Rash, confident, and angry, he took no pains to see that the figure was exactly straight, but dashed forward when the trumpet sounded, resolved not to be outdone, aiming directly at the chest. Whether his horse swerved, or the figure was not well adjusted, I do not know; but he hit it considerably to the right of the centre, and, as he was carried forward, the merciless cudgel struck him a blow on the back of the neck which hurled him out of the saddle to the ground.
Jean Charost did not laugh; but he could not refrain from a smile, which caught De Royans's eyes as he led his horse back again. The latter was dizzy and confused, however, and for a moment, after he had given his horse to a servant, he stood gnawing his lip, without uttering a word to any one. At length, as the others were running their course, however, he walked up to the side of Jean Charost, who was now a little apart from the rest, and some quick words and meaning glances were seen to pass between them. Their voices grew louder; De Royans touched the hilt of his sword; and Jean Charost nodded his head, saying something in a low tone.
"For shame! for shame!" said Monsieur Blaize, approaching; but, ere he could add more, a casement just above their heads opened, and the voice of the Duke of Orleans was heard.
"Juvenel de Royans," he said, "have you any inclination for a dungeon? There are cells to fit you under the castle; and, as I live, you shall enjoy one if you broil in my household. I know you, sir; so be warned. De Brecy, come here; I want you."
Jean Charost immediately dismounted, gave his horse to Martin Grille, and ascended to the gallery from which the Duke of Orleans had been watching the sports of the morning. It was a large room, communicating, by a door in the midst and a small vestibule, with that famous picture-gallery which has been already mentioned. Voices were heard talking beyond; but the duke, after his young secretary's arrival, continued for a few minutes walking up and down the same chamber in which Jean Charost found him, leaning lightly on his arm.
"I know not how it is, my young friend," he said, in a sort of musing tone, "but the people here are clearly not very fond of you. However, I must insist that you take no notice whatever of that peevish boy, De Royans."
"I am most willing, sir," said Jean Charost, "to live at peace with him and every one else, provided they will leave me at peace likewise. I have given neither him nor them any matter for offense, and yet I will acknowledge that since my first entrance into your highness's household, I have met with little but enmity from any but good Monsieur Blaize and Signor Lomelini, who are both, I believe, my friends."
The duke mused very gravely, and then replied, "I know not how it is. To me it seems that there is nothing in your demeanor and conduct but that which should inspire kindness, and even respect. And yet," he continued, after a moment's pause, his face brightening with a gay, intelligent smile, not uncommon upon it when that acuteness, which formed one point in his very varied character, was aroused, by some accidental circumstance, from the slumber into which it sometimes fell--"and yet I am a fool to say I do not know how it is. I do know right well, my young friend. Men of power and station do not enough consider that all who surround them are more or less engaged in a race, whose rivalry necessarily deviates into enmity; and their favor, whenever it is given, is followed by the ill will of many toward the single possessor. The more just and the more generous of the competitors content themselves with what they can obtain, or, at all events, do not deny some portion of merit to a more fortunate rival; but the baser and the meaner spirits--and they are the most numerous--not only envy, but hate; not only hate, but calumniate."
"I am most grateful, sir, for all your kindness toward me," replied Jean Charost; "but I can not at all attribute the enmity of Monsieur de Royans, or any of the rest, to jealousy of your favor, for from the moment I entered your household it was the same."
"Oil and water do not easily mix," answered the duke. "The qualities for which I esteem you make them hate you; not that your character and mine are at all alike--very, very different. But there be some substances, which, though most opposite to others, easily mingle with them; others which, with more apparent similarity, are totally repugnant. Your feelings are not my feelings, your thoughts not my thoughts, yet I can comprehend and appreciate you; these men can not."