CHAPTER XLV.
During the ten days which followed, I received every morning news of some new detachment having set out for Marigny; and each despatch from the King of the Huns gave me the most positive assurance of his co-operation in favour of the Prince, as soon as a signal should be given for the rising in Paris.
De Retz was enchanted with the progress I had made, and declared, with a sneer even at the enterprise in which he was himself engaged, that now we possessed the poor, the prisoners, and the cut-throats, our success in Paris was certain.
"Amongst my researches," said he one day, while we were speaking over these circumstances, "I have met with a man that puzzles me. He is certainly poor, even to beggary, at least so my scout, who discovered him, assures me; and yet he refused pecuniary assistance, though offered in the most delicate manner I could devise, and repulsed me so haughtily, that I could not introduce one word of treason or conspiracy into my discourse. As you, my dear count, are about to venture yourself in mortal strife, you could not have a more serviceable follower than this man's appearance bespeaks him. He is a Hercules; and if his eye does not play the braggart in its owner's favour, he is just a man to kill lions and strangle serpents. You could not do better than visit him, telling him that you are my friend, and that I am most anxious to serve him, if he will point me out the means."
I was very willing to follow the suggestion of Monsieur de Retz, being at the very time engaged in searching for a certain number of personal attendants, whose honesty might in some degree neutralise the opposite qualities of those that waited me at Marigny. Having received the address then, I proceeded to a small street in the cité, and mounting three pair of stairs, knocked at a door that had been indicated to me. A deep voice bade me come in; and, entering a miserable apartment, I beheld the object of my search. The light was dim; but there was something in the grand athletic limbs and proud erect carriage, that made me start by their sudden call upon old recollections. It was Garcias himself, whom I had left at Barcelona borne high upon the top of that fluctuating billow, popular favour, that now stood before me in apparent poverty in Paris.
He started forward and grasped my hand. "Monsieur de l'Orme!" cried he: "God of heaven! then I am not quite abandoned."
His tale was not an extraordinary one. He had fallen as he had risen. The nobility of Catalonia, finding that the insurgents maintained themselves, and received aid from France, declared for the popular party, gradually took possession of all authority; and, to secure it, provided for the ruin of all those who had preceded them. Garcias was the most obnoxious, because he had been the most powerful while the lower classes had predominated. Causes of accusation are never wanting in revolutions, even against the best and noblest; and Garcias was obliged to fly, to save himself from those whose liberties he had defended and saved. Spain was now all shut against him. France was his only refuge; and, finding his way to Paris, he set himself down in that great luxurious city, with that most scorching curse in his own breast, a proud heart gnawed by poverty.
"But your wife, Garcias!" demanded I, after listening to his history--"your wife! what has become of her?"
"She is an angel in heaven!" replied he, abruptly, at the same time turning away his head. "Monsieur de l'Orme," he added, more firmly, "do not let us speak of her--it unmans me. You have seen a fair flower growing in the fields, have you not?--Well, you have plucked it, and putting it in your bonnet, have borne it in the mid-day sun and the evening chill; and when you have looked for the flower at nightfall, you have found but a withered, formless, beautiless thing, that perforce you have given back to the earth from which it sprang. Say no more!--say no more!--Thus she passed away!"
Since we had parted, misfortunes had bent the proud spirit of the Spaniard, while my own had gained more energy and power; so that now, it was I who exercised over him the influence he had formerly possessed over me. The aid he had refused from Monsieur de Retz, from me he was willing to accept; and, explaining to him my situation, I easily prevailed upon him to join himself to my fortunes, and to aid me in disciplining and commanding the very doubtful corps I had levied.
Upon pretence of wishing him nearer to me, I would not leave him till I had installed him in my lodgings in the Rue des Prêtres; and there, I took care that he should be supplied with everything that was externally necessary to his comfort, and that his mind should be continually employed.
I now added six trusty servants to my retinue, provided horses and arms for the whole party, and my business in Paris being nearly concluded, prepared to return to Sedan without loss of time; when one morning a note was left at my little lodging, desiring my presence at the Palais Cardinal the next evening at four o'clock, and signed "Richelieu."
I instantly sent off my six servants to Meaux, keeping with me Combalet de Carignan, his companion Jacques Mocqueur, Garcias, and Achilles, with the full intention of bidding adieu to Paris the next morning, and putting as many leagues as possible between myself and his eminence of Richelieu, before the hour he had named. Time was when I should have waited his leisure with the palpitating heart of hope, and now I prepared to gallop away from him with somewhat more speed than dignity. The tempora mutantur et nos mutamur goes but a little way to tell the marvels that a month can do.
My plans, however, were disarranged by very unexpected circumstances. On returning to my apartments at the Hôtel de Soissons, I sat down for a moment to write; when, after a gentle tap, the door opened, and in glided the pretty embroidery girl whom, on my first arrival at the house, I had seen holding the silks for the Countess's work. She advanced, and gave a note into my hands, and was then retiring.
"From the Countess, my pretty maid?" demanded I.
"No, sir," she replied. "Pray do not tell the Countess that I gave it to you;" and so saying, she glided out of the chamber faster than she came.
I opened the note immediately, seeing that there was some mystery in the business; and with a tumult of feelings varying at every word, like the light clouds driven across an autumn sky, now all sunshine, now all shadow, I read what follows:--
"Monsieur le Comte,
"I have just learned from my father, that by some strange error you have not yet heard of my recovery, and that you have been passing the best of your days in regret for having, as you imagined, killed me, though we are both well aware that the wound I received was given in your own defence. I have been misled, Monsieur le Comte, by those who should have taught me right; but I will no longer be commanded, even by my father, to do what is against my conscience; and, therefore, I write you this letter, to tell you that I am still in life. So conscious was I from the first that I had received my wound as a punishment from Heaven for that which I was engaged in, that, on recovering my senses at the château, I attributed my situation to the accidental discharge of my own gun. All I can add is, that I always loved you, and would have served you with all my heart, had not other people put passions and wishes into my head that I ought never to have entertained. From all that, my eyes are now cleared; and, as a proof of it, I give you the following information--that if you will this evening at eight o'clock, when it is beginning to grow dusk, go sufficiently attended to the first carrefour on the road to Vincennes, you will have the means of saving her you love best from much fear and uncomfort. Even should you be too late, be under no dread that she will meet with any serious evil. On that score depend upon
"Jean Baptiste Arnault.
"P.S.--The carriage in which they convey her is red, with a black boot on each side."
I sprang up from the table, like Ixion unbound from his wheel. The load was off my bosom--I no longer felt the curse of Cain upon me--my heart beat with a lightness such as we know in boyhood; and the gay blood running along my veins seemed to have lost the curdling poison that had so long mingled with it. It was then I first fully knew how heavily, how dreadfully the burden of crime had sat upon me, even when my immediate thoughts were turned to other things. I felt that it had made me old before my time--daring, reckless, hopeless. But now I seemed to have regained the youngness, the freshness of my spirit; and Hope once more lighted her torch, and ran on before, to illumine my path through the years to come.
In the first tumult of my feelings, reflection upon all the collateral circumstances was out of the question; but upon consideration, I saw painfully how strange my absence must have appeared to my family, from Jean Baptiste having concealed that I was the person who wounded him. Doubtless, I thought he had told his father, who had thereupon instantly taken Helen from the château; and thus my mother had been led to connect my absence with her removal.
Several parts of Jean Baptiste's letter surprised me much. Of course, however, I put my own interpretation upon them, and then bent my thoughts upon the danger which, as he informed me, menaced my dear Helen. What its nature could be I could not divine; but without wasting time in endeavouring to discover that on which I had no means of reasoning, I proceeded as fast as possible to the lodgings where I had left Garcias; and, sending Achilles for Combalet and his companion, prepared to set out to the place which the letter had indicated. It was by this time wearing towards evening; but we had still a full hour between us and the time appointed. My impatience, however, would not brook the delay; and therefore, as soon as I had collected all my attendants, I set off at full speed, and arrived at the first carrefour on the road to Vincennes, about half-past seven o'clock.
It was still quite light, and a great many of the evening strollers of the city and its environs were passing to and fro, so that the sight of a gentleman in mourning, with four somewhat conspicuous attendants, planted in the middle of a crossroad, did not escape without remark. One by one, however, the observers passed away, each leaving a longer and a longer interval between himself and his successor, while daylight also gradually diminished, and it became dark enough to conceal us from any but very watchful eyes. In the meanwhile, my imagination went throughout all the various evolutions that an impatient spirit can impose upon it; at one time fancying that I had mistaken the spot; at another, supposing that I had been purposely deceived; and at another, believing that the carriage which contained Helen had taken a different road.
At length, however, the creaking of wheels seemed to announce its approach, and, drawing back as far as we could from observation, we waited till it came up. At about twenty paces in advance came two horsemen, one of whom, as soon as he arrived at the carrefour, dismounted, and gave his horse to his companion, while he went back, and opening the door of the carriage, got in. I could not see his face; but he was a short man, not taller than my little servant Achilles, which was the more remarkable, from the difficulty he had in reaching the high step of the carriage. In a moment after, I heard Helen's voice exclaim, "I have been deceived; I will go no farther! Let me descend, or I will call for assistance!"
She was not obliged to call, however. Assistance was nearer than she thought. "Seize the horses, Combalet," cried I; and rushing forward, I tore open the door of the carriage, exclaiming, "It is I, Helen! it is Louis!--Who has dared to deceive you?"
She sprang out at once into my arms, while the man who had entered the carriage just before, made his escape at the other side. Swords by this time were drawn and flashing about our heads; for some men who had accompanied the vehicle made a momentary show of resistance; but they were soon in full flight, and we remained masters of the field without any bloodshed.
Whom I had delivered her from--what I had done--I knew no more than the child unborn; but she clung to me with that dear confiding clasp, in which woman's very helplessness is strong, and repeated over and over her thanks, with those words, with that tone, which assured me that every feeling of her heart was still mine. "Tell me, tell me, dear Louis!" said she at length, "by what happy chance you came here to deliver me!"
"It was by a note from Jean Baptiste," replied I. "But, dearest Helen, explain to me all this; for I am still in the dark. I know not whom I have delivered you from--I know not what danger assailed you!"
Helen now, between the confusion of the moment, and the supposition that I knew a thousand circumstances of which I had not the slightest idea, began a long detail which was totally unintelligible to me. She spoke of having been at the Hôtel de Chatillon, waiting the return of her father from Peronne, and went on to say that a forged letter had been sent her, signed with his name, importing that a carriage and attendants would come for her at a certain hour to bring her to where he was; and so perfectly imitated was the signature, she said, that not only herself, but the Countess de Chatillon had also been deceived. She was in the act of adding a great many particulars, which completely set my comprehension at defiance, when a party of horsemen, galloping like madmen, arriving on the spot, interrupted her farther narration.
"Here they are! here they are!" cried the foremost horseman, seeing through the semi-darkness the lumbering machine which had brought Helen thither, blocking up the road. "Here is the carriage! cut down the villains!"
"Hold, hold!" exclaimed I, drawing my sword, and advancing before Helen, while my sturdy retainers prepared for instant warfare. "Hold, fair sir, a moment. Words before blows, if you please. Who are you? and what do you seek?"
"Morbleu! Cut them down!" cried the young man, aiming a blow at my head, which I parried and returned, with such interest, that, I believe, he would not have struck many more had not a less hasty personage ridden up, crying, "Hold, hold! Charles, I command you hold. Sir stranger, hear me! You asked our name and what we seek," he added, seeing me pause. "My name is the Maréchal de Chatillon! and now, sir, tell me yours; and how you dare, by false pretences, to carry off a young lady from my house, placed under my care by her father?"
"My name, sir," replied I, "is Louis Count de l'Orme; and in reply to your second question, far from having carried off this young lady from your house, I have just had the pleasure of rescuing her from the hands of those who did--which you would have heard before, if this hasty person had been willing to listen, rather than bully."
"He is, sir, as you have said, far over hasty," replied the Maréchal; "but begging your forgiveness for his mistake, I have only farther to thank you, on the part of the lady, for the service you have rendered her, and to request that you would give her into my hands, as the only person qualified to protect her for the moment."
"I must first be satisfied that you are really the Maréchal de Chatillon, and that the lady goes with you willingly," replied I; "for there have been so many mistakes to-night apparently, that I do not otherwise yield her till I have seen her in safety myself."
"Yes, yes, Louis," replied Helen--I thought, with a sigh--"it is Monsieur de Chatillon, and I must go with him--after once more giving you a thousand thanks for my deliverance."
"Since such is the case, Monsieur de Chatillon," I rejoined, "I of course resign a charge, which otherwise I should not easily have abandoned; but I must claim the privilege, as one of this lady's earliest friends, of visiting her to-morrow morning, to hear those particulars which I have not been able to hear to-night."
"I cannot object to such an arrangement," replied the Maréchal, alighting, while his more impetuous companion made his horse's feet clatter with a touch of the spur. "I cannot object to such a meeting--always understood, that the Countess of Chatillon be present. The carriage in which the rogues carried you off, my fair Helen," added he, taking her hand from mine, with much gentlemanlike frankness, "shall serve to carry you back again; and I will be your companion."
Helen now took leave of me, with more tenderness than at least the younger horseman liked; for he turned his beast's head and rode a little away. The Maréchal then handed her into the carriage, and, turning to me, he said in a low voice, "Your visit, Monsieur le Comte de l'Orme, if it must be, had better be early, for this young lady is about to undertake a long journey by desire of her father; but if you would follow my advice, you would, instead of visiting her at all, turn your horse's head from Paris as speedily as possible; for, believe me, neither your journeys to Sedan, nor your proceedings in this capital, have been so secret as to escape suspicion." He paused for a moment, after having spoken, as if he waited an answer, or watched the effect of what he had said. It came upon me, I will own, as if some one had struck me; but I had presence of mind enough to reply--"My proceedings in this city, seigneur, have certainly been sufficiently open; and, consequently, should pass without suspicion, if the actions of any one be suffered to do so. My journey to Sedan was open enough also; but my return from that place was as much so; and therefore, I suppose, I have nothing to fear on that score."
"My warning, sir, was given as a friend," replied the Maréchal de Chatillon; "and I would rather meet you a few days hence in the battle-field, as a fair enemy, than hear that you had been consigned to the dungeons of the Bastille, or executed in the Place de Grève. Adieu, Monsieur de l'Orme; make the best of my warning, for it is one not to be neglected." Thus speaking, he entered the carriage; and one of his followers, who had dismounted, shut the door and took the place of the driver, who had fled at the sight of drawn swords. Then turning the horses towards Paris, he drove on, followed by the train of the Maréchal de Chatillon.
In the meantime, the warning I had received sunk deep into my mind; and though I resolved to risk everything rather than quit Paris without coming to a full explanation with Helen, and satisfying myself concerning a thousand doubts that hung upon me, I despatched Garcias with Jacques Mocqueur to Meaux that very night, with the necessary letters of exchange to pay the troop that waited me at Marigny, and an order for them to obey him as myself, in case of my arrest or death; begging him at the same time, in either event, to lead them to Sedan, and head them in the cause of the Count de Soissons. Combalet and Achilles I took with me to the Hôtel de Soissons, but kept them there only for a moment, while I gathered together all my papers and effects. After which I gave the whole package into the hands of Achilles, and sending both out of the town with their own two horses, and a led one for me, I bade them wait for me at the village of Bondy till dusk the next night. If I came not then, they had orders to join Garcias at Meaux, and tell him that I was arrested.
All these precautions taken, I went to bed and slept.