“Honour!” cried Chavigni, with a scoff.—“Come, Sir, the treaty.”
Villa Grande approached his horse, and raising the flap of the saddle, with shaking hands, drew forth, from a pocket concealed in the padding, a large paper sealed in an envelope. Chavigni caught it eagerly from his grasp, and running his eye over the address, he read—“To Monseigneur the Duke de Bouillon, Commander-in-Chief of all the armies of France, warring in Italy.”—“Ha!” continued the Statesman, “this is not the road to Italy. What brings you here?” and he turned towards Villa Grande. But while the Statesman’s eyes were fixed upon the paper, the wily Italian had begun to creep towards the wood; Chavigni, however, perceiving his design, caught one of the pistols from the horse’s saddle-bow, and pointing it towards the fugitive, soon brought him back again. “Stand you there, Sir,” said he. “Now tell me what makes you here, when this packet was intended for Italy?”
“Why, Monseigneur—why—why—to tell the truth, there was another little despatch to be delivered on the frontiers of Spain; here it is;” and diving into a deep pocket in his doublet, he produced a packet smaller than the other, and gave it into Chavigni’s hand. “And now, Monseigneur, I have freely discovered all I know,” continued Villa Grande, “I hope that you, Monseigneur, will promise me your protection; for if the other party get hold of me, they will murder me to a certainty.”
Chavigni made no answer, but without any ceremony broke the seals of the two packets, and passing his horse’s bridle over his arm while he read them, he opened the treaty, and turned to the list of names by which it was signed. In the mean while, Villa Grande kept his eyes fixed upon him, watching for a favourable moment to escape, if the Statesman’s attention should be sufficiently engaged to allow him so to do.
“Ah! here I have them fairly written,” proceeded Chavigni, speaking to himself. “Philip, the most Catholic!—Olivarez!—then follow Gaston of Orleans; Cinq Mars, Grand Ecuyer—Fontrailles;—and a space—for Bouillon of course. Now let us see the letter to the noble Duke;” and he opened the one which he found in the same packet with the treaty. But as he read, his eye fixed with painful earnestness upon the paper, and the colour fled from his cheek. “God of Heaven! what is this?” said he, reading. “‘Though I doubt not, my noble friend, that after all which has lately passed, you would put your forces in motion at my simple desire, the King’s command is yet higher authority; and that I now send you, to march with all speed to the frontier, embarking five thousand foot at Porto Longone, to land at Marseilles. All this in case the friends and adherents of Richelieu should attempt to make head against the royal authority.’——”
“All is lost!” muttered Chavigni. “But let us see the whole, at least, to provide for our own safety;” and he again turned to the paper, which proceeded—“‘I send you the treaty with Spain for your signature, which is especially necessary to the article relative to your principality of Sedan. The troops of his Catholic Majesty are on the frontier, ready to march at our command; but I have been obliged to conceal from the King our Spanish connexion, as his hatred to that country is as great as ever.’”
“I have you! I have you! Monsieur Cinq Mars,” exclaimed Chavigni, clasping his hands with joy. “This treaty is your death warrant, or I know not King Louis.—Italian scoundrel!” he continued, turning to look for Villa Grande—“Ha! the slave has escaped—that must not be; he were the best witness in the world against them;” and springing from his horse, he tied him to a tree together with that of the Italian.
While Chavigni had been reading, with all his attention fixed upon the paper, and all his passions excited by its contents, Villa Grande, watching his moment, had crept gradually to the edge of the wood, and darted into a narrow path, half covered with branches. But though the way he had taken was thus, in a degree, concealed, it did not escape the quick eye of the Statesman; and as the motions of the Italian, till he had got into the wood, had been necessarily cautious, in order not to call his attention; Chavigni, following as fast as lightning, soon caught the sound of his retreating footsteps, reverberated from the rocks around. As he advanced, he called loudly to the Italian to stop, and that he should have a free pardon; but Villa Grande, trusting to the distance that was still between them, and hoping, if he could elude immediate pursuit, to be able to escape into Spain, continued running on, while Chavigni as perseveringly followed, threatening and promising by turns, but alike without effect.
At length the strength of the Italian, already diminished by fear, began to fail entirely; and Chavigni found that the distance between them was rapidly lessening, when in a moment the sound of footsteps, which had hitherto guided him, ceased entirely—a cry of agony reached his ear; and running still more quickly forward, he, too, had nearly been precipitated over the edge of a steep crag, which, in the hurry of his flight, the unhappy Italian had not noticed. The Statesman’s first impulse was to start back, for he was on the very brink of the precipice before he was aware; but soon recovering himself, he approached the edge, and looking over, beheld the mangled form of Villa Grande lying on some rough stony ground at the bottom of the rock.
“God of Heaven!” cried Chavigni, “what a fall! The poor wretch must surely be dead. However, he must not lie there, for the wolves will soon be at him;” and looking around, he sought for some way to descend the rock. It was a considerable time before he could accomplish his object, but at length he succeeded, and on arriving at the spot where Villa Grande lay, he found that the Italian, in his flight, had taken a diagonal path through the forest, which cut off a large bend in the main road, and joined it again by a zig-zag path down the rock at some distance. Thus the spot where Villa Grande was then lying, was about half a mile from the place at which he had first been encountered by Chavigni, if the high road was followed; but by the path through the wood the distance could not be more than a few hundred yards. Chavigni’s first care was to examine the body of the Italian, who was so entirely deprived of sense, that at first the Statesman believed him to be dead; but in a moment or two some signs appeared which led him to conclude that life was not completely extinct; and taking him in his arms he carried him to the spot where the horses stood. Here he placed him on the stout black hunter which Cinq Mars had lent, and led him slowly to a small town about a mile farther on the road.