“The queen-mother is duped,” he said; “the bishop is a fox who will rob her sheep-fold. A fig for a woman’s wit, when she is flattered by so skilful a priest!”
“It may be you are mistaken, M. le Marquis,” replied the first speaker, “Madame la Mère reads well the wit of the bishop. I have often thought that he would yet defeat M. de Luynes, and if he gets the ear of the king—”
The marquis frowned darkly, giving the courtier a black look.
“You choose a strange subject for croaking, monsieur,” he said, in a biting tone, “especially here!”
His companions all stared at the luckless disputant, who grew crimson and stammered an apology which, fortunately for him, was lost, for at that moment M. de Nançay’s eye alighted on Péron. Jacques des Horloges had observed the party approaching, and hurrying down from the château, with his tools, was just preparing to leave the place with his little charge, when the marquis discovered the boy. The sight of the child seemed to disconcert the nobleman more than the speech of his friend, and a sharp change came over his face. He turned to an attendant who was following at a respectful distance.
“Who are those people—the man and the boy?” he asked sharply.
“Jacques des Horloges, the famous clockmaker of St. Honoré, M. le Marquis,” replied the man; “the child, I think, is his—I have seen him in his shop.”
For a moment the marquis hesitated, as if undecided whether to recall the clockmaker or not, and his followers stood about him, secretly amazed that he should notice such humble persons. But M. de Nançay did not heed them, he continued to watch Michel and Péron until both had passed out of the gates and taken the road to Poissy. When they were out of sight he led the way to the château; but there was a frown on his face, and his temper was more acrid than usual on such occasions; for he had the reputation of being a genial and hospitable host.
CHAPTER VII
PÉRON AND PÈRE ANTOINE
THE Rue de Bethisi was the artery which connected the older quarter of the Hôtel de Ville and the Palais Tournelles with the more modern neighborhood of the Louvre. In the vicinity of the Church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, the Rue de Bethisi divided the Rue de l’Arbre Sec from the Rue des Fossés St. Germain l’Auxerrois, the spot fortified by the Normans during their siege of Paris, and the scene of the murder of Coligny. Near this corner, on the north side of the Rue de Bethisi, and not far from the Hôtel Montbazon, was the lodging of Père Antoine, though it was some distance from his parish of St. Nicholas des Champs. The house was tall and narrow, with an oriel window in the second story, which commanded a view of three streets. Houses are not mere masses of stones or bricks and mortar: they have expressions, eyes, mouths, ears; one might almost fancy—souls. They are the shells of those who inhabit them, and many speak, in plain language, their own histories. Is there anything more sad than the house of death? more desolate than the forsaken home? This house on the Rue de Bethisi had an expression of serious benevolence. The room which Père Antoine occupied, where little Péron came daily for his lessons, was a large one on the second floor, and well lighted by the oriel window. There were no indications of wealth in the furnishings; the polished floor was scantily covered with two threadbare rugs, there were two carved arm-chairs,—one in which the priest always sat, the other turned to the wall and never used. Besides these there were two or three stiff-backed chairs, a table, a crucifix, a small but beautiful painting of the Annunciation, and a little clock, fashioned after those of the Valois period, a gift of Jacques des Horloges; for portable clocks were still a luxury for the rich, and the priest would as soon have dreamed of buying one as of possessing a cardinal’s hat. This was all, except the books, and those were Père Antoine’s greatest worldly treasures; they were arranged with loving care on the shelves on either side of the room. Many of them were of great value, gifts from the wealthier patrons who had learned to appreciate him or owed him a debt for consolation that could never be repaid. Some of these gifts were splendid specimens of the bookbinder’s art, and rich in clasps of gold and silver. It was told of Père Antoine that one of the princes of the blood had sent him a worldly book bound with great magnificence and set with jewels, and the good priest had returned it with the quotation of St. Jerome’s words: “Your books are covered with precious stones, and Christ died naked before the gate of His temple!”