CHAPTER XXXII.
From Aix to Ramilly and Geneva was all safe enough. From Geneva through Franche-Comté, as I have before explained, had no perils; but a small piece of country in Lorraine and Bar, where the road ran along the frontier of France, and, as some statesmen and geographers asserted, actually crossed it and passed through French territory for at least three miles, was in reality the perilous part of Lord Montagu's journey.
That nobleman, however, seemed to consider himself very secure. He had so recently almost bearded the lion in his den with impunity, he had with such reckless freedom gone from one part of France itself to another without being stopped, that he thought there would be little risk in approaching a remote and somewhat poorly-peopled frontier or passing over a small space of debatable ground. He did not know, or he forgot, that the keen eyes of the fearless and unscrupulous French minister had been opened to his proceedings; that Richelieu had assumed a more bold and stern course of policy than ever; that personal hatred—perhaps, as some assert, personal rivalry—rendered it necessary for the cardinal to know in order to frustrate the efforts of his magnificent though very inferior adversary on the British side of the channel; and that no price, no labor, no violence even, would be considered too much which would place the designs and operations of Buckingham before the cabinet of France. He rode gayly, therefore, on his way,—though, in order not to attract too much attention, he sent forward several of his English attendants by a different road to meet him at Metz, and kept with him only Mr. Oakingham, Edward Langdale, a valet, and the two blacksmiths, with an ordinary groom.
This little party, on the evening of a beautiful autumnal day, rode along with tired horses through the little wood of Mirecourt, issued forth upon the side of the dry calcareous hill to the west, and looked anxiously for some place of rest. No one was well acquainted with the road; the horses were heavy-laden, for each besides his rider carried a heavy valise and two bags in front; and the whole morning had been passed in going up and down hill through an arid and almost deserted country. Some scattered houses, and then a nice clean village and a small but neat country inn, all gathered together in a little dell shaded with trees, at length gladdened the eyes of the weary travellers; and Lord Montagu, as was his custom, applied himself to make his sojourn comfortable for the hour, leaving his followers to enjoy themselves as best they could. He laughed and joked with the pretty Lorrainese landlady as with her own hands she laid the table for his dinner; he took out a book from his valise, and, with his feet upon one chair and his body on another, rejoiced in the ease of a new position, and, when his dinner at last came, ate with moderation but good appetite, and called a glow of satisfaction into the cheek of his hostess by pronouncing it the best meal he had ever tasted.
In the mean time, Mr. Oakingham had taken some refreshments and gone to bed; the valet had remained in the room with his lord, to serve him at table; the blacksmiths and the groom had gone to the stable; and Edward Langdale seemed the only unquiet spirit of the party. He ate but little; he drank less; he sat down; he rose up; he went out several times, either to the front of the house or the back; he visited the stable three times; he made many inquiries of the people of the house regarding the neighborhood and its inhabitants; and at length, instead of retiring to bed, he leaned his arms upon a table and his head upon his arms, and apparently went to sleep. People came and went, but he did not move; one of the girls of the inn spoke to him, but he did not answer; and it was near eleven o'clock before he changed his position. At that hour he rose and walked quietly to the back door of the inn, which looked into the stable-yard. The moon was shining near the full, and two men were standing near the stables talking together earnestly. As soon as he appeared at the door, they went round to the back of the low wooden building; but Edward had caught sight of them, and he walked straight to the stable and looked in. Most of the tired horses were resting quietly in the stables; but one, though disencumbered of packs and burdens, was saddled and bridled and tied up to a pillar.
Edward examined the animal well, to make sure of whom it belonged to, then quietly re-entered the inn and went straight to the room of Lord Montagu. He knocked at the door, and Montagu's voice told him to come in.
"Ah, Ned!" said his lord, "I have not seen you to-night."
"No, my lord," replied the youth: "I have been watching some things which I dislike."
"A very unsatisfactory employment," said Lord Montagu. "But what is it, good youth? You look gloomy, and your face is full of meaning. Are the Philistines upon us?"
"I do not know, my lord," replied Edward; "but I fear they soon will be. I do not like those two blacksmiths, my lord. They are bent upon some mischief, depend upon it."