CHAPTER V.
FAMILY FLOTSAM.
Almost immediately upon the arrival of Monsieur La Rochefoucauld's aide at the Admiral's quarters, Odelin Lebrenn and Antonicq hastened to reach their lodgings, where Anna Bell awaited them. The meeting between father and daughter was delayed through the discovery of the crime that Coligny was to be the victim of.
Odelin Lebrenn had set up his armorer's establishment on the ground floor of a house in St. Yrieix which the inhabitants had abandoned. Franz of Gerolstein, together with several noblemen of his suite and their pages, occupied a set of rooms on the floor above, below them being also the quarters of Odelin, his son and the Franc-Taupin. A straw couch, large enough to accommodate the three, stood at the rear of the apartment. Near a wide, open fireplace lay the hammers, the anvil and the portable forge requisite for the armorer's work. Day was now far advanced. Since morning Anna Bell had not left the lodging. Seated on a wooden bench, and her head reclined upon her hands, she expectantly turned her ears from time to time toward the street. The recent agonizing bustle of the camp was now followed by solitude and silence. All the troops, a few companies excepted that were left in charge of the baggage, had marched out beyond the burg and its entrenchments, in order to form in battle array about one league from the Admiral's headquarters, he having prepared for a possible general engagement.
Odelin Lebrenn's first interview with Anna Bell was both tender and painful. The father found again his daughter, once dearly beloved and long wept as lost. But he found her soiled with the title of maid of honor of Catherine De Medici! With distressing frankness the wretched girl confessed to her father the disorders of her past life. Anna Bell was just finishing her narrative when the general call to arms resounded. Antonicq went to his post beside Monsieur Coligny, after listening to the revelations of his sister; a few minutes later Odelin also, yielding to the imperious voice of duty, left his weeping daughter, to join the cavalry squadron in which he served as volunteer.
Left alone, Anna Bell fell a prey to cruel anxieties. Her father, her brother and Franz of Gerolstein were about to run the dangers of a battle. The confession wrung from her lips by a terrific necessity seemed to render all the more profound, all the more grievous the love of the young girl for the Prince. Now less than ever did she expect her affection to be returned. Still she experienced a sort of bitter consolation in the thought that Franz of Gerolstein was no longer ignorant of her passionate devotion, and that, in order to save him from poison, she risked her own life. The chaos of distressing thoughts, now rendered all the more painful by her uneasiness for those whom she loved, plunged Anna Bell into inexpressible agony. She counted the hours with increasing anxiety. Toward night the roll of drums and blare of trumpets resounded from afar. The young girl trembled and listened. Presently she could distinguish the approaching tramp of horses' hoofs, and not long thereafter she heard them stop before the lodging. Running to the door, she opened it in the hope of seeing her brother and father. Instead, she saw a page in the livery of the Prince of Gerolstein holding a second horse by the reins.
"Monsieur," asked Anna Bell anxiously of the lad, "what news of the battle?"
"There was no battle, mademoiselle, only a lively engagement of outposts. The royalists were worsted," and swallowing a sigh, while tears appeared in his eyes, he added, "but unfortunately my poor comrade Wilhelm, one of the Prince of Gerolstein's pages, was killed in the skirmish. I am leading back his horse."
"And the Prince?" inquired Anna Bell, nervously. "He has not been wounded?"
"No, mademoiselle. I am riding ahead of monsieur; he is returning with his squadrons," answered the page, alighting from his horse, and his sighs and sobs redoubled, while the tears rolled down his cheeks.
At ease on the score of Franz of Gerolstein's life, Anna Bell had some words of consolation for the afflicted page. "I am sorry for you," she said; "to lose a friend at your age."