I was hastily conducted to a chamber by Antoine, the servant who had brought this alarming intelligence, and who marched before me, bearing two tall candles of pink wax, bowing to his knees at every second step. I inquired if the chevalier who had just been brought hither was dangerously wounded. Antoine replied, that he was speechless, pale, and pierced near the right lung; but a skilful surgeon had announced that he believed the patient would be out of danger in a day or two.
This was some comfort, and when the valet left me, I threw off my clothes; but frequently pausing during the process of disrobing, I looked around me with a vague misbelief of my own identity; nor did the pallor of my face and the wild expression of my eyes, as I surveyed myself in a huge mirror that was bordered by an old Flemish marqueterie frame mounted with ormulu, quite reassure me that I was not myself, but somebody else.
Opposite hung a quaint picture of a tall dame, with one of those steeple-like coifs worn by Parisian ladies in the days of the unhappy dauphiness Margaret of Scotland, and Isabella of Bavaria.
I was really in the house of the king's powerful mistress—the famous Countess d'Amboise—she to whom my carefully-treasured letter had been addressed—she who held in her fair, plump hands even more than the wary and subtle Richelieu the balance of peace and war between France and the empire; and she who had promised to me her protection, and more than protection, her kindest favour; but, while her guest, I knew myself to be perhaps the destroyer of a brother to whom she was evidently sincerely attached! I threw myself into the bed of soft down, and under its canopy of plumes and gilding strove to sleep, to forget that I was weary, and that daybreak was almost at hand; but an hour or more elapsed before the highbacked marqueterie chairs of Utrecht velvet, or the huge tapestry on the walls faded away, as the night lamp burned dim, and assuredly the misshapen figures on the arras were ghastly enough! They represented Louis XI., surrounded by his principal soldiers, placing around the neck of Launay de Morville the collar of his own military order, as the reward of valour and prowess in the field; and the whole group in their fleur-de-lised surcoats vibrated slowly and with a lifelike motion in the cold wind which found entrance by a hundred crannies; for the château was old, having been built by Jacques d'Amboise, abbot of Chigny, in 1490. It had been enlarged and remodelled by the Duc de Sully, who was Grand Master of the king's artillery in 1599, and who decorated the walls in the most florid style of French architecture. Here, too, dwelt Louis de Clermont de Bussy d'Amboise, so famous for his accomplishments and valour, and who, at an assignation with the beautiful Madame de Montresor was most unpleasantly slain by her husband and his valets. Latterly it had been a residence of the princely house of Guise in Lorraine, and on being sold by them, was bought by the king, and by him bestowed with a patent of nobility upon Clara d'Ische. Since then, as a protection against robbers and lovers, it was usually protected by twenty of the grey musketeers; but, fortunately for me, on this night the usual guard had been withdrawn, as the French troops were all moving towards Lorraine.
The next morning was somewhat advanced, when the same attendant, Antoine, who appeared to be greatly trusted by the countess, came to dress me, and brought me a cup of hot coffee, which, for breakfast, I preferred to the poor thin wine and cold sliced meat usually taken by the Parisians.
I inquired for the wounded chevalier.
'He had been pronounced out of danger by an eminent physician—in fact, his Majesty's own medical attendant, who had come from the Louvre to visit him. Madame the Countess was quite radiant with joy, as she dearly loved her brother the wild chevalier, and was now awaiting me in her boudoir.'
As I hastily swallowed my hot coffee from a silver cup and salver, the figure of this remarkable woman seemed to rise before me in fancy, with her dark voluptuous eyes, half veiled by their long and drooping silky lashes, her delicate lips so strangely red and full; her complexion of surpassing brilliance; her luxuriant hair, her large, full, and stately form, with hands and feet which, for one of her size, were wonderfully and beautifully small.
And then her smile, unequalled in pretty roguery and witchery!
I finished my coffee and sighed, I knew not why.