"So shalt thou be, Ignati," replied the Duke, with one of the bright smiles of the Guise. "But I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou shalt go with this young lord to his lands of Logères, and be my spy upon all his actions and his thoughts. Then, if thou findest out that thing on all the earth which he most wishes and desires to possess, and bringest me the tidings thereof, thou shalt have a purse of broad pieces for thy pains. When he comes back, thou shalt come to be of my household; and, as I trust that he will be ever near me, thou mayest find many a way of serving him also.--Now, good soldier," he continued, turning to Gondrin, "you, too, have aided me well in a moment of great need: what recompense shall the Duke of Guise offer you? Will you take service with him, and he will care for your fortunes?"
"I thank you, my Lord," replied Gondrin, bluntly. "But on this young gentleman's lands was I born, his race have I served, his forest sports have I tended through all my life, and I think I will not leave him now, unless he dismount me out of his troop; and then, pardie! I think I shall follow him on foot. What I did for your Highness was done by his orders. I knew you but as Maître Henri, with a grey doublet and a cock's feather, so that I deserve neither thanks nor recompense, though I will gladly serve your Highness under him, if God and the good Count so will it."
"Would that there were many such as thou art!" said the Duke of Guise, thoughtfully. "There are few who will not quit old kindness for new preferment. Here, my friend, take you that ring, in memory of Henry of Guise. It is a diamond, for which the goldsmiths will give five hundred crowns; but, should you ever want money, he who now gives it will gladly give a thousand crowns for it back again."
[CHAP. XII.]
The rock which it meets with in its course turns the impetuous river from the way it was pursuing, even when it comes down in all the fury of the mountain torrent. The slight slope of a green hill, the rise of a grassy bank at an after-period, bends the calm stream hither and thither through the plains, offering the most beautiful image of the effect of circumstances on the course of human life. Some streams also become coloured by the earth they pass over, or mingle readily with the waters that flow into theirs. But there are a few--and they are always the mightiest and most profound--which retain their original hue and character, receive the tribute of other streams, pass over rocks and mountains, and through the midst of deep lakes, without the Rhone losing its glossy blue in the bosom of Lake Leman, or the Rhine mingling its clear stream with the waters of Constance or the current of the Maine.
The firm and powerful mind may be affected in its operations by circumstances, but not in its nature, and the depths of original character remain unchanged from the beginning to the end of life. Even strong feelings in such hearts, like objects cast upon a grand and rapid river, are borne along with the current through all scenes and circumstances, till with the waters themselves they plunge into the ocean of eternity.
Neither by nature nor by the period of his life was Charles of Montsoreau likely to retain and nourish long any light feelings of disappointment, but such was not the case with deep sorrows or with strong affections. His heart was of that firm and tenacious kind that it lost not readily any thing once strongly impressed upon it. The love of Marie de Clairvaut was one of those things never to be forgotten; the sorrows by which that love had been followed were never to be obliterated from his mind.
In the gay scenes of the sort of second court which the Duke of Guise held for some days in the city of Rheims, Charles of Montsoreau mingled without any apparent grief weighing upon his mind, or any dark and gloomy memory seeming to oppress his spirit. He smiled with those who smiled, he admired all that was fine, and bright, and beautiful; and if he felt for a moment coming over him the deep melancholy with which he had quitted his own home, and which had now concentrated itself in his heart, he struggled against it and banished the outward appearance of it speedily, deriving only from those deeper feelings which lay concealed within, that degree of indifference towards the pleasures and amusements of youth which is seldom obtained but by experience. He forgot not Marie de Clairvaut, however--he forgot not the painful task which he had imposed upon himself; but he gladly occupied his immediate thoughts with the objects around him, and remained for some days well pleased himself, and not un-noted by others for his calm and graceful demeanour, amongst all the proud nobles who now surrounded the princely Guise.
At length, however, all his attendants but two, whose wounds promised a tedious convalescence, were sufficiently recovered to enable him to pursue his journey to Logères; and he set out, with his train increased by six or seven veteran soldiers, whom the Duke spared to him, for the purpose of completing, as rapidly as possible, the discipline and training of his own retainers. As the distance was not far, and the Duke of Guise had given him more than one hint that no time was to be lost, he resolved to accomplish the march in one day; and, setting off early in the morning, approached Logères towards sunset upon a short spring day.
It was a wild and wooded country, on the borders of the ancient Ardennes, with the scene continually varying in minor points, but never changing the character of rough, solitary nature, which that part of France, and indeed many other parts, at that time displayed. Here the ground was rocky and mountainous, shooting up into tall hills covered with old woods; there, smooth and even, with the feet of the primeval oaks carpeted with green turf. Then, again, came deep dells, and banks, and ravines, and dingles, so thick that the boar could scarcely force his way through the bushes; and then the trees fell back, and left the wild stream wandering through green meadows, or sporting amongst the masses of stone. If a village appeared, it was perched high up above the road, as if afraid of the passing strangers; if a cottage, it was nested in the brown wood, and scarcely to be distinguished from the surrounding banks. The air was now as warm as May, and all the sweet things that haunt the first dream of summer had come forth: the birds were tuning their earliest songs; the flowers were gathering round the roots of the trees, and the branches above them were making an effort, though but faint, to cast away the brown cloak of winter, and put on the green garmenture of the spring.