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

by G. P. R. James

"I did not mean him," replied Eugenie, smiling; "I meant the Marquis of St. Real."

"Then you have divined more shrewdly than I thought you would," replied Beatrice. "But I will tell you all that story another time," she added, quitting suddenly a subject on which she evidently wished to speak, but did not know well how to proceed. "What was I saying? Oh! that I feared to have two gay-looking youths seen to enter my house at this hour; but the fact is, Eugenie, I have found that by caution and propriety, and determination in certain things, I have acquired, as it were, a right prescriptive to be as wild, and as daring, and as unhesitating as I like in all others,--but now, my fair friend, let us think of the present moment. You have four good hours to rest yourself ere we set out. In yonder room you will find a bed; and one of my girls shall sit by you, while you lie down to repose, if you are afraid of sleeping in a strange apartment. Yet stay, I must have those delicate shoes of yours; for ere we set out to-morrow, we shall need a pair more conformable to your dress, and must send a model to my own shoemaker, who perhaps may have some that will fit. He is accustomed to my whims; and will not mind being roused out of his bed to serve me. In the meantime, I must change my dress and hasten away; for I am determined to show myself, if but for an hour, at the fete given to-night by old Madame de Gondi, so as to turn away all suspicion from the right direction. I will be back long ere it be time to set out to-morrow."

Exhausted with all she had gone through, grief, terror, mental exertion, and corporeal fatigue, Eugenie de Menancourt gladly availed herself of the opportunity of repose. Casting off her upper robe, but without undressing herself farther, she lay down to rest. She did not refuse, however, the attendance of one of Beatrice's women; for danger and terror, instead of losing their effect on her mind by custom, had only rendered her more timid and apprehensive.

For more than an hour, agitation prevented Eugenie from sleeping; but towards two o'clock weariness prevailed, and she sunk into profound slumber. It seemed scarcely a moment, however, ere she was roused by some one touching her arm; and she found Beatrice standing beside her, while the grey light that found its way into the room through the open window showed that she had slept longer than she imagined.

"It is time for us to depart, Eugenie," said her friend, "and unwillingly I must break your short repose; but I see the market carts coming in; showing both that the gates are open, and that the siege of Paris is not only raised in name but in reality. We must make the best of our time, Eugenie; for in five hours more your absence may be discovered."

Eugenie de Menancourt needed no admonitions to haste. Her dress was soon resumed, her shoes tried on and found to fit tolerably, her hair re-arranged so as to conceal its length; and once more taking Beatrice's arm, she proceeded down the narrow staircase to the door of the house, where, stretched upon some benches in the passage, lay two or three men in different costumes, who instantly started upon their feet as the two maskers approached.

"Do not come out," said Beatrice, stopping to speak with them, "but look forth from the side window where you can see the gate. If I hold up my handkerchief, run up to help us; and, good faith, you must even risk a hard blow or two, should need be; but if you see Andrew join us, or if I do not hold up my handkerchief, be sure that all is safe, and return home with the women."

The men bowed and made way; and Eugenie, accompanying her companion through the doorway, found herself once more in the street in the cool, clear light of the early morning. During the former part of her flight, she had thought the very darkness increased her terror; but now as she walked on, with faltering steps, in an unwonted garb, and fancying that every passing eye must penetrate her disguise, she would have given worlds for night once more to afford her the covering of its dull obscurity.

The gate lay at the distance of not more than a hundred yards before them; and Beatrice whispering, "Do not be surprised or alarmed at anything you see or hear, for I expect a confederate here," led the way with a quick step.

Not to be alarmed, however, was out of Eugenie's power; for even the great interests she had at stake, though they prompted to exertion, were without effect in giving birth to courage: nor was the sight of the gate at that moment calculated to remove her fears, for although the siege was, as Beatrice said, absolutely at an end, and the royal army already many leagues from Paris, yet sentinels were to be seen in every direction, and a number of the fierce-looking soldiers of the League still hung about the gates, some examining the market carts as they entered the city, some jesting with the countrywomen who accompanied them.