"And what has become of his son?" asked Jean Charost. "He was attached, I think, to the court of the queen."
"He left her," answered Jacques Cœur, "and came hither to Bourges with Marie of Anjou, the wife of the dauphin, when that prince removed from Melun to Bourges. You know somewhat of what happened after--how his highness was driven hence to Poictiers, how negotiations took place to reunite the royal family; how divided counsels, ambitions, and jealousies prevented any thing like union against the real enemy of France; how, step by step, the English king made himself master of all the country, almost to the gates of Paris. You were present, I am told, at the death of the Duke of Burgundy--shall I, or shall I not call it murder? Well had he deserved punishment--well had he justified almost any means to deliver France from the blasting influence of his ambition. But at the very moment chosen for vengeance, he showed some repentance for his past crimes, some inclination to atone, and perhaps the very effects of his remorse placed his life in the hands of his adversaries. Would to God that act had not been committed."
"And what has followed?" asked Jean Charost. "I have heard but little since, except that at Arras a treaty was concluded by which the crown of France was virtually transferred to the King of England on his marriage with the Princess Catharine."
"The scene is confused and indistinct," said Jacques Cœur, "like the advance of a cloud overshadowing the land, and leaving all vague and misty behind it. Far from serving the cause of the dauphin, far from serving the cause of France, the death of the Duke of Burgundy has produced unmitigated evil to all. His son has considered vengeance rather than justice, the memory of his father, rather than the happiness of his country. Leagued with the queen, and with the King of England, he has sought nothing but the destruction of the dauphin, and has seen the people of France swear allegiance to a foreign conqueror whom his connivance enabled to triumph. From conquest to conquest the King of England has gone on, till almost all the northern part of France was his, and the River Loire is the boundary between two distinct kingdoms. Here and there, indeed, a large town and a strong fortress is possessed by one party in the districts where the other dominates, and a border warfare is carried on along the banks of the river. But for a long time previous to King Henry's death, fortune seemed to follow wherever he trod, and the whole western as well as northern parts of France were being gradually reduced beneath his sway. During a short absence in England, indeed, a false promise of success shone upon the arms of the dauphin. A re-enforcement of six thousand men from Scotland enabled him to keep the field with success, and the victory of Baugé, the death of the Duke of Clarence, and the relief of Angers, gave hope to every loyal heart in France. Money, indeed, was wanting, and I was straining every nerve to obtain for my prince the means of carrying on the war, when the return of Henry, and his rapid successes in Saintonge and the Limousin cut me off from a large part of the resources I had calculated upon, and once more plunged us all into despair. The last effort in arms was the siege of Cone, on the Loire, garrisoned by the Burgundian troops. The dauphin presented himself before its walls in person, and the Duke of Burgundy marched to its relief, calling on his English allies for aid. Henry was not slow to grant it, and set out from Senlis to show his readiness and his friendship. Death struck him, it is true, by the way; but even in death he seemed to conquer, and Cone was relieved as he breathed his last at Vincennes. Happily have you escaped, De Brecy; for had the Lord Willoughby received intimation of the king's dying commands before he freed you, you would have lingered many a long year in prison. Well knowing that the captives of Azincourt would afford formidable support to the party of the dauphin as soon as liberated, it has always been Henry's policy to detain them in London, and almost his last words were an order not to set them free till his infant son had attained his majority. You are the only one, I believe, above the rank of a simple esquire who has been permitted to return to France."
"I owe it all to this dear girl," answered Jean Charost, laying his hand upon the little hand of Agnes. "She went to plead for me at a happy moment. But where is the dauphin now? He needs the arm of every gentleman in France, and I will not be long absent from his army."
"Army!" said Jacques Cœur, with a melancholy shake of the head. "Alas! De Brecy, he has no army. Dispirited, defeated, almost penniless, seeing the fairest portions of his father's dominions in the hands of an enemy--that father's name and authority used against him--his own mother his most rancorous foe, the Duke of Burgundy at the head of one army in the field, and the Duke of Bedford, hardly inferior to the great Henry, leading another, he has retired, almost hopeless, to the lonely Castle of Polignac; and strives, I am told, but strives in vain, to forget the adversities of the past, and the menaces of the future, in empty pleasures. An attempt must be made to rouse him; but I can do nothing till I have obtained those means, without which all action would be hopeless. To Paris I dare not venture myself; but I have agents there, friends who will aid me, and wealth locked up in many enterprises. Diligently have I labored during the last month to gather all resources together; but still I linger on in Bourges without receiving any answer to my numerous letters."
"Can not I go to Paris?" asked Jean Charost. "You know, my friend of old, that I want no diligence, and had once some skill in such business as yours."
Jacques Cœur paused thoughtfully, and then answered, "It might, perhaps, be as well. You have been so long absent, your person would be unknown. When could you set out?"
Jean Charost replied that he would go the very next day; and the conversation was still proceeding upon these plans, when the sound of a horse's feet was heard in the castle court, and in a minute or two after, a tall, elderly weather-beaten man was brought in by Martin Grille. Jean Charost looked at him, thinking that he recognized the face of Armand Chauvin, the chevaucheur of the late Duke of Orleans; but the man walked straight up to Jacques Cœur, put a letter in his hand, and then turned his eyes to the ground, without giving one glance to those around.
"This is good news, indeed," said Jacques, who had read the letter by the light of a sconce. "A hundred thousand crowns, and two hundred thousand more in a month! What with the money from Marseilles we may do something yet. This is good news indeed!"