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

by G. P. R. James

"Impossible! impossible!" exclaimed Beatrice. "It would betray you at once. Remember, my dear Eugenie, that I go with you; and though in the streets of Paris they might but think that the gay page was deceiving the country girl with a tale of love, that would not do beyond the gates. I once thought of a nun's dress for you, which would do very well in the city also; but one must care for other things than those of the mere present; and recollect that if I, dressed as a bold youth, and you, dressed as a pretty nun, were seen getting into either coach or litter together, we should have the ecclesiastical officers at our heels. No, no, Eugenie! we must have some dress for you which will neither attract attention in the city, nor beyond the walls; which will tell its own tale, and, by sparing all inquiries, conceal our sex and character without an effort."

"Oh, not a man's dress!" exclaimed Eugenie, imploringly.

"None other, indeed!" answered Beatrice, smiling; "but knowing the timid shyness of that heart which pretends to be so bold, I have chosen one for you, Eugenie, which will hide your person as effectually as the fullest robe that ever woman wore, which will accord with a smooth cheek and a demure look, and which will yet admit of your travelling in company with a bold page. Come and see! for I have brought it here along with me."

Thus saying, Beatrice of Ferrara took her hand, and led her through the same passage by which she herself had entered, to a room wherein she had lain concealed during the time that the other apartments were occupied by the party assembled for that sad bridal. There, on one of the old oaken chairs, lay the robes of a young abbé in complete costume; not such as that costume appeared in after years, when the gradual blending of the dress of different orders permitted the aspirants to ecclesiastical stations to assume habiliments only distinguished from those of the laity by colour; but full, ample, and flowing, and offering to Eugenie that modest concealment for her fair form, to which even she, under existing circumstances, could not object. Deeply sensible of the kind and delicate appreciation of all her feelings, which Beatrice--whose wilder and more daring nature scoffed at such scruples in her own instance--had displayed in this choice of her disguise, Eugenie was eagerly thanking her for all her consideration; but her friend cut her short, to hasten her new and unusual toilet, taking care, however, as indeed she had hitherto done, to avoid, even by any eager hurry, alarming her more timid companion in the outset of their perilous undertaking.

The dress, chosen by an experienced eye, fitted admirably in every respect, with the exception of the shoes, which were far too large for Eugenie's small feet. The robe, however, was sufficiently long to conceal this defect, in a great degree; and, when all was complete, Beatrice gazed over the changed appearance of her fair friend with a smile of gay satisfaction.

"Well, Eugenie," she exclaimed, "certainly you are the prettiest little abbé that ever was seen; but, nevertheless, you will do admirably. Only remember not to uncover your head, for your ringlets will betray you. See how I manage mine! I can pull off my hat without fear; cannot you do the same? Only cut off those two lower curls at the side; they will grow again in a month."

"I will cut them off altogether, with all my heart," answered Eugenie. But her friend assured her that such a sacrifice of her bright locks was not necessary; and showing her how she herself contrived to conceal in one mass her own profusion of dark hair, she soon put that of Mademoiselle de Menancourt into the same form, but still bade her uncover her head as little as possible, lest the want of all tonsure should call attention, and betray her disguise.

"And now, Eugenie, take some refreshment," said Beatrice; "meat to give you strength,--for you may have far to walk ere morning--and wine to give you courage; for, after all, I doubt the resolution of that little heart; and depend upon it, that the only sure means of carrying through a great undertaking is to begin boldly, and go on without stopping. But I hear your girl, Caroline, in the other room; she had better bring the refreshments in here, lest we should be interrupted."

Beatrice, accordingly, called the maid in; and not small was the girl's astonishment to behold the transformation that had taken place in the person of her mistress during her short absence. Beatrice, however, suffered no exclamations; and while Eugenie, whose appetite had not been increased by all the events of the night, took what refreshment she could, her friend proceeded to give directions to the suivante concerning the course that was to be pursued after her mistress's departure.

"In case any one returns to the house to-night," she said, "seeking the priest, all you have to reply is, that you know nothing about him, and that your mistress is in her own chamber in deep grief. I do not think, however, that any one will come; and, in that case, by eight o'clock to-morrow--for Mayenne does not rise before--go yourself to Madame de Montpensier, and with a grave and serious face ask to see your mistress, adding, before she can answer you that you have brought her such apparel as she may stand in need of for the morning. Mind, you must not move a muscle of your face! She will instantly be all astonishment, and ask if you are mad; then tell her that, about this hour to-night, a gay page and a young abbé came here saying, that they brought a letter from her Highness, and took your mistress away with them, as if to the Hotel de Guise, to which place you were directed to bring various things the next morning. Will not that do Eugenie?" she continued, turning to her friend, "and am I not fit to be a general of reitters?"