"It will certainly not be I," replied I, gravely; "for wherever the battle takes place, however I may exert myself therein, I shall come out of it as unscathed as I went in."
"Indeed! how so?" demanded the Marquis. "Do you wear a charmed coat of mail, or have you been dipped in Styx?"
"Neither," replied I: "but it is my fate! In the calculation of my nativity, it has been found, that whoever seeks to take my life, their own shall be lost in the attempt. Two persons have made the essay--and two have already fallen. We shall see who will be the third." What I said was simply intended to touch the marquis upon a spot where I knew he must be sensible; but the excessive paleness that came over his countenance was far more than I expected to behold: it was more than I could suppose the mere fear of having been discovered would excite in a man of such principles. Could he be superstitious? I asked myself--he, a free-thinker, a sceptic both by an erroneous application of his reason, and by the natural propensity of a sensualist to reject everything but what is material--could he be superstitious?
But so, in fact, it was, as I soon found more clearly by the multitude of questions which he asked me concerning the person who had calculated my nativity, and given the prediction I had mentioned; citing, as he did so, the names of all the astrologers in Europe, from Nostradamus up to Vanoni himself. After a moment, however, he seemed to be conscious that he was exposing himself; and looking up with a forced laugh, "Dreams! dreams!" said he, "my dear Count. How can the stars affect us upon the earth? If I were to choose a way of fooling myself with prophecies, a thousand times rather would I follow the art of the ancient Tuscans, and draw my divination from the lightning, which at all events comes near our mortal habitation."
"I know you are a sceptic in all such matters," replied I; and riding on, I left the Marquis to muse over the prediction as he thought fit, reserving to myself the right of calling him to a personal account for his former conduct towards me, when I should find a fitting opportunity. His character was then a new one to me, and I could hardly persuade myself that he did really believe in the dreams which even my reason, all hag-ridden as it was by imagination, cast from it the moment it had power to follow its direct course. But I have had occasion to remark since, that those who reject the truth of religion are generally as prone as devotees to the dreams of superstition.
I was immediately admitted into the citadel, and as I was dismounting in the court, encountered Varicarville. "Welcome, welcome back! Monsieur de l'Orme," said he. "We need all friends, now, to carry through our enterprise; and Monsieur le Comte tells me, that you not only bring us good news from Paris, but a considerable reinforcement. You come from Torcy. What is the news there? Did you see the enemy? When are we likely to prove our strength together?"
"I come to seek news myself," replied I. "No enemies have I seen, but half a dozen soldiers, that we drove over the wooden bridge near Mouzon. When does rumour say we shall have a battle?"
"The day after to-morrow, at farthest," replied Varicarville, "if Lamboy with his Germans arrives in time. But hie to the Prince, De l'Orme. He expects you, and is now waiting you in the saloon, hoping some news from Torcy."
I proceeded to the Count's apartments accordingly, and finding no one to announce me by the way, I entered the saloon at once. The Count de Soissons was leaning in a large arm chair, with his head bent forward, and one hand over his eyes, while Vanbroc, his Flemish lute-player, was playing to him the prelude of a song. My entrance did not make the Prince look up, and Vanbroc proceeded. After a few very sweet passages preliminary to his voice, he sung, as nearly as I can remember, the following, to a beautiful minor air:--
SONG.
I.
Give me repose and peace! Let others prove
The losing game of strife;
Or climb the hill, or plough the wave;
To find out fortune or a grave,
Stake happiness and life.
Oh, give me rest and peace,
And quietude and love!
II.
Give me repose and peace! The power, the sway,
The sceptre, crown, and throne,
Are thorny treasures, paying ill
The sacrifice of joy and will--
All man can call his own.
Oh, give me rest and peace,
To bless my humble day!
III.
Give me repose and peace! I covet not
The laurel or the wreath,
Wars to the brave, strifes to the strong,
Ambitions to the proud belong--
All hand in hand with death.
But be repose, and peace,
And life, and joy, my lot!