Agnes Sorel: A Novel

by G. P. R. James

"Oh, of course, that is between you and your own conscience," answered Monsieur Blaize, in an off-hand kind of way. "It is no business of mine."

"I am glad to hear, at least, that it is not you I have offended," answered Jean Charost. "You were my first friend in the household, Monsieur Blaize, and I should be very sorry to give you any cause for reproach."

"Oh, no--no!" answered the old écuyer. "You have done nothing against me at all. But as to the duchess--how has she passed the journey? Did she meet with any difficulty or misadventure by the way?"

"None whatever," answered the young secretary. "None were apprehended, I presume." And then, judging Monsieur Blaize more clear-sightedly than might have been expected in so young a man, he added, "Had there been any danger, of course the duke would have sent yourself or some gentleman of military experience."

Monsieur Blaize was evidently well satisfied with the reply; but still he rejoined, "Perhaps I could not well be spared from this place during his highness's illness. We were in great consternation here, I can tell you, my young friend."

"Has he been very ill, then?" asked the secretary.

"For two days after you were gone," replied Monsieur Blaize, "no one thought to see him rise from his bed again; and he himself evidently thought his last hours were coming. He sent for notaries, made his will, and was driven at length to get a leech from Paris--a very skillful man indeed. He consulted the moon, and the aspect of the stars; chose the auspicious moment, gave him benzoin and honey, besides a fever drink, and some drops, of which he would not tell the secret, but which we all believed to be potable gold. It is wonderful, the effect they had. He announced boldly that, at the change of the moon, on the third day, the duke would be better; and so it proved. His highness watched anxiously for the minute, and immediately the clock struck he declared that he felt relieved, to our very great joy. Since that time, he has continued to improve: but he can not be called well yet. And now, if you will take my advice, you will go and order yourself something to eat at the buttery, and then lie down and rest; for you look as haggard and worn as an old courtier. It was too heavy a task to put upon a boy like you."

Jean Charost, during the whole of this conversation, had been carrying on in his own mind, as we so continually do, a separate train or undercurrent of thought, as to what could be the faults which good Monsieur Blaize seemed to impute to him; and he came to conclusions very naturally which proved not far from the truth. There was but one point in his whole history in regard to which there was any thing like mystery, and he judged rightly that, if men were inclined to attribute to him any evil act, they must fix upon that point as a basis. He was determined to learn more, if possible, however; and, in reply to Monsieur Blaize's advice to get food and rest, he said, laughingly, "Oh no, Monsieur Blaize, before I either eat or sleep, I must go down to the hamlet, to see my baby."

"Well, you speak of it coolly enough," replied Monsieur Blaize.

"Why should I not?" answered Jean Charost, quickly. But the old gentleman suddenly turned away and left him; and Jean Charost was at once convinced that some calumny had been circulated among the household in regard to the child which had been so strangely thrown upon his hands. By early misfortunes and difficulties he had been taught to decide rapidly and energetically, and his mind was soon made up on the present occasion, to seek the first opportunity of telling his own story to the Duke of Orleans, and explaining every thing, as far as it was in his power to explain. In the mean while, however, as soon as he had given some directions to Martin Grille, he strolled down to the hamlet and sought out the house of Madame Moulinet. He knocked first with his hand, and there being no answer, though he thought he heard the voices of persons within, he opened the door and entered at once into the kitchen. Madame Moulinet was seated there, with the child upon her knee; but the door on the opposite side of the room was closing just as Jean Charost went in, and he caught a glance of a black velvet mantle, before it was actually shut.