CHAPTER IV.
Marguerite had cause of self congratulation in the issue of the second interview with the all powerful Richelieu. Difficulties, which the imagination paints as an Herculean labor to remove, shrink to trifles when the will is resolute and stern necessity impels.
The dread audience over, she flew with the intelligence to the zealous and faithful advocate, but when the first tumult of the mind had subsided, there was much to ponder over ere she could meet Monsieur Giraud. What account could be rendered concerning the page? Would he not question, and perhaps tax her with imprudence, and misplaced confidence? And was there no one else, fair Marguerite, interested? No question to ask thy own heart?
Richelieu’s page was daring, reckless, and seemingly a very unscrupulous youth, following the impulses of his will even to the periling of liberty and life! Yet her heart pleaded in his favor—the homage he paid was flattering—even the peril was incurred for her sake—and though their first rencontre was humiliating to her delicacy, and strangely indecorous on his part, yet, ere parting, it must be confessed that the rudeness had been forgiven, and his frankness and sincerity won favor. We will not say how far atonement was rendered easier in the culprit by the advantages of a handsome figure, youthful tresses and the fire of a proud dark eye!
Could she with honor, even with safety, expose his secret to the advocate? Nay, to confess that her intelligence was derived from a page in a confidential interview, would it not bring more blushes to the cheek than being exposed to the gaze of the score of cavaliers who environed Richelieu?
It could not be thought of—yet must the intelligence be communicated to the worthy Giraud—it was even so intended by François himself, although in terms so flattering to her discretion, he left the means to the maiden’s own judgment, making no stipulation, merely the memento that life and liberty were in her hands. And ought they not to be held sacred? Yes! even the very shadow of his name should be secret, no allusion escape her lips, which might in the slightest degree compromise the youth, even to so trusty a friend as Giraud.
The advocate was at home, waiting anxiously her appearance, for to-morrow would the sharp procureur pray for the decree of sequestration, and the venal president doubtless affirm it.
She had not taken his advice, but preferred a second appeal to the flinty cardinal rather than beseech the king’s interference. Yet had she been successful! He was delighted, prayed that every particular might be narrated, exclaimed that no such maiden had graced the lineage of De Pontis these five centuries past.
Gravely bidding the learned man cool his ardor, and take repose in the easy chair, the oracular seat in which he gave audience to clients, she detailed the circumstances of the meeting with the cardinal in the garden.
But who pointed out to Mademoiselle the locality? Who dictated the stratagem—for such it appeared to be—as the garden was not the usual gate of egress to the minister?
These questions the maiden solemnly declared that she must not answer—under whosever guidance she had acted, Monsieur Giraud might perceive that it had been successful. He must not even make further inquiries, or she would withhold secrets yet in store. It was not perhaps delicate or befitting, that one of her age should obtain intelligence from sources which she dare not reveal to her father, or her father’s friend—yet Monsieur Giraud must remember that the rôle she played in the affair was altogether unsuitable to her sex, and parental affection alone had stimulated her to endure what she had undergone. As the advocate had encouraged the resolution, he must not complain of an inevitable consequence—as she had ventured on a business, and strayed into haunts fitting only a man to explore, it must be permitted her to retain a privilege of manhood—the keeping her own secret.
There was no answering this positive declaration, so the wondering, but good natured lawyer, shifted ground, and requested a recital of such secrets as he might be permitted to hear. At the mention of the Count De Fontrailles, a flush overspread his pale face, and when Mademoiselle had concluded the narration, he sat awhile in deep thought. “Fontrailles!” cried the advocate, breaking silence, “he was one of three whom I suspected—but I am glad he is the man, for if I mistake not, I hold that which will ruin him with the cardinal. Shall we consult with Monsieur De Pontis to-morrow morning? I might obtain an order at the bureau this evening. No! he is useless to our plans. Mademoiselle and myself, and,” he added, looking significantly at the maiden, “her unknown friend, with his budget of secrets, are a trio equal to the emergency. But tell me, Marguerite, have you not been to the Tuileries to-day?”
She assured him that she had not.
“Then my conjectures are all vain,” cried Giraud, “but let us to council.”
He pointed out with clearness the position in which the affairs of De Pontis now stood in relation to all the parties with whom he was unfortunately engaged. The suit of Pedro Olivera gave but little concern. If all the presidents of that court were not biased, he thought he should be able to disprove the equity of Pedro’s claim, through documents in his possession, or failing this he could produce many sets-off, moneys lent to the claimant of which he acknowledged no account, of itself tending to cast suspicion on the suitor, and at any rate convict him of dishonesty.
But it mattered little what became of Pedro’s suit, if the estate of De Pontis, together with the droit d’aubaine, were sequestered by the procureur’s decree in the meanwhile. The week’s grace would afford the opportunity wanted to arrange a plan of operations.
“But if Monsieur should lay these papers before the cardinal, is he sure that it would effect the count’s ruin?—he may be so necessary, that his eminence cannot part with him,” remarked the damsel.
“A very pertinent question,” cried Giraud, “but still betraying ignorance of a proper procedure with Fontrailles. If I went to his eminence, and succeeded in ruining the favorite, that would not likely stop Pedro’s suit, or the procureur’s proceedings, as the cardinal is now embittered personally against Monsieur De Pontis, and might divert the droit d’aubaine to some other channel than the treacherous count, Mademoiselle’s unknown friend for instance, whom I am persuaded holds the keys of the cardinal duke’s cabinet.”
Marguerite blushed, but made no reply, and the advocate continued.
“Effectually to serve my good friend, I must make Fontrailles so tremble in his shoes at the very idea of the ruin I hold over his head, that he shall himself intercede with Richelieu to cancel all the court’s proceedings, and leave your father in peaceful possession of the droit. These are the terms I shall offer!”
“But how will the count get over the surprise of his eminence at what will appear such extraordinary conduct on his part?” asked Marguerite.
“When Mademoiselle has had longer experience in the haunts into which she strayed,” replied the advocate, “more communings with her all-wise secret friend, she will not need be told that when a man of Fontraille’s stamp has chosen a line of conduct, nothing is easier than to assign a motive for it. I have no positive objection, if he need such aid, that we should give the count a helping hand on that point.”
“And what remains to be done?” asked Marguerite.
“Nothing but for your humble servant to arm himself for conflict with the dark-souled intriguer,” replied the advocate, smiling; “it will be a desperate strife, I can assure Mademoiselle, a hard struggle ere the count, overwhelmed with debts, and panting for the rich effects of the Spaniard, will yield the prey!”
“And what part shall I take in the contest?” said the maiden, “how can I aid Monsieur?”
“I have little doubt,” replied the advocate, taking the damsel’s hand, and raising it to his lips with an air of gallantry, “that this soft hand has been pressed before to-day, but if a grave man in years, like myself, were to repeat the foolish things that were said over it, as for instance, that to press such a treasure to my lips, were overpaying me for all the secrets I disclosed, I have little doubt that for me to say so, would look very silly! You blush, Marguerite, it is very hard to deceive an old advocate, our profession is learned in the world’s ways. But beware, Mademoiselle! beware! danger lurks in the precincts of courts.”
“Has Monsieur faith in my discretion?” asked Marguerite, smiling through her blushes.
“I have,” replied Giraud with earnestness, “and I am about to afford such proof of it, as might with many men rank me as one capable of acting with deliberate folly.”
He then informed Marguerite, what had not before struck her, that in attacking Fontrailles, he ran risk in many shapes, even of personal danger; he might lose his life in bearding the count in his own hotel. Every species of menace and intimidation would be undoubtedly employed to silence one armed, like the advocate, with documents threatening ruin; these failing, personal violence might be resorted to.
“Nay, Marguerite! look not so pale,” said Giraud, whose language had awakened extreme terror in the maiden, “I am a bachelor, and my life would be well lost in defending a just cause—but the count, I believe, would venture on a different system, though equally desperate. It appears your unknown friend confirms what we have all surmised respecting these papers, and when I acknowledge possession he will, I have reason to fear, avail of some scheme of villany to dispossess me. No means, however reckless, will he fail of using. If I loose the proofs of his treachery my weapon is broken—and then farewell the cause of De Pontis!”
“And how is this to be avoided? O! go not near such a man!” cried Marguerite, distressed and alarmed.
The advocate laughed at her fears. He knew, he said, whom he had to deal with too well to venture into the arena of conflict unprepared. That he might not be deprived by force of the documents, it were necessary that they should no longer remain in his custody—nor would he meet the count till he knew they were in the hands of a party who would still hold them in terrorem over Richelieu’s favorite, should he, Giraud, be kidnapped, thrown into prison, or otherwise disposed of. And that his safety might rest on securer footing, he should take especial care to let Fontrailles understand that whatever became of the humble advocate the haughty noble had not removed one iota of the peril which menaced himself.
But whom could he trust? Not De Pontis, for the veteran had neither place of concealment for them, nor freedom to make an active use of the weapons should circumstances require it. And whom else confide in? Certainly none of his professional brethren—and he had no near kinsman, save De Pontis—nor did he know any friend of the latter to whom he could delegate the trust, for the veteran had been abandoned when Richelieu became his foe. Marguerite herself was eminently trustworthy, but the papers could not remain, even with the shadow of safety, in her possession—her lodging would undoubtedly be subjected to a domiciliary visit.
And yet he was about to confide the charge to her, but with the condition that it be immediately transferred to sure hands, and to one who had the courage and heart to stand in his place should he fall.
“You see, Marguerite De Pontis, how weighty will be the responsibility,” said he, “and yet, I confess, I know not what other course to pursue. As you have not made me your confidant, I know not all your friends—but if you are aware of none other to whom so precious a charge can be conveyed, involving your father’s, your own, and my fortunes, then place the papers in the hands of his majesty—he is no match for the cardinal or Fontrailles either—but he has pledged himself to Monsieur De Pontis, and his faith is good though his courage be poor.”
He then handed her the rather bulky packet, repeating the injunction, if she were cognizant of no abler or trustier friend, to make Louis the depositary.
“I am acting strangely,” said the advocate, “in permitting Mademoiselle, so young, to choose her own and her father’s champion, but I feel an impulse to which I yield without strictly satisfying my reason. When Marguerite informs me that the packet is transferred, then I go forth to the encounter.”
Kissing her forehead, he bade the damsel farewell. Concealing the packet under her mantle, the tears starting to her eyes at the solemnity of the injunction, she retraced her way sadly to the Rue St. Denis.
In the solitude of her chamber—only broken by the occasional entrance of the aged female, the last link of a once numerous household—she had much to reflect on. The noble, though eccentric, behavior of Giraud; the proud Richelieu, serene and tranquil even in his implacability; the poor, weak Louis; the dark, intriguing Fontrailles; and, lastly, the page, with his sudden birth of passion.
Was it a dream? Was she Marguerite De Pontis, daughter of a poor gentleman of Limousin, and so deeply involved in the thickening strife of the master intellects of France? It was even so—the fatal packet met her eyes, cause of past, present and future contest—and her own destiny it was to cast the firebrand at the enemies which beset her imprisoned father!
Whilst indulging these meditations, the tinkling bell of the houblieur, or itinerant dealer in wafer cakes, fell upon her ear. She started from the reverie, and, hastening to the door, beheld the slim vender, apron tied round the waist, basket on arm, and bell in hand, seemingly more anxious to attract a customer from the lodging of De Pontis than solicitous to dispose of his cakes to the frequenters of the Rue St. Denis.
Perceiving the door open, he made no hesitation in entering, although Marguerite had been careful not to expose herself to view. The noise, however, attracted old Marie, bringing her from her retreat in the domestic offices of the domicil.
“Holy Virgin!” cried the ancient dame, “there is a man in the hall.”
“Yes, ma bonne mère!” said the disguised page, “and he has a tongue which will rival the loudest gossip in the Rue St. Denis;” and thereupon the youth commenced ringing his bell violently, to the extreme vexation of Marguerite, and the astonishment of the old crone.
Alarmed at the noise, and the unexpected apparition in the gloom, the old woman shouted for help. The damsel knew not what to do, or how to explain the matter to her ancient retainer—something must be done to silence both parties, so suddenly seizing the bell, she wrested it from his grasp; then approaching the old woman, she spoke in a loud whisper that the man was not what he appeared to be, that he came on her father’s business by direction of Monsieur Giraud, and that the visit must be kept secret. With these words she quieted and dismissed Marie, and then turning to the youth, said disdainfully, that she was much beholden for his services—that their second meeting was in strict keeping with their first rencontre.
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” said François, apologizing, “but I am in such good spirits that my joy cannot contain itself.”
“Such feelings may agree with the prosperity of the Palais-Cardinal,” replied Marguerite, “but you are now in a house of mourning, and it will be so as long as my poor father lies in the Conciergerie.”
The course Marguerite was embarked on necessitated courage and decision, nor was she deficient. Without fear, or at least without betraying any, she led the youth to the salle, or parlor, and requesting him to be seated, said she was afraid that more discretion than he possessed would be requisite to aid her father. Still she was very grateful for the interview with the cardinal, obtained, as she confessed, solely through his directions; also for the clue to the machinations of the Count De Fontrailles.
“I have been employed alone both in Germany and in England, young as I appear to be, and on the cardinal’s business,” said the page, in rather a haughty tone, “and his eminence is not the man to employ those in his affairs who lack discretion. Does my present garb indicate want of precaution, or imply foresight? I appeal to Mademoiselle’s candor!”
“But consider, sir—consider, Monsieur Romainville,” exclaimed Marguerite, “if the troubles of our family should have led me to place confidence in a stranger, does that warrant him in entering our house in a style and with a noise calculated to bring observation and remarks on my conduct?”
“Suppose there were a disposition to scandal, which Heaven forbid!” replied the youth, “the real object of my visit would still be masked. In the short period which I hope will terminate Monsieur De Pontis’ imprisonment, it were even better that I were suspected wrongly than my real motives guessed at. But I have not unfolded my news.”
He then informed the damsel that the Count De Fontrailles was in attendance on the cardinal when he left the palace, and of course heard Mademoiselle’s petition and the favorable though sarcastic reply of the minister. A little scene of remonstrance and replication occurred afterwards, as the page knew, though he would not say how he became possessed of the information, between patron and dependent, in the course of which the cardinal rallying his favorite, declared the droit d’aubaine was worth another week’s waiting, and the affairs of De Pontis would stand at the expiration exactly where they did. The count left the presence much disappointed, remarking that he was happy to find Monseigneur regaining the feelings of youth—if a taste for beauty were a criterion. Richelieu only smiled, for the count was a useful man.
Elsewhere, Fontrailles swore horribly at the delay, and vowed vengeance against all who stood in the way of his desires. His creditors were gaping for their claims, and there were debts of honor unpaid. This statement Mademoiselle might rely on.
“Alas!” exclaimed Marguerite, “I tremble for my father’s kind friend, Monsieur Giraud, he will fall a sacrifice to the count’s rage. It is far better we should abandon the droit than expose so worthy a man to peril.”
In explanation, she ventured to inform François of the advocate’s intention. But Pedro Olivera’s statement of claim on Fontrailles—where was it? demanded the youth eagerly. The maiden was silent! Had she disclosed aught concerning himself to Monsieur Giraud? Marguerite repeated what had passed on that topic.
De Romainville, who observed her hesitation, assured her that in aught which concerned her father’s affairs she might safely confide in him. He did not profess to be disinterested—he might even claim a boon, but on this point would be silent till M. De Pontis were liberated. That she might know the history of one who asked her confidence, he related that his father had been sacrificed by a similar juggle to that attempted against Monsieur, and for the benefit of the same party, Fontrailles. The count pretending to pity his orphan state—and well he might, as he had himself wrought the calamity—recommended him to the cardinal. He served his eminence, it is true, and on occasions usefully, but hatred to the two prominent authors of his father’s ruin was not diminished thereby; and this feeling had twice produced a refractoriness leading to incarceration in the guard-room of the Palais-Cardinal.
Sympathizing with De Pontis, detesting Fontrailles and the tyrannical Richelieu—but for whom he might still have had a parent alive, and been himself very different from the reckless scapegrace he was now accounted—he might, he thought, be fairly trusted with any scheme which promised revenge on either the count or his patron.
Monsieur Giraud, he said, acted wisely in attacking Fontrailles in the way pointed out, but there was one matter which it behoved him to take care of with the count, which was to have especial regard that he be not robbed of the documents.
Marguerite replied that that subject had been already considered by the advocate, and he had bestowed the papers elsewhere.
“They are not safe from Fontrailles with Mademoiselle De Pontis,” said the page, smiling.
“Would they be safe with the Sieur De Romainville in the Palais-Cardinal?” asked the maiden significantly.
“Not so safe as this hand is from my lips!” exclaimed François, suiting the action to the word and kneeling at her feet; “if Mademoiselle permit—”
“That she remind him of his promise not to show interested motives till her father be free,” cried Marguerite, interrupting him.
“Indeed, I had forgotten it!” said the page, laughing and springing to his feet; “but before I depart let me give proof of disinterestedness, at least to one of the household. Let Marie have this cargo of wafers, it will requite the alarm and may help to stop her mouth. The basket I shall want again.”
So saying, he upset the entire stock in trade on the table, and replacing the basket on his left arm, seized the hand-bell, which Marguerite construing into an intention of inflicting another serenade on the quiet household, cried,
“For my sake, Monsieur, forbear!”
“I can assure Mademoiselle I shall not be guilty a second time of such folly,” replied François, “but I was so delighted with the check given to Fontrailles!”
In place of the wafers, he took with him the packet, and the good wishes of her who had given it in charge.
BEAR ON!
Kind Nature hath a sympathizing tone
For every mood of human joy or pain.
Sad heart from humblest flower may courage gain,
Daring the storm with smiling brow alone!
The “brave old oak,” around whose head have blown
A hundred winters, still maintains his place;
The hoary cliff uprears his storm-scar’d face
Tho’ round his base the wrecks of Time are strown;
The stars shine on as at their birth they shone;
The glorious sun runs his immortal race:
Faint spirit! bowed ’neath Life’s o’erburdening ills,
Lift up thine eye to Heaven’s eternal scope,
Look out upon the everlasting hills,
And see a firm foundation still for Hope!
S. S.
THE SPANISH STUDENT.
———
BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
———
What’s done we partly may compute,
But know not what’s resisted.
Burns.
(Continued from page 113.)