Orrain: A Romance

by S. Levett Yeats

"Because M. de Ganache is known to be one of the fiercest of the
Huguenot leaders, and spares nothing."

"We have to thank those who made him so, monsieur; and at any rate he has spared Razines."

I looked at her in surprise. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were hot, and I could scarce forbear a smile at the thought that it was a little rebel I had in my charge, and turning the talk, said:

"We may go on to the Green Man in safety, I think." And, bidding Pierrebon give the yokel a coin, we pressed forwards. It was not, however, without another careful scrutiny that I led the way into the village, where we were soon within the doors of the inn. It was a poor place, but host and hostess were kindly; and did the best they could. In the public room was the party of travellers whom the peasant had mentioned. They consisted of a gentleman and his wife, whose dress and air betokened them people of rank, whilst a little apart, at the lower end of the room, were one or two others—their servants. The glitter of a sapphire ring on the stranger's hand attracted my attention, and it was as if he noticed the casual glance I cast at it, for he turned his hand so as to hide the ring. This set me observing him more narrowly, and though it was years since I had seen him I was certain it was the Cardinal of Châtillon. It was Odet de Coligny himself, not a doubt of it, and the lady was the noble woman who had sacrificed so much for his sake. He had married her—prince of the Church though he was—and had openly thrown in his lot with those of the New Faith.

They in their turn looked at us with interest as we entered, and on seeing mademoiselle the lady looked as if she knew her, and seemed as if she were about to speak, but Châtillon said something in a low voice which restrained her. On the other hand, mademoiselle seemed flurried, and kept her face averted. I could not but think they knew each other; but it was no time to ask questions, so I said nothing, but quietly set about arranging for our comforts. Mademoiselle retired to her room at once, the landlady fussing after her, and after having assisted Pierrebon to see to the horses I myself went to rest. I must have slept for a good four hours, and on awakening found it was high noon. Down I came, and entering the public room of the inn found it empty. I went on towards the stables, where Pierrebon was still asleep near the horses. There was no sign of mademoiselle, and thinking she was still resting I let Pierrebon alone, and returning into the inn sat near a window, awaiting my charge's appearance. Had I been alone I would have pressed on to Poitiers, and reached it by nightfall; but as it was it would be better to wait till well on in the afternoon, when mademoiselle, being refreshed, would no doubt be able to travel. We should halt at Miribeau for the night, and make Poitiers the next day. So I let some time go past, and then, feeling dull, called to the host, and invited him to share a bottle of wine with me. He came, as it seemed, somewhat unwillingly; but soon we were in talk, and, for something to say, I inquired about the other travellers. Here his embarrassment increased, and he stammered out that they had gone on to Richelieu about two hours ago; and then, as if taking a sudden resolution, fumbled in his pocket, and drew forth a letter, which he handed to me, saying: "For you, monsieur."

I tore open the cover, and read:

"MONSIEUR,—I owe you so much that I know not how to thank you or how to explain my leaving you as I do now. I feel sure you would like to know that I am going of my own free will, and with friends. Monsieur, we will meet again I know, and then, perhaps, I shall be in a position to show you that I can be grateful. DIANE."

I read to the end without a word, and glanced at my host. He saw and understood the question in my eyes.

"Mademoiselle gave it to me with her own hands. I—I could not prevent her leaving," he added, with fear in his voice. The poor wretch was almost overcome with terror at the thought that I might turn against him in my wrath.

"Thank you; that is enough." And crushing the letter in my hand I rose and walked out. I was hurt and indignant, but after a little I cooled down. After all, her proper place was with her friends. I had but helped her on her way, and there was an end of it. So I swallowed my ill-humour as best I could, and, to his astonishment, making the landlord of the inn a present of the horse we had taken at Le Jaquemart, Pierrebon and I went on our way.