It was in the grey of the morning on the following day that a party of horsemen, now amounting in all to the number of fifteen or sixteen, was seen winding through the little wood, which at that time occupied the ground in the neighbourhood of Chaumizy, a spot which in the present day sends forth many an excellent bottle of sparkling wine, to warm the hearts of many a distant potator.
To any eye which watched the progress of that party from a height--and there was an eye which did so--the movements of the band might seem complicated and curious,--now turning to the east, now winding to the west--now marching on straight forward to the north. One thing, however, was evident, that those horsemen affected by-paths and shady roads, never crossing a hill where they could take their way through the valley, never choosing the open ground where they could go through the wood. Sometimes the eye which, as we have said, watched them from the most elevated ground in the neighbourhood, lost them for several minutes amongst the trees and vineyards, sometimes saw them emerge when it least expected them, sometimes was baffled altogether in regard to a conception of their onward course, by the strange turns and windings which they took.
Nevertheless the band still continued to advance in its own way, winding amidst the brown leafless woods, with Charles of Montsoreau completely armed at its head; Gondrin, little less formidably equipped by his side on the right hand, and the boy Ignati, now dressed completely as a page, with pistols at his saddlebow, and a strong dagger on his thigh, upon the left hand of the young nobleman. Then came, mixed together, the attendants of the Count--all as we have described them before, strongly armed;--two or three strangers of military appearance, clothed in general in grey suits with a double black cross observable on some parts of their garments; and two or three hardy spirits from the little village of Mareuil, who had been hired to swell the numbers of the Count's train, as they passed across the dangerous part of the country between Chalons and Rheims.
Amongst the rest of the persons thus mixed together, might be observed Maître Henri, dressed precisely as he had been the night before, though most of the other personages in grey had contrived to purchase in the village of Mareuil several pieces of defensive and offensive armour, such as steel caps, called salads, breast plates, and the large heavy swords then in use against cavalry, which, like the attendants of Charles of Montsoreau, they bore naked in their hands.
Very few words were uttered as the band rode along: sometimes an order was given in a low voice by the young count, sometimes, while the rest continued to advance, he rode back, to speak to some one in the rear, sometimes he addressed a few words to Gondrin or the page; but in general all passed in silence.
"Are you sure you know your way?" he demanded at length of the boy Ignati, on their suddenly taking a path which appeared more than usually out of the direct course.
"As well as I know the lines on my own hand, sir," replied the boy in the Italian language, which he had discovered that his master understood. "I would rather lose my eyes than lead you or him a step wrong."
"Who do you mean by him?" demanded Charles of Montsoreau, in the same tongue.
"I mean him with the scar," replied the boy.
"Why, what is he to thee?" asked his master.
"Why, he is the only one in all the land," replied the boy, "that ever was kind to me before yourself; and I remember seven months ago, when they made me dance and sing at a great banquet in the town of Nancy, he patted my head, and called me a good youth, and while all the rest showered money into the box my master carried round, he gave me a broad piece, and told me it was for myself. They took it from me afterwards: but he did not know that."
"Then recollect him, and you know him?" demanded his master.
"Grey cloth and brown baize will not hide him from me," replied the boy, with an intelligent smile, "though when I saw him, it was crimson velvet and gold. The heart has its eyes, dear lord, as well as the head, and the heart's eyes never forget."
"Well then, Ignati," replied the Count, "in case of any attack--which we cannot be sure will not take place--you attach yourself to his side, quit him not for a moment, serve him in every thing; but in the very first place guide him on towards Rheims, by the safest paths that you know."
"But must I leave you?" demanded the boy--"must I leave you in the hands of the enemy?"
"Never mind me," replied his master--"I will defend myself, good Ignati. Besides, they can scarcely be called my enemies, as I have taken no service against them."
Just as he spoke, the band issued forth from the little by-path which they had been pursuing, into one of the main roads through the wood, and saw before them, at the distance of about a hundred yards, an old grey stone cross, raised upon several steps, in the very centre of the road, marking the spot where two ways crossed. When first they came within sight of that memento of past years, the ground around it was completely solitary: but before they reached it, five or six heavy armed horsemen came at a quick pace up the road leading to the left and planted themselves round the cross. The moment they reached it, one of their party took off his steel cap, and waved it in the air, looking at the same time down the road by which he had come, as if giving a signal to some persons who followed him.
To the eyes of Charles of Montsoreau and his companions these indications wanted no explanation, nor was any consultation necessary; for it was evident that there was but one thing to be done, namely, to endeavour to force a passage through this little advanced party of the reiters before the main body could come up.
"Quick to the side of Maître Henri," exclaimed Charles of Montsoreau, speaking to the page. "You, Gondrin, too, attach yourself to him. Leave nothing undone to secure his escape; and now forward, my men! Upon them!"
He turned one anxious glance round in the direction of his newly acquired companion; but saw--with some surprise, perhaps--nothing but a calm, unperturbed smile on his countenance. Maître Henri was quietly drawing his sword from its sheath, and in answer to the anxious look of Charles of Montsoreau, only gave a familiar nod, saying, "Go on!"
The young count's orders had been already given, and his horse was instantly put into the gallop. The reiters on their part seemed to require neither parley nor explanation any more than the young count; and instantly separating into two parties, they occupied the road on either side of the cross: he, who was evidently the commander, again waving his steel cap in the same direction as before.
Charles of Montsoreau saw that all depended upon speed, and the prompt execution of his commands; and, turning to the man who followed immediately behind him, he exclaimed, without at all checking his pace as he did so, "Pass round to the right of the cross with two others; but where the passage is forced, attach yourself to drive back the men on the left of the cross, up the road to the left; while I with the rest bar that road against those that are coming up."
The man seemed to understand at a word; and in a moment more they were at the spot where the two roads crossed. As he came up, Charles of Montsoreau turned his head for an instant, and, to his great satisfaction, saw that a large body of horse, which was coming down at full speed, was still at a considerable distance.
That turning of his head, however, had nearly cost him his life; for the three men immediately behind him, having been detached to the other side, one of the reiters, emboldened by this circumstance, spurred suddenly forward, and aimed a long heavy stroke at the head of the young nobleman, which struck him upon the neck, and had it not been for the goodness of his arms, must inevitably have killed him on the spot. As it was, the blow made the count bend almost to his saddle-bow: but it was only to raise himself again immediately, and to return the blow with a force and vigour which cast the reiter headlong from his horse.
At the same time the three men whom he had detached, passed round to the right of the cross. The reiters, who were opposed to them on that side, prepared to stop their progress; but as they were about to do so, they perceived Gondrin, the page, and Maître Henri, with one of his attendants, advancing at full speed a little further to the right. This was enough to make them desist their opposition to the others, and turn to close the path on that side, while the three followers of Charles of Montsoreau, taking advantage of the space thus left, wheeled upon the men on the left side of the cross, and drove them back, trampling upon their fallen companion.
The young nobleman, as soon as he saw the success of this manœuvre, drew in his rein for a moment, in order to suffer it to be fully executed, and the reiters to be driven back into the road up which they had come. On the other hand, they, finding themselves decidedly overmatched, suffered this to be accomplished with ease, and made the best of their way back towards the larger body of their comrades, who were now coming down at full speed to their support.
The moment that Charles of Montsoreau saw this accomplished, he turned his head once more to Maître Henri, exclaiming, "On, on, with all speed! I will insure you at least ten minutes:". and then, without waiting for any answer, he brought the greater part of his men into the road down which the chief body of the reiters was advancing, and prepared, as best he might, to stand the coming shock, which was certain to be tremendous.
In the mean while, Maître Henri, with Gondrin on one side, and the boy on the other, had advanced at full speed towards the three reiters on the right of the cross. One of the stranger's own attendants followed only a step behind; but as they came up, a fierce-looking, powerful man, from amongst their opponents, aimed his petronel right at the head of Maître Henri, exclaiming, "I know thee! I know thee!" and was in the very act of firing, when the page, making his horse spring forward, endeavoured to grasp the muzzle of the piece.
He did not succeed entirely, but was enabled to turn the weapon in some degree, so that the ball passed through the tall Spanish hat of Maître Henri; and being fired from the higher ground on which the cross stood, entered the head of the attendant who was coming up behind, and killed him on the spot. The contest at that point was thus rendered a very unequal one, there being but two men, and one of those nearly unarmed, with a boy of fourteen or fifteen, opposed to three strong and well-armed men.
As all knew, however, that the party headed by Charles of Montsoreau could maintain the road but a very short time against the force coming down upon him, the gain or loss of a minute was every thing to those who were struggling on the right of the cross. The long heavy sword usually borne by the reiter was but feebly opposed by the light weapon of Maître Henri; but that light weapon was used with a degree of skill, coolness, and presence of mind which made up for the disparity; and, with the page still close to his side, he was driving back his immediate opponent, warding off every sweep of his heavy blade, pressing him so hard whenever he paused for a moment, as to prevent him from snatching one of the pistols from his saddle-bow, and gradually urging his own charger onward, till he had very nearly cleared the road before him, when one of the other two reiters--who had hitherto attached themselves to Gondrin, as the only completely equipped man-at-arms of the opposite party--turned suddenly upon Maître Henri, and assailed him on the right, while the other rapidly recovered his ground upon the left.
Never, however, did skill, strength, and presence of mind, do so much for one individual as they did for the man in grey. For a moment or two he applied himself solely to the defensive, wheeling his horse from the one to the other, as they attacked him with the most extraordinary rapidity and skill,--now parrying one blow, now parrying another, and still watching for an opportunity of resuming the offensive. At length the reiter who was assailing him on his right hand, seeing that their other companion had by this time been well nigh mastered by Gondrin, determined to end all by killing the horse of the man opposed to him, and with the bridle in his teeth, and his sword in both hands, aimed a tremendous blow at the poor animal's head; but Maître Henri instantly divining his intention, turned the spur sharply into the horse's side, and reined him to the left at the same time.
The noble animal, practised for years to comprehend the slightest indication of its rider's will, instantly took a demivolte, as it was called, to the left with a sharp spring. The reiter's sword descended with tremendous force; but the object at which he had aimed was just beyond his reach, and the weight of the sword, with the impetus he had given the blow, nearly threw him from the saddle, making him bend down to his saddle-bow. The opportunity was all that his opponent desired; his horse was turned like lightning, and before the man could raise himself, he received a severe wound in the back of the neck, which made heaven and earth, and the whole scene around, swim dizzily before his eyes.
The other reiter on the left, however, was upon the successful swordsman in a moment. By this time his pistol was in his hand, and a very slight movement brought the muzzle within a foot of Maître Henri's bosom.
That advantage retained for one single second more might have changed the destiny of many thousands of human beings; but at the very moment that he was sure of his aim, and about to draw the trigger, a strong, well-aimed, unhesitating blow from the hand of the page, drove the dagger, with which he was armed, under the very arm which held the pistol, between it and his corselet. So strong, so determined was that blow, that the weapon entered to the very haft, and there remained, fixed between the corselet and the brassard, so that the boy could not withdraw it.
But that mattered not, the weapon had cut through many a vital part in its passage; the sick faintness of death came upon the man's heart and brain; the pistol and the reins dropped from his hands; and, after a reeling attempt to keep the saddle, he fell headlong to the ground.
One glance of the eye had shown Maître Henri all that took place; and without uttering a word, he continued the fight with his other antagonist, taking advantage of the wound he had given him, and pressing him so hard, that at length the horse, reined back upon the slippery ground of the forest road, reared, and fell over with his rider, crushing him under its weight.
By this time, though the space that had elapsed was very short, Gondrin had so far got the better of his antagonist, that the man's steel cap had fallen off under the repeated blows of the huntsman, and a deep bleeding wound in the forehead showed that the protection of the casque was not a little wanting. The sight of one of his companions dead upon the ground, and of the horse falling over with the other, did not give him any very great encouragement to pursue the strife; and he was making the best of his way, closely pursued by Gondrin, towards the branch of the road which led up to the right, when the voice of Maître Henri attracted the huntsman's ear, exclaiming, "Leave him, leave him! Let us make our way onward, with all speed, now that the road is clear."
Gondrin certainly asked himself, "Is it fair and right to leave my noble master thus?" But the orders of that master had been distinct, and he obeyed at all risks, following Maître Henri, who galloped on with a degree of speed which, to the eyes of the huntsman, seemed somewhat unseemly. At the distance of about a mile and a half, however, the road took a turn to the left; and, in a moment, a large body of horse was before the eyes of the fugitives, advancing at a somewhat quick pace towards the scene where the late contest had taken place. On the left breast of each corselet appeared a double cross; and, without drawing his rein for a moment, Maître Henri galloped up towards them, while a loud shout of "The Duke! the Duke!" burst from the ranks of the soldiery.
Few, however, were the words which the man in grey spoke. He wheeled his horse at their head, bade Gondrin and the page get into the rear; adding, "You have had fighting enough for to-day, my friends,"--and in a moment the whole body was put to full speed, and advancing towards the cross, in the heart of the wood.
They came but up in time, however; for Charles of Montsoreau, though contending pertinaciously for every inch of ground, from a knowledge of how needful was each moment to his companion, had been driven back by superior numbers into the other road, and, though still keeping his face to the enemy, and closing the path against them, was losing ground rapidly.
In the first shock with the reiters, he had turned his head to ascertain that there was no space left for the passage of the enemy, and had beheld, to his surprise, that two or three of Maître Henri's servants had remained with him, instead of following their master. In answer to an exclamation expressive of his surprise, however, one of the men merely replied, "It was his order;" and the fierceness of the struggle that ensued left no room for farther inquiry.
The number of reiters amounted to at least fifty men; and had the space been open, the young cavalier must have been overpowered in a moment. But the arrival, nay, the very sight, of the strong body that now came down to his assistance, changed in a moment the aspect of the whole scene.
At a single word from the lips of Maître Henri, the lances of the three first lines of his horsemen were levelled in an instant; the reiters halted in mid-career; and Charles of Montsoreau, at once comprehending what had occurred, opened the way, as far as possible, by drawing his wounded and weary followers out of the road, and plunging their horses, where they could, in amongst the trees. The reiters wavered for a moment, as if hesitating whether to retreat at once, or endeavour to make a stand; but so sudden and unexpected was the appearance of the adverse horse, that nothing had been prepared for retreat; and the commander found himself forced to maintain his ground for a time, till the ranks that followed could be wheeled and withdrawn.
In the mean time, with loud cries of "Lorraine! Lorraine[2]! A Guise! a Guise!" the adverse cavalry came down; but the German horse could not stand for a moment before the long lances of the men-at-arms, and in a few minutes all was confusion, flight, and pursuit.
As soon as the cavalry of Lorraine had passed by, Charles of Montsoreau drew his men out again from the wood, and, perfectly secure from any further annoyance, began to count his loss, and to examine into the state of the wounded men who had continued to fight on by his side. He himself was bleeding from a sharp wound in the head, received from so strong a blow of one of the reiter's heavy swords, that not even his steel cap had been able to protect him. He had another wound, also, from a pistol ball in the left arm; but it was very slight, and had not prevented him from managing his horse with ease. Almost every man about him was more or less wounded, and some severely, but only two had been left on the ground from which he had been driven; and he hastened on after the two parties still engaged in conflict, to see for those who were thus missing.
Luckily, the reiters, in their retreat, had followed the straight road behind them, instead of taking that by which they came; otherwise the whole force of charging cavalry must have passed over the young count's two followers.
One of them was still living, and afterwards recovered, though he was at the time so severely wounded in the leg that he could not move from the spot where he lay. The other was quite dead, a pistol ball having passed through his head.
The road through the wood was now, for a minute or two, turned into an hospital; and all that was possible was done to stanch the bleeding of the wounds which had been received, and to put the men in a state to pursue their onward journey towards Rheims. Nor were the wounded reiters themselves neglected; for Charles of Montsoreau was not one to forget, as soon as the eagerness of the actual strife was over, that his adversaries were his fellow-men.
This had been scarcely completed, and the young count once more on horseback again, when the sound of distant trumpets ringing merrily through the wood gave notice that the horsemen of Lorraine were on their return; and in a few minutes after a group of some six or seven cavaliers, with Maître Henri at their head, appeared coming up the road, followed at the distance of a couple of hundred yards by the body of cavalry he had met with so opportunely. All was laughter and merriment amongst the little group of officers; and, though Maître Henri himself was not loud in his mirth, he came on smiling at the jests and gibes of the others, and sometimes answering them in the same strain, though with a manner somewhat chastened and stately.
At the distance of about twenty or five and twenty yards from the young count, he held up his hand to the troops that followed, pronouncing die word "Halt!" Then riding up with his group of officers, he grasped Charles of Montsoreau warmly by the hand; and, turning to those who followed, said, "Noble lords, to this gallant gentleman, to his courage, skill, determination, and good faith, I owe life or liberty. You are witnesses that, in the fullest manner, I acknowledge the debt, and that in no manner will I fail to pay it, when he chooses to call upon me."
"Your highness is too generous in your consideration of the service," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "I came from a distant part of France to seek you, in order to offer you my poor services--perhaps somewhat tardily--in your efforts to chase from the soil of our native country bands of foreign adventurers who have no business to meddle with our intestine quarrels. I found you likely to be surprised by accident by one of those bands; and what could I do less than assist you to the utmost of my power?"
"Our views of the extent of the service," replied the Duke of Guise, with the bright smile of his house playing on his lip, "must be somewhat different, I fear, my young friend. But now we have met, we will not part speedily. You must be my guest, and go on with me, first to Rheims, and then to Soissons, with all speed. There we will talk of our future alliance; for the Count de Logères and the Duke of Guise shall treat together as crown to crown, and nobody call it treason. I have," he continued in a lower voice, but with a marked and meaning smile--"I have to ask you many questions in regard to a fair child of our house, who has, according to her letters and to yours, received the same protection and defence at your hands which you have this day afforded her uncle. Perhaps it may be on her account that you come to seek me. Is it so, good friend?"
The words of the Duke--those words which, under other circumstances, might have been the brightest and the dearest to the heart of Charles of Montsoreau--now entered into his spirit like a sword. The beaming smile of his race upon the lip of the princely Guise called up before the eye of fancy in a moment the form of the beautiful and beloved being on whose countenance he had first seen it. All his tenderness--all his affection for her--all the deep, unchangeable attachment of his heart--were felt at that moment more deeply, more powerfully, than ever; but, at the same time, strong upon his mind, came the bitter resolution he had taken to yield his hopes of happiness, to cast away his chance, his most probable chance, of the brightest joy that fancy could dream of, and to yield to the brother who had ill-treated him all those advantages which he himself of right possessed.
The blood fled from his cheek to his heart, as if to strengthen it against the pains and against the temptations of that moment; and the Duke of Guise, seeing him turn very pale, judged, perhaps, wrongly of his feelings, and again grasped him by the hand, saying, "Fear not, fear not, good friend. Come, let us on upon our way. I may meet with tidings at Rheims to hasten my progress onwards."
During the two days that followed the events recorded in the last few pages, Charles of Montsoreau had scarcely any opportunity of speaking with the Duke of Guise, without that multitude of listeners around, which renders all conversation general and frequently insignificant. It is true he dwelt in the same splendid hotel which served the Duke for his residence in the city of Rheims; that he dined with him at the same table; that he was present on every occasion when he received the nobles who flocked around him. But the continual press of business of various kinds, the constant coming and going of couriers from and to Paris and Nancy; the writing of letters that seemed innumerable, and the almost hourly consultations with different members of the clergy and officers of the army, seemed to occupy the whole private time of the Duke of Guise, and to leave him no space for either thought or repose.
At length on the third morning, when the young nobleman had breakfasted with the Duke in company with the Duke of Nemours, the Baron d'Aussonville, the bailiff of St. Michael, and a number of other gentlemen, with two or three ladies of the good town of Rheims--who seemed not a little anxious to attract the attention of the Duke--Guise, on rising to proceed to other business, drew his young friend aside for a moment, and asked him some questions concerning the wounded men. The Count replied that they all bade fair to recover; and after a few words more, spoken in the same tone, and evidently intended for the ears of those around, though apparently addressed to him in private, the Duke dropped his voice nearly to a whisper, saying, "I have much to talk with you about. Sup with me alone to-night at nine o'clock, when I trust we shall have time to make all our arrangements."
Charles of Montsoreau did not miss the hour; but descending from the apartments which had been assigned to him, and which were immediately over those of the Duke, he proceeded to the hall where he had usually found him, but in which he now met with no one but a solitary lute-player, a great favourite with the Duke of Guise. The musician was now seated with his instrument in his hand, with one of his feet raised upon the huge andirons of the fireplace, and his hands employed in striking from time to time a few low and listless sounds from the instrument that lay upon his knee. The man had thus been apparently left solitary for some time; for no sooner did Charles of Montsoreau appear, than, seizing him by one of the buttons of his doublet, he began to tell him a long story, of not the most interesting kind, from which the young count would willingly have delivered himself.
Perhaps the greatest art of human benevolence that can be conceived, is that of listening with a tolerable appearance of satisfaction to a tiresome tale; and Charles of Montsoreau, whose heart was really kind and gentle, and who had not yet learned in the great wise school of the world the lesson of treading upon the feelings of others, did his best to seem interested, till one of the Duke's servants entered the room, and, after a glance around, retired without any further announcement. A moment or two after, while the young nobleman was still in the sort of durance in which the lute-player held him, the servant again made his appearance, and, walking straight up to him, informed him that the Duke wished to speak with him in his cabinet.
"Show me the way," said the young nobleman, detaching his button from the grasp of the musician--"show me the way, and I will come directly."
"Oh, I will go with you, and show you the way," exclaimed the lute-player: "I've no idea of staying here all by myself, as melancholy as a rat in a rat-trap."
"His Highness particularly said," observed the servant in a dry tone, "that he wished to converse with Monsieur de Logères alone."
The lute-player looked confounded and mortified; but Charles of Montsoreau, not a little pleased to be rid of his company, followed the attendant, and in a few moments was ushered into the Duke's cabinet. It was a small but somewhat lengthened octangular room, lined throughout with dark black oak, carved in the most exquisite manner. From the centre of the ceiling hung a silver chain, bearing a large lamp of the same material, with eight burners. At the further end of the room was the fireplace, and in the midst a small table with two covers and a number of dishes and cups of silver, some plain, some jewelled at the rim.
The Duke himself was standing at the farther side with his back to the fire, reading a letter by the light of a small lamp which shed its rays over his shoulder; and certainly as he stood there, now dressed in the magnificent costume of those days, partially reclining against the projecting chimney, with the letter raised in his hand, the light of the lamp streaming over his shoulder, but catching brightly upon his cheek and lip, and on the rich brown beard and mustachio, with the deep carved oak behind him, and a certain sort of gloomy splendour round that part of the room, there probably never was any thing so graceful, so princely, so dignified, as his whole appearance.
He folded up the letter as soon as Charles of Montsoreau's step sounded in the cabinet, and banishing a slight frown which had been upon his brow while reading, he advanced to the table with a smile saying, "Our viands are getting cold, Monsieur le Comte."
"I went into the usual hall," replied the young nobleman, "not knowing where to find your Highness, and fearful of intruding upon you."
"I should have told you, I should have told you, dear friend," replied the Duke: "when I wish to have an hour in private for conversation with any of my most confidential friends, I sup in my own cabinet, which is the only place to which my worthy countrymen and acquaintances will grant the right of sanctuary.--Now Martinez," he continued, speaking to the servant, "uncover the dishes, put us down some good wine, bring me in a naquet to hold our dirty platters, and then leave us."
"The attendant did as he was commanded, removed the tops of the dishes, put several bottles of wine down by the side of the Duke, and after bringing in a sort of buffet on a small scale, somewhat like what we now call a dumb waiter, but which was then called by the name of naquet, (though that word was only properly applied to the marker of a tennis-court), he retired, shutting the door closely behind him.
"This is an hour of relief," said the Duke, as soon as the man was gone; "for our business to-night, dear count, must of course be light and easy to us both--light to you, because you have nothing to do but to express your wishes and desires to Henry of Guise, and light to me, as nothing can be more joyful to my heart than to show my gratitude for the services that you have rendered me, and to express, in every manner in my power, my esteem and regard for yourself, and my admiration for your conduct."[3]
"Oh, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau, "I thought you had forgotten by this time to use such high-flown expressions towards me."
"Call them not high-flown, good friend," replied the Duke: "persons situated as I am, dealing with and often obliged of sheer necessity to excite the worst passions of our fellow-creatures, meet so rarely with frank, disinterested service, that when it comes upon us in the sudden way that yours has come upon me, without claim, without expectation, without any previous notice, it strikes us as something both wonderful and beautiful; and we admire, as we would the visit of an angel, that which gives us a view of a fairer state of being than the one with which our daily thoughts are familiar. Besides, if I must own the truth, too, there was something in the frankness--some of my adulators would call it the bluntness--with which you dealt with me in the little inn at Mareuil, evidently knowing me all the time, but still treating me as the comrade of an inn dining-room, which, as you may suppose, struck me not a little. But a truce to all fine speeches: let us begin our supper; and after doing justice to what Maître Lanecque has set before us, we will discuss the matter further at our ease."
Although the cookery of that day, as exemplified in a small but refined supper of the Duke of Guise, might well astonish, both from its materials and its combinations, any of the culinary artists of the present day, both the Duke and his young friend found it excellent, and every thing was praised as it deserved. The wine also was of the finest kind that could be procured, and the Duke was liberal of it; but Charles of Montsoreau was not one to be tempted by any vintage to drink more than was beneficial to him either corporeally or mentally; and though the Duke of Guise drank more than himself, he pressed not the ruby juice of the grape upon his young friend after he once saw that it might become disagreeable to him.
Towards Charles of Montsoreau, indeed, he had none of those designs which lead wily politicians sometimes to press the wine-cup upon a tyro. He might, it is true, be somewhat surprised at the easy and courtly grace with which a young nobleman, educated almost entirely in the provinces, met and mingled with the highest and most stately in the land; and he might, consequently, be a little inclined to see him off his guard; but when he found that he was not disposed to take any more, he abstained from asking him, and pursued the subject of their former discourse, interrupted by various little remarks upon things of an ordinary character, touching them, however, with grace and ease, which raised them all, and made them harmonise with graver discourse.
"Now, Monsieur de Logères," he said, as soon as he had passed to his young friend the dish at his end of the table with which they commenced the meal, "tell me clearly and exactly what were your motives and your views in coming hither from so far to seek me; for it would seem that you have been acting entirely independently of your brother. Speak to me, my good friend, without reserve of any kind, as to a brother--as to a father, if you will--for I am old enough surely, both in years and experience, to claim that title, though indeed it is not I who have given you life, but you to whom I owe it."
"It is scarcely either needful or possible, my Lord," replied the young count, "for me to tell your Highness more than I have already told. In the first place, I came to see my lands of Logères, which, as you well know, lie not above forty or fifty miles from this spot--a long day's journey. I have only seen them once since the death of my father. I have withdrawn but a small part of the revenues from the improvement of the territory, and the encouragement of the peasantry; and it is time that I should now see what is the state of the whole. At the same time, I thought and believed that I had remained somewhat too long a spectator of the contentions which distract my native land. Now, my Lord Duke, I had to choose between three personages, the great leaders of the present day--Henry of Navarre, Henry of France, and Henry Duke of Guise, The first seemed to me out of the question, though a gallant and a noble prince; for, waging war as he does, for the advancement of heresy, it was not for me to draw my sword in such a cause. Between the other two there could surely be no question; for though I may not think your Highness always right in every thing that you have done, yet as a gallant and a knightly leader, as one whom a brave and true-hearted man may follow, there is none whom I know that I could choose against yourself from one end of Europe to the other. In attaching myself to you, too, I trust and am sure that I do not ill serve my king; and, to say but the truth, I would far rather serve his Majesty under another, than come within the reach of his perfumes and cosmetics."
The Duke of Guise smiled, and leaning his arm upon the table, gazed down for a moment or two in a meditative mood, not a little struck and surprised at the calm and reasoning, but bold and straight-forward frankness with which his young companion spoke. Perhaps, too, he traced back into the past the various motives and views with which the different distinguished men, who appeared as followers of the three leaders mentioned, had chosen their party, and he might find none amongst them all who were actuated by such feelings as the young man before him. He was silent for several moments then; and the first thing that roused him was the young count adding, to what he had said, "Indeed, my Lord, this was my pure and simple motive."
"I doubt it not. Monsieur de Logères," replied the Duke, drawing towards him another dish--"I doubt it not; and this is a pure and simple salmi, and apparently as good a one as ever was cooked; but still, if you were to ask Maître Lanecque to analyse it--try it, good friend, you will find it an antidote against all the poisons and evils of the inn at Mareuil, and other such pestiferous places--but, as I was saying, if you were to ask Maître Lanecque to analyse this simple salmi, you would find it composed of some hundreds of different things besides the woodcock, which is the basis of the whole. All these accessories are admirable in themselves, and contribute to make the woodcock better. And thus it is in life. Every human motive is a salmi, cooked by a skilful artist, for our own palates as well as those that observe them. There is one grand and apparent cause of action, which may be considered as the woodcock, but there are a thousand minor motives, incentives, and inducements, the condiments, the gravies, the truffles, the toast, which nobody ever thinks of counting, which pass, in fact, under cover of the woodcock, and which, nevertheless, all tend to make the salmi what it is. Now, I have no doubt on earth, my dear young friend, that the great motive of your coming hither was what you say; but were there not other motives joined therewith--feelings, designs, views, and purposes of your own, all mingling together, to aid and strengthen your original motive--in fact, to make up the salmi?"
Charles of Montsoreau knew and felt that there were; for he could not help remembering the real cause of his quitting his brother's dwelling in such haste, and the resolutions then taken, which were still strong within him, to be generous, even to the utmost extent of human generosity, towards one who had been ungenerous to him. He now looked down thoughtfully for a moment; but he was by nature far too frank and open to conceal his thoughts from one who sought them in the way which they were sought by the Duke of Guise.
"My Lord," he said, "if your Highness means to ask, whether there were or were not private feelings which induced me at once to plunge into contentions from which I had long withheld myself, and combined with the general public motives which otherwise called upon me so to do, I by no means deny that there were such feelings; and had it not been for them--though I certainly think I should have joined your Highness before many months were over--yet it might not have been so early or so opportunely as it has turned out."
The Duke smiled frankly, and replied, "I thought so, Monsieur de Logères. You are always candid and true, and you shall see at once, by my next question, why I asked you this so particularly. Tell me, has not a fair relation of mine, who has found a place of refuge in the castle of Montsoreau--has she not something to do with the motives that you speak of?"
"She has, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau--"but not in the way which I see you imagine."
The Duke laughed. "What!" he exclaimed,--"pretty Mistress Marie of Clairvaut has, I suppose, been acting the prude with you, as usual, and gave you warning, when it was too late, that she intended to plunge herself into a convent. Take heart of grace, man--take heart of grace. Though she has ever yet shown herself, in these affairs of love, as cold as the top of the Vosges, and as hard as the nether-millstone, yet she is always candid and true, poor girl; and in two letters which have reached me from her hand, the one sent by your own courier, the other arriving to-day, she speaks of you, and of your services towards her, in terms that admit of no mistake. I do not mean to say you know that you have won her heart, because her heart is not one easily won, but I do most assuredly think that you may win it; and if you do, as far as Henry of Guise's power goes, you win her too."
There is nothing so terrible on earth, as when some friendly hand approaches to our lips the cup of joy, seeing not, knowing not, that we must not, that we dare not, that we cannot drink, when accidental words, perhaps most kindly spoken, present to the eye of fancy, in colours more vivid than ever, the pictures that were once painted by the hand of hope, after every fair reality that they represented is done away, and nothing remains but the memory and the endurance. Terrible, indeed, was the temptation of Charles of Montsoreau, and terrible the struggle in his bosom. Not the arch-fiend himself could exhort man to break high resolutions more powerfully, than did the words spoken with the best intentions by the Duke of Guise. But amongst those words were a few, which, by recalling to the mind of the young nobleman most strongly the circumstances on which his determination was founded, gave him strength to endure. Had the Duke said that he knew her heart was won, those few words would have put all his resolutions to an end; but he implied that her heart was not won, and it was upon that persuasion that all his purposes had been hitherto framed.
The Duke of Guise saw him once more turn very pale, and was not a little puzzled to divine the cause. "Why do you not answer?" he demanded, after pausing for a moment or two. "In consideration of a vast service, I have spoken to you as I would to no other man under a prince's dignity in Europe."
"And I am most grateful, my Lord," replied the Count; "but your Highness has mistaken me. My pretensions to the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut are too small, too few to be thought of even by myself. My brother, indeed, may have greater pretensions. Your Highness knows that his estates in the south are considerable; that his race, though certainly not equal to that of the princely house of Guise, is as old and as pure as any in France; but he has a thousand high qualities that you do not know. He is brave, skilful, with far more experience than myself, faithful and true in his attachments, and even more zealous and eager than I am in every thing he undertakes. Let any little services of mine, my Lord, be attributed to him; let him also serve and attach himself to your Highness; and let the sum of the affection and zeal of both in your cause induce you to look favourably upon his suit, even should he aspire to the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut."
"By my faith," exclaimed the Duke of Guise, pushing the glass of wine which he was just about to drink away from him--"By my faith, this is the most extraordinary piece of business, I think, I ever heard of!" And he paused, thoughtfully gazing down upon the table. "You are a strange youth," he continued, "and there is something under this which I do not understand. But, be you sure, Maître Charles, that Maître Henri will unriddle it. And now let me tell you something that you do not know yourself. I have this very morning received an epistle from your brother; an epistle which, though eloquent enough, well written, clear, and masterly, yet I love not altogether. He tells me, that the passports for my niece, from Henri of Navarre, have arrived; but that he judges it best, seeing the troubled state of the country, to escort her towards Soissons himself, with a sufficient band to protect her against any attack. He speaks of you, too, as 'a brother of his,' and gives as a reason for delaying a day or two ere he sets out, that you had taken with you on your journey some men from the castle, so that it is necessary for him to increase his numbers ere he departs."
"That was hardly generous of him," said Charles of Montsoreau, calmly; "for I took no more than my own immediate retainers, except, indeed, the one man, Gondrin, whom your Highness knows, and who was born upon my own lands of Logères."
"Oh, I know him well, indeed," replied the Duke, "and owe him much. We will have him and the page in before we part, that I may thank them. And so, Monsieur de Logères, you will let me do nothing for you."
"Say not so, my Lord," replied the Count, "I ask you much, when I ask you for the honour and the pleasure of serving under you, and also express the hope that you will always treat me and consider me as now."
"Oh, such requests are easily granted," said the Duke: "you shall command a company of my Albanians, and be ever near my person; but still I shall consider that there is a debt to be paid, and shall reserve the payment thereof for a year; and if you name not your own boon by that time, I shall force my gratitude upon you. There is some mystery in your conduct which at present I do not understand. But all earthly mysteries disappear, my good young friend. When they represented Time, they would have done well to put a torch in his hand as well as a scythe, for he throws light upon all things. I will write about the Albanian company this night."
"Your pardon, my Lord," replied Charles of Montsoreau--"but I would fain serve you at the head of my own people. Give me but a month away from you, and I will bring you a hundred steel-caps from Logères, mounted, armed, and trained as well as any cavaliers in France. All the tenantry are bred to arms there from their infancy, so that but a short space will suffice."
"You are resolved to make me still more your debtor," said the Duke; "and I will acknowledge, that at the present moment the assistance of every brave and true-hearted man in France is needful to Henry of Guise; for oh, my young friend, I have to deal with as wily a serpent as ever was hatched in the Asiatic deserts. Were it but Henry of Navarre I had to deal with, the contest in this country would soon be settled, for as gallant a knight, and as noble a gentleman is he, as ever lived; frank, generous, and true; and with our lances in our hands and our helmets on our heads, we could decide the fate of France between us in an hour. But when I have to deal with one who, professing love and friendship, would poison the chalice, or arm the assassin's hand against me; who, while he feigns to listen to my counsel, deals secretly with every enemy of his state and of his country; who betrays every secret that is intrusted to him as soon as he finds an interest in so doing; and who only sinks from the activity of evil-doing into voluptuous, effeminate, indecent repose;--when I have to deal with such a man as that, I say, the support of every true man in France is needful to me, to free my country from the evils that afflict her--never forgetting my duty to the crown. Go, my young friend, arm your vassals, bring to me every man that you can command, and you shall find Henry of Lorraine as deeply grateful to you for this new service as he is for that which is past. I will make no further professions to you. What I have said already ought to be enough to convince you, that with me, at least, neither the pride nor the ambition, of which they unjustly accuse our race, can stand in the way of gratitude. Now, however, let us have in your man Gondrin and your little page. He speaks, it seems to me, with a foreign accent. Where did you get him?"
As he spoke, the Duke rang a silver bell which stood by his side, and gave orders to the servant who appeared to seek for the two attendants of the young Count, and bring them before him. While he was absent, Charles of Montsoreau gave him a full account of his accidental meeting with the boy Ignati, and of his redeeming him from the hands of the Italians. The tale seemed to interest the Duke not a little; and, after musing for a moment, he said, "You see, my young friend, how kindness and services always render men greedy. I would to heaven that you would give me these two who have gone with me through such a moment of peril. I feel as if that boy were destined again to do me some great service."
"Take him, my Lord, with all my heart," replied Charles of Montsoreau, "not that I put any great faith in such presentiments; but as I redeemed the boy from these men only for his own good, far be it from me to stay him in any way from advancement. Your Highness remembers, however, that he is not noble, and therefore can scarcely be your page."
"Oh, we set our foot upon such things now," replied the Duke--"the service of the Guise shall make him noble. But here they are. Come hither, good youth," he added, as the boy and Gondrin entered--"let me look in your face: it seems to me as if I had seen you somewhere before. Your look pleases me, and memory seems to bring it back with pleasure. Where have I beheld you?"
The boy looked up in the Duke's face, with his colour slightly heightened, but his manner calm and self-possessed. "You have seen me, my Lord," he said, "in the good town of Nancy, in the palace of the noble Duke of Lorraine, upon the night of a high festival, where many a gallant lord and many a bright lady sat around you; and a poor Italian boy was brought in to dance and sing before the high table at which you feasted. The princes, and the nobles round, the beautiful women, and the politic matrons, poured their money into the cap which my hard taskmaster handed round; but the Duke of Guise alone called up poor Ignati to his side, laid his hand upon his head, thanked him for his music, and gave him a broad piece of gold for himself."
"I remember," said the Duke, thoughtfully, "I remember. Well, boy, by that kind word, and that broad piece, it seems I have purchased service that never was bought at so light a rate. My good Lord of Logères, when the pistol of a reiter was within a foot of my breast, his finger on the trigger, and my life apparently at his mercy, with nothing but a grey doublet between, me and destruction, this boy proved better to me than a breastplate of Milan steel, and, by driving his dagger into the heart of my adversary, saved the life of Henry of Guise, for whatever period God in his grace may grant it further. Will you give me this youth, my Lord, to be my page?"
The young Count bowed his head in token of assent, and the Duke went on. "What say you, boy? would you willingly serve me?"
The boy paused, and looked down, while the tears rose in his eyes. Then, turning his look to Charles of Montsoreau, he said, "He has been very kind to me!"
"Come, come, Ignati," said the young Count, "I will not have your heart spoil your fortunes, my good youth. I took you for your own service, not for mine; and though I like you well, and would willingly have you with me, yet this is a noble offer, and must not be refused."
The boy then knelt down and kissed the Duke of Guise's hand, saying, "I am your Highness's servant."
"So shalt thou be, Ignati," replied the Duke, with one of the bright smiles of the Guise. "But I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou shalt go with this young lord to his lands of Logères, and be my spy upon all his actions and his thoughts. Then, if thou findest out that thing on all the earth which he most wishes and desires to possess, and bringest me the tidings thereof, thou shalt have a purse of broad pieces for thy pains. When he comes back, thou shalt come to be of my household; and, as I trust that he will be ever near me, thou mayest find many a way of serving him also.--Now, good soldier," he continued, turning to Gondrin, "you, too, have aided me well in a moment of great need: what recompense shall the Duke of Guise offer you? Will you take service with him, and he will care for your fortunes?"
"I thank you, my Lord," replied Gondrin, bluntly. "But on this young gentleman's lands was I born, his race have I served, his forest sports have I tended through all my life, and I think I will not leave him now, unless he dismount me out of his troop; and then, pardie! I think I shall follow him on foot. What I did for your Highness was done by his orders. I knew you but as Maître Henri, with a grey doublet and a cock's feather, so that I deserve neither thanks nor recompense, though I will gladly serve your Highness under him, if God and the good Count so will it."
"Would that there were many such as thou art!" said the Duke of Guise, thoughtfully. "There are few who will not quit old kindness for new preferment. Here, my friend, take you that ring, in memory of Henry of Guise. It is a diamond, for which the goldsmiths will give five hundred crowns; but, should you ever want money, he who now gives it will gladly give a thousand crowns for it back again."