The Duke of Orleans sat and mused for a few moments; but then raised himself to his full height, and threw back his shoulders, as if casting off a weight; and, taking the arm of Jean Charost, quitted the convent, merely saying, "This is very strange!"
They soon reached the small postern gate in the garden wall, and entered the precincts of the palace; but as they were approaching the building itself, the duke paused for a moment, saying to his young companion, "Not a word of this strange occurrence to any one. Sup in your own room, and be with me to-morrow at the hour I named."
His tone was somewhat stern, and Jean Charost made no reply, thinking, however, that he was very likely to go without his supper, as he had no one to send for it. But when he entered his room he found matters considerably changed, probably in consequence of some orders which the duke had given as they were going out. A sconce was lighted on the wall, and a cresset, lamp hung from the ceiling by an iron chain directly over the table. A large fire of logs was blazing on the hearth; and, a moment or two after, an inferior servant entered to ask if he had any commands.
"Your own varlet, sir, will be here to-morrow," he said; "and in the mean time, I have his highness's commands to attend upon you."
Jean Charost contented himself with ordering some supper to be brought to him, and asking some questions in regard to the hours and customs of the household; and, after all his wants had been attended to, he retired to rest, without quitting his own room again, judging that the duke's command to sup there had been given as a sort of precaution against any indiscretion upon his part, and implied a desire that he should not mingle with the general household that night. He knew not what the hour was, and it could not have been very late. But there was nothing to keep him awake, except a memory of the strange events of the day, and the light heart of youth soon shakes off such impressions, so that he slept readily and well.
CHAPTER IX.
Long before the hour appointed for him to wait upon the duke, Jean Charost was up and dressed, expecting every moment to see the servant he had engaged present himself, but no Martin Grille appeared. The attendant of the duke, who had waited upon him the preceding evening, brought him a breakfast not to be despised, consisting of delicacies from various parts of France, and a bottle of no bad wine of Beaugency; but he could tell nothing of Martin Grille, and by the time the meal was over, the hour appointed by the duke had arrived.
On being admitted to the prince's dressing-chamber, Jean Charost found him in his robe de chamber, seated at a table, writing. His face, the young man could not help thinking, was even graver and sadder than on the preceding night; but he did not raise his eyes at the secretary's entrance, and continued to write slowly, often stopping to correct or alter, till he had covered one side of the paper before him. When that was done, he handed the sheet to the young secretary, saying, "There, copy me that;" and, on taking the paper, Jean Charost was surprised to see that it was covered with verse; for he was not aware that the duke possessed any of that talent which was afterward so conspicuous in his son. He seated himself at the table, however, and proceeded to fulfill the command he had received, not without difficulty, for the duke's writing, though large and bold, was not very distinct.
To will and not to do,
Alas! how sad!
Man and his passions too
Are mad--how mad!
Oh! could the heart but break
The heavy chain
That binds it to this stake
Of earthly pain,
And see for joys all pure,
And hopes all bright,
For pleasures that endure,
And wells of light,
And purge away the dross
With life allied,
I ne'er had mourn'd love's loss,
Nor ever cried.
To will and not to do,
Alas! how sad!
Man and his passions too
Are mad--how mad!
"Read it, read it," said the Duke of Orleans; and, with some timidity, the young secretary obeyed, feeling instinctively how difficult it is to give in reading the exact emphasis intended by the writer. He succeeded well, however. The duke was pleased, perhaps as much with his own verses as with the manner in which they were read. But, after a few words of commendation, he fell into a fit of thought again, from which he was at length startled by the slow tolling of the bell of a neighboring church. He raised his eyes suddenly to the face of Jean Charost as the sounds struck upon his ear, and gazed at him with a strange, inquiring, but sorrowful expression of countenance, as if he would fain have asked, "Do you know what that bell means? Can you comprehend the feelings it begets in me?"