“Your Highness is most kind,” said Marcilly, and I murmured something under my breath, my eyes fixed on the curtain, near which stood another and more sinister figure.
It was the Cardinal of Lorraine. One white hand, upon which flashed the sapphire of a prince of the church, still held the velvet folds of the curtain, against which the scarlet of his robes stood out in rich contrast. He was tall, almost as tall as his brother, and held himself as proudly. He had the same bold, high features, but the sternness on Guise’s lip became cruelty on his, the fire of undaunted courage in the Duke’s glance, for he was brave among the brave, gave place in the churchman to the malign fire that blazes in the eyes of a wolf, and, like the wolf he was pitiless and treacherous. He was learned, eloquent, and witty, but there were strange tales about him—how he was a craven at heart, how in secret he mocked at religion. There were stories of orgies at Bel Esbat, his stately seat, that might have brought a blush to the cheeks of Borgia. There were whispers of hideous crimes, of fits of bitter repentance, followed by reckless outbursts of shameless sin. Of these I know nothing of the truth, save that the tongue of scandal was busy with his name. All that I can think of now is that, as I saw him there, his searching glance striving to read every thought on the faces of the group before him, it came to me to rid France of the vampire who drank her blood; but the Lord spared him then, to be a scourge to his country for many a long year to come.
So he stood for a moment, and then passed slowly out of the room, taking no more notice of us than if we had been flies; but the Duke still lingered, as if he would discover what our business was, and yet dared not compromise his dignity by asking a direct question. Cipierre answered him in short yeas and nays, and Sancerre fenced with him like the skilful courtier he was, and then His Highness changed the conversation, and repeated his offers of service to us. We respectfully declined them for the present, and he said, with that high grave air of his:
“Very well, gentlemen! Let it be as you wish, but forget not that the sauce of a Guise is as good as the sauce of a Prince of the blood.”
And then, with the hidden meaning of his words in our ears, he left us, tall and stately, a soldier whom we would have followed to the death, but that his sword was red to the hilt with the blood of his country.
“Diavolo!” said the chamberlain; “Monseigneur is in one of his gracious moods—he meditates a blow.”
As he spoke, Cipierre looked him full in the face, saying:
“Monsieur—if you please.”
There was something in the Vicomte’s tone that could not be denied, and without an answer the Italian passed into the cabinet. He came out again almost at once, saying:
“Her Majesty will receive you, gentlemen.”