"What, then," exclaimed the constable, in a tone of affected surprise, "you do not propose to rise upon our tombs to higher honor and preferment?"
"Not in the least," replied De Brecy. "I am here, even at this present moment, merely as the envoy of Monsieur De Blondel, who sent me to you, as this authority will show."
"Pooh, pooh!" said Richmond, in a contemptuous tone. "De Blondel has no wits either for the conception or the execution of such projects. But one thing I must exact, Monsieur De Brecy: if we send you to the king, you must hold no consultations in the castle before you go."
De Brecy meditated for a moment, and then replied, "See Monsieur De Blondel I must, my lord; for I came from him to you, and must render him an account of what I have done. That account, however, may be very short. I can have him called to the barriers, and any one of you may hear what passes. I must, however, have horses and some of my train."
"Be it so," said the constable. "I will go with you. You, Clermont, are a scribe, so write the letter to the king. It will be ready when we come back. Doubtless you will make it dutiful enough, and you need not say, unless you wish it, that Richmond is the only obstacle."
With this sneer he rose, put his bonnet on his head, and accompanied De Brecy out of the room. As they went he said little, and at the barrier, both while Jean Charost waited for Blondel's coming and during their short conference, stood silent, with his arms crossed upon his breast. The governor of the castle, indeed, noticed the constable first, saying, "Give you good-night, my lord;" but Richmond only bent his head gravely in reply, and spoke but once during the whole interview, saying, when Jean Charost had given directions regarding his horses and men, "Send them down to Jacques Cœur's house, De Blondel, and that as quick as may be, for fear La Marche should have time to change his mind, and Clermont to fill his letter so full of tropes that no one can understand it."
CHAPTER XLVI.
The town and the castle were quiet; the hateful sound of the rattling cannon was heard no more; pierrier, veuglaire,[[4]] and culverin were still, and the drum and the trumpet sounded not. When Agnes looked out of the high window of the great round tower, after a sleep which had remained unbroken by the clang of war longer than usual, she could almost have supposed that every thing was peaceful around. The morning sun shone brightly, the morning air was sweet and fresh, few soldiers appeared upon the walls of the castle, there was no strife seen going on in the streets, and it was only the sight of a barricade immediately below the town gate of the citadel, and a breast-work of earth some way further down, with half a dozen soldiers loitering about each, that kept up the memory of a struggle.
Although she knew not the cause, Agnes was well pleased; for the very quiet stillness was a relief, restoring to the mind calmness and hope. But Agnes's hopes had now taken one particular direction, and her first thought was, "As there is no active struggle going on, dear Jean will be with us soon this morning."
But Jean Charost came not. An hour passed--an hour beyond the usual time of his coming--and both his mother and Agnes began to feel alarm. At length they sent down to inquire; but the answer brought up was, he had gone out on the preceding night, and had not yet returned.