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

by G. P. R. James

There was a well of bitterness in his heart, which kept him silent as he rode on; and more than half an hour passed ere he even asked a question of the guide. Nor was his a mind to be soothed or comforted, or rendered better or wiser, by thinking over events in which his own follies had acted so principal a share. Too much a spoilt child of vanity willingly to examine his own conduct with steady and impartial eyes, he felt himself injured, rather than reproved, and meditated chiefly how he might heal the wounds which had been inflicted on his pride. At length, however, the sight of a distant town recalled to his mind the state of the land through which he travelled; and he remembered that it might be absolutely necessary for his own security to ascertain the exact political situation of the different cities in the vicinity. The guide, to whom his questions were of course addressed, was shrewd and intelligent enough; and from his answers D'Aubin found that the track, through which his road lay, thinly peopled, and possessing few places of any importance, had known, as yet, but little of the evils of civil war. A body of troops had, indeed, occasionally crossed it. One or two of the defensible chateaux were held for the king or for the League; now and then, too, a troop of plunderers attached to one of the parties would appear, carry off what pillage they could collect, and then retire; but no regular force was known to be in the neighbourhood, except indeed a company of horse arquebusiers, stationed at the small town of La Loupe, on the part of the king, in order to keep open his communication with Maine and Touraine. The guide, himself, was a strong Royalist; and as the Count d'Aubin soon ascertained that fact, he neither gave him any information in regard to his own party and opinions, nor trusted too much the man's reports of great successes attending the king's arms, and of the return of peace and prosperity, wherever the country heartily resumed the virtues of obedience and submission.

Having now, by the questions necessary to ascertain the state of the country, broken the dull and sullen taciturnity which had bound him for some time, after quitting the chateau of Beatrice of Ferrara, D'Aubin continued the conversation, as a relief from thought; and many was the subject on which he needed information, as during the last few weeks he had given up all his thoughts to happier topics, and to brighter dreams, than either war or policy could supply. Curiosity of every kind had seemed dead within him; but now he learned much from the answers of his guide, and guessed more from many a vague distorted tale, which the man had heard, concerning the late movements of the armies;--tales which, indeed, contained in general less truth than falsehood, but which were easily rectified, by the previous knowledge and better judgment of the narrator's auditor. Much, too, did D'Aubin hear of Beatrice of Ferrara; of her habits of life since she had quitted Paris; of those kindlier virtues and gentler pursuits which a capital suffers not to show themselves; and of the ardent and enthusiastic love which the peasantry around had learned to bear towards her. He listened and mused, and good and evil purposes struggled hard together in his heart; but the evil was still predominant; and though a lingering inclination to cast himself at her feet, and sue for pardon, would make itself felt, more often still did he ponder upon the means of teaching her, who had so bitterly rebuked him, to repent in agony of spirit the resolution she had formed against him. Ever and anon, too, with a feeling of still unconquered triumph, he thought, "She loves me still! she loves me still! and the man who possesses a woman's love holds her in bonds that it is difficult to break."

Thus past the hours; and towards seven o'clock the guide stopped at the poor auberge of a small open village, in order, as he said, to give the horses rest and provender. The scene was wild and hilly; and D'Aubin now began to recognise the country around, which was little more than twelve French leagues from his own paternal dwelling. His recollection was vague, however, and not sufficient to justify him in dismissing his guide; and, anxious to proceed, he took no refreshment himself, but urged the man to hasten on, hoping, ere night had completely fallen, to reach some spot, whence he could go forward alone on the following morning. But the people of the auberge were slow, and the guide, who was their acquaintance, still slower; inasmuch as, finding himself in comfortable quarters, he had predetermined to take up his abode there for the night. He looked out towards the west, declared that the sun was lower than he had thought for; looked out towards the south, and predicted a sharp storm. But D'Aubin was neither of a disposition, nor in a mood, to be delayed at any man's will and pleasure; and, in consequence, he urged such cogent arguments in regard to the payment of his guide's services, that the man did at length bestir himself, and the horses were brought to the door.

"How far is it to the little village of Neuville?" demanded D'Aubin, after they had ridden on about a mile.

"Four good leagues, Monseigneur," replied the man; "but before we reach that, we come to the chateau of Armençon, which has ever held out stoutly for the king, and we are sure of a hearty welcome there, should need be;" and as he spoke he looked up to that part of the sky which rested, as it were, upon the edge of the high hilly bank forming the southern boundary of the steep, narrow valley, or rather dell, up which their road led on into the forest. D'Aubin turned his eyes in the same direction, and beheld, what is very common in the valleys of the Seine and the Eure during summer, large leaden masses of cloud, in the shapes of rolling columns and sharp cones, rising up from behind the hill, clear, defined, and harsh upon the sky, like the side-scenes of a theatre. These are the invariable precursors of a thunder-storm; but often they roll on for many hours, changing from one fantastic shape to another, ere the fire within them breaks forth, and the strife begins. The Count paid them no farther attention than was evinced by slightly hurrying his pace. The track upon which he was now entering was broken ground, forest, and hill; but still the road lay on through the same dell, skirting the banks of a small stream which fell at no great distance into the higher Eure. The uplands on either side hid the sun, and afforded a shade which would have been pleasant in that hot season, had not the closeness of the atmosphere, and the want of the slightest wind, rendered the whole air equally oppressive. The day rapidly declined as the travellers rode on, and the clouds stretched wider overhead, while every now and then a faint, shifting, electric light played between the detached masses, and showed that the warfare of the elements was about to commence. D'Aubin was not a little anxious now to hurry on; but ere he had accomplished more than two leagues of the appointed way, night had fallen, and the storm had begun. The lightning D'Aubin heeded but little, though his horse would every now and then start and rear, as the bright glare gleamed across the narrow road; but he knew the violent deluge of rain, in which those storms generally end, would not be long ere it followed; and feeling himself far more fatigued than he expected, he loved not the thought of prolonging his journey under the outpouring of the watery sky. They had now reached the summit of the hill: the trees afforded but little shelter; and a few large drops began to patter upon the leaves. "Ride on, my lord, ride on," cried the guide, who saw D'Aubin's lately acquired strength beginning to flag; "the chateau of Armençon is not above a league off."

"But I do not intend to stop till I reach Neuville," replied D'Aubin, "Think you if we pause here under the shelter of some of the thickest trees that the storm may not pass off?"

"Not to-night, sir, not to-night," replied the man; "but why not stop at Armençon?" he continued with more eagerness, as the rain rapidly increased: "they will show you all hospitality there; and if you be just recovered from a sickness, as the maître d'hôtel told me, it will kill you to ride on for two or three hours more in a night like this."

"Two or three hours!" exclaimed D'Aubin. "What! to travel three leagues!"

"Ay, sir," answered the man, "even so. We are not here as if we were coursing a hare over the plains. We shall have to go up and down twenty steep hills ere we reach Neuville; but we shall be at Armençon in three quarters of an hour."

"But I do not choose to stop there," replied D'Aubin, hastily: and for a moment or two the man paused without reply. The next instant, however, he said in a respectful tone, "I guess how the matter is, sir: you are one of Mayenne's friends, and if so, good faith! you are right not to go near Armençon. They shot the captain's brother in cold blood, not long since, in Paris, and, by my soul, it would go hard with any of the Leaguers if they were found within the chateau walls."