"Do not refuse, monsieur, for it came to me from you, as all that I have has come. When we left Antwerp I had a hundred and fifty livres, amassed in your service. Thirty I brought away in cash, and with a hundred and twenty I purchased this stone from Olden Hoorn himself. It is worth a hundred, I dare say, and, as money is needed now, 'tis better to use our own than to go a-borrowing."
It was impossible to refuse this faithful friend, and the diamond was transferred to me. I may mention that I had declined all offers of money made to me by the Queen and Le Brusquet, for I had a mind to work out my way without any such obligation. It was, however, a different matter with Pierrebon, and when the time came he lost nothing by his fidelity.
Matters being so far arranged we left the Elephant and betook ourselves to the priory of the Capuchins, as M. de Montluc wished. On arrival there I found that the General had set forth at dawn, with a hundred lances and the Light Horse, and that two or three days might elapse ere he returned. He had, however, left particular instructions about me, and I found myself comfortably enough lodged. My first task was to make arrangements for Masses for the soul of the dead Olivet, and for the erection of a small cross to his memory in the Church of Ste. Radegonde. Thus having fulfilled my promise to mademoiselle I spent the next day or so in resting my arm, which grew rapidly better, and in replacing sundry articles of apparel both for Pierrebon and myself. All this made so considerable a gulf in the thirty-one Henris that I resolved to transmute the diamond into gold.
I consulted Sarlaboux, who, to his disgust, had been left behind in Poitiers. He looked at the diamond, and said he would buy it for a hundred and twenty livres; but protested, with oaths, that he had but ten crowns in the world, and would, therefore, not be able to pay me at once. This I could not agree to; and I was very nearly involved in a quarrel, as he thought that a slight was being put upon his parole. The affair, however, passed off. Finally, I decided on the advice of a new acquaintance of mine—a Capuchin named Grigolet—to seek the Jews' quarter, where at any rate I would receive gold and not promises to pay. This Capuchin, who was a jovial soul, obligingly said he would accompany me, as he himself had a little business there, in connection with the conversion of a young Jewess, whose eyes, he said in confidence, were brighter than any diamond. I accepted the holy man's aid, and we set forth, he showing me many places of interest on our way.
We left the priory by the western postern and went up the Rue des Trois Piliers. The three pillars, which give its name to the street, mark the boundary between the jurisdiction of the Chapter of St. Hilaire and the town of Poitiers. They are set in the city wall, a few yards apart, and the statue on the first pillar is that of the Emperor Gallienus. On reaching the head of the road we turned up a narrow alley, and found ourselves in the vast enclosure of the old arena—far larger than those of Nimes and Aries in that it was capable of seating fifty thousand persons, and was served for entrance or exit by a hundred and twenty-four vomitories. Through this immense and deserted ruin we passed, gaining the Rue d'Evreux by one of the entrances, in the archway of which an inn was built. Then, passing the Colleges of Ste. Marthe and Puygarreau, we took the Rue du Chat Rouge, and finally came before the ogive arch, which formed the entrance to the Rue de Penthièvre, where the Jews were compelled to live and transact their business. A similar arch and gate shut in the other end of the street, and guards were at each gate. During the day these unfortunate people were allowed to go into the city at their own risk; but by nightfall, at the sound of the couvre feu, every one of them had to be within his street, under heavy pains and penalties, which were rigorously exacted.
On entering we found ourselves in a small and narrow street crowded with people in yellow and grey gaberdines. All around us were dark faces, bright black eyes, and hooked noses. Children swarmed, and lay about in the filth and ordure of the pavement. My companion drew forth a small flagon of scent, with which he liberally besprinkled both himself and me, and picking our way with care we found ourselves before the shop of Nathan the Jew. Here, whilst the Capuchin went farther on to see his Jewess, I haggled with Nathan for an hour or more over the price of the diamond, but could not persuade him to give more than fifteen livres. This was absurd, and I was about to turn away in disgust when the Capuchin returned. The bargaining was now taken up by a master, and the short of it was that we made our way out of the Jews' quarter with sixty-three livres in my purse. Three of these I gave Grigole for his good offices, and on approaching the Rue d'Evreux the holy man disappeared into an auberge, doubtless with a view to meditate on further arguments for the conversion of his Miriam, whilst I returned alone to the priory.
I was now fairly well supplied with money, but took the opportunity to write to my friend at Antwerp, bidding him send two hundred crowns of the sun for me to the care of Le Brusquet. This, with many misgivings, I entrusted to the King's post. It, however, arrived in safety, and I got my money.
After supper that evening, as I was returning to my chamber, I heard a commotion in the courtyard, and at first thought that Montluc had returned. On inquiry, however, I found that this was not so, but that certain prisoners of importance had been brought to the priory. I could not find out who they were, nor, indeed, did I try much, but took myself off.
So far things were going well with me, and I felt myself justified in the hope that the famine years were coming to an end. I saw the sentence of the Chambre Ardente against me cancelled, and began to see also fine castles in dreamland, and with all these I unconsciously began to associate Diane. I laughed at my folly, tried to set it aside; but back came the thought to me, in such a manner that I felt that every step I was about to take to win back my place was not for myself but for her sake. And the fear of his own unworthiness, which comes to every man who truly loves, came upon me, and with it the ghost of that duel of days long past.
There I had sinned, and sinned deeply, and it was poor consolation to tell myself that the man does not live whose life could stand sunshine on it. For me it was enough to know that I had committed a grievous wrong; it was for me to find out how to right it, or make compensation—empty regrets were useless.