Lord Montagu's Page: An Historical Romance

by G. P. R. James

Now, Savoy is a fine country, and the people are a very good people, very much like other people who live amongst rocks and stones,—not quite so wise as serpents nor so innocent as doves. "Poor, patient, quiet, honest people," says Sterne, "fear not. Your poverty, the treasury of your simple virtues, will not be envied you by the world, nor will your valleys be invaded by it." Now, why I quoted this author in regard to Savoy was simply because the most interesting account of any country is always given by a man who knows nothing about it. He has such a wide field to expatiate in! There are exceedingly good people in Savoy, and exceedingly good people come out of it; but there is a tolerably large minority as cunning and as selfish as I ever met with. Now, Edward Langdale had few prejudices upon the matter. He had never seen a Savoyard before, or one who pretended to be so; but he had heard a good deal of their "simple virtues," and, therefore, if the balance leaned either way it was in their favor. But somehow the faces of his two new companions did not please him, and he said not a word of the probability that he would himself be obliged in the end to direct his steps toward their mountain-land. Indeed, with a remarkable degree of discretion in one so young, he had kept his own two immediate followers in ignorance of that and many other facts, and they went like lambs to the slaughter with their heads hanging down, and thinking the journey somewhat long, but without the slightest idea where it was to end. When they had reached Chartres, however, he had to make many inquiries as to his further course; and, though he conferred with the landlord of the Ecu Royal himself, Pierrot la Grange stood provokingly near, and it is probable—for his ears were long and sharp—he heard every word that was said, and drew his own conclusions.

The two Savoyards, or whatever they might be, had adhered to Edward and his two companions with the tenacity of a bramble-shoot, and Edward had no objection to their accompanying him a stage or two farther; but, as he was now coming to one of the dangerous passes of his expedition, he determined to cut them loose at the end of the first thirty miles. Those thirty miles, however, were destined to be performed slowly and with difficulty.

The morning, when they quitted Chartres, was bright and beautiful; a pale pink tint was in the sky, varied by brown clouds with golden edges; but ere they had half crossed the rich plain which lies between Chartres and Maintenon the rain began to fall, and a deluge poured down from the sky, rendering the roads wellnigh impassable. Still Edward rode on, passed Maintenon without stopping, and first drew bridle at Rambouillet. It was then beginning to grow dark, for the progress made had been very slow, and every man in the party was drenched to the skin. To go farther immediately was out of the question and not exactly suited to Edward's plans. Indeed, what between fatigue and a sudden change in the weather, the face of Pierrot la Grange had become very blue, his limbs shivered, and his teeth chattered. Dinner—or rather, as they called it, supper—was soon served, and the young gentleman so far relaxed his stern rule as to order some bottles of good wine for his drenched companions, bidding Pierrot himself partake. The long man looked somewhat doubtfully at his master, but the temptation was too strong, and the fatal cup approached his lips. Edward soon left the party and went out to make some inquiries. No one attempted to follow him, for the room was warm and comfortable, and mirth and conviviality reigned.

Pierrot's first cup was the Rubicon. It was but wine, it is true; but he had drunk nothing but water for wellnigh two months, and the first draught made him feel so comfortable that the second, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth were added in rapid succession. His tongue, which had been marvellously still for many weeks, was unloosed, and the unruly member did its part in setting free every thing that was a secret, or which he thought was one. In five minutes he was in full career, and by the time that Edward returned—he had not been absent half an hour—the two Savoyards were made aware that the young gentleman had probably gone to inquire his way minutely to Dampierre, the place of retreat of the Duchesse de Chevreuse. "For," said Pierrot, "he was asking about it at Chartres; and the people there could not give him half the information he seemed to want."

On their part, too, the Savoyards were wonderfully free and confidential; and the only one who retained his full discretion was Jacques Beaupré, who was remarkably taciturn, and kicked Pierrot's shins under the table,—a hint which he did not choose to take.

The entrance of Edward Langdale instantly silenced Master Pierrot, however, for he was not in the least drunk. In the ladder of inebriety there are many rounds, and he had only reached the first, which with him was always talkativeness. But Edward looked grave, for he had heard much speaking, with Pierrot's voice predominant; and, when the host entered to inquire whether the guests would take some more wine, the young gentleman's "No" was uttered in a tone that went home to his follower's consciousness.

"What a fool I am!" thought Pierrot. "If it had been brandy, now, instead of wine, I should have been drunk again to a certainty."

The following morning at an early hour the whole party were once more in the saddle, and the two Savoyards were ready as soon as the rest, seeming to think that they had fixed them-selves upon the young gentleman's party. Edward examined the priming of his pistols before he set out, and ordered his followers to do so likewise; but, as the day before had been rainy, the precaution excited no remark, and the day's journey was begun.

Four or five miles only had passed, however, when, at a spot where a road branched off through the forest to the left, the young Englishman suddenly drew in his rein and turned to the Savoyards, saying, "Here, my good friends, we have to part. That is your road, and this is mine."

The two men seemed much surprised, and even ventured to remonstrate, commending highly the safety and sociability of travelling in company, and magnifying the great advantage it would be to him to have two such skilful smiths and horse-doctors in his train. They offered even to wait for him, if he had business on the road, and to attend to his horses without pay.