"I have seen your fair cousin," he said, "and a beautiful creature she is. Not knowing whether there was anything private in your letter or not, I delivered it to her as she passed through the room where the baron kept me waiting; and the tidings that you gave her must have moved her much, for she first turned so pale that I thought she would have fainted, and then grew red again, and pressed your letter to her lips, and thanked me a thousand times for bearing it. As she ran away to read it, and I did not see her when I went back again to the chateau, I feared that I should have no answer to give you; but the servant who brought me, two days after, some bonds for the money that your cousin wanted, gave me also this letter for you, and I think it is in a woman's writing."
The moment I saw it I knew Louise's hand; and, approaching the sconce, I tore it open and read--oh, how my heart beat! oh, how nearly were my eyes overflowing as I read the sweet, the dear, the tender, the affectionate words with which she greeted me.
"Dearest, dearest Henry!" it began, "how can I ever thank you for the comfort, for the consolation, for the joy that your letter has given me! the only consolation, the only joy that I have had since you left me! I will not upbraid you for leaving me without bidding me adieu; for to fly was all that you could do, and to go without farewell saved me, perhaps, a long and bitter pang, even though it denied me a sad and painful pleasure. The news of your success, from your own hand, is indeed gratifying; but farther accounts of your success have now reached me, and I trust in Heaven that they may be true.
"Oh, Henry! can I doubt anything that is told me of you, which represents you as braver, and nobler, and more generous than any one else? Perhaps it is all very foolish to think in this way; but you have been my companion from my childhood; the kindest, the dearest, the best of brothers to me! the one that I have loved the most on all the earth since my poor mother's death. How, then, can I think sufficiently of you? how can I think at all of any one else with hope and comfort than of you? My two poor brothers, Charles and Albert, are suffering under the same dark and cheerless fate as myself; and when we steal up to sit together in the room that once was yours, we talk of you and of all your kindness, and of the days that are gone by for ever; and we mingle our tears together when we think that we may never see him again whom we all loved so dearly. They indeed vow that, when they are able, they will fly to join you at the army, and fight under your sword. But what is to become of me?
"But I will not make you sad, Henry, with my sadness; nor will I dwell upon all that is terrible to me, and painful in this house at this moment. From the little that you saw, you may conceive the rest; and nothing is too terrible to be true. Perhaps, if you were to write to my father, it might do good; for, though he is very much exasperated against you, and will not even hear your name mentioned from any of us, yet when I have heard other people praise you, and mention some high deed you have done, my father's eyes have looked bright, and I have the thought he seemed somewhat proud that you should be his near relation. Of his plans or his purposes at present I can give you no account. He is evidently wretched here; and I have heard some words spoken in regard to a journey to the capital if a truce or peace were to take place, or if a safeguard could be obtained from the court. When I see him so unhappy, I would fain console him, but he will not be consoled; and the moment I attempt to do it, the expression of his face changes from melancholy to anger.
"You tell me to think of you, and that you think of me constantly. Oh, dear Henry! if you could see my thoughts, you could never fancy that you were forgotten even for a moment by
"Louise de Blancford."
The worthy merchant had not been long with us before he was summoned to the presence of the Prince de Condé, to whom his arrival had been notified; and I was not allowed mere than a few minutes alone to dream over the letter of Louise, when an officer from the admiral warned me to have everything prepared to march before daybreak on the following morning, for the purpose of attacking the Catholic army in its retreat.
When morning came the admiral himself led the avant garde, while the Prince of Condé followed at the head of the rest of the forces; and I, with my own troop and another small troop which was placed under my command for the purpose, was ordered to man[oe]uvre on the prince's right, for the purpose of deceiving the enemy into the belief that we were marching in three divisions. The task was allotted to me, because it was well known that I had thoroughly reconnoitred the whole country on that side during the three or four preceding days. The issue of the attempt would have been more fortunate, however, had they attached me to the admiral's division; for we were at that time in a part of the country filled with Catholics, and I have not the slightest doubt that both the generals were purposely deceived by their guides. Of the admiral we saw nothing for a long time after his departure; and the Prince de Condé, beginning his march about half an hour before daybreak, was led straight on to the enemy's camp, instead of approaching it on the north, as he had intended.
About eight o'clock in the morning, both he and I perceived the position of the Duke of Anjou, strongly intrenched and flanked by a stream, but not the slightest appearance of the admiral on any side; and, from the whole aspect of the scene, the strongest proof that Coligny had not even approached the enemy's camp. Notwithstanding the great inferiority of numbers, however, the prince determined to commence the attack, seeing clearly that the admiral had been misled, and hoping that the sound of the cannon would bring him up to the field of battle. The order was then given for the skirmishers to advance; and, according to the directions I had received, I made the greatest possible display of my forces on the right, occupying the attention and diverting the efforts of a part of the Duke of Anjou's army.