CHAPTER VII.
The distance was long, but our horses were good; we were in the month of August, when days are long, and we accomplished the journey from Noyon to Paris in one day. We entered the capital just as the shades of twilight were beginning to fall, and I paused for a moment to consider whither I should first direct my steps. I had resolved, however, not to go to the prince dauphin, as I knew that, in case of my rivalry with De Blaye ending in our settling the dispute with the sword, D'Auvergne would insist on accompanying me to the field, and I could not endure the thought of seeing the hope and strength of that noble house run the risk of such an encounter for my sake. My hesitation, therefore, only was, whether I should first seek the admiral, to inform him of the fatal result of Genlis's expedition, or go at once to good Martin Vern, to hear news of my poor Louise. Love had wellnigh triumphed; but I did resist; and, turning my rein towards the Rue de Bethisy, where I had been informed the admiral resided, I found his abode, which was in a handsome inn. There, however, I learned that he was himself at the court; and, having satisfied myself by doing my duty, I turned my horse's head towards the dwelling of the merchant.
Martin Vern and his house, though they had taken many risks during the war, had been enriched in an extraordinary degree by the restoration of peace, and the favour which all the Protestants had so speedily acquired. Debts, which had appeared almost hopeless, had been paid, with long arrears of interest; and, though many others remained, yet the good merchant was one of the most wealthy men in Paris. His house showed it, but not himself; for, on being ushered into the room where he sat at supper with his wife, his brother, his nephew, and his children, I could certainly discover no change of demeanour from the good, plain merchant that I had first seen on my journey to Angoulême. They were all delighted to see me; and, unwilling to disturb them, I sat down to partake of their meal, while Moric Endem and the rest of my followers obtained a lodging in an inn hard by.
During supper Martin Vern was grave and thoughtful, but not sad: his nephew had become a fine and noble-looking young man; and there was in his whole appearance an air of smartness and manly dignity, which bespoke a change of thoughts and feelings since we had last met.
Ere supper was well concluded, he rose, saying to his uncle, "I will go to Monsieur Ahar, and bring what he has got for the Seigneur de Cerons;" and, as soon as he was gone, the merchant added, "You know, I believe, Monsieur de Cerons, that your old acquaintance, Monsieur Solomon Ahar, has become a partner of ours; but doubtless you know not how his conversion was brought about."
"Converted!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that he has become a Christian?"
"He would not otherwise have become a partner in our house. He is a good Catholic Christian, thank God! But I was going to tell you how this was brought about. My nephew, having got over some of the follies of his youth, learned to love and esteem those qualities of mind and heart which were really worth love, and he found them combined with beauty and affection in Miriam Ahar. There was one objection--her religion; but that Martin found means to remove; and the good Jew, declaring that, as all things were reversed nowadays, the father might as well follow the religion of the child, instead of the child following the religion of her father, made his abjuration, as his relation Levi had done, and was received into the bosom of the church. Miriam becomes his bride in a few weeks; and, in the mean time, this conversion has obtained for my nephew so much celebrity among the Catholic divines, that I do believe they would make him a bishop if he would. But that would prevent his marriage, you know, seigneur, and therefore he remains a merchant."
As soon as supper was over, the wife and children of Martin Vern left us, and he immediately turned to my letter and to the business that brought me.
"I have much to tell you, seigneur," he said, "and much advice to give you. In the first place, you are saved by one day; and you owe that to the scheme which our little Miriam devised for you before you went. The baron, your cousin, is indebted in a large sum to Solomon Ahar, and in a lesser sum to me; and as he promises this Seigneur de Blaye a large dowry with his child, Miriam proposed that the whole debt, which comprises more than all his moveable wealth, should be claimed at once. I was unwilling to do as she wished, except in case of absolute need; and when, on a former occasion, you found other means to stop the signature of the contract, I held back. Now, however, I knew there was no time to be lost; and, even had your letter not reached me, I would have acted as I have done, for I have been almost daily at the baron's house, as there is every day need of money for the husband, or jewels and rich stuff for the wife. By this means I had heard and knew that the baron had sworn his daughter should consent to marry the young Lord of Blaye, or that he would declare himself a Catholic, and use those means which our religion gives to force her to obey. It is not, however, that he loves this Lord of Blaye, for he abhors him; but it is, my good lord, that his wife has power over him of some kind which we know not. Some secret is in her hands, depend upon it, which puts him wholly in her power. However that may be, the day for signing the contract was named as yesterday, and the hour noon. The whole had met when I presented myself. I knew that the money to pay the dowry was prepared. I had armed myself with all legal forms, and went accompanied by those who knew each turn of law. The money was paid me; and the baron, with a proud air, said, 'It mattered not; that he was ready to sign; and that, in order to pay the dowry he had promised, and not to fail in one tittle of his word to Monsieur de Blaye, he would sell the estate of Cerons, even by auction in the halls of the Palais de Justice, and discharge the amount before the week was over.'"
"Good God! has he done so?" I cried. "It was always my ambition to recover that, land."
"He has not done so yet, seigneur," replied Martin Vern; "but this is Friday: to-morrow will be the last day of the week: his word is pledged, the sale proclaimed, and he will not retract; though, when the Seigneur de Blaye declared it would be better for none to sign the contract till the dowry was ready, I could see the blood mount into the baron's cheek and forehead till I feared the veins would burst. He turned towards his wife, but that fierce lady held up her finger to him, and he cowed in a moment. Unless you, sir, can stop the sale--unless you can prove that the estate of Cerons cannot be sold--the estate is sold, and the contract signed; nay, more, the young lady must become the wife of one she abhors, or be plunged into the imprisonment of a convent, from which you can never deliver her."
"Alas! alas! my good friend," I said, "I can prove no such thing. I know the estate can be sold, for my own father sold it. It is not hereditary, and depends upon the baron's will. There is only one means, and that must be tried at once. Louise must fly with me. Under such circumstances, it is quite justifiable to do so."
"Before you adopt any determination, let us consider for a moment, Monsieur de Cerons," replied the merchant, in his cool, calculating tone: "What would you grant that man who would first prove to you that the lordship of De Cerons cannot be sold in perpetuity, and, in the second place, point out a way by which you may perhaps fly with the lady that you love, but fly with her as your wife, and with her father's own consent?"
"What would I give?" I exclaimed. "What would I not give, you should say, my good friend."
"Well, then, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, somewhat more rapidly than was his wont, "I must be quick with my conditions, for I hear Martin's steps on the stairs. First, you shall forgive, fully and entirely, a girl's curiosity; the next is a harder task--you shall take a piece of advice without asking a question; the third, you shall put yourself entirely under my guidance for the next three days."
"Willingly!" I said, "Willingly!" But, as I was speaking, and Martin Vern was turning to his brother to witness our contract, his nephew entered the room with Solomon Ahar himself and Miriam, now become a lovely woman.
"Oh, false merchant!" cried the girl, addressing Martin Vern, "You have told him! I see it in his face! You have told him!"
"No, indeed, Miriam," replied the merchant, "I have told him nothing."
Miriam was about to proceed, it seemed, when her father bustled forward, saying, "A truce to nonsense, girl! Let us do business first. Seigneur de Cerons, here is the dagger which is your property, on account of which you are in my debt the sum of--" and he was taking out his inkhorn to calculate, when Martin Vern motioned him to be silent, saying, "Hold me responsible, my good brother, for capital and interest, according to law and justice. We have other matters now in hand. Examine your dagger well, Monsieur de Cerons. Do you see nothing to attract you farther?"
"I know," I replied, "That the hilt is hollow. My poor friend Stuart assured me that it was so, and that there were papers in it. I cannot unfasten it, however," I added, trying to do so impatiently. "We had better have a hammer brought."
"Less violent means will do," replied Martin Vern. "If you will give it to that fair lady, she will open it."
Miriam took it from my hand, saying, with a look of graceful deprecation, "Will you, my noble count, pardon me for an act which I would be well ashamed of, did not these gentlemen tell me that my curiosity may prove of use to you? I first discovered that the dagger-hilt was hollow. I too have opened it, and have read that which it contains. Forgive me--I know, I am sure you will."
And, as she spoke, she unscrewed the large massy ring of gold which encircled the haft just where the blade was inserted. A large emerald which was at the top also unscrewed without difficulty, and the blade then, with a much smaller haft of solid steel, was drawn out from the false case of gold. Round the real haft was wrapped a roll of fine vellum, which encircled it six times; and, on opening it, I saw at the bottom the handwriting of my cousin the baron. It was his name, attached to an acknowledgment and covenant, duly drawn up in legal form, whereby he deprived himself of the power of ever selling either the lordship of De Cerons or the barony of Blancford; settled the succession of the first-named property on me in case of his death without male heirs, and the other also in case of his death childless. The vellum still farther set forth, that he made this settlement in consideration of receiving the estate of De Cerons, and another farm belonging to my father, below their real value, my father being unwilling that they should depart from a race to which they had belonged, for centuries. It was witnessed by a personage of the name of Des Chappes; and Martin Vern, pointing to that name as I stood, thunderstruck, gazing at the vellum, said,
"He is still living, and revered by the whole Parliament, of which he is one of the most honourable members. I have myself asked him if he remembers the transaction, and can tell you that, having a deep regard for your late father, he can swear to every line, though he be past eighty years of age."
"These are, indeed, great and extraordinary tidings," I said, grasping the good merchant's hand: "but I fear, my good friend, that, by exercising the rights that this paper gives me, I shall but make the separation between myself and my proud cousin the more complete. How shall I, by any means here presented to me, gain his regard or his affection?"
"Did you never in life observe, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, "That men often treat haughtily and harshly those they love, while they are courteous and yielding to those they fear. The baron loves you far better than any one except his own children: he respects, he esteems you, and, at the same time, he hates, contemns, and fears your rival. If you assist and support him against this Lord of Blaye, while you maintain your own rights with kindly firmness, you will cause him to rest upon you, and give way to his own better feelings. Let us first stop the sale; that, depend upon it, will stop the marriage. Then, if we had time, we could leave time to do its work. But," he added, musing, "but I will not trust to what time may bring forth. Everything is a matter of merchandise in this world: what will you give for a wife you love, Monsieur de Cerons?"
"All that I have on earth!" I replied, smiling.
"Nay, nay, not so much as that," answered the merchant. "Will you give sixty thousand livres?"
"If I had it I would," I answered; "but I have it not."
"Very nearly in my hands," replied the merchant. "Twelve thousand crowns, at fifty-seven sols Parisis, make--But it matters not! you shall have it. Do you consent to give it?"
"I do," I answered: "but how, my good friend, am I to--"
"Look here, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, taking out a portfolio, and placing in my hand a note or bill of exchange, "You see here that one Augustus, seigneur of Blaye, agrees and promises to pay on demand to Martin Vern the sum of sixty thousand livres, being the remainder of an account between them. If Martin Vern transfers this bill to you, and you, in consideration of certain concessions, transfer it to a certain Baron de Blancford--What say you?"
"That there is hope," I replied, "that there is hope; but yet, my good friend, there is much to be thought of."
"Not much of which I have not thought, sir," replied the merchant. "You have already agreed to put yourself entirely under my guidance for the next three days; but you have promised also to take a piece of advice without asking a question--are you ready so to do?"
"I am always ready to keep any promise," I replied. "What is the advice?"
"It is a somewhat harsh one," answered Martin Vern: "Neither more nor less than to execute a bill of sale to me this night of your chateau and estate of Les Bois, in consideration of which I will give you bills, money, or credit for sixty thousand crowns."
He spoke gravely, even sadly, and with a frowning brow; and when I commenced my reply with, "But--" he stopped me, saying,
"Yon promised, Monsieur de Cerons, to ask no questions. Hear me," he said, in a lower voice, and drawing me somewhat aside, "I know little--indeed, I know nothing--but I suspect and I fear much, Monsieur de Cerons; and think that if you can obtain the hand of your fair Louise with her father's consent, and fly with her at once far from Paris, you will do well and wisely. Follow my advice in this; take my note for the money; let me become the apparent proprietor of Les Bois till better times, and I will explain your conduct to these who gave it you. If you never need the money, you shall be free to give it back and keep the land. At all events, you shelter yourself against the danger of confiscation."
What he said was so true that I should have been foolish to neglect it, suspicious as I still felt of the sudden change in the feelings of the court which had so completely taken in the admiral and the Queen of Navarre; and, on the spot, while his nephew, his brother, and Solomon Ahar were still present, the papers were drawn up between the merchant and myself, leaving him the nominal, though not the real, proprietor of the estate of Les Bois.
Not long after this, Martin Vern and myself were left alone, but the business of the day was not nearly over. He insisted that his house should be my home for the time; but, ere he suffered me to retire to rest, he kept me in conversation for two or three hours more, explaining to me all his views with mercantile brevity and accuracy; and my conduct during the following day, which I am now about to detail, was the result of the consultation that we then held.
At length, tired and exhausted, I went to the room prepared for me, and no prince's palace could certainly have afforded me more comfortable or luxurious accommodation. I was too tired, however, to sleep for some time; and, ere I had enjoyed any real repose for more than two hours, young Martin Vern entered my room and took his seat by my bedside. He remained for more than half an hour, and his conversation was not, like that of his uncle, devoted entirely to business. He talked of the affairs of the day, and discussed some light, some serious topics, with which my readers would be but little edified. It seemed to me, however, that there was something labouring on his mind all the time while we conversed; and, as he rose to depart, he put his head close down to mine, saying, in a whisper,
"Whenever you hear the great bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois ring at an unusual hour, set off out of Paris if it be day, and fly to me if it be night."
Then, laying his finger on his lips as an injunction to secresy, he left the room without waiting for farther question.