"De Royans," answered the duke, sharply. "The one in fault, sir--the one always in fault. See my orders in train of execution, and then return."
CHAPTER XXII.
All great events are made up of small incidents. The world is composed of atoms, and so is Fate. A man pulling a small bit of iron under a gun performs an act, abstractedly of not much greater importance than a lady when she pins her dress; but let this small incident be combined with three other facts: that of there being a cartridge in the gun; that of twenty thousand men all pulling their triggers at the same moment; that of there being twenty thousand men opposite, and you have the glorious event of a great battle, with its long sequence of misery and joy, glory and shame, affecting the world, perhaps, to the end of time.
Two little incidents occurred at the château of Beauté during the day, the commencement of which we have just noticed, not apparently very much worthy of remark, but which, nevertheless, must be noted down in this very accurate piece of chronology. The first was the arrival of a courier, whose face Jean Charost knew, though it was some time before he could fix it to the neck and shoulders of a man whom he had seen at Pithiviers, not in the colors of the house of Burgundy, but in those of fair Madame de Giac. The letter he bore was addressed to the Duke of Orleans, and it evidently troubled him--threw him into a fit of musing--occupied his thoughts for some moments--and made the duchess somewhat anxious lest evil news had reached her lord.
He did not tell her the contents of the note, however, nor return any answer at the time, but sent the man away with largesse, saying he would write.
The next incident was another arrival, that of a party of three or four gentlemen from Paris who were invited to stay at the château of Beauté that night, and who supped with the duke and duchess in the great hall. The duke's face was exceedingly cheerful, and his health was evidently-improved since the morning, when some secret cause seemed to have moved and depressed him a great deal.
The conversation principally turned upon the events which had lately taken place in Paris. They were generally of little moment; but one piece of intelligence the strangers brought was evidently, to the duke at least, of greater importance than the rest. The guests reported confidently that the unhappy king, Charles the Sixth, had shown decided symptoms of one of those periodical returns to reason which checkered with occasional bright gleams his dark and melancholy career. The duke seemed greatly pleased, mused upon the tidings, questioned his informant closely, but uttered not his own thoughts, whatever they might be, and retired to rest at an early hour.
During the whole of that day, without absenting himself for any length of time from his own apartments, Jean Charost wandered a good deal about the castle, and, to say sooth, looked somewhat impatiently for Juvenel de Royans in every place where he was likely to be met with. He did not find him any where, however; and, on asking Signor Lomelini where he should find the young gentleman, he was informed, dryly, that Monsieur De Royans was particularly engaged in some affairs of the duke's, and would not like to be disturbed.
The evening passed somewhat dully for Jean Charost, for he confined himself almost altogether to his own apartments, expecting every moment that the prince would send for him; but in this he was disappointed. He did not venture to retire to rest till nearly midnight; but then he slept as soundly as in life's happiest days; and he was only awakened in the morning by the sound of a trumpet, announcing, as he rightly judged, the departure of the preceding evening's guests.
He was dressing himself slowly and quietly, when Martin Grille bustled into the room, exclaiming, "Quick, sir, quick! or you will have no breakfast. Have you not heard the news? The duke sets out in half an hour for Paris, and you will be wanted, of course. Half the household stays here with the duchess. We go with twenty lances and the lay brethren, of which class--praised be God for all things!--you and I may consider ourselves."