Agnes Sorel: A Novel

by G. P. R. James

With some lingering still of doubt, Jean Charost took possession of the rooms, which he found more convenient than those he had inhabited in Paris, and, by the aid of Martin Grille, all was speedily put in order. The hour of supper soon arrived, and, descending to the general table of the household, he found a place reserved for him by Monsieur Blaize, but a good deal of strange coldness in the manners of all around. Even the old écuyer; himself was somewhat distant and reserved; and it was not till long afterward that Jean Charost discovered how much malice any marks of favor from a prince can excite, and to how much falsehood such malice may give birth. His attempt to stop the horses of the litter had been severely commented on, as an act of impertinent forwardness, by all those who ought to have done it themselves; and they and every one else agreed, notwithstanding the duke's own words, that the attempt had only served to throw one of the horses down. The only person who seemed cordial at the table was the good priest, Father Peter; but the chaplain could afford very little of his conversation to his young friend, being himself, during the whole meal, the butt of the jester's wit, to which he could not refrain from replying, although, to say sooth, he got somewhat worsted in the encounter. All present were tired, however, and all retired soon to rest, with the exception of Jean Charost, who sat up in his bed-room for two or three hours, laying out for himself a course of conduct which would save him, as far as possible, from all minor annoyances. Nor was that course altogether ill devised for the attainment of even higher objects than he proposed.

"I will live in this household," he thought, "as far as possible, by myself. I will seek my own amusements apart, if I can but discover at what time the duke is likely to want me. Any who wish for my society shall seek it, and I will, keep all familiarity at a distance. I will endeavor to avoid all quarrels with them; but, if I am forced into one, I will try to make my opponent rue it."

At an early hour on the following morning the young man went forth to inquire after the duke's health, and learned from one of the attendants at his door that he had passed a bad and feverish night. "I was bidden to tell you, sir," said the man, "if you presented yourself, that his highness would like to see you at three this evening, but will not want you till then."

This intimation was a relief to Jean Charost; and, returning to his room, where he had left Martin Grille, he told him to prepare both their horses for along ride.

"Before breakfast, sir?" asked the man.

"Yes, immediately," replied the young secretary. "We will breakfast somewhere, Martin, and dine somewhere too; but I wish to explore the country, which seemed beautiful enough as we rode along."

"Monstrous white, sir," replied Martin Grille. "However, you had better take some arms with you, for we may chance to miss the high-road, I being in no way topographical. The country in this neighborhood does not bear the best reputation."

Jean Charost laughed at his fears, and ere half an hour was over they were on their horses' backs and away. The morning was bright and pleasant, notwithstanding the keen frostiness of the air. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees, and the sun was shining cheerfully, though his rays had no effect upon the snow. There was a silence, too, over the whole scene, as soon as the immediate vicinity of the castle was passed, which was pleasant to Jean Charost, cooped up as he had been for several months previously in the close atmosphere of a town. From a slow walk, he urged his horse on into a trot, from a trot into a canter, and when at length the wood which mantled the castle was passed, and the road opened out upon the rounded side of the hill, boyhood's fountain of light spirits seemed reopened in his heart, and he urged his horse on into a wild gallop over the nearly level ground at the top.

Martin Grille came panting after. He was not one of the best horsemen in the world, and, though he clung pretty fast to his steed's back, he was awfully shaken. That gay gallop, however, had a powerful moral effect upon the good varlet. Bad horsemen have always a great reverence for good ones. Martin Grille's esteem for his master's talents had been but small before, simply because his own worldly experience, his intimate knowledge of all tricks and contrivances, and the facile impudence and fertility of resources, which he possessed as the hereditary right of a Parisian of the lower orders, had enabled him to direct and counsel in a thousand trifles which had embarrassed Jean Charost simply because he had been unaccustomed to deal with them. But now, when Martin saw his easy mastery of the strong horse, and the light rein, the graceful seat, the joyous hilarity of aspect with which the young man bounded along, while he himself was clinging tight to the saddle with a fearful pressure, the sight made him feel an inferiority which he had never acknowledged to himself before.

At length, Jean Charost stopped, looked round and smiled, and Martin Grille, riding up, exclaimed, in a half-dolorous half-laughing tone, "Spare me, sir, I beseech you. You forget I am not accustomed to such wild capers. Every man is awkward, I find, in a new situation; and though I can get on pretty well at procession pace, if my horse neither kicks nor stumbles, I would rather be excused galloping over hillsides, for a fortnight at least, till my leather and his leather are better acquainted."