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

by G. P. R. James

"Matthew managed that well!" exclaimed Beatrice, when she thought herself at a sufficient distance to pause and take breath; "I must promote that fellow to some better office for his skill."

"Then that was one of your own people?" said Eugenie, with her confidence in the success of their endeavour somewhat strengthened by every new proof of the foresight and precaution which her fair companion had used to ensure support. "But what if the captain of the quarter calls up the guard, and takes him into custody?"

"Captain of the quarter!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, "and did you believe that? Do you not know that, in these times, every one assumes what name he pleases? Captain of the quarter, indeed! Rather some filou or some escroc, who seeing two youths fresh from an idle scrape, as he thought, fancied he could lay a tribute on their purse as the price of his silence and departure."

Still hurrying on, Beatrice of Ferrara led the way through a number of streets towards the gates of the city; but, warned by their late adventure, she no longer proceeded at such a rapid pace. Assuming, on the contrary, somewhat of a swagger in her air, yet still holding Eugenie firm by the arm, she walked along, displaying no bad imitation of the vastly important demeanour of some noble page, who, just liberated from his mother's careful eye, overlays the inexperienced timidity of youth with affected self-confidence.

More than once quitting the quieter and less frequented streets, Beatrice was obliged to lead the way into others, through which the human tide that rarely ebbs entirely in the city of Paris, was still flowing on, though the hour was approaching to midnight. Eugenie's heart beat quick at every fresh group that they encountered, and many a pang crossed her bosom, and many an unseen blush passed over her cheek, at some of the scenes that she thus for the first time witnessed in the streets of the metropolis. Twice as they walked along, Beatrice paused for a moment to speak a single word to persons who seemed to be common passengers, and Eugenie, whose timid glance was frequently cast behind, remarked that the men to whom her companion spoke turned and followed at the distance of a few paces. At length, as they approached the extremity of the Faubourg St. Germain, Beatrice whispered in her ear, "It will be impossible to pass the gates at this hour of the night, and, therefore, we must take shelter till the morning begins to dawn in a place of refuge which I have prepared."

Eugenie expressed her willingness to do anything her companion thought fit; and in a few moments Beatrice stopped opposite to a small house in the suburb, and pushing the door which was open, led the way in. All was darkness within; and Eugenie, though she had the most perfect confidence in her friend, felt her terror increased at the aspect of the place. Taking her hand, however, Beatrice led her on, up a narrow staircase, and through a still narrower passage, to a door at which she knocked for admittance. It was instantly opened, and the next moment Eugenie found herself in a neat, plainly furnished room, where two of Beatrice's women, whom she had frequently seen before, stood ready to receive them. The moment they had entered, Beatrice cast her arms round her; and kissing her tenderly, exclaimed, "Now, my sweet friend, I trust we are safe; to-morrow morning, I think, we shall be able to pass the gates without obstruction, and the rest of our expedition will be easy."

"Thank God!" cried Eugenie, sinking down into her seat. "Thank God! and next to him, Beatrice, I have to thank you!"

"Spare your thanks to me, Eugenie," cried her companion, "till we have reached the end of our journey. I will then try to hear them with patience. But now, I dare say, you will think it strange that I have not taken you to my own house, instead of bringing you here. But I have three sufficient reasons for not doing so. First, because on many accounts they might suspect you of flying to me; secondly, because we are here much nearer to the gate, and, thirdly, for a reason, Eugenie, that you would scarcely suspect, which is, that I did not choose any of the gossiping fraternity should say they had seen two gay-looking youths enter the house of Beatrice of Ferrara at night, and remain there till morning shone. So you see, Eugenie, that I, even I, am not without fears of scandal; I who have not scrupled, when my purpose served, to go disguised as I am now, and live disguised in the house of a strange man. Ay, Eugenie I do not look so horrified, for I was as safe there as in my own chamber. I was surrounded by own attendants, whom I had contrived by one means or another to force into his service. He was too simple and unsuspicious to suspect me, and even had he discovered me, was too noble-minded to have misused his advantage."

"You do not mean," exclaimed Eugenie, "you do not mean surely the----"

"Not the Count d'Aubin!" exclaimed Beatrice, with a blush that spread like lightning over her cheek, and forehead, and temples; "not the Count d'Aubin! I would not have trusted myself within his gates in this guise for millions of kingdoms. No, not to have obtained a century of the brightest happiness that ever yet shone upon the path of mortal!"