"We will travel the same road," said Bernard de Rohan, "we will travel the same road. But what can have induced Isabel to take the way to Geneva?"
"We know not that this lady was the same," replied Corse de Leon; "but, supposing her to be so, forget not that she believes you to be dead. I have told you that the matter is before the king; and she may fear that, as this Count de Meyrand is a known intimate of a woman all too powerful in this land of France, some constraint may be laid upon her will in order to make her give her hand to him."
"They shall find," replied Bernard de Rohan, "that there is one whose claim upon her hand is not so easily to be cast off; and, even were I dead, I am full sure that to the last day of her existence she would look on one who could betray his friend with nothing but abhorrence and disgust."
"It may be so," replied the brigand; "but you have yet one thing to learn. Your claim upon her hand is already disallowed. On that the king's decision has gone forth three days ago. An edict, which has just reached Lyons, was then registered in the Parliament of Paris, rendering all clandestine marriages, past or future, null and void. This was aimed at you, depend upon it, for both the wily Italian and the artful Frenchman were then at the court of France."
Bernard de Rohan covered his eyes with his hand, and paused thoughtfully without reply. "All this," he said at length, "all this shows, my friend, the absolute need there is of my being speedily in Paris. Wherever Isabel may turn her steps, she will soon hear that I am living if I appear before the king; and in another point of view, also, my speedy appeal to Henry himself may do good. There is one whom you have mentioned who does certainly possess much power—far too much for any subject in the realm; but yet I judge not of her so harshly as you perhaps may do. She has a noble spirit, and I think would not willingly do wrong. Besides all this, she is the trusted friend of one who loves me well—the Maréchal de Brissac; therefore I do believe that especially she would not wish to injure me. When I have seen her, she has always seemed to regard me highly; and I will own—although I must regret that any one should hold such authority in the land of France as often to overrule the king's wisest ministers—I do believe that, for her own personal advantage, she would in no degree seek what is unjust to another, or do that which might be dangerous to her country. I have no doubt that one of her first wishes is to promote, in every way, such plans as she considers just and wise; and although, of course, she may from time to time be biased, like every other person, by blinding mists of prejudice or of self-interest, yet I do think that she is less so than any other being who ever yet filled a situation of splendid disgrace and ill-bought authority. I believe, then, that with her, as with the king, a few plain words of remonstrance and explanation will win that support which is alone needful to my just claims."
"Then go thither at once," said Corse de Leon, with a dissatisfied air. "If you will still trust to those whom you have not tried, go thither, and encounter whatever the consequence may be. Were I you, my conduct would be different."
"What would you do, then?" asked Bernard de Rohan. "I do not propose to go to the court at once, but merely after I have done all that I can to trace my Isabel on the road that she has taken. Say! what would you do were you situated as I am?"
"It matters little," replied Corse de Leon, "for we are differently formed. You are like the stately warhorse, doubtless strong and full of fire, but broken down to the bit and rein of custom, and trained to pace hither and thither, as the great riding-master called society wills. Your affections may be vehement, your courage high, your heart sincere, but you are not fitted and formed for the wild life of freedom, or for a desperate and deadly struggle against the trammels of habit, and the lash and spur of opinion. I, on the contrary, am the lion—or, if you will, the tiger, or the wolf. No hand tames me and goads me on—my mouth knows no bit and curb—the desert is my home—solitude my society—my own will my law—and they who strive to take and chain me, to break me down to the world's habits, or to bind me by man's opinions, will either rue the bite of the free wild beast, or see him die before the hunters, in silence and despair. If you would know what I would do, I would take my revenge of that bad man; I would seek the lady till I found her; I would tell her that dangers, obstructions, impediments, and the vain idleness of a world's laws were before us if we did not trample upon that world's judgments; I would ask her to cast off for me and with me the prejudices of country and connexions; I would make my native place of the first land of freedom I could find; I would find my friends and my relations among the brave, and the free, and the good, wherever I met them; I would press out from the grape of liberty the wine of my own happiness, and I would drink of the cup that my own hand had prepared. But such counsels are not for you; such things are not parts of your nature."
"I believe not," replied Bernard de Rohan; "but still the first part of your advice I shall follow, and at daybreak to-morrow will set out to meet this man upon the way, and bid him draw his sword where there is none to interrupt us."
"Should he refuse?" said the brigand. "He is well accompanied—has many men with him, and some who seem to bear a high rank and station. He may refuse to draw his sword, and say that the matter is before the king: what then?"