"Oh, he is certain to come back some time," replied the cutler. "Paris is the centre of all the world, and every thing is drawn toward it by a force not to be resisted. So fare you well, my good nephew, and let us see you when you come back."
Martin promised to come and visit the cutler and his son as soon as he returned, and then sauntered away, feeling himself as fine in his new clothes as a school-boy in a holiday suit.
The cutler resumed his avocations again; but could not forbear some grumbling observations upon valets and valetry, which perhaps he might have spared, had he understood his nephew's character rightly. About quarter of an hour, however, after the young man had left the shop, a letter, neatly tied and sealed, was brought by a young boy, apparently one of the choristers of some great church or cathedral. It was addressed "To Martin Grille;" and, whatever might be his curiosity, Caboche did not venture to open it, but sent the lad on to the palace of the Duke of Orleans, telling him he would find his nephew there.
CHAPTER XI.
I know few things more pleasant than a stroll through Paris, as I remember it, in a fine early winter's morning. There was an originality about the people whom one saw out and abroad at that period of the day--a gay, cheerful, pleasant originality--which is not met with in any other nation. Granted that this laughing semblance was but the striped skin of the tiger, and that underneath there was a world of untamable ferocity, which made the cat-like creature dangerous to play with; yet still the sight was an agreeable one, one that the mind's eye rested upon with sensations of pleasure. The sights, too, had generally something to interest or to amuse--very often something that moved the feelings; but more generally something having a touch of the burlesque in it, exciting a smile, though seldom driving one into a laugh.
Doubtless the same was the case on the morning when the Duke of Orleans and his household set out from his brother's capital; for the Parisians have always been Parisians, and that word, as far as history shows us, has always meant one thing. It was very early in the morning, too. The sun hardly tipped the towers of Nôtre Dame, or gilded the darker and more sombre masses of the Châtelet. The most matutinal classes--the gatherers of rags: the unhappy beings who pilfered daily from unfastened doors and open entries: the peasants coming into market: the laborers going out with ax or shovel: even the roasters of chestnuts (coffee was then unknown) were all astir, and many a merry cry to wake slumbering cooks and purveyors was heard along the streets of the metropolis. Always cheerful except when ferocious, the population of Paris was that day in gayer mood than usual, for the news that a reconciliation had taken place between the Dukes of Orleans and Burgundy, whose feuds had become wearisome as well as detrimental, had spread far and wide during the preceding evening, and men anticipated prosperous and peaceful times, after a long period of turbulence and disaster. Seldom had the Duke of Orleans gone forth from the metropolis in such peaceful array. Sometimes he had galloped out in haste with a small body of attendants, hardly enough in number to protect his person; sometimes he had marched forward in warlike guise, to do battle with the enemy. But now he proceeded quietly in a horse-litter, feeling himself neither very well nor very ill. His saddle-horse, some pages, squires, and a few men-at-arms followed close, and the rest of the attendants, who had been selected to go with him, came after in little groups as they mounted, two or three at a time. The whole cavalcade did not amount to more than fifty persons--no great retinue for a prince of those days; but yet, in its straggling disorder, it made a pretty long line through the streets, and excited a good deal of attention in the multitude as it passed. But the distance to the gates was not great, and the whole party soon issued forth through the very narrow suburbs which then surrounded the city, into the open country beyond. To tell the truth, though the whole land was covered with the white garmenture of winter, it was a great relief to Jean Charost to find his sight no longer bounded by stone walls, and his chest no longer oppressed by the heavy air of a great city. The sun sparkling on the snow, the branches of the trees incrusted with frost, the clear blue sky without a cloud, the river bridged with its own congealed waters, all reminded him of early days and happy hours, and filled his mind with the memory of rejoicing.
One or two of the elder and superior officers of the duke's household had mounted at the same time with himself, and were riding along close by him. But there was no sympathetic tie between them; they were old, and he was young; they were hackneyed in courts, and he was inexperienced; they were accustomed to all the doings of the household in which he dwelt, and to him every thing was fresh and new. Thus they soon gathered apart, as it were, though they were perfectly courteous and polite to the duke's new secretary; for by this time he was known to all the attendants in that capacity, and the more politic heads shrewdly calculated upon his acquiring, sooner or later, considerable influence with their princely master. But they talked among themselves of things they knew and understood, and of which he was utterly ignorant; so that he was suffered to ride on with uninterrupted thoughts, enjoying the wintery beauty of the landscape, while they conversed of what had happened at St. Denis, or of the skirmish at Toul, or of the march into Aquitaine, or gossiped a little scandal of Madame De * * * * and Monsieur De * * * *.
Insensibly the young man dropped behind, and might be said to be riding alone, when an elderly man, in the habit of a priest, ambled up to his side on a sleek, well-fed mule. His hair was very white, and his countenance calm and benignant; but there was no very intellectual expression in his face, and one might have felt inclined to pronounce him, at the first glance, a very simple, good man, with more rectitude than wit, more piety than learning. There would have been some mistake in this, for Jean Charost soon found that he had read much, and studied earnestly, supplying by perseverance and labor all that was wanting in acuteness.
"Good morning, my son," said the old man, in a frank and familiar tone. "I believe I am speaking to Monsieur De Brecy, am I not? his highness's secretary."
"The same, sir," replied Jean Charost; "though I have not been long in that office."