One in a Thousand; or, The Days of Henri Quatre

by G. P. R. James

"The Count d'Aubin, lady," replied the girl. "Madame de Montpensier bade me tell you so, and gave me this note to be delivered to you, when you were well enough to read it."

"Give it to me--give it to me now," cried Eugenie; and tearing it open, she held it to the light, gazing with eager eyes upon the contents. It was very brief, but almost every word spoke comfort, for they went to inform her that the Count d'Aubin, on business of importance, had been obliged to set off for Maine; that the period of his return was not decided, but that it certainly could not take place before the end of the month, while it might be delayed longer; and though the conclusion of the letter went to say, that both the Duke of Mayenne and Madame de Montpensier trusted that, ere the Count's return, Mademoiselle de Menancourt would have made up her mind to receive him as her husband, and to sign the formal contract of marriage, yet the intelligence of his absence was a reprieve; and imagination fondly clinging to the uncertainty of the future, at once renewed hope in her bosom.

With hope came back the spirit of exertion which had been crushed beneath despair. Dropping the note upon the table, as the lightning progress of thought ran on in an instant from one object to another, she clasped her hands, exclaiming, "Where, where! can Beatrice of Ferrara be? She must be ill, or she would have come to me, I am sure."

"Shall we send, and see, lady?" demanded one of the women.

"Yes, yes! do so," replied Eugenie, "and leave me alone for half an hour; I would fain think--I would fain consider what is best to be done! I am better, indeed I am better now," she added, seeing the women look at her with some hesitation. "Stay in the ante-room, and I will call, if I want you."

The women obeyed; and Eugenie, leaning on the table, covered her eyes with her hands, and remained endeavouring to reduce, to some definite and feasible plan, the vague hopes of relief which she had again conceived. But the effects of the agitation she had suffered still remained, and she found it impossible to fix her thoughts upon the future, so perseveringly did they wander back to the past.

In this state, she had continued about five or ten minutes, when the sound of creaking hinges made her raise her eyes. The door which led into the ante-room was shut, as well as that which gave egress, at once, upon the staircase; but on the other side of the room there was another door, which communicated with an unoccupied part of the house, looking into a back street which led away towards the Faubourg St. Antoine; and when Eugenie turned her eyes in that direction, she started up with surprise, and some degree of alarm, on perceiving it gently and slowly drawn back. Remembering, however, that her attendants were in the ante-room, she paused, to see what would be the result, suppressing the exclamation which had nearly burst from her lips.

The sight that the open door presented, when farther drawn back, was certainly one which in no degree diminished her surprise, but at the same time added nothing to her alarm; for the person who opened it was alone; nor was he one whose appearance was calculated to inspire terror. It was the figure of a youth, apparently not more than fifteen years of age, that now presented itself, carrying a lamp in one hand, and unclosing the door with the other. His dress was of the gay and splendid costume of the court of Henry III. and from under his high-crowned beaver, and its manifold ostrich feathers, the bright and glossy curls of his coal-black hair fell round as handsome a face as ever was beheld. A large cloak was wrapped about his arm, and riding-boots pushed down to the ankles, as was then customary, seemed to indicate that he either came from or was bound upon a journey; and as Eugenie gazed upon him, she concluded at once that he was some page attached to the Count d'Aubin, who, sent with some message or letter ere his lord's departure, had either by accident or design passed by that part of the dwelling which was for the time out of use. As soon as this conviction struck her, she rose to call in her women, but the youth held up his hand with a gesture which was easily interpreted into an entreaty to be silent; and Eugenie again paused, saying in a low tone, "What do you seek here, sir? Do not advance, or I must call my servants!"

The youth, however, did still advance, but with an air of deprecation and gentleness, that took away all fear; and when, within a step, he placed the lamp on the table, and bent one knee to the ground, Eugenie gazed upon him with doubt and astonishment; but a confused and uncertain hope began to take possession of her mind, as the boy raised her hand to his lips, and then, as he glided his arms round her waist, and, with the jetty curls of his hair mingling with her light-brown locks, kissed her tenderly on either cheek, the fair girl's face dropped upon her new companion's shoulder, and with a flood of tears she exclaimed, "Oh! Beatrice, Beatrice! why did you not come sooner?"

"I did come sooner," replied Beatrice of Ferrara--or Leonard de Monte, as the reader will,--"I did come sooner, my dear Eugenie. I did come sooner! and have been in these apartments all the evening, directing everything that has passed in all this sad scene, though those who were actors therein knew nothing of the prompter. I could not come to console you, my Eugenie, nor to give you one word of comfort and assurance, lest I should be discovered by all the spies and messengers who were going to and fro about this house during the whole of yesterday; but I arranged the only means of saving you, and, making my way into the house by the back street, watched till I saw my plan executed, and then came to bear you away to a place of greater security."