CHAPTER XLII.
All had been prepared in the great hall of the Château de Marzay for the marriage of Rose d'Albret with Nicholas de Chazeul, as far as the time and circumstances would admit. A few of such flowers, as the early season of the year afforded, had been gathered to strew the floor, or to form into nosegays. Various old banners and decorations had been brought forth, to give an appearance of splendor and gaiety to the scene; and if friends and relations had not been summoned to honour the occasion, their places were filled up by the servants and attendants of the family, dressed in their best attire. All Madame de Chazeul's maids were there, all the women servants of the château, with the sole exception of Blanchette, who, as the reader knows, had remained in her mistress's apartments.
But the principal group in the room, was stationed near the table, in the midst, on which lay the contract of marriage, neatly tied with white riband, and surrounded by a chaplet of violets and snow-drops. That group consisted of the young Marquis de Chazeul, dressed in all the most extravagant finery of that extravagant day, of the Marchioness his mother, and the notary public of the Holy Roman Empire, who, called upon continually to deal with great people, was conversing familiarly with his two companions, and giving them his advice how to proceed in certain cases, which they had suggested for his consideration.
When first Madame de Chazeul had entered the room, she was followed by her page; but in the conversation which succeeded, between herself, the notary, and her son, she did not remark that the boy slipped away quietly and quitted the hall, without attracting the attention of any one.
The reader will have the kindness to remember that, as I described this hall at first, it might be entered by three different doors; the one communicating with the great staircase, by means of a short corridor with deep windows at the south end; another leading, by a separate passage, to the apartments of the Count de Liancourt, and to those which Rose d'Albret had formerly occupied; and the third on the western side, giving exit to the walls, by the little flying bridge, which we have more than once already mentioned.
As it was the door on the north by which Rose d'Albret and the Count were expected to enter, the eyes of the whole party were turned, from time to time, in that direction; but yet, for more than a quarter of an hour after the Marchioness de Chazeul had entered, no one else appeared; and she herself seemed to be, as probably she really was, somewhat anxious and impatient of the long delay which took place. Every one remarked that her face looked pale, notwithstanding her rouge, and that a sort of sharp and irritable twitching about the muscles of the mouth and nostril displayed itself in a manner which none of them had ever seen before.
At the end of that quarter of an hour, she advanced to the table at the further side of the hall, where various refreshments had been set out, and drank a quantity of water and some wine. Then she sat down; and then she rose again; and then advancing to her son, she whispered, "How long they are! I fear your uncle has been fool enough to let her argue with him, instead of stopping her at once."
"But just as she spoke, the door was thrown sharply open, and the Count de Liancourt himself appeared, accompanied by poor Rose d'Albret. She was as pale as death; and before she entered she paused, and put her hand twice to her head, as if her brain grew giddy; but Monsieur de Liancourt took her by the arm, not quite as gently as might be, and led her into the hall. All parties made way, and formed a circle round the table, on which the contract lay, leaving sufficient space for the principal parties to advance and sign the document.
"I am faint," said Rose, as the Count hurried on; "give me some water."
"Give her some water, give her some water," cried the Count. "Mademoiselle d'Albret is somewhat faint."
Chazeul instantly sprang to the other table, and fetched a cup of water; but when he brought it, Rose put it aside, with a look of disgust, replying, "Not from your hand!" and, seeming to recover strength and courage from the effort, she took a step forward as if towards the table.
The notary immediately advanced with the pen in his hand, saying, "The contract has been read, Mademoiselle, by your guardian, Monsieur de Liancourt, on your part, and by Monsieur de Chazeul on his own. It is, therefore, doubtless, unnecessary to read it over to yourself, as they are quite satisfied."
"Oh! quite unnecessary," cried the Count. "Point out where she is to sign."
"Stay a moment," cried Rose d'Albret; "I told you, Sir, before I came hither, that I did not intend to sign this paper--that nothing shall ever induce me to sign it: and my only object in appearing here now, is to protest before all these witnesses, that I will never be the wife of Nicholas de Chazeul."
Looks of surprise passed round the greater part of the crowd; and many of them whispered to their neighbour, inquiring what would be done next, while Madame de Chazeul stepped forward with a flashing eye, and a quivering lip to say something in a low tone to her brother, and Nicholas de Chazeul, stretching out his tall form to its full height, tossed back his head with a look of scornful indignation.
"What says Monsieur de Liancourt?" said the notary, who had received his instructions from the Marchioness. "Does he admit of this protest? for the lady, I conceive, must act by her guardian."
"No, I do not admit it," cried the Count. "I insist that the marriage go forward. Is it competent for me to sign on her behalf?"
The notary hesitated. "No," he said, at length; "I think we must have her signature."
"That you shall never have," replied Rose. "I would rather cut off my hand."
"I would pass over ceremonies, Sir, if I were you," said the notary, speaking to the Count in a whisper. "The lady's hand can be guided over the paper."
"It shall be done," replied the Count; and Madame de Chazeul beckoned up one of her men, saying in an under voice to her brother, "do it suddenly, and it will be over before she is aware."
"In the first place," rejoined the notary, in the same tone, "to make it all formally right, we had better inquire whether there be any one who wishes to take act of opposition to the marriage.--You are sure of all in the hall, I suppose?"
The Marchioness nodded her head; and the notary proceeded to demand, in a louder voice, if there was any one who had any lawful cause of opposition to the marriage, between Nicholas, Marquis de Chazeul, and Rose Demoiselle d'Albret.
There was a sudden noise at the other side of the hall, even while he was speaking, and the moment after he had ceased, a voice, sweet and melancholy though clear and firm, exclaimed, "I have;" and, as the crowd broke away, and turned towards the spot whence the sounds issued, Helen de la Tremblade advanced, and stood directly opposite the Marquis de Chazeul and his mother.
Chazeul turned first as red as fire, and then as pale as ashes; and the Marchioness stood by his side, not with the rage and vehemence which might have been supposed, not with the ready command of resources and the power, as well as the will, to bear down opposition, but with her teeth chattering, her face pale, her lips white, and her limbs trembling.
"I feel ill," she said, "I feel ill.--I must have taken the wrong cup.--Chazeul, I feel ill."
But none attended to her; for the notary had turned to Helen de la Tremblade, and was inquiring in a formal but scornful tone, what were the grounds of her opposition, when another voice was heard, exclaiming "These!" and father Walter strode forward and took her by the hand, holding forth an open letter, "These are the grounds of her opposition," he said, "inasmuch as she is contracted with Monsieur de Chazeul, par paroles de future."
The notary turned and looked to Monsieur de Liancourt, who exclaimed, in a furious tone, "They are all in a conspiracy to stop the marriage. I will have it go forward as I have sworn."
"You can pass over this objection, Sir," said the notary. "If it be at all valid, it may be pleaded hereafter in nullification."
"Well, then, pass it over," cried the Count. "Will you sign, Mademoiselle d'Albret?"
"Never!" answered Rose, firmly. "Never! so help me God!"
"Then thus I will make you," muttered Monsieur de Liancourt; and, seizing her suddenly by the wrist, he dragged her forward to the table; and while the man, René, stood behind to prevent her escape, he placed the pen partly in her hand, partly held it in his own, and was actually running it over the paper, before Rose was well aware of what he was doing.
"I protest, in the name of God, and the Holy Catholic Church, against this violent and outrageous act!" exclaimed Walter de la Tremblade, lifting up his hands to Heaven.
"Hold!" cried a voice of thunder at the same moment; and, striding forward through the crowd, a stout short man, with a grey beard and hair, dressed in a plain suit of russet brown, advanced to the table, and struck the pen out of Monsieur de Liancourt's hand, exclaiming, "Hold! Hear a word or two first!--Parbleu! you make quick work of it!"
The Count laid his hand upon his sword, demanding fiercely, "Who are you, insolent villain?"
"Why, this is that man, Chasseron," cried Chazeul. "What have you to do with this affair, Sir?"
"Why, Ventre Saint Gris! I oppose the marriage," cried Chasseron, "as the lady's cousin."
"Her cousin!" exclaimed Chazeul, bursting into a scornful laugh. "Who ever heard of you before?"
"That will not avail, unless you can prove your relationship," exclaimed Monsieur de Liancourt, looking to the notary.
But that worthy officer was gazing down upon the ground somewhat pale in the face; and Chasseron, in his bluff way, replied, "Will that not do?--Pardi, then, this will!" and, drawing his sword, he laid it naked upon the table. Then, taking up the contract of marriage, he tore it to atoms.
Chazeul sprang towards him with fury in his countenance. But the notary darted in between, holding up both his hands, and exclaiming, "The King! the King!"
"The King!" cried Chazeul staggering back.
"The King!" exclaimed Monsieur de Liancourt, gazing upon him.
"The King! the King!" cried many voices in the hall; and at least one half added, "Vive Henri Quatre!"
"Even so, my good friends," said Henry. "Monsieur de Liancourt, you will excuse me for taking such liberties in your château. I have been obliged to make it my halting-place this morning, with about a couple of hundred of my friends, who have just been hunting with me in these woods. But we shall all depart before night, and leave you in full possession of your own again, as I came with no hostile intention, but merely to do a little act of justice. And now, my fair cousin," he continued, turning to Rose d'Albret, "you must prepare for a journey to-night, for we intend to take you with us."
"My lord the King," said the Count de Liancourt, assuming a tone of dignity for a last effort. "I have to beg that, whatever you do, you would abstain from meddling with the arrangements of my family."
"Parbleu!" exclaimed Henry, "what would the man have? Without, there!--Send in the captain of the guard and a file of soldiers. Either as a friend or an enemy, Monsieur de Liancourt--either as a good and obedient subject, or a rebel against his King!--You shall act which character you please, and I will behave accordingly. In the mean time, Sir, this lady is no longer your ward; for, let me tell you, that you have attempted to violate the contract with her father, by means--of which the less we say the better. It shall be my task to carry that contract into execution. Ha! the guard!--Attach Monsieur de Chazeul for high treason--But! what have we got here?" he continued, looking to a spot a little behind the Count, where the servants of Madame de Chazeul had placed her in a chair and gathered round her. "A dead woman, I think!--By my life! my old acquaintance, Jacqueline de Chazeul!"
"Good God, my mother!" exclaimed Chazeul darting towards her: but the hand that he took was cold and inanimate; and, "the poisoned chalice" she had prepared for others, had worked too certainly upon herself.
At first, it was supposed, she did but faint: but the truth was soon ascertained; and when Chazeul rose from his knee, and turned round to the rest of the party, he beheld what was to him a more painful sight than even that on which he had been just gazing. It was Rose d'Albret in the arms of Louis de Montigni: while Monsieur de Liancourt, with all his assumed firmness gone, was apparently making amends to the King by courtesy and explanation, for the tone which he had at first assumed towards him.
But, in another part of the hall stood Helen de la Tremblade, with her hand in that of her uncle, while her eyes were buried on the old man's shoulder; and around,--at each door of the hall, and filling up the whole of one side,--were seen the scarred and weather-beaten faces of the veteran royalist soldiery, with their white scarfs over their shoulders, and their naked swords in their hand.
Chazeul turned again to the form of his dead mother, and then once more bent his eyes on Helen de la Tremblade. "It is the hand of God!" he murmured. "It is the hand of God!" and then, as the captain of the guard advanced to arrest him, he said, "Wait one moment," and strode across the room towards the priest and his niece.
"Helen," he said in a low tone, "Helen, I have done you wrong.--I am ready to make atonement.--Will you be my wife?"
"No!" cried Helen, turning round towards him, "No!--My fate is fixed. The cloister is the only shelter for one whose heart has been trampled on like mine."
"Nay, nay!" cried Henri Quatre stepping forward. "Remember, my fair friend, penitence should be always accepted. Were it not so, how should I ever find grace, as I yet hope to do?--Nay, suffer me to be the mediator. Here, Monsieur de Chazeul," he continued, taking Helen's hand, and placing it in that of the Marquis. "Take her: and if she have loved you too well heretofore, it is a thousand chances to one that you soon teach her to mend that fault, when you are her husband.--However, you shall have fair room to try; for we must not cage so promising a bridegroom. Captain, we shall not want your good offices for the present."
The augury of the King was unhappily but too correct; and two years had barely elapsed, when Helen, Marchioness of Chazeul, retired for ever from the busy world, with the consent of her husband, to the convent of a sisterhood of cloistered nuns.