"I am secretary to his highness the Duke of Orleans," replied Jean Charost; "and I bear a letter to the duchess to deliver into her own hands."
Admission was not difficult to obtain; and Jean Charost was passed from hand to hand till he found himself in the interior of that gloomy building, which always seems to the visitor of modern times redolent of bloody and mysterious deeds.
A grave and respectable-looking man at length showed Jean Charost into a handsomely-furnished room in one of the towers which looked out in the direction of Tours; and, seating himself upon a large window-seat, forming a coffer for firewood, he gazed out upon the scene below and saw the sun set over the world of trees beneath him. Darkness came on rapidly, but still he was suffered to remain alone, and silence brooded over the whole place, unbroken even by a passing footfall. All was so still that he could have fancied that some one was dead in the place, and the rest were silent mourners.
At length a slow, quiet footfall in the distance met his ear, coming along with easy, almost drowsy pace, till the same old man appeared, and conducted him through a length of passages and vacant rooms to the presence of the Duchess of Orleans.
She was seated in a large arm-chair, with a table by her side, and was dressed almost altogether in black; but to the eyes of Jean Charost she seemed exceedingly beautiful, with finely-shaped features, bright eyes, and an expression of melancholy which suited well the peculiar cast of her countenance. She gazed earnestly at Jean Charost as he advanced toward her, and said, as soon as she thought him near enough, "You come from his highness, I am told. How is my dear husband?"
"Not so well as I could wish, madam," replied Jean Charost; "but this letter which I have the honor to present will tell you more."
The duchess held out her fair hand for the epistle, but it trembled greatly as she took it; and the young secretary would not venture to look in her face as she was reading, for he knew that she would be greatly agitated. She was so, indeed; but she recovered herself speedily, and, speaking still with a slight foreign accent, demanded further details.
"He says only that he is ill," she exclaimed. "Tell me, sir--tell me how he really is. Did you see him? Yes, you must have seen him, for he says you are his secretary. Has he concealed any thing in this letter? Is it necessary that I should set out this night? I am quite ready. He must be very ill," she added, in a low and melancholy tone, "or he would not have sent for me."
"His highness is ill, madam," replied Jean Charost, "seriously ill, I fear; but I trust not dangerously so. The contentions in which he has lately been engaged with the Duke of Burgundy, but which are now happily over--"
"Oh, that house of Burgundy! that house of Burgundy!" said the duchess, in a low, sad tone.