Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XXXI.

We must now return to Walter de la Tremblade, who closed the door of the room where he had left his niece, and paused one moment to think. "It must be risked," he said: "the boy owes me much--He will not dare to doubt me;" and, without farther consideration, he again descended the stairs. At the bottom he heard a step, and saw a light glimmering through the door at the far end of the hall. "It is that base villain!" he thought as he concealed himself behind one of the square masses of masonry that supported the roof above. "He goes upon his dark errand, like the silent withering frost of autumn, blighting all the flowers it falls upon. Ah, monster!" he muttered between his teeth, as he saw the Marquis pass not ten steps from him: and well was it for Chazeul, well for himself, that there was no dagger under that priest's robe.

Covered with a dressing-gown of embroidered silk, and bearing a lamp in his hand, with a stealthy step and an eye looking eagerly forward, as if agitated with the very scheme in which he was taking part, Chazeul crossed the hall and approached the staircase. There was a slight rustle of the priest's gown, and the other paused suddenly and listened. All was still again; and he murmured, "It was the wind!" The next instant the clock struck one, and with a smile the Marquis mounted the stairs.

The moment he was gone, Walter de la Tremblade came forth again, and with a quick step went on, through the stone hall, across the court, and entered the chapel. There, with haste and agitation, he lighted a lamp that stood in the sacristy, returned, shading the flame with his hand, and, traversing the hall in another direction, passed through a low arch and along a narrow passage, which led him to the foot of a small staircase. Then taking two steps at a time, he mounted rapidly to the highest story of the château, where two or three rooms were seen on either hand. Through the key-hole of one streamed a light, and voices were heard talking.

"Ay, there wait her witnesses," murmured the priest; and, proceeding he turned into a passage on the left, and listened at a door. All was still; and, setting down the lamp, he raised the latch and entered. It was a low ill-furnished room, where slept the page, and one of the servants of the Marchioness of Chazeul, in beds not large enough to hold more than a single person. At the first pallet the priest stopped; and shading his eyes with his hand, as if to concentrate the little light that found its way in at the door, which he had left open, he gazed upon the countenance of the sleeping man. Then, going on, he touched the page gently with his hand. The boy slept soundly, however, and the priest had to stir him once more before he woke. Then whispering "Hush!" he added, "Get up, Philip. There is business for you to do."

"Ah! what is it, father?" said the boy, rubbing his eyes, still heavy with sleep: "is anything the matter?"

"Do not speak so loud," replied father Walter; "there is no need to wake any one else. The Marchioness has chosen you to ride for something that both she and I may have occasion to see; and you must mount and away to Chazeul immediately, so as to be back before nine to-morrow, when the burial of the old Commander de Liancourt is to take place. Are you awake enough to understand me?"

"Oh, yes, yes," answered the page yawning, "I understand quite well. I wish she had chosen another hour. At home, we can never count upon half a night's sleep: she is as restless as the wind; and it is to be the same thing here, it seems. But what am I to bring?"

"A certain precious book of Hours," replied the priest, "which has been long in the family of La Tremblade. You will find it in the room which my niece, Mademoiselle de la Tremblade, used to occupy." He paused upon the words, to show the boy that he was aware of Helen's absence from the Château of Chazeul, and then continued, "You will know the book, if you should find others there, by its being covered with crimson velvet, with silver clasps and studs. Bring it at once to me; and let no one else see it."

"But will that old tiger of a gouvernante let me have it?" asked the page: "she will not let one of us set foot in any room beyond the hall."

"Then make her fetch it," said the priest. "Tell her your mistress wants it; and let her refuse if she dare. Now, be quick. Cast on your things, and join me in the chapel. I will order a horse to be saddled in the mean time. But, make no noise. It is needless to wake any one; and the Marchioness would have your going secret."

The page entertained no suspicion; and--while Walter de la Tremblade hurried to the stable, woke a horse-boy and made him saddle a horse in haste--he dressed himself as quickly as his drowsy state would admit; and then, finding his way out of the room--not without stumbling over the foot of his comrade's bed, and wondering he had not woke him--he groped along the passage till he came to the room whence the light was shining through the key-hole.

"Ay!" he thought, "those lads are still up, playing with the dice I warrant. I should like to look in and give them a surprise; but I cannot wait for that;" and he passed on, descended the stairs, and crossed the court to the chapel.

No sooner had he quitted the room where he had lain, however, than his companion, who had seemed so sound asleep, raised himself upon his arm in bed, and asked himself, "What is all this, I wonder?--'Tis mighty secret!--The book to be brought to him! Why not to her, if she wishes to see it?--I should not be surprised if this were some trick of the priest's own. If all the house were not asleep, I would go tell my Lady. Perhaps she has not gone to rest yet; for she sits up mighty late all by herself; and no one knows what she is doing. I had better go! and yet she may not like to be disturbed, especially if she be dealing with the Devil, as the peasants in the village say. Hark! there are people up and about! I will go and tell her, if she be waking. She can but say I am over zealous; and if it should prove all a trick of the priest's, I may get a broad piece for my news."

These meditations, though short and connected here, were somewhat slow and disjointed, as they really presented themselves, to the man's mind, so that the page who had been sent to Chazeul was in the saddle and away, before they had come to a conclusion, and his comrade had begun to dress himself. When he had managed to get on the greater part of his apparel, however, he approached the door, and like the lad who had gone before, made some mental remarks upon the light which streamed from the room tenanted by his fellow servants, and which was now much more visible as the door by this time stood open, and the rays poured full out into the passage. He looked in as he went by, and, seeing the chamber vacant, took the lamp that stood upon the table to light him on his way.

The apartments of Madame de Chazeul were quite at the other side of the house, so that he was long in reaching them; for, in the mansions of those days, the architects had displayed all their skill in distributing the cubic space contained in any given building, into as many stairs and passages as possible, so that its tenants, unless they restrained themselves to one especial part, might never want exercise in arriving at the rest.

The ante-room door was at length reached; and, tapping gently, for fear of startling the inmates, the man was surprised to find his summons answered instantly by one of the Marchioness's maids fully dressed, but pale in the face with drowsiness, and heavy about the eyes.

"Can I speak a moment with Madame?" asked the servant in a low voice.

"Oh yes, Pierre," replied the woman. "She expects some of you. I thought you would never come."

The man began to fancy, he had made a mistake, and that Madame de Chazeul had really sent the priest to the page: so that he would now willingly have retreated; but the maid continued, "Come in! come in!" and another who was sitting at a frame embroidering, rose and went to the inner room to tell the Marchioness that "Pierre was come."

"Pierre!" cried Madame de Chazeul; "what has he to do with it? Bring him in, however. This must be some other affair. What now, Pierre?" she asked, fixing her keen vulture-like eyes upon him as he was brought forward, and signing her maids to close the door: "What seek you here so late?"

"Why, so please you, Madam," replied the servant, "I was not sure that all was right, and thought it better to tell you what was going on, because you once told me--"

The Marchioness waved her hand impatiently, exclaiming "What is it? what is it? Cease your prefaces!--What brought you hither?"

"Why, Madam, father Walter, the priest," answered the servant, "stole up just now to the room where the boy Philip and I are lodged. Not a word did he say to me; but he woke Philip, and when I roused up at the sound of voices, for I was but in a dog's sleep, I heard him give the page a message from you, Madam."

"From me?" cried the Marchioness, her eye glowing like a coal with anger and eagerness. "Well, what was the message?"

"That he was to ride instantly back to the château, Madam," replied the man, who easily divined from his mistress's face that all was not right; "and to bring hither, before nine to-morrow, a book of Hours from the room Mademoiselle Helen used to occupy."

"Did he say that?" demanded the Marchioness vehemently. "Did he use those exact words,--'that she used to occupy?'"

"Yes, Madam, just that," answered Pierre. "I marked that shrewdly, for he said those words very slowly: and what made me think it altogether strange was, that though he said you wanted to see the book, he told Philip to bring it direct to him."

"Ha!" cried Madame de Chazeul; "So! Is it so?--Well. You have done right, Pierre, and shall be rewarded. Come hither at daybreak to-morrow; and now go sleep."

The man retired; and the moment he was gone, Madame de Chazeul started up, and with a vehement gesture of the hand, exclaimed, "He knows it all!--She has found means to write!--Ah, how subtle is he! Who would have thought from that calm peaceful face he bore to-night, that such rage and hatred, and thirst of revenge were in his bosom, as must be there even now? We shall have plots on foot--some scheme to stop the marriage. What can be in this book? Here, girl! Call Martin from the foot of the other staircase, bid him run to the stable and bring the boy Philip hither--by force if he come not quietly. Away! lose not a minute lest he be gone!"

The girl departed; and the Marchioness went on with her own thoughts. "What can be in the book? There is something beneath this!--Or has that fool Pierre deceived himself, and knowing the girl is not there, put words into the man's mouth? Yet why send at this hour secretly?--why falsely use my name to sanction the order? No, no, he knows it all, and must be cared for. There is but one way--secure him till the marriage is over,--let my brother know nought of it,--and then justify the deed by the result."

She sat down, and leaned her brow upon her hands, closing her eyes, till the door again opened, and the maid re-entered, accompanied by another of her men. "Well," she exclaimed, as soon as she saw him; "Where is Philip?"

"He has been gone this half hour, Madam, the stable boys declare," was the man's reply.

Madame de Chazeul let her hand fall heavily on the table; but suddenly recovering herself she said, "Keep a watch upon the gates from five to-morrow, till Philip returns. Then bring him at once to me,--let him speak with no one; and hark you, Martin; you are a man of execution,--Get ye gone, hussy! 'tis not for your ears. Come nearer, Martin," and she whispered something as he bent down his head.

The man started back with a look of consternation, saying, "No, Madam! not a priest! I cannot do that!"

"Fool! 'tis but for a few hours," exclaimed the Marchioness. "Hark ye,--one hundred crowns! You shall keep him under your own ward, and set him free five minutes after noon."

"Well, Madam, well!" answered the servant, after a moment's thought; "but you must promise to get me absolution, cost what it may; for it is no light matter laying hands upon one of the church,--and so good a catholic too."

"Oh, absolution you shall have!" cried Madame de Chazeul; "from the hands of a bishop, if that will satisfy you; and, if there be any difficulty, you have nothing to do but to kill a heretic, and that will make all even. Do you promise to obey?--Mark me, a hundred crowns and absolution, cost what it may!"

"Well, Madam, well," he replied; "I will do it, this once; but you must never ask me to meddle with a priest again."

"Poo!" cried the Marchioness, "'Tis for his own good. He will get himself into trouble if it be not done,--and now away, Martin. See to this other business first; and then lay hold of him. Do it gently you know, quite gently, but firmly too; and be quick, good Martin, be quick."

The man retired; but he grumbled as he went, and asked himself as he descended the stairs, "Where will this woman end?--She will make one damn one's-self some day, and she care nothing about it."

In the meantime Walter de la Tremblade had returned to the chapel with a quick step, after seeing the page depart for Chazeul. His thoughts, though commonly so calm and clear, were all in confusion and agitation. The strong passions had obtained the mastery; and for a time they revelled in their conquest. He thought of Helen--of the being on whom the affections of his heart had all centred--of the only one in all the world, the only earthly thing, on which he had suffered his heart to rest, with the intense concentrated love which he had withdrawn from all that most men hold dear. He thought of her stained and disgraced, deceived, betrayed, abandoned; and oh! how the gust of passion, like the blast of the hurricane, bent his spirit before it! He thought of her betrayer--of him whom he had striven to raise, and who had all the while been blasting the only flower left blooming for him in the wilderness of life; and the thirst for vengeance took possession of his whole heart. Of her too, he thought who--loaded with every kind of iniquity, her married life stained with many a slander, her whole soul foul with sin and wickedness--of her who had used him as a tool for her purposes, and employed him to elevate the treacherous villain who, like a serpent, stung the hand that fondled it.--He thought of her driving forth, to perish, the dear unhappy child, whom her own criminal neglect had aided to cast into temptation, loading her with contumely and opprobrium exposing her error to the rude eyes of menials, and branding her for ever with the name of harlot; and oh! how he triumphed in the thought of overthrowing all that woman's well laid schemes and cunning contrivances, blasting her hopes and expectations, and mocking her in the bitterness of disappointment!

He paused where Helen had stood between the coffin and the altar. He gazed from the one to the other; and, as he did so, each seemed to find a voice mournful, solemn, reproachful. They gradually wrought a change in his feelings, they calmed in some degree the stormy passion, they awakened higher, grander thoughts. They roused remorse, they called to repentance. As he looked upon the bier of the good old man so lately passed away, it was not alone the image of death, and all the train of sad but chastening impressions--which spring from the contemplation of mortality as from a well overflowing with admonition--that pressed upon his attention; but the memory of that old man's plain, straight-forward truth,--of the resistance he had offered to the very schemes which he, Walter de la Tremblade, had promoted to his own grief and regret, brought the lesson home to his heart, and showed him the excellence of high, single-minded truth, more strongly than the most laboured essay of preacher or of moralist. Then again, when he turned towards the altar, and looked towards the cross of Christ, and remembered the grand simplicity displayed, as an example, by the Saviour of mankind, oh! how poor and vain, how sullied and impure, how dark and criminal, seemed the highest effort of the human intellect when used to mislead and to deceive! Truth, truth, almighty, everlasting truth, seemed before him in all its God-like radiance, and it overwhelmed him with shame and confusion.

We have seen him before, stand there and feel sensations somewhat similar; but it was then merely as the glimmering streak of dawn, showing where the day will be: and now it was the risen sun.--The chastening hand of grief had swept away the darkness from his mind, and all was terrible light.

As such thoughts rushed upon him: as the eye of heaven seemed to look into his soul, detecting there vanity, pride, ambition, selfishness, deceit, the higher qualities that were within him, bowed down his heart in humiliation at the discovery of so much which he had never dreamt of; and, kneeling before the altar, he poured out the anguish of his soul in prayer.

He was still kneeling, when he heard steps in the chapel; but he heeded not; and still he went on murmuring in a low tone the words of penitence and supplication. The steps came nearer, and then paused; but still, for several minutes, he remained bowed before the cross. When he rose, however, he saw three of the servants of Madame de Chazeul standing close to him; and he asked, "What do you seek, my children?"

They all hesitated; but at length the man Martin, putting out his hand, grasped the priest by the arm, saying, "We have orders, father Walter, to put you in confinement for a time."

"Ha!" said father Walter, surprised, but calm. "By whose orders, my son? I did not know that there was either bishop, cardinal, or inquisitor here."

"No, nor is there," answered the man; "but our orders are from our mistress; and we must obey them."

"To the ruin of your own souls," asked father Walter, "will any of you dare to drag a priest from the altar?"

"We must do as we are bid, good father," replied the man: "the sin is hers, if there be any."

"But the fire will be yours," replied the priest, "and her sin will not deliver you."

"It is no use talking, Sir," continued the man; "we have sworn to do it, and so we will. 'Tis but for a few hours; and you may choose where we shall take you to. Shall it be to your own room?"

"No," answered father Walter, "no; if this act be needful to your mistress, why not keep me here, where I have promised to stay till the hour of matins? I shall be as safe here as any where else."

"No, no, that will not do," replied the man; "the chapel will be wanted."

"Well, then, as near as possible," said the priest: "aggravate not your offence, my son, by dragging the servant of God from his temple. I will stay here in the sacristy. At all events, I shall be still within the sacred precincts, and near the body I have promised to watch."

The man hesitated; but father Walter, assuming a higher tone, exclaimed, "If not--Stand back, while I pronounce upon you all, the anathema you so well deserve, and deliver you over to perdition with her who sent you."

"Stay, father, stay!" cried another of the men; "we will have none of this, Martin Gournay. If the reverend father chooses the sacristy, we will not have him thwarted. It is bad enough to do it at all. It must not be made worse than it need."

"Bad enough, indeed!" replied the priest; "and heaven forgive you for listening to the voice of man, rather than that of the church."

"Well, well," said Martin, "I do not care: let it be the sacristy. But I must see that it is all safe;" and, opening the door, he went in, followed by the priest and the other two men.

"Ah, there is a way out!" he cried. "I must have the key of that lock, good father."

"There it hangs," replied father Walter with a smile: "make it all sure. But, remember, that there is another key in the hands of the church, which may lock the door of heaven against you, if you do not repent."

The man Martin, however, tried the door which led out through the walls into the country; and, finding it locked, he took the key from a hook above, and ascertained that it fitted. Then, putting it into his pocket, he turned to the priest, saying, "I am very sorry to do this, father; but it is not with my will, and I must obey my orders. They shall bring you some food and wine; and there is a lamp. At noon to-morrow you shall be free."

Father Walter bent his head gravely; and the three men withdrew, locking the sacristy door after them, and taking the key. The moment they were gone, he rose from the seat in which he had placed himself, and laughed with a bitter mocking tone.

"The fools!" he cried; "do they think I leave myself so unprovided? I must be quick! Can she have discovered Helen?--impossible--impossible!--I heard her lock the door! I must be quick!--Yet, no! he spoke of sending food and wine. I will let them return. They will come, if it be but to see that their prisoner is safe. Perhaps, too, they may linger in the chapel," and he resumed his seat; and, taking up a book of prayer, continued to read for several minutes.

"Would they would come," he murmured at length. "Helen said, Estoc would return for her at three, and it cannot be far short of that hour."

But the tumultuous feelings which had been lately busy in his bosom, had filled the last hour with so many thoughts, that time had lost all power of measuring them; and the clock struck two, as the words were on his lips. The next moment, the door leading to the chapel opened suddenly, and the man Martin entered with a salver, bearing some food and wine. His eye instantly glanced to the priest; but the quiet attitude in which he sat, with the book upon his knee, satisfied the servant that all was secure; and, placing the provisions on a table, he was about to retire, when father Walter stopped him, saying, "Pray, do you know--and, if so, may you tell me--what is the cause of this conduct of Madame de Chazeul? I would be glad to think that, either through some error, or at the instigation of some malevolent person, she has committed this outrage, and not from mere caprice and wanton passion."

"Oh, no, father!" replied the man: "but it seems you sent one of our people to Chazeul for a book, in her name. I know not much about it: but, I believe, Pierre went and told her what he had heard--so one of the girls said."

"A mighty offence!" observed the priest gravely: "and a reasonable cause for an act which she will repent to the last day of life. Heaven grant she may not regret it even longer:" and, thus saying, he commenced reading the book again.

"Why," rejoined the man, willing to justify his mistress, and, through her, himself; "she feared, I fancy, that you were inclined to meddle with some of her plans, and she is not fond of seeing them marred."

"God will mar them, if they be evil," replied the priest; "and no one can mar them, if it be His will they should succeed. But, 'tis well, my son, 'tis well: good night!"

"Goodnight, father," answered the servant, and left him, taking the same precaution as before of turning the lock and withdrawing the key, lest any one should open the door from the side of the chapel. Father Walter instantly rose, and put his ear to a small round hole, like the mouth of a tube, at the side of the door. The servant's steps were distinctly heard passing down the nave of the chapel, and then suddenly became faint as they issued forth into the court. The priest listened for a moment longer; but no other sound was heard.