.
"Monsieur the Admiral has not taken a single mouthful of his chicory water! Truth to say, in point of taking care of himself, the dear old hero is as thoughtless as a child! But here he is! He shall not escape a lecture;" and addressing Coligny, who now returned to his room after prayers, the equerry said in a tone of familiar reproach that his long years of service justified: "Well, Monsieur Admiral; what about your chicory water! The bowl is as full as when I brought it in early this morning—"
"That is so," answered Coligny with a smile. "The trouble lies with you. You make the drink so frightfully bitter that I postpone all I can the hour of gulping it down."
"That is an odd reason, Monsieur Admiral! Is not the bitterness of the drink the very thing that gives it virtue? Monsieur, you are going to drink it now—on the spot—and before me!"
"Come, let us compromise—I promise you that the bowl shall be empty within the next hour. Are the horses saddled and bridled?"
"Yes, monsieur. If we ride out this morning I shall bring along Julien the Basque and Dominic to take charge of your relay horses. The poor fellow Dominic, despite the mishap of the day before yesterday, which might have cost him dear, begged me this morning to choose him as one of the footmen to accompany you to-day, if there is to be any engagement."
"Dominic is a worthy servant."
"What else should he be? Was he not brought up in your house, monsieur, and the son of one of your oldest servants, the worthy forester of the woods of Chatillon?"
"Oh, my dear house of Chatillon, my meadows, my woods, my vines, my grain fields, my thrifty laborers—am I ever to see you again?" remarked Coligny with a melancholic sigh. "Oh, the country life! The family life!" The Admiral remained in silent meditation for a moment, then he added:
"Leave me alone. I have some writing to do."
The equerry left the room. Monsieur Coligny stepped slowly towards the table, drew a campstool near, and sat down upon it. With his forehead resting on his hand he remained long lost in revery, musing to himself:
"Why should this thought have come to me to-day, more than any other day? I know not. God inspires me. Let us listen to His warnings. At any rate, it is well to have our accounts clear with heaven. Besides, it is my duty to answer before God and men the accusations that are preferred against me. It is my duty to answer the capital and defaming sentence that has been hurled against me and mine."
Taking a scroll from the table, the Admiral read: