CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Painful and terrific as had been the struggle in the bosom of Albert Maurice, while he remained in the presence of the princess, his feelings had been light and sunshiny, compared with those which he experienced when he found himself alone with the deep gloom--the dull, immovable despair, which at once took possession of his heart, the moment that thought had an opportunity to rest upon his own situation. We have before seen that remorse was already busy in his bosom; and the only shield that guarded him from the lash of his own reflections, had been the bright surpassing hope of overcoming all the mighty obstacles before him, and winning her he loved. But now he had triumphed over every enemy--he had overleaped every barrier--he had set his foot upon every obstacle, and, in the end, discovered that she loved another--that all was useless he had done--that the blood he had shed, had been shed in vain--that he had forgotten his country and her rights--that he had forgotten justice and humanity--that he had yielded himself entirely to ambition, and consigned himself to remorse for ever--for a dream that was gone. Nor was this all; the same deep, fiery, passionate love remained in his heart, but was now doomed, instead of the bright follower of hope, to become the sad companion of remorse and despair. When he thought of the future--when she should become the bride of another--he felt his brain reel under the agony of that contemplation. When he thought of the past, he felt that the gnawing worm was for ever destined to prey upon his heart. There was no refuge for him in all time, to which he could fly for relief. The gone hours were full of reproach, and the approaching ones were all bitterness.
Such were his feelings as he strode along the passages of the palace at Ghent; and the incoherent words that he muttered to himself, as he proceeded, showed how terrible had been their effect already upon his bright and powerful mind. "They have been murdered in vain," he muttered--"they have been murdered in vain. Their blood cries up to heaven against me. To see her in the arms of another--oh God! oh God! But she shall be happy. Yes, she shall be happy. I will provide for his safety, as a brother, and she shall be happy; and I?--and I? Why, there is the grave--that is one resource, at least!" and suddenly he burst into a low, involuntary laugh, which made him start even as it rang upon his own ear. "Am I insane?" he thought; "then I must be speedy, lest the power fail me." And again muttering disjointed sentences, he proceeded down the great staircase, and was passing through the entrance-hall, without noticing any one, when Matthew Gournay advanced to his side and stopped him.
"There is no time to be lost, sir," he said; "let us hasten quick."
"Who are you?" demanded Albert Maurice, gazing vacantly upon him. "Oh, yes! I had forgot," he added, recalling his thoughts. "Other things were pressing on my mind. We will go presently, but I must first return to the town-house; and yet that square--I love not to pass that square, where they were beheaded."
"You have no time, sir," replied the old soldier, in a tone which again recalled Albert Maurice to the present moment. "As I sat here but now, that evil Prevot--that Maillotin du Bac--passed through the hall, with several others, speaking eagerly of you. His eye fell upon me, and he may chance to know me well. At all events, he was silent instantly; but, if I am not very wrong indeed, he has taken his way towards the prison, where my young lord lies; and, perchance, if we be not quick, we may come too late."
"You speak true; lead on!" cried Albert Maurice, roused to the exertion of all his powers by the sudden call upon his energy. "You, young man, run as for your life to the town-house! Bid the commander of the burgher guard march a hundred men instantly down to the Prevot's prison, near the gates. But who have we here?" he added, as a man in breathless haste ran up the steps into the hall. "The lieutenant of the Prevot, as I live! How now, sir! whom seek you?"
"You, Sir President," replied the man, at once. "You once saved me when I was in imminent peril; and I now think that the news I bring may be valuable to you. The prisoner who was made in the market-place--the Vert Gallant of Hannut--men say you owe him something, and would fain repay it. But, if you hasten not your steps, you will come too late. I have done what I can to delay the Prevot, but he is now speeding on to the prison. His purpose is against the life of the prisoner; and his horses are ready to fly from Ghent for ever."
"Enough, enough!" said Albert Maurice, passing him suddenly, and springing down the steps of the palace. The active exertion of his corporeal powers seemed to give back to Albert Maurice full command of his mental ones, at least for the time; and though his thoughts were characterized by the darkest and sternest despair, they wandered not from those points to which he strove to bend them, and he seemed revolving eagerly some plan of future conduct. "Yes," he said, half aloud, as he strode on, "yes! so shall it be! If I am in time, he shall conduct the rest; and, ere all be finished, the world may know that there were some drops of Roman blood even within this bosom."
Almost as he spoke he turned the corner of a street, which led directly towards the Alost gate. Fifty yards farther stood a small stone building, known as the Prevot's prison, in which he lodged any newly-arrested prisoners, previous either to their immediate execution or to their removal to some other place of confinement. The street was all dark, and likewise solitary, except where--the upper stories, as was often customary in Ghent, protruded considerably beyond the lower ones--stood four or five men, holding saddled horses, and conversing together in a low tone.
The impatient stamping of their steeds had prevented them from catching the approaching steps of Albert Maurice and his party; and one was saying to the other, at the very moment they came up, in a tone sufficiently loud for his words to be distinguished--"He is very long! I never knew him so long about such a job before!"
"Let them be seized!" exclaimed Albert Maurice, the instant his eye fell upon them; "the rest follow me;" and without waiting to notice the short scuffle that ensued, he sprang on towards the Prevot's prison, and pushed against the door. It was locked, and the key on the inner side, so that his effort to open it was vain.
"Fly to the gate!" he exclaimed, turning to one of his followers; "bring me a battle-axe from the guard-house. Ho! within there!" he added, striking the hilt of his sword violently against the door. "Open the door! beware what you do; you cannot escape me; and you shall find my vengeance terrible. Open the door, I say!"
But he spoke in vain; no answer was returned; and the only sound that he even thought he heard was that of a low groan. After a few moments of painful expectation, the man who had been sent to the gate returned, bearing a ponderous axe, and followed by two or three of the soldiers of the guard. Albert Maurice snatched the weapon from his hands, and in three blows dashed in a large part of the door. The rest was soon hewn down, at least sufficiently to admit the passage of the young burgher and his followers. Entering the small stone hall into which it opened, he caught up a light that had evidently been burning some time untrimmed, and commanding two or three of those who accompanied him to guard the door, he strode forward rapidly to the mouth of a narrow flight of steps, which led to some cells below the ground. At the entrance of one of these dungeons a lantern had been placed upon the ground, and was still burning; and Albert Maurice immediately perceived that the door was not completely closed. He instantly pushed it open, and held up the light, when the sight that presented itself to his eyes was horrible indeed, but not ungrateful.
Seated upon the side of the straw pallet, which had been his only couch since he had been removed from the town-house, appeared Hugh de Mortmar, as we have previously called him, with his right foot pressed heavily upon the body of a man, who, from his dress and appearance, seemed to be one of the jailers in the employ of the Prevot. A little to the right, surrounded by a pool of blood, a stream of which was still flowing from his throat--lay the form of Maillotin du Bac, while the poniard, which, it may be remembered, Albert Maurice had bestowed upon Hugh de Mortmar in the prison of the town-house, now driven tightly in between the gorget plaits and cuirass of the Prevot's armour, showed at once the manner of his death and the arm which had inflicted it.
The young prisoner held in his hand the sword of the dead man, and gazed upon those who entered with a firm and resolute countenance, while he held down beneath his feet the form of the jailer, who was clearly alive, and seemingly uninjured, except from a ghastly contusion on his forehead. The moment that he beheld who were the new comers, Hugh de Mortmar started up; and a few hurried words explained the precise situation in which they all stood. The sight of Albert Maurice and of good old Matthew Gournay was enough to satisfy the young prisoner; and on his part he had only to tell them, that while lying there a few minutes before, thinking of when his captivity might end, he had heard approaching steps, and listened to a low conversation at the door which he felt sure boded him no good. Affecting to sleep, he remained perfectly quiet while the door opened, and the Prevot, setting down his lantern on the outside, approached towards him, accompanied by the jailer who had the care of the prison. Their eyes, however, were not so much accustomed to the darkness as his own; and, seeing evidently that the design of the Prevot was to despatch him, he watched his moment, till the other was stooping over him, and then drove the dagger with which he had been furnished, with the full force of recovered health and strength, under the gorget of the murderer. So hard had he stricken it, however, between the iron plates, that he could not draw it forth again, and he had nothing to trust to but his own corporeal strength in the struggle which succeeded with the jailer. The hard food and the constrained repose to which he had been subjected in the prison, had perhaps contributed to restore him to full vigour in a shorter time than might otherwise have been required for recovering his health; and the jailer, overmatched, had just been cast headlong to the ground when Albert Maurice forced his way into the place of the young noble's confinement.
In the energy of action Albert Maurice had, for the time, found relief from a part of the heavy load that passion and circumstances had piled upon his head; but the moment the necessity of active exertion passed away, the weight returned and crushed him to the earth. He spoke for an instant to the prisoner collectedly and calmly, but gradually his brow grew dark and clouded; and his words became low, harsh, and confined to those necessary to express his wishes or commands. The jailer, freed from the tread of Hugh de Mortmar, was placed in the custody of some of those who had now crowded to the spot; and the President, after giving general orders to the burgher guard, which came up, and a few whispered directions to Matthew Gournay, took the prisoner by the hand, saying, "Come, my lord; let us to the town-house!"
The change which had come over the whole demeanour of the young citizen since last he had seen him, was too great to escape the eyes of Hugh de Mortmar, even at a moment when the excitement of a late struggle was fresh upon him. Nor did he exactly understand how the young President dared to take the bold step of setting him free at once, when he had before seemed most anxious to proceed with scrupulous caution. He made no observation, however, and followed Albert Maurice into the street. By this time, almost all the respectable citizens of Ghent were in their quiet beds; but a number of those who had been entertained in the market-place were still wandering about; some partially inebriated with ale or mead; some half drunk with excitement and pleasure. A number of these had gathered together amongst the guards and attendants, now collected round the door of the prison; and as Albert Maurice led forth his companion, and the flickering glare of a number of lanterns and torches showed the features of the President to the crowd, he was greeted by loud acclamations. But the smile of bitterness and scorn with which Albert Maurice now heard the vivats of the multitude, contrasted strongly with his demeanour in the morning, and showed how completely the talismanic touch of disappointment had changed to his eyes all the fairy splendours of his fate.
Without a word of reply, he passed through the midst of the crowd, sought the narrowest and darkest way; and, apparently buried in sad thoughts, proceeded with a quick and irregular step towards the town-house, maintaining a gloomy and unbroken silence as he went. He avoided the market-place before the building as much as possible; and the only words he spoke, were uttered when he could not avoid seeing the spot where Imbercourt and Hugonet had died, and which was now covered with people, busily removing the traces of the evening's festivity. "It is sad," he said, with a mournful shake of the head; "it is sad!" Then turning into the town-house, he ascended the stairs rapidly, and entered a small withdrawing room by the side of the great hall.
To that very chamber it so happened that the body of Ganay had been removed, after the sword of Matthew Gournay had left him lifeless on the pavement; and the first object that met the eye of Albert Maurice was the corpse stretched upon a table, while one of his own attendants stood near, as if he had been examining the appearance of the dead man. The immediate impulse of the President was to draw back, but the next was the very contrary; and, again advancing, he approached directly to the table, and fixed his eyes upon the face of the corpse, which was uncovered. "He sleeps calm enough!" he said, drawing in his lips, and turning partially to Hugh de Mortmar. "He sleeps calm enough, with all his burning passions at an end. But this is no place for what we have to say." He was then treading back his steps towards the door, when the attendant advanced, and gave him a packet of papers and a small silver box, saying, "These old papers, sir, and this box, which we conceive to contain poison, are all that we have discovered on the dead body."
"Ha! will the means of death lie in so small a space?" said Albert Maurice, gazing on the little silver case; "but 'tis well! Bring hence the lights, leave the body, and lock the door. He will not find solitude oppressive, I doubt not;" and thus saying, he led the way into another chamber, to which the servant followed with the key and lights; and the President added, as they were set down before him, "Bring wine!"
When the man was gone, and he was seated with the young cavalier, he leaned his brow upon his hand for a moment, and then looked up, "Give me your pardon, sir," he said; "give me your pardon for a short space. I am somewhat ill to-night, and must collect my thoughts, before I can speak to you as I ought."
Hugh de Mortmar bowed his head; and wine being brought in a few minutes, Albert Maurice filled for both, and drained his own cup to the dregs. "I have a burning thirst upon me," he said, "but it will soon be quenched. Now, sir, I can speak. You have recovered, I trust, your full strength; and this night--that is to say, ere dawn--can ride forth away from the thraldom of this place?"
"As well as ere I rode in life," replied Hugh de Mortmar, "and thank you deeply for your kind intentions."
"Thank not me," replied Albert Maurice, gravely, "for I am about, like a true citizen," he added, with a bitter smile, "for I am about to drive a hard bargain with you; and to make you agree to do me a service in return--not for giving you your liberty, for you did the like to me--but for some intelligence I have to communicate, which may be worth its weight in gold. Of that hereafter. First, let us speak of the service I require. You have at this moment, within the walls of the city, where I have given them employment during this evening, some three or four hundred free companions--good soldiers, levied for purposes I know and respect. In an hour's time they will be mounted, and at the Alost gate, from which we have just come. You shall have arms that might grace a prince, a horse as noble as ever was bestrode by knight; and what I require is this--that, all other matter laid aside, you ride forward towards Brussels, and thence onward, on whatever road you may find necessary--as you will there discover from the Lord of Ravestein, or the Duchess Dowager--in order to meet Maximilian, Archduke of Austria."
"What! my best friend and old companion in arms!" cried Hugh de Mortmar. "No evil against him, Sir President! for know, I would sooner bear to my grave the heaviest chains that ever shackled man, than raise an arm against one I love so well."
"Fear not, my lord!" replied Albert Maurice. "For his safety, not for his injury, would I have you set out. Tell him from me, Albert Maurice, that his way is beset; tell him that every artifice will be used to make him turn back, by fair means or by foul. But bid him hasten forward, in spite of all; and you, on your part, promise me, never to quit him till you see him safely within the gates of the duke's house in Ghent."
"Willingly! most willingly!" replied the young cavalier, rising. "I am ready to set out!"
"What, without the tidings I have promised?" demanded Albert Maurice.
"Some other time!" replied Hugh de Mortmar. "When I return will do."
"The present moment is yours," answered the young citizen, gravely. "Who can say that, by the time you return, these lips may not be closed by a seal that no human hand can ever remove!"
"I trust not," replied the other; "I trust not; but if what you have to tell be really of importance, let me beseech you to speak it quickly."
"I will," replied Albert Maurice. "I have no right, nor any wish, to keep you in suspense. Are you aware that Adolphus, Duke of Gueldres, is dead?"
"Good God!" exclaimed the young cavalier. "They told me that he was quite well, and leading the forces of Ghent against Tournay. You have, indeed, ended my suspense somewhat abruptly."
"There is still more to come," said Albert Maurice, with a sort of reckless harshness, which was no part of his natural character; but which probably arose from the apathetic callousness of despair. "As you knew not that he was dead, you know not that this arm slew him."
"Ha!" cried the other, instinctively laying his hand upon his side, as if to grasp the hilt of his sword. "You--you! Did you shed my father's blood? Then, take heed to yourself. Call again for your jailers! Cast me back into the dungeon; for otherwise your blood must answer for that which you have spilt."
"Such threats," answered Albert Maurice, "are worse than vain, to one who loves life too little to care who takes it from him. Besides, they are prompted by a mere dream of the imagination, which I can dissolve by two or three words. You had never seen the Duke of Gueldres from your childhood; no sweet reciprocations of domestic love had bound your heart to his; you knew that he was vicious, criminal, unfeeling. Nay, frown not, sir, but hear me. You know all this; and yet, because you believe him to have been your father, you would slay any one that raised a hand against him."
Doubtless, there is inherent in human misery a desire of seeing others wretched when we are wretched ourselves; and the sort of painful playing with the feelings of the young cavalier, in which Albert Maurice indulged at a moment when he himself was plunged in the gloomiest despair, probably arose from some such cause. His own griefs, however, were too great to suffer his mind to dwell long upon anything without weariness; and he tired almost instantly of the topic.
"Too much of this!" he added, in the same abrupt tone. "Be your feelings on those points rational or not, no tie, human or divine, binds you to love or to avenge Adolphus, the bad Duke of Gueldres. Know, that at his instigation the man, whose corpse you saw but now, kindled the flames of Lindenmar, in which the infant heir of Hannut was supposed to have perished; and farther know, that in the act of death, the Duke of Gueldres confessed to me, that he himself carried away the infant, and reared him as his son upon the death of his own child. You are that boy; but you will want other proofs to establish the facts--there they are, in writing; and probably these papers which you saw me receive but now, may throw some farther light upon the matter. We have neither of us time to examine them more particularly at present. Take them with you, and claim your right of birth. Now follow me to the armory, for I hear your band passing onward towards the Alost gate to wait your coming. Are you strong enough to go?"
The young cavalier gazed for a moment in his face, bewildered by all he heard; but then replied, "I am ready! quite ready! For these papers I owe you a thousand thanks; but the tidings you have given confound me, and I have not words--"
"No more! no more!" replied Albert Maurice. "Here is our way." The young citizen now led his companion forward to the armory, which had been collected in the town-house, under his own care. As they went, the liberated prisoner would fain have asked a thousand questions explanatory of the strange tidings he had just received; but the answers of Albert Maurice were brief, and somewhat sharp. Referring him entirely to the papers that he had received, the young citizen strode onward, and saw the Vert Gallant of Hannut equip himself once more in a complete suit of arms. There was a degree of joy in the countenance of the young heir of Hannut as he did so--a sort of new lighting up of that military hope which was the great inspiration of the day--that called a melancholy smile even to the lip of Albert Maurice; and he gazed upon him, as with quick and dexterous hands he clothed his powerful limbs in steel, as an old man on the verge of the tomb might be supposed to regard a youth setting out upon the flowery path of life, full of all those bright aspirations that had passed away from himself for ever. When it was all done; "Your horse," said the young citizen, "stands below; but yet one moment. A pass must be written for yourself and the Archduke. Follow me once more."
In the next chamber were implements for writing; and, with a rapid hand, Albert Maurice traced the necessary order, destined to remove all petty obstacles from the path of his princely rival, signed his name below in a bold, free hand, and gave it to his companion with a proud, but bitter smile.
"There," he said; "take it, and go forth! and may God speed you on your errand! Forgive me if I have sported with your feelings this night, which may be I have done in some degree, but there is a potent demon in my heart just now, that strives hard to crush each noble wish and kindly feeling, ere they can rise. Now, farewell!"
"Farewell! farewell!" replied Hugh of Hannut. "I may, perhaps, want more information than these papers contain. But we shall meet again!"
"Perhaps we may," replied Albert Maurice, as the other turned, and descended the steps. "Perhaps we may," he repeated, as, after a moment's pause, he heard the trampling of horse, announcing that the other had departed--"perhaps we may, in the grave, or, rather, beyond it."
The young President then returned to the chamber in which he had been sitting, and continued for about an hour engaged in writing. When he had concluded, he buried his eyes in his hands for a few moments, and remained plunged in deep thought. Rousing himself, he raised a lamp, and striding across the passages to the room where the corpse of Ganay the druggist lay, he threw open the door, and gazed upon the countenance of the dead man for some time.
Without a word, he then walked back to the chamber where he had been writing; and drawing forth the small silver box which had been given him, poured the white powder that it contained into one of the cups, added a little wine from the tankard, and drank off the mixture. After which he cast himself into a chair, and closed his eyes. For several minutes he remained in the same position, without a muscle of his face being moved; but at length he opened his eyes, looking somewhat fiercely round the chamber.
"This is too much!" he exclaimed aloud. "It has no effect! and I lie here, expecting death without a chance of his approach, while the past haunts me, and there seem voices crying up for judgment upon me, from that accursed square. But I will soon end all!" and starting up, he drew his dagger from the sheath; but as he did so, something in the word judgment appeared to seize upon his imagination. "Judgment!" he said--"judgment! Am I not flying to judgment?" and laying down the dagger on the table, he paused, gazing round with a degree of fearful bewilderment in his eyes, which seemed to show either that his mind was shaken, or that some potent destroyer was mastering the body. "Judgment!" he repeated. "Were it not better to wait till I am summoned, to strive to wipe out the evil, and to bear the sorrows that God has given as a punishment for all that I have done, and left undone? Judgment!--Judgment!" But, as he repeated that awful word, his cheek grew deathly pale; cold drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead, his lips became nearly livid; and the rich curls of his dark hair, as if relaxed by the overpowering weakness that seemed coming over his whole frame, fell wild and floating upon his brow. At first, apparently unconscious of the change that was taking place, he leaned his hand upon the table to steady himself as he stood; but the moment after, two or three sharp shudders passed over his whole frame; and after reeling painfully for an instant, he cast himself back into the chair, exclaiming, in a tone full of despair indeed, "It is too late! it is too late!" and he threw himself to and fro in restless agony. "This is vain!" he cried, at length, opening his eyes. "This is weak, and empty, and cowardly! I that have lived boldly can surely die as I have lived;" and once more resuming the attitude in which he had placed himself at first, he clasped his hand tight over his eyes, as if to exclude a painful sense of the light. In a moment or two, the hand dropped; but his eyes remained closed; and after a time, the exhausted lamps, which had now been burning many hours, went out, and all was darkness!
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The rumour which had given to the heart of Mary of Burgundy the glad hope that Maximilian of Austria was already within her territories, had deceived her; and Hugh of Hannut, on arriving at Brussels, found that his princely companion-in-arms was still far from that city. True to the promise he had given, however--though all his own feelings would have conducted him at once to the forest of Hannut, wherein he had led a life of such adventure and interest, and to the mansion where her he loved now dwelt, and in which his happiest days had been passed--he advanced directly towards Cologne; and not far on the hither side of the Rhine, met the small party which accompanied the son of the Emperor. It were as tedious as an old chronicle to tell the joy of Maximilian at the coming of his friend, or to detail all the efforts that were made by the Duke of Cleves to deter or prevent the Archduke from pursuing his journey towards Ghent. The private information he had received, and the armed force which now accompanied him on his way, rendered all efforts either to alarm or impede him vain; and the rapid progress made by the French arms had so convinced the people of Flanders that a single leader, whose fortunes were linked for ever to that of the princess of Burgundy, was absolutely necessary to give vigour and direction to their efforts, that all attempts to stir them up to oppose the alliance with the Austrian prince would have been fruitless under any circumstances.
One event, however, had happened in the meantime, which completely cooled throughout Flanders that ardour for innovation, and that desire of democratic rule, which is one of the evils consequent upon every struggle for increased liberty, whether just or unjust--the wild spray which the waves of freedom cast beyond their legitimate bound. The morning after the return of Albert Maurice to Ghent, some of his attendants, finding the door of his bedchamber open, entered, and discovered that he had never been in bed; and the alarm spreading, he was soon after found, seated in the chair in which he had been writing, cold, stiff, and dead.
Of the letters which were cast upon the table before him, one was addressed to the princess, and one to his uncle; and both distinctly alluded to his intention of destroying himself. Left suddenly without a leader, pressed by a powerful enemy, and encumbered with the management of a state, all the springs and wheels of which they themselves had disarranged, the people of Ghent began to ask themselves what they had gained by pressing exaction and discontent beyond the mere recovery of their rights and privileges. The simplest amongst them saw that they had gained nothing and lost much; and the more clear-sighted discovered, that in carrying their efforts beyond the straightforward object which they had proposed at first, they had only made the government of the state an object of contention to bold and ambitious party leaders--a race of men who, for the purpose of success, must always necessarily prolong that confusion and anarchy, which is more baleful than the worst of tyrannies; and who, when success is obtained, must end in tyranny to uphold their power.
The very day that the death of Albert Maurice was discovered, intelligence arrived that the armies of France, marching on from the side of Cassel, had burned some villages within four leagues of Ghent; and the council of the states, confused, terrified, and surprised, without chief, without union, and without resource, proceeded in a body to the palace; and resigning at the feet of the princess the authority they had usurped, demanded her orders and directions, in the imminent peril to which the state was exposed. It was then that Mary of Burgundy made that famous answer, which has been transmitted to us by almost every historian who has mentioned her name; but it was in sorrow, not in anger, that she spoke; and the tears were in her eyes, when--after hearing the details of a ruined country, an invaded territory, the rich harvests of Flanders reaped by strange husbandmen while they were green, her frontier fortresses taken, and her troops proving false--she replied to the subjects, whose turbulence and discontent had fostered, if not caused, all the evils they recapitulated,--"You have banished my best friends, and slain my wisest counsellors, and now what can I do to deliver you?"
But misfortune had taught the people of Ghent their own errors, and the excellence of her they had so basely outraged. The news that the Archduke of Austria, the long-betrothed husband and the favoured lover of Mary of Burgundy, was advancing with rapid steps towards Ghent, spread as much joy through the city as if the tidings had been of some personal good fortune to each individual citizen. The gates of Ghent were now no longer guarded, except against the common enemy. The Duke of Cleves quitted the city in haste; and joy and satisfaction spread through all ranks when the cavalcade which escorted the Archduke wound on towards the palace. It was remarked, however, that nearly five-hundred of the horsemen who accompanied him--and those, surpassing all the rest in military array and demeanour--were all adorned with a green scarf, while the banner that floated over them bore the arms of Hannut--Argent a green tree proper; and that the knight who led this band of élite, though his beaver was now up, and his face exposed, was clothed from head to foot in the green armour of the Vert Gallant of Hannut.
Little more requires to be said. It is well known to every one, how gladly Mary of Burgundy herself saw the arrival of Maximilian.
Nor did the heart of Hugh de Hannut beat less highly, when, standing beside his princely friend, he, too, claimed his fair bride, Alice of Imbercourt. Still, the dead were to be mourned, and many sorrows were to be forgotten; but they were sorrows which drew the hearts of the living closer together. A gleam of sunshine shone out at last upon the days of the good old Lord of Hannut; and casting from him the studies which--fanciful or real--had soothed his griefs by occupying his mind, he passed his latter years in rejoicing over the recovery of so noble and so dear a son.
On the nineteenth of August, 1477, Mary of Burgundy gave her hand to Maximilian of Austria; and the rich territories, which so many princes had coveted, and for which France had played so base and subtle a game, passed away into another house. The years of that fair princess herself were few; but when she gazed smiling upon her husband and her children, she was wont to thank God that she had not looked into that fatal book, which might have given her an insight into her future destiny; and that in the happiness of the present she could see no ill to be anticipated for the future. Alice of Imbercourt, soon after her marriage, retired from the city to the dwelling of her husband's father; and though her deep affection for Mary of Burgundy still continued unabated, she never more made the court her abode. When, at length, the fatal accident happened, which caused the death of her fair foster-sister, she flew eagerly to soothe her couch of sickness; but she never entertained, for a moment, those hopes of recovery which all the others around indulged for several days. She it was who prepared the mind of the archduke for the death of her he loved. She closed her eyes, and then returned to her own dwelling, and resumed the duties of her station.
The people of the country declared that Alice was not surprised by the event which had occurred, being forewarned by the previous knowledge of the future which she had obtained; and the old writers assert, most seriously, that the horoscope of Mary of Burgundy, as it was drawn at her birth, was fulfilled to the most minute particular. As no one, however, saw this horoscope but Alice of Imbercourt--at least, before the latter events of Mary's life took place--and as Alice carefully abstained from ever mentioning the subject, it is more than probable that the love of the marvellous, so prevalent in those days, adapted the prediction to the facts long after they occurred.