Flower o' the lily: A romance of old Cambray

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

IV

Marguerite de Navarre gave a short sigh of satisfaction. One look of warning only did she cast on her brother, and with an almost imperceptible movement of finger to lip she enjoined him to remain silent and to leave the matter in her hands. François d'Anjou shrugged his shoulders and smothered a yawn. The whole matter was eminently distasteful to him, and gladly would he have thrown up the promised throne and be rid of all these serious questions which bored him to tears.

De Montigny stood erect and stern; his attitude remained deferential, but also unyielding. He was deeply offended in the person of the child who in his sight stood for all that was most noble and most desirable in the Netherlands. The indifference with which the offer of such a brilliant alliance had been received by this Prince of France had angered the stiff-necked Fleming beyond measure. But Marguerite, feeling the difficulties around her, was now on her mettle. None knew better than she how to make a man unbend—even if he be a bitter enemy, which de Montigny certainly was not.

'Messire,' she said with that gentle dignity which became her so well, 'I pray you be not angered with my brother. He has had much to worry him of late. Indeed, indeed,' she continued earnestly, 'his heart is entirely given over to your magnificent country and he is proud and honoured to have been chosen by you as your future Sovereign Lord.'

But to this conciliating harangue de Montigny made no reply, and Marguerite resumed, after a slight pause.

'Perhaps you do not know, Messire, that the King of France, our brother, hath not such goodwill towards his kindred as they would wish, and that, fearing that Monsieur would be overproud of your offer and would nurture further ambitious plans, he did order Monsieur's arrest, thereby causing us much delay.'

'Yes, your Majesty,' replied de Montigny curtly, 'I knew all that. But the offer hath been made to Monseigneur now—and I still await his answer.'

'His answer is yes, Messire!' said Marguerite firmly.

'A grudging "yes," forsooth,' quoth de Montigny with an impatient shrug of the shoulders.

'An eager "yes," an you'll believe me,' retorted Marguerite. 'All that he asks is to see the noble Dame Jacqueline de Broyart and to pay her his devoirs ere he is formally affianced to her.'

'Hang it all!' quoth Monsieur resolutely. 'You cannot expect a man to wed a woman whom he has never seen!'

'A man in Monseigneur's position,' retorted de Montigny gruffly, 'must do many things which humbler folk can afford to leave undone, and I have explained my objections to that plan; so that if Madame la Reyne hath none other to offer——'

'Nay! but I entreat you to listen to me, Messire,' urged Marguerite with exemplary patience. 'And you, François,' she added, turning to her brother, who at de Montigny's last words had muttered an angry oath under his breath, 'I beg that you will let me unfold my plan ere you combat it. Messire,' she continued earnestly, once more addressing the Flemish lord, 'let me assure you again that I both understand and appreciate your objection and, on my soul I never dreamed of suggesting that so noble and great a lady as Madame Jacqueline de Broyart should, as you justly remark, be trotted out for the inspection of Monseigneur, like a filly which is put up for sale.'

'Well, then——?' retorted de Montigny.

'Tell me, Messire,' she interposed irrelevantly, 'how old exactly is Madame Jacqueline?'

'Not yet twenty,' he replied. 'But I do not see——'

'You will in a moment,' quoth she with a smile. 'Twenty, you said?'

'Not quite.'

'And beautiful, of course?'

'Ask the men of Hainault and of Flanders,' was his proud reply. 'They will tell you how beautiful she is.'

'Twenty—not quite—and beautiful,' said Marguerite of Navarre slowly. 'And of a romantic turn of mind, shall we say, as young girls so often are?'

'Oh, as to that,' replied de Montigny with a puzzled frown, 'I dare swear that she hath a romantic turn of mind. She certainly would not allow herself to be offered up for sale like a bundle of goods. Therefore——'

'Easy, easy, Messire!' urged the Queen gently. 'I entreat you to reply to my questions without choler. Are we not both striving to find a way out of an impasse which might wreck the very welfare of your country and Monseigneur d'Inchy's most cherished scheme?'

De Montigny sighed impatiently. 'You are right, Madame la Reyne,' he said grudgingly. 'I pray you continue. I'll not lose my temper again. My word on it.'

'You were about to assure me, Messire,' resumed Marguerite gently, 'that Madame Jacqueline is as romantic as she is beautiful.'

'Jacqueline has been spoilt and adulated,' replied de Montigny, determined to speak calmly. 'Poets have dedicated their verses to her. Musicians have sung her praises——'

'And love-sick swains have died of love for her, or sighed impassioned tirades beneath her casement-window,' concluded Marguerite, with a smile which was so winning that, despite himself, after a moment or two, it found a pale reflex in de Montigny's stern face.

'Who should know better than the Queen of Navarre,' he retorted, with a crude effort at gallantry, 'the power which beauty wields over all men?'

'Very well, then, Messire,' quoth she gaily. 'Listen to my plan, for I swear 'tis a good one, since it will marry your pride to my brother's hesitation. I propose that Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou shall first approach Madame Jacqueline under an assumed name. She hath never seen him—he is totally unknown in these parts; his incognito could therefore be easily kept up.'

'I don't quite understand,' muttered de Montigny with a frown.

'You will in a moment,' she rejoined. 'I propose, then, that Monsieur shall enact a part—the part of an unknown and noble prince who hath become secretly enamoured of Madame Jacqueline. I would suggest that he should appear before her closely masked and begin his part by sighing dolefully beneath her casement-window. Thus, at the outset, Madame Jacqueline, being what she is—romantic and not yet twenty—will feel an interest in this unknown swain. Her curiosity will be aroused, and she will not be loth to grant him the interview for which he will have sighed and begged in all humility.'

'But that is sheer folly, Madame!' broke in de Montigny, who had been at great pains to check his growing truculence.

'Folly?' she queried blandly. 'Why?'

'Because—because——' he argued gruffly.

'You promised on your honour, Messire,' she admonished gaily, 'that you would not again lose your temper.'

'But the folly of it!'

'Again I ask you—why folly?'

'Jacqueline is not a foolish child. She is not like to be taken in by so transparent a comedy.'

'It will not be transparent, Messire. Under my guidance the comedy will be exceedingly well acted. Madame Jacqueline will never know that her love-sick swain is the Duke of Anjou.'

'Then 'tis greater folly still!'

'Ah, that I swear it is not!' retorted Marguerite de Navarre hotly. 'Your Jacqueline is not twenty—she is proud and beautiful and romantic. Well! give her some romance and she'll thank you for it presently on her knees.'

'But——' protested de Montigny.

'Is not the whole thing simplicity in itself?' she broke in eagerly. 'The fame of Madame Jacqueline's beauty hath spread far and wide; what more rational than that a noble prince—too insignificant or too poor to enter the lists for her hand—should choose a romantic method to approach her? After all, what are we all striving for? That Monsieur shall see the lovely Jacqueline without her knowing that he proposes to woo her. If, in addition to that, we cause the two young people to fall in love with one another, we shall have done well; whilst, on the other hand, if, after having seen her, Monsieur retires from the candidature, the susceptibilities of the Flemish nation and of Madame Jacqueline will have been safeguarded.'

'How?'

'The unknown prince can vanish as mysteriously as he came. The story can reach Madame Jacqueline's ear that he was found killed by some other jealous swain outside her garden-gate.'

'Folly, Madame! Folly, I say!' protested de Montigny, perhaps a shade less forcibly than he had done before.

'Nay, then, 'tis a blessed folly, Messire, which oft outweighs counsels of wisdom.'

'But——'

'Ah! but me no more buts, Messire! Ye cannot bring forth one objection which I cannot easily combat. Think on it! A romantic girl, whose life will be brightened by this pretty adventure!'

'Perchance——'

'Perchance what?'

'She fall in love with the unknown swain.'

'So much the better, when she discovers he is her future lord.'

Then, as de Montigny really appeared to be struggling between consent and refusal, and doubt, anger, contempt, irresolution were alternately depicted in his rugged face, she continued persuasively:

'Think, Messire, how you safeguard your niece's feelings, her just pride, her maidenly reserve. Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou will either himself fall madly in love with Madame Jacqueline—in which case you will have added the leaven of passion to the stodgy dough of matrimony—or else he'll withdraw from the candidature, unknown, unsuspected; and the child will only have one pleasant dream the more to add to her illusions.'

Montigny was yielding. Who could, indeed, resist for long the insinuating tongue of Marguerite of Navarre, the eager glitter of her eyes, the strength of her will and of her personality. The sober-minded, stiff-necked and somewhat slow-witted Fleming felt himself literally swept off his feet in this whirlpool of adventure and of intrigue, and his language was not sufficiently glib to meet objection with objection, to parry or to thrust in this unequal duel of wits. Perhaps—had he not desired so passionately the alliance which he had been sent to conclude, had he been less firmly convinced that a union with France would prove the salvation of his people and of the country which he worshipped—he might have opposed an obstinate and gruff refusal to Marguerite's subtle scheme. But as it was, his resistance was soon disarmed; she even managed to conquer the irritation which Monsieur's very personality had aroused in his mind.

'We have not yet heard,' he said at last, 'what Monseigneur le duc d'Anjou hath to say on the matter.'

'Oh!' Monsieur hastened to say with mock sincerity, 'all that I have to say is that throughout my life I have from time to time and on many a momentous occasion, registered on oath that I would never be affianced to a woman whom I had not previously learned to love.'

'You will own, Messire,' broke in Marguerite gently, 'that this is a laudable sentiment.'

Nor did she think it desirable to let Messire de Montigny know that her unreliable brother had vowed but half an hour ago that if a wife were thrust upon him now he would, an he did not like her, repudiate her even at the foot of the altar. Shifty and irresponsible in most things, she knew him well enough to understand that in matters which affected himself and his desires, he would prove dangerous, obstinate and cruel.

'On my soul!' added Monsieur with well-assumed earnestness, 'I do assure you, Messire, that I knew nothing of my sister's project.'

'There was no time to put it before you, François,' rejoined Marguerite. 'It arose in my brain even while you parleyed together with Messire de Montigny and seemed unable to come to an understanding.'

'Then what says Monseigneur now?' reiterated the Flemish lord curtly.

'Well!' drawled Monsieur in his usual indecisive way, 'I say—I say that——'

'François!' admonished Marguerite sharply.

He felt himself driven into a corner, from which procrastination would no longer free him. In a manner the proposed adventure suited his temperament, and in any case it would help to put off the final and irrevocable decision. Therefore he was willing to fall in with it. Sentimental dalliance was an art which he knew to his finger-tips, and there was much in his sister's project which pleased his lazy, pulpy nature. To sigh beneath a woman's window, to woo a woman's love with honeyed words beneath a silken mask, to plan secret meetings and steal to lovers' trysts at dead of night, had always been an absorbing occupation for this degenerate prince. Now he felt de Montigny's stern gaze fixed upon him and his sister's admonitions rang in his ears. He knew that he had worn her love and patience almost to a breaking thread. He threw a final appealing look on Gilles de Crohin, but the latter's glance of amusement appeared as an encouragement. Well, Gilles would know! Gilles would appreciate! He, too, loved masks and casement-windows and fair women, tearful with love. Gilles also loved fighting, so he could do that, if any of it barred the way to Monsieur's comfort and peace.

'François!' came once more, appealing yet severe, from Marguerite of Navarre.

'What says Monseigneur?' reiterated de Montigny for the third time.

'I say that you have left me no choice, Messire,' quoth François due d'Anjou at last. 'It shall be as my sister desires.'