But all the while another matter troubled the mind of the young soldier. Monsieur was a dangerous prisoner. He had been in numerous plots against his brother and the cardinal, and in open rebellion before, and never yet had offended beyond the king’s forgiveness. What would be the result of carrying such a prize to Richelieu? It was a question which no man could answer. And Monsieur had all the spitefulness and ill temper of his mother. More than this, had the cardinal purposely spread his net for this royal fish, or had he believed one of d’Orléans’s numerous confessions? The last was clearly impossible; monsignor knew the prince too well. Manifestly, the declaration of Monsieur’s reconciliation had been made to entrap de Nançay; and now the point remained—would the capture of Gaston be welcomed, or would his captor suffer for it? Péron found it impossible to decide, and set about his duty with a heavy heart; it seemed that this fish might be large enough to break the meshes of his net or drag him into the deep sea.
CHAPTER XVII
MONSIEUR AND MONSIGNOR
BEFORE daybreak, Péron was forced to provide a meal for Monsieur, who, finding himself in an uncomfortable situation, was disposed to be as peevish and refractory as possible. Without a single trait of his great father, Henri Quatre, Gaston de Bourbon, Duke of Anjou and of Orleans, inherited all the deceit, the petty ambition, and the vindictiveness of his mother, Marie de’ Medici, lacking however her tenacity of purpose. While the Thirteenth Louis inherited the sternness of the great Henri, the younger brother was as unstable as water. Shut up, against his will, in the house at Poissy, and knowing himself to be once more in the clutches of the cardinal, whose distrust of him was only equalled by his contempt, Monsieur had but one thought, and that was of the safest way to desert his fellow-conspirators.
He demanded food and wine to keep up his failing spirits, and when both were brought from the Golden Pigeon, he ate voraciously and drank deeply, gaining in courage at every potation. He had no fear of the king, his brother, Louis had always forgiven him, although it was with the indifference of disdain; but of Richelieu he had a wholesome dread, and he knew that monsignor, despising and suspecting him, knowing him to have been many times guilty, desired above all else to cut him off from the line of succession. The more wine he drank the more determined he became to extricate himself from this difficulty, as he had extricated himself from many others. To a man who had but little shame, it mattered not how much had been revealed by M. de Nançay or by others. Monsieur seldom stopped for a lie, and never for a prevarication.
When they set out on their ride to Paris, he was in a humor to betray his best friends, and he showed it by a peevish lack of courtesy toward Mademoiselle de Nançay. He would not approach her, but insisted on riding at the head of the party, kept under guard by Péron, however, who was continually afraid he would try to give them the slip. The prince had been provided with a mask, and, muffled in his cloak, was not recognized by any of the party except the captain of the guard sent by the cardinal. This man had ridden behind Monsieur but a little way when he leaned over and spoke in a whisper to Péron.
“Pardieu!” he said with a grimace, “I see what bird we have caught. He took but one trait of his father, and that is his seat in the saddle; he rides like a Béarnese.”
Péron made a sign to him to keep silence, and the little troop moved on; mademoiselle and her woman in the center, and Choin commanding the men in the rear, for they were not without anticipation of a skirmish in the forest between Poissy and St. Germain-en-Laye. They had set out at daybreak from the house of the Image de Notre Dame, to avoid any attempt at an early rescue of the Duke of Orleans, and now the sun was just rising over a quiet landscape. In the east the sky was golden; two great white clouds, touched with rose and amethyst, floated upward before the sun, as though the morning spread its wings. The first long shafts of sunlight made wide avenues of glory through the forest, and there was the merry twittering of birds in every thicket. Péron felt his spirits rise with the day; whatever the outcome of his mission, he had steadily endeavored to do his duty, and he had assuredly accomplished something of importance. Aware now of how nearly Renée de Nançay had defeated his plans, he could not suppress a feeling of curiosity to know how she regarded the turn of events. He cast more than one searching glance at her erect figure, as she rode in their midst, but he could make nothing of that mask, and she had not vouchsafed him a word that morning. He had sent her a breakfast, but had received no thanks; and when they were preparing to depart, she had mounted before he could come to her assistance, being delayed by Monsieur’s peevish assertions of authority. He remembered the look of contempt she had given the prince, and he saw that she was as anxious now to avoid Gaston as he was to avoid her. They made a strange party. Good discipline and a recognition of the importance of their errand kept the soldiers quiet and orderly, and the two women were as speechless as mutes; while a little in advance rode Monsieur, masked and muffled, and as fretful as a spoiled child caught in a naughty act.
Notwithstanding the anxieties of the leaders, the ride through the forest was quiet enough, and they entered St. Germain-en-Laye at a sharp canter, passing through the principal street and out again without a pause; for in the towns was the greatest risk that the identity of d’Orléans would be discovered. As the morning advanced, they began to meet travellers on the highroad, and Monsieur sank yet deeper into the folds of his cloak and grew more and more sullen. Once Péron was certain that the prince was recognized. A party of horsemen rode by, manifestly fresh from court and wearing the colors of Condé, and more than one of them turned sharply to stare at the masked rider. However, no one accosted them, and Péron breathed freer at the end of each league. Their horses were fresh and covered the ground easily, and it was not long before they came in sight of Ruel. As they drew near, Péron, who was now at mademoiselle’s side, addressed her.
“This time we will go through Ruel, Mademoiselle de Nançay,” he said with a smile.
“As you please,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders; “this time I gain nothing and lose nothing by it.”