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The

CHEVALIER D'AURIAC

BY

S. LEVETT YEATS

AUTHOR OF "THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI" ETC.

NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1897

Copyright, 1896 and 1897
By S. LEVETT YEATS

All rights reserved.

FIRST EDITION, MARCH, 1897
REPRINTED, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER, 1897

TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK

THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC

TO THE

CHUMMERY OF THE PALMS

I DEDICATE THIS, IN MEMORY OF CERTAIN

RED-HOT DAYS

S. L. Y.

PREFACE

This story, like its predecessor, has been written in those rare moments of leisure that an Indian official can afford. Bits of time were snatched here and there, and much, perhaps too much, reliance has had to be placed on memory, for books there were few or none to refer to. Occasionally, too, inspiration was somewhat rudely interrupted. Notably in one instance, in the Traveller's Bungalow at Hassan Abdal (Moore's Lalla Rookh was buried hard by), when a bat, after making an ineffectual swoop at a cockroach, fell into the very hungry author's soup and put an end to dinner and to fancy. There is an anachronism in the tale, in which the writer finds he has sinned with M. C. de Remusat in "Le Saint-Barthélemy." The only excuse the writer has for not making the correction is that his object is simply to enable a reader to pass away a dull hour.

Umballa Cantonments,
March 16, 1896.

PRELUDE

I.

In no secret shrine doth my Lady sleep,

But is ever before mine eyes;

By well or ill, by wrong or right—

By the burning sun, or the moon's pale light—

Where the tropics fire or the fulmar flies,

In rest or stormful fight.

II.

Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow;

Man holdeth the world in fee.

By the light of her face, by my Lady's grace,

Spread we our sails to the sea.

With God above and our hearts below,

Fight we the fight for weal or woe.

III.

Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow,

God rest their souls who die!

By my Lady's grace, by her pure, pale face

My pennon flies in its pride of place;

Where my pennon flies am I.

IV.

Nor wind nor storm may turn me back,

For I see the beacon fire.

And time shall yield a hard fought field,

And, with God's help, an unstained shield

I win my heart's desire.

S. L. Y.

(Vanity Fair.)

THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC

CHAPTER I

[THE JUSTICE OF M. DE RÔNE]

'Mille diables! Lost again! The devil runs in those dice!' and de Gomeron, with an impatient sweep of his hand, scattered the little spotted cubes on to the floor of the deserted and half-ruined hut, wherein we were beguiling the weariness of our picket duty before La Fère, with a shake of our elbows, and a few flagons of wine, captured from Monsieur the King of Navarre, as we, in our folly, called him still.

A few days before we had cut out a convoy which the Béarnais was sending into the beleaguered town. Some of the good things the convoy bore found their way to the outposts; and on the night I speak of we had made such play with our goblets that it was as if a swarm of bees buzzed in my head. As for de Gomeron, he was in no better case, and his sun-tanned face was burning a purple red with anger at his losses and the strength of the d'Arbois, both of which combined to give a more than usually sinister look to his grim and lowering features. In short, we were each of us in a condition ripe for any mischief: I hot with wine and the fire of five-and-twenty years, and de Gomeron sullenly drunk, a restrained fury smouldering in his eyes.

We had been playing by the light of a horn lantern, and as the flame of it flickered to and fro in the wind, which bustled in unchecked through a wide gap in the wall of the hut, where the remains of a door clung to a bent and twisted hinge, the shadow of de Gomeron on the wall behind him moved its huge outlines uneasily, although the man himself sat silent and still, and there was no word spoken between us. Hideous and distorted, this phantom on the wall may have been the soul of de Gomeron, stolen out of the man's body and now hovering behind him, instinct with evil; and this conceit of mine began to appear a reality, when I turned my glance at the still figure of my companion, showing no sign of life, except in the sombre glitter of the eyes that gazed at me steadily.

I knew little of de Gomeron, except that he was of the Camargue, and had followed the fortunes of d'Aumale from Arques to Ivry, from Ivry to the Exile in the Low Countries, and that he held a commission from the duke as captain in his guards. He carried a 'de' before his name, but none of us could say where his lands lay, or of what family he came; and it was shrewdly suspected that he was one of those weeds tossed up by the storms of the times from the deep where they should have rotted for ever. There were many such as he, canaille who had risen from the ranks; but none who bore de Gomeron's reputation for intrepid courage and pitiless cruelty, and even the hardened veterans of Velasco spoke with lower tones when they told of his deeds at the sack of Dourlens and the pillage of Ham. Of our personal relations it is enough to say that we hated each other, and would have crossed swords ere now but for the iron discipline maintained by de Rône—a discipline the bouquet of which I had already scented, having escaped by the skin of my teeth after my affair with de Gonnor, who trod on my toe at the General's levée, and was run through the ribs at sunrise the next morning, near the pollard elms, hard by the Red Mill on the left bank of the Serre.

Up to the time this occurred I had been attached to de Rône's staff, with ten or twelve other young gentlemen whose pedigrees were as long as their swords; but after the accident to de Gonnor—my foot slipped and I thrust a half inch too low—I was sent with the stormers to Laon, and then banished to the outposts, thinking myself lucky to escape with that.

At any rate, the outpost was under my command. Imagine, therefore, my disgust when I found that de Gomeron had been detached to examine into and report upon my charge. He did this moreover in so offensive a manner, hectoring here and hectoring there, that I could barely restrain myself from parading him on the stretch of turf behind the thorn hedge that fenced in the enclosure to the hovel. The very sight of that turf used to tempt me. It was so soft and springy, so level and true, with no cross shadows of tree trunks or mottled reflections of foliage to spoil a thrust in tierce.

Our feelings towards each other being as they were, it would seem odd that we should have diced and drunk together; but the situation was one of armed peace; and, besides, time had to be killed, as for the past week M. de Réthelois, formerly as lively as a cricket, had kept himself close as a nun of Port Royal behind the walls of La Fère, and affairs were ineffably dull. I was certain, however, that we should soon break into open quarrel, and on this night, whether it was de Gomeron's manner of losing or whether it was the d'Arbois I cannot tell, but I felt a mad anger against the man as he sat staring at me, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from flinging the lees of the wine in my glass in his face and abiding the result. I held myself in with an effort, drumming with my fingers on the table the while, and at last he spoke in an abrupt and jarring voice:

'What says the score?'

I looked at the once blank card on which I had jotted down the points and passed it to him with the answer: 'One hundred and twenty livres of Paris, M. Gomeron.'

'De Gomeron, if you please, M. d'Auriac. Here is your money, see it is not Tournois,' and he slid a rouleau across the table towards me. I made no effort to take it; but, looking at the man with a sneer, gave answer: 'I was not aware that they used the de in the Camargue, monsieur.'

'Young fool!' I heard him mutter between his teeth, and then aloud, 'Your education needs extension, Chevalier.'

'There is space enough without.' I answered hotly, laying my hand on my sword, 'and no time like the present; the moon is at her full and stands perfectly.' We sprang to our feet at these words and stood facing each other. All thought of de Rône had flown from my mind, my one desire was to be face to face with the man on that patch of turf. Peste! I had much to learn in those days!

We stood thus for a second, and then a short mirthless 'Ha! ha!' burst from de Gomeron, and he made a turn to the corner of the room where his rapier leaned against the wall. It was at the moment of this action that we heard the quick challenge of the sentry outside, the password as sharply answered, and the tramp of feet.

The same idea flashed through both our minds—it must be the General, and de Gomeron gave expression to the thought.

'Corbleu! de Rône perhaps—the old bat on the wing. We must defer the lesson, Chevalier.'

I bowed and bit my lips in silence; there followed a shuffling of feet, and before a man could count two, Nicholas, the sergeant of our picket, with a file of men entered the hut, thrusting a couple of prisoners, a man and a woman, before them.

'Two birds from La Fère, my captain,' and Nicholas with a salute to de Gomeron pointed to his prize. 'We took them,' he ran on, 'at the ford near the Red Mill, and but for the moon they would have gone free; spies no doubt. The old one is M. le Mouchard, I swear. There is fox in every line of his face; and as for Madame there—so the old gentleman calls her—in time I warrant she will learn to love the camp of the Holy League,' and the sergeant pushed the lantern so that it shone full on the lady's face. A curious light came into de Gomeron's eyes as he looked at her, and she shrank back at the sergeant's words and action, whilst the old man strained at the cords that bound his wrists till the lines of the blue veins stood high out on his forehead. The soldiers had shown Madame this kindness, that she was unbound; but her hood had fallen back, loosening in its fall a mass of chestnut hair, and from this framework her eyes glanced from one to another of us, half in fear and half in anger.

'Messieurs!' There was a tremble in the sweet voice, and there was light enough to see her colour come and go. 'Messieurs! That man,' she made a little gesture of infinite disdain towards Nicholas, 'is lying. We are no spies. It is true we are from La Fère, but all that we did was to try and escape thence——'

'To the camp of the Béarnais—eh, madame?' interrupted de Gomeron.

'To the camp of the King of France,' she flashed back at him, a red spot rising on each cheek. 'Messieurs!' she went on, 'you are gentlemen, are you not? You will let us go. Surely the Holy League wars not with women and old men?'

The mention of the League stirred her companion and he gave tongue:

'The Holy League!' he exclaimed with a savage scorn. 'Madame, though we stand delivered unto these sons of Belial, I must speak, for my heart is full. Yea! Shall my lips be sealed before the enemies of the Lord! The Holy League! Ha! ha! There is no Holy League. It died at Ivry. There did the Lord God break it clean, as of old. He shattered the Amorites of the mountains. Lo! Even now His own champion is at hand, and ere the morrow's sun sets he shall smite these men of sin hip and thigh, as when the Chosen slew His enemies in Gibeon.'

'Corps du diable! A rope for the old Huguenot!' exclaimed Nicholas.

'Thou swearest rightly, villain,' and the fanatic glared at the sergeant with fierce eyes. 'Swear ever so by thy master, for thou art in truth a limb of the body of Sin.'

'Thou shalt roast like a chestnut over a log fire for this,' roared Nicholas, shaking his halberd at his adversary. 'And thou in Hell,' was the undaunted reply; 'and the smell of thy burning will be as the scent of a savoury bakemeat to the Lord my God.'

So savagely prophetic was his tone; so fierce a glance did the bound Huguenot cast at Nicholas that it burnt to cinders any reply he might have had ready and reduced him to a speechless fury.

Madame shivered slightly; but meeting my eyes and the repressed laugh in them, a faint smile parted her lips. This was for an instant only, and her face was grave enough as she turned to her companion, speaking with a quiet dignity, 'There is a time for everything, mon père—at present your speech is a trifle out of place.'

The beetle brows of the Huguenot met together as he gave reply—

'There is no place which is out of place to testify——' but here de Gomeron cut in with his quick stern voice, 'Be silent, sir! or else a gag will stop your tongue,' and then with a bow, 'Madame, it goes to my heart to detain you; but war is war, and we have no option. Will you not be seated? All that this poor hut affords is yours,' and he bent low again, perhaps to hide the expression in his eyes.

She made no effort to take the chair he offered, but burst out passionately:

'Monsieur, I see you command here, and it is to you to whom I must appeal. Monsieur, I give you my word of honour we are no spies. The rules of war allow the ransom of prisoners, and anything you name will be paid. Monsieur, I pray you let us go.'

Whilst she spoke my glance rested on de Gomeron's face, and I saw that his eyes were drinking in her beauty greedily, and there was a look in them that recalled to my mind the stories of the sack of Ham.

As she finished her appeal Madame turned towards the captain with a gesture of entreaty; but in this movement she too saw that in his voice and manner which paled her cheek to marble, and she made a half-irresolute step towards her companion as if for protection. De Gomeron observed this, and laughed under his heavy black moustache, and I felt that the strong wine and his evil heart were moving him to an atrocious deed.

'Vertu de Dieu! Madame, but there are some things which have no price! And there is no ransom you could name which would tempt Adam de Gomeron to part with his prisoners—with one of them at any rate. You are no spy, I know: such eyes as yours were never made to count the strength of battalions. As for your friend there, we have means to make him tell us all about himself to-morrow; and you, ma mignonne, must not bruise your tender feet by walking through the night to the camp of Monsieur—the King of France. In a day or so, perhaps,' he went on with a horrible smile, 'but not to-night. Come! and he stepped up to her. Come, taste the d'Arbois—it is from your friends—and learn to love the poor soldiers of the Holy League.'

Saying this he attempted to pass his arm round her waist, but slipping from his grasp, and her cheeks aflame, Madame struck him across the face with the back of her hand, such a stroke as the wing of an angry dove might give.

The rest was done in a flash, and de Gomeron reeled back with bleeding lips, staggered back to the very end of the room, where he would have fallen but for the support of the wall. It was in me to follow up my blow by passing my sword through the man, so mad was I in my fury; but luckily for him Nicholas hung on my arm and saved the villain's life. He righted himself at once, and passing his hand across his mouth, spoke to me quite coolly and collectedly, but with livid features.

'We finish this outside, sir; follow me,' and picking up his rapier, which lay on the table, where he had thrown it on the entrance of the prisoners, de Gomeron stepped out of the door. In the excitement of the moment the men poured after him, and I was the last to follow. It came to me like lightning that the prisoners were unguarded, and slipping my dagger from its sheath, I thrust its haft into Madame's hand, and I saw that she understood from the thanks in her eyes. As I went out I heard the voice of the Huguenot: 'They shall die as they have lived—by the edge of the sword; and the Lord shall confound His enemies.'

It was but a stone-throw to the stretch of green, which extended as level as a tennis-court for a hundred paces or so, and then sloped gently downward towards the junction of the Serre and the Oise. Beyond rose the walls of La Fère, whose grey outlines, lit up here and there by the flare of a lamp or fire, were clearly visible in the bright moonlight. So clear was this light, that I could distinctly make out the blue flowers of the patch of borage, which lay between the hut and the thorn hedge, beyond which de Gomeron was awaiting me. When I came up I found him standing with his back to the moon. He had thrown off his doublet, and was in his shirt sleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows, and Nicholas and the men stood a little on one side, utterly forgetful of the prisoners, and eager as bloodhounds to witness the coming fight. It took but a half minute to make myself ready, and borrowing a poniard from Nicholas to help me to parry, for de Gomeron held one in his left hand, and I was determined to give him no further advantage—he already had the light—I took my position. Then there was an angry little clash and our blades met, looking for all the world like two thin streaks of fire in the moonlight. I began the attack at once in the lower lines, but soon found that my adversary was a master of his weapon, and his defence was complete. We were both sober enough now, besides being in deadly earnest, and de Gomeron began to change his tactics and attack in his turn. He was more than cunning of fence, thrusting high at my throat to get as much of the reflection of the moon as possible on his blade, and so dazzle my eyes; but this was a game I had played before, and seeing this he disengaged, and making a beautiful feint, thrust low in tierce. The parry was just in time, but the point of his blade ripped me exactly over the heart, and dyed my shirt red with the blood of a flesh wound. The discipline of Nicholas and his men went to shreds at the sight of this, and there was a shout: 'Croix Dieu! He is lost!'

But a man's knowledge is not to be counted by his years, and Maître Touchet had himself placed a foil in my hand ere I was seven. The hair that stood between me and death as de Gomeron's point touched me cooled me to ice, and knowing that in a long-continued contest youth must tell, I began to feign retreat, and give back slowly, meaning to wind my opponent, and work him round to get a little of the moon in his eyes. De Gomeron took the bait and pressed his attack, with the result that he shifted his position of vantage, and in a while began to breathe heavily. At this point a cloud obscured the moonlight, and my opponent, springing back, called out: 'Hold! hold till the cloud passes! We cannot see.'

'But I can, messieurs,' answered a deep voice to our right. 'What means this fool's work?' and a tall figure, the white line of a drawn sword shining in its hand, stepped between us, coming, as it were, from nowhere. The cloud passed, and the moon was again brilliant and clear. The light fell on the commanding form before us, showing the high aquiline features and grizzled hair of de Rône himself. Nicholas and his men melted into thin air at the sight, and de Gomeron and I stood speechless. The wind caught the black plumes in the General's hat, waving them silently in the air, and brought to us the faint clink of a chain-bit—de Rône had evidently stolen upon us on foot, leaving his horse at a distance.

'So this is how my outposts are kept?' he said. 'M. de Gomeron, you are the senior officer here, and I await your explanation. Mordieu! It is something that I do this.'

'I command the guards of the Duc d'Aumale,' began de Gomeron sullenly, but de Rône interrupted him in the same deep measured voice.

'I know that. Your explanation, or,' and in fierce anger, 'by God! you will hang like a common thief by sunrise.'

'A gentleman must defend his honour. Orders or no orders. General, there are times when one must fight. There was a matter in connection with some prisoners, and I was struck by M. d'Auriac. I have nothing further to say.'

'Now, M. d'Auriac, what have you to say?'

'The prisoners will, perhaps, explain to your Excellency why I struck this man.'

'Take me to them.'

We gathered up our belongings, and, hastily dressing, led the way back to the hut. What de Gomeron's thoughts were I know not, but my own reflections were none of the most cheerful. We all knew de Rône, and knew that, his mind once made up, nothing could turn him. De Gomeron had some chance of escape, as of a certainty I was the open aggressor; but for myself, I saw poor de Gonnor lying under the elm trees, taking his last look at the sunlight, and my heart became like lead. But we had no great time for thought, as a few steps brought us to the door of the hut, where Nicholas and his men stood at the salute with scared faces. Another step took us in, and de Rône, with a curling lip, cast a glance around the room, at the emptied wine flasks and the dice, which latter one of the men had doubtless picked up, and placed in a small heap beside the rouleau I had won. But chairs, table, wine flasks, and dice were all the room contained, and there was reason enough for the extra length of visage that master Nicholas and his knaves had pulled.

'I do not see the prisoners,' said de Rône quietly.

It was not likely, I thought to myself. They were gone—not a doubt of that. On the floor, near my feet, were some cut cords, and, lying on them, a knot of black and white ribbon, that had fallen there as if by chance. I had seen it last at the shoulder of Madame's dress, and something told me it was not there by accident. There was, at any rate, no hope for me from the prisoners, but a sudden impulse I could not understand, nor, indeed, did I try to, urged me to get the knot of ribbon, so, stooping low, I picked up the bow and the cut cords, and, with a careless movement, flung the latter on the table, saying quietly, 'They have escaped, your Excellency.'

'And with them your explanation, M. d'Auriac, eh? Corbleu! But the camp-marshal will have his hands full to-morrow;' and Nicholas' halberd all but fell from his hands as the General's eye rested on him. I had nothing to say; and de Rône went on. 'M. de Gomeron, you have given me a reason for your conduct that will hold good this once. Further orders will reach you at daylight about your neglect of your prisoners. As for you,' and he turned on me with the sharp command, 'Follow me. You—knaves! fetch me my horse—he is tethered to the clump of elms to the right there.'

Two men vanished from the door to do his bidding, and I adjusted my attire as well as I might, taking the opportunity to secrete the knot of ribbon. In a minute or so we heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and as we went out, I saw there were two beasts at the door, and, from the whinny of welcome that came to me, that one was mine, and Nicholas was at his head.

As I sprang into the saddle the good fellow leaned forward and whispered, 'Make a dash for it. Chevalier, and change the flag.'

I shook my head and followed de Rône, who had already moved a few paces onwards. And yet, as I rode on, Nicholas' words came back to me with an insistent force. It was not possible for me to expect any other issue than the worst, after what had happened. My big Norman horse was fleet and strong; but a turn of my wrist, a touch of my spur, and we should be a hundred yards away before de Rône could realise what had happened; and then the road was clear to the banks of the Lelle, where the King was himself; yes, the King. He was that to me, in my heart, although loyalty to my family and its chiefs had made me throw in my lot with the little band of exiles who remained true to the dead legend of the League, and preferred to eat the bread of Spain rather than accept the great Frenchman who had fought his way to his birthright. Even now, whispers were stirring the air that the end was coming; that the Archduke was sick of the war; that d'Aumale pined for his stately park of Anet; that Mayenne had practically submitted, and the Guisard was himself unsteady. If so, why should not I, Alban de Breuil, whose crow's nest of Auriac was half in ruins, and who reckoned an income of a bare two hundred pistoles, see the error of my ways as well? Behind me was safety. In front, between the nodding ears of my horse, there dangled a vision of a rope with a noose at the end of it; and I a noble!

It was now midnight, and we distinctly heard the bells of Ste. Geneviève ringing the Sexts. They came to me with a refrain of 'Turn and ride, Turn and ride.' Mordieu! but I was sorely tempted.

'Gallop!'

De Rône's sharp command broke the thread of my thoughts, and ended all chance of escape. We set spurs to our horses and splashed through the ford of the Oise, a half mile from the outpost. On the other bank a picket challenged, and, giving them the word, we rode in the direction of the even white line of the camp. A few strides more and we reined in at the door of the General's tent. The guard presented arms and I received a brief order to dismount and follow de Rône.

I entered the tent, and stood patiently whilst he walked backwards and forwards for a little time. Suddenly he stopped and, facing me, said,

'Well, M. d'Auriac?'

'It could not be helped, your Excellency,' I stammered.

'You said that of de Gonnor, and promised it should never occur again——'

'But there were circumstances——'

'Pshaw!' he exclaimed, 'I guess them all—wine—dice—women. One of the prisoners was a woman. I saw you pick up that knot of ribbon. There is no excuse—Croix Dieu! None.'

'I had the honour to be the first man behind your Excellency at the storm of Laon,' I said, with a happy recollection.

'And saved my life, you were going to say,' he cut in. I bowed, and de Rône began again to pace up and down, tugging at his short pointed beard. I was determined to seize the three hairs occasion offered, and continued:

'And that was after M. de Gonnor's unfortunate accident.'

'Accident!' he laughed shortly. 'And that accident having been condoned, you want to set off saving my life against breaking the orders of the General?'

'It will not occur again.'

'Croix Dieu! I will take care of that. It will not occur again with you, M. d'Auriac. See here, I will pay my debt; but first ask if I have your parole not to attempt escape. If you do not give it—'and he laid his hand on a call-bell, with an inquiring look towards me.

'I will not attempt escape.'

'Then you will not have to complain of the justice of de Rône. To-morrow some things will happen, and amongst them will be the lamented death of the Sieur d'Auriac. This much I will tell you. To-morrow the King and I meet once more—you must die on the field. Win or lose, if I catch you alive at the close of the day, I will hang you as high as Haman; and now go.'

CHAPTER II

[M. DE RÔNE CANNOT READ A CYPHER]

My first thought on leaving de Rône was to make my way direct to the quarters of the staff, where I felt sure of welcome and accommodation for the rest of the night. These lay a hundred toises or so from the General's pavilion, facing from me; but as I came near to them I saw a pennon of light streaming from the partly open door of the largest tent, and from within burst a chorus of voices singing an old chanson of Guienne.

Frère Jacques, dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?
Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines—
Bim! Baum! Baum!

Bim! Baum! Baum! The last line was repeated amidst peals of laughter, followed by the crashing of glass. It was enough for me. I was in no mood for any further folly, or any more d'Arbois, and resolved to make the best of it in the open, as at this hour it was worse than useless to attempt to find my lackey Jacques, whom I had left behind in the camp with my belongings when I went on to the outposts. This man, I may note, was a faithful servant of our house, rough of manner, perhaps, but one who could be trusted to the end of his sword; and it was annoying to know that any search for him would be useless, as I had a message or so to send to Auriac, in the event of the worst happening. But resigning myself to what could not be helped I found a spot under some peach trees, which was convenient enough for my purpose. Tethering my horse to a stump, I removed the saddle, which I made shift to use as a cushion, and, leaning my back against it, was soon as comfortable as circumstances would permit. Enough had happened to drive from my head any of the fumes of the d'Arbois that may have been lurking there. In short, I was as sober as MM. of the High Court of Paris, and as wide awake as a cat on the look out for a mouse. Do what I could, sleep would not come, and I began, for want of a better thing, to reflect on my position. To act on Nicholas' advice and desert was out of the question; my private honour was not to be smirched, and the few hours I had yet to live were not to be spent in the breaking of my faith. A few hours to live! Involuntarily I stretched out my arm and drew it back, feeling the muscle rise at the movement. Good Lord! It was cruel! When one is five-and-twenty, and strong as a bull, it is hard to die. One death, that on the field, I could face with an equal mind; but if the chances of to-morrow were not kind, then there was the other matter, and the last of the d'Auriacs would swing like a croquemort from the branch of a tree. Morbleu! It was not to be borne, and I swore that my own hand should free my soul, rather than it should choke its way out to eternity at the end of a greased rope. The slight flesh wound I had received from de Gomeron beginning to sting at this moment, I thrust my hand into my pocket, and pulling out my kerchief, placed it over the spot. With the kerchief I drew out the knot of ribbon, and the sight of this, as I picked it up and held it between my fingers, changed the current of my thoughts. Almost in spite of myself I began to think of Madame, as I called her, by the only name I knew. It was a strangely formal title for one so young! Who was she? Some great lady of the court, perhaps. The wife—the thought jarred on me, and I put it aside, and then grew cold all over at the recollection of the danger she had escaped. At any rate, it was my hand that had rescued her from her peril. If we met again, it must surely be as friends, and it was pleasant to dwell on that. As my mind ran on in this way, I noticed a pin attached to the dainty bow, and at first I had a mind to fasten the token to the side of my hat, saying half aloud to myself, 'Par Dieu! But I will bear this favour to the King to-morrow,' and then I felt I had no right to wear the ribbon, and, changing my intention to do so, thrust it back with a half smile at my folly.

Gradually the moonlight faded into a shimmering mist, through which purple shadows came and went; gradually the mist grew darker and darker, and I fell asleep. My sleep could not have lasted much more than an hour; but so profound was it that ages seemed to have passed when I awoke with a start, and the consciousness of movement around me. The moon was on the wane; but I saw that the camp was astir, and that the men were being mustered as silently as possible.

'So things are about to happen,' I said to myself, recalling de Rône's words, and hastily saddling my horse, sprang on his back, and moved towards the General's tent. All around me was the muffled tramp of feet, the jingle of chain-bits and steel scabbards, the plunging of impatient horses, and a subdued hum of voices, above which rose now and again a hoarse word of command, as regiment after regiment wheeled into position on the level stretch before us. Three long black lines were moving noiselessly and rapidly towards the Oise. I knew they were de Leyva's brigade of Spanish infantry, veterans of the war of Flanders. To my right the occasional flash of a lance-head through the thick haze that was coming up, but which the morning sun would dissipate, showed me where the cuirassiers of Aumale were, and I thought of de Gomeron with regret that I had not finished him before de Rône's inopportune arrival. I had to die, and it might have been some consolation, in such mood was I, to have sent Adam de Gomeron on the dark way before me.

When I reached the General's pavilion de Rône was just mounting his horse, a lackey standing near with a sputtering torch, and his staff in a little clump, a few yards away. I saluted, and he gave me a keen look, saying:

'So you have come, M. d'Auriac—take your place with the staff. I will give you your work later on—and remember.'

'I am not likely to forget, M. le Marquis,' and I moved off in the direction indicated.

'Is that you, d'Auriac?' 'Why have you left the outposts?' 'Sangdieu! but why did you not come to us last night?' 'How is M. de Réthelois, and have you seen the abbess of Ste. Geneviève?'

These and suchlike greetings met me as I was recognised and welcomed by de Belin, the young Tavannes, de Cosse-Brissac, and others of my acquaintance. I replied as best I might, but there was no time for much talk, as the General was moving onwards at a rapid pace, and we were compelled to follow at once. I dropped a little to the rear, to husband the strength of my horse as far as possible, and was joined by another rider.
^Is that you, Belin?'

'Ma foi! Yes. It is the devil being hustled up so early in the morning—I am yet but half awake.'

'I was surprised to find you here. I thought you were with the Archduke and de Mayenne.'

'What! have you not heard?'

'What in the devil's name could I hear on those cursed outposts?'

'Then in your ear—the Rémois have gone from us, and de Mayenne and the Guisard have passed over to the King. My news is certain, and the Archduke has sent a cypher to de Rône bidding him retreat at once on Amiens.'

'But this does not look like a retreat.'

'No; de Rône has lost the key of the cypher.'

We both laughed, and Belin went on: 'It was droll. I saw him receive the message, which the old fox must have read at a glance. But he turned it this way and that, and looking at Egmont, said as calmly as possible, "Ride back to Amiens and fetch me the key. I have lost mine and cannot follow the cypher"—but hark!' and Belin interrupted himself, 'there is de Réthelois' good morning.'

Even as he spoke three bright flashes came from the citadel of La Fère, and the big guns from the bastion of Ste. Geneviève boomed sullenly into the morning. Then a long streak of fire ran across the grey mist, followed by the angry crackle of the petronels, above which the reports of the bombards of the trench-masters, as they replied to de Réthelois' artillery, sounded like strokes on a war drum.

'Ventre St. Gris! The Spaniards have drawn first blood, Belin.'

'M. d'Auriac!'

De Rône's voice stopped any further talk, and I spurred to his side.

'My compliments to the Condé de Leyva and ask him not to waste time spitting at de Réthelois—tell him to leave a sufficient force to hold the garrison in check, and move across the river towards St. Gobains—report yourself to me at the ford.'

I galloped off, and when I reached the Spaniard, whom I found with some difficulty, I discovered that he had already anticipated de Rône's orders, and had besides almost cut off a sortie from the city. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to wish de Leyva a pleasant day and to go on to the ford.

And now a pale band of orange stretched across the east, and daylight rapidly came. A fair breeze sprang up with the sun, blowing the vapour into long feathery clouds that rolled slowly to the west. So heavy was the fire de Réthelois kept up from the citadel that its square keep was entirely hidden by the smoke; but as I rode towards the ford down the long slope that ended in the Red Mill, I saw on my right the whole of de Rône's army, advancing to the river in long even columns, and on my left, where they appeared to have sprung up by magic, two strong bodies of cavalry, whilst behind them, marching as rapidly as our own troops, and in as perfect order, came the men of Arques and Ivry, of Fontaine Française, and all the hundred fights of Henry of Navarre.

By this time I had come to the outpost, and found the thatched roof of the cottage in flames, the result of a stray shell that had dropped through it, and blown down half of the remaining walls. It was clearly empty, but as I trotted past the thorn hedge I saw, about fifty paces or so to my right, a single horseman under a tree. His hands were tied behind him, and a cord, which hung from a branch overhead, ended in a noose secured lightly but firmly round his neck. His position was such that if the horse moved away from beneath him he would hang, and the poor wretch was absorbed in coaxing the animal to remain steady; but the trooper he bestrode had already scented the coming battle. His ears were cocked, his tail held out in an arch, and he was pawing at the ground with his forefoot. I could not hear what the man was saying, but his lips were moving, I doubt not with mingled prayers and curses, and I could see that he was trying to restrain the animal by the pressure of his knees. Another look showed me it was Nicholas, the sergeant, and knowing there was little leisure to lose if the knave was to be saved, I put spurs to my beast and headed towards him. I was just in time, for as I started the old trooper gave a loud neigh, flourished his heels in the air, and galloped off towards the enemy, with his mane and tail streaming in the wind. A touch of my sword freed Nicholas, but it was a narrow affair, and he lay gasping on the ground, and as he lay there I noticed that his ears had been cropped close to his head, and that the wounds were quite fresh. He recovered himself in about a minute, for the dog was tough as leather, and was about to pour forth his thanks and tell me how he came in such plight, but, sincerely sorry as I was, I had to cut him short.

'Keep the story for another day, Nicholas,' I said, 'and follow the example of your horse, who I see is a loyal subject, and has gone straight back to the King.'

With these words I spurred onwards, leaving Nicholas to follow my advice or not, as he listed. I had gathered enough, however, to find out that he was a victim to M. de Gomeron's ingenious humour. Little did I think, however, when I saved this poor fellow how amply I would be re-quited hereafter.

I reached the ford just before the General, and saw that our right flank had already crossed the river in the far distance. Opposite us the Royalists appeared to be in some confusion; but in a moment they were restored to order, and moved steadily on.

'The King is there,' burst out Belin, and a grim smile passed over de Rône's features as he nodded his head slightly in token of assent. As Belin spoke a group of about half a dozen riders galloped from the enemy's van, and, coming straight towards us, halted a bare hundred paces or so from the river bank. The leading horseman was mounted on a bay charger, and it needed not a second glance, nor a look at the white plumes in his helmet, to tell that it was Henry himself. Close beside him was a short, dark, thick-set man, with the jewel of the Order of France at his neck. He managed the grey he rode with infinite skill, and with his drawn sword pointed towards us, seemed to be urging something on the King.

'Who is that?' I asked.

'The King's viper,' answered Belin, 'who will sting him some day: do you not know Biron? Mordieu!' he added, turning to de Rône, 'shall we end the war, General; we could do it with a bit of lead that wouldn't cost the tenth part of a tester?'

De Rône's brown cheek paled at the words, and for an instant he seemed to hesitate, and I could well understand his temptation.

'No,' he replied—'drop that,' he thundered to a musketeer who was poising his piece, and the man fell back with a disappointed air.

'Peste!' grumbled Belin, 'we might have all been in Paris within the week, whereas now it will take a fortnight at the least.'

'Or a month, or a year, or never—eh, Belin,' gibed de Tavannes.

'Do you think the fair Angelique will be constant?' asked another.

Belin glanced at the laced favour in his hat with a smile, and answered: 'God bless our ladies! They know how to be constant—see there, messieurs,' and he pointed to a single figure, mounted on a barb, that rode out of the French lines and galloped forward, alone and unattended, to the side of the King. We saw as the barb approached that the figure was that of a woman, and, moreover, that of a very beautiful woman. She was dressed in a hunting habit of dark green, with a black hat and black feathers, under which we could see the light of her fair hair. As she reined up beside the King, Henry turned to her, as if expostulating, but she bent forward suddenly and kissed his hand, and then with charming courtesy took out her kerchief and waved it at us in dainty greeting.

''Tis Gabrielle, the Duchesse de Beaufort herself!' exclaimed de Tavannes, and then gave tongue in a ringing cheer, which was taken up by us all, and rolled down the long line of battle, till its echoes reached us from even the furthest wings.

De Rône lifted his plumed hat in response to Madame d'Estrées' greeting, and the King, bowing slightly to us from his saddle, put his hand on the barb's reins, and turning the horse's head, galloped his mistress to a place of safety. As they reached the mound whereon the royal guidon was displayed, we heard the opening bars of the Pont d'Audemer march, and as they ceased a red tongue of flame licked out from behind a cornfield and a masked battery opened on us.

CHAPTER III

[THE RED CORNFIELD]

'M. le Marquis, the Condé de Leyva begs for help urgently.'

'Tell him I have none to give,' de Rône made answer from his big black charger Couronne. 'Sangdieu!' he added under his breath, 'had we been but three hours earlier the Béarnais was lost.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the cavalier to whom they were addressed threw up his arms with a scream, and falling forward from his horse, began to beat at the earth convulsively with his hands, whilst he gasped out his life. As the death glaze was covering his eyes, his empty saddle was filled by a figure that rose up like a sprite through the dim smoke, and Belin's even voice was heard.

'Poor Garabay! But my horse was shot under me an hour ago, and this one will do me excellently. Shall I carry your message, General?'

'I claim the honour. Marquis; do not deny me, Belin. I have been idle too long,' and I pressed forward as I spoke.

'Oh, I yield to you, d'Auriac! there is work enough for me at the other end; the bear of Aumale is dancing to a fine tune there,' and Belin reined back, whilst de Rône nodded assent, with a meaning in his look that I alone understood.

I needed no second bidding, but turning my Norman's rein, galloped down the blazing line of battle. If I escaped through the day, which to my mind was already lost, I knew full well that de Rône, smarting under disappointment and chagrin at defeat, would be in no temper for mercy, and would certainly keep his word to me.

There was not a doubt of it, but that the issue of the day was at a crisis. On our extreme right d'Aumale and the exiles of France were pitted against the Huguenot battalions, who went into battle with a hymn on their lips, and had sworn by the faith for which so many of them had died never to quit the field alive. Be sure they strove bitterly there, for the hatreds of sixty years had met face to face on their last field, and no quarter was asked or given. In the centre Bouillon, the Turenne of other days, and Biron—men whose very names were victory—led the attack, which was slowly but surely driving us back into the river. At one time indeed the fiery marshal, with the exception of the King perhaps the most brilliant cavalry leader of the age, had all but laid hands on our standard, and so close was he to me that I might have counted the jewels of the Order at his neck, and clearly heard his deep 'Mordieu!' as he slowly gave way before the desperate rally that for the moment retrieved the day. But it was on our left that the greatest danger lay. Henry's rapid movement during the night had forestalled de Rône's plans, and had practically shut in the left wing of the Leaguer general between two fires. For although de Réthelois was penned into La Fère, yet his artillery had a long reach and galled us in the rear, whilst the King, fully grasping the situation, opened a heavy fire on our front, and that terrible battery from the cornfield never ceased launching forth its messages of death. These guns, no longer hidden by the tall corn-stalks, now beaten and trampled down, and as red as the poppies that once starred them, were in reality deciding the fortune of the day. Twice had de Leyva in person brought the veteran regiments of Almagro and Algarve up to their very muzzles, until the men could have touched them with their Biscay pikes, and twice had they been flung back, but made good their retreat, beating off the charge of Schomberg's reiters in so savage a manner that the free commander was unable to rally his men for the rest of the day.

I let my beast go with a loose head, and there was no need of the spur to urge him to his utmost effort as he bore me to de Leyva. I found him bare-headed and on foot, his face black with smoke and bleeding from wounds. His toison d'or had been shot away, though its jewelled collar still clasped his neck, and his left arm hung useless by his side. He stared at me when I gave him de Rône's answer, to which I added the news that Garabay was dead. Then he laughed through his cracked lips—a laugh that seemed to stick in the knot of his throat, and making me no further reply, waved his sword in the air with a cry on his men for yet another effort, and a forlorn hope at the guns. And they who had never known defeat before answered to his call and came up again—a line of men for whom the bitterness of death was passed. I ought to have gone back to de Rône, but the lust of battle was on me, and for me there was nothing in the world but the black guns behind the continuous flashes, lightening through the thick smoke which the wind was blowing in our faces. My brave horse was killed by a round shot, and as I scrambled up and took my place by de Leyva's side, his features relaxed and he said with a thin smile:

'I have had both my horses killed, Chevalier, or would offer you a mount.'

'We will replace them from Schomberg's reiters,' and the bugles, sounding the attack, cut short all further talk. It was win or lose now—all was staked upon this hazard, and it was well for us that Schomberg was broken, for to protect the men as far as possible from the guns, de Leyva advanced in open files. There was to be no firing. The work was to be all cold steel, and Bayonne knife and Biscay pike were to make a last effort against the long, black, snarling guns, behind which d'Aussonville's ordnance men yelped and danced with glee as each discharge brought down its tale of the mangled and dead. But up the long slope, never flinching, never swerving, one man stepping where another fell, the veteran regiments marched, with their gallant chief at their head. When about fifty paces away, the drift was so thick that we could see nothing save the incessant flashes of light, which possessed but power enough to show themselves. At this moment the bugles rang out shrilly, the ranks closed up like magic, there was one tremendous roar of artillery, and the half of us that were left were in the battery. Here, on the red and slippery corn-stalks, the devilry went on, and men fought more like beasts than human beings. As the heaving mass swayed backwards and forwards, the strong breeze lifted the smoke from the now speechless guns and showed that they were won, but it also showed us another sight, and that was de Rône's broken centre doubling back upon us in utter rout, and behind them a silver line of shining helmets as the King's House charged, led by Henry himself.

On they came, a dancing line of light, a gleam of shining swords, with the white plume of the bravest of them full three lengths in front.

'Vive le Roi!' The breeze flung us the deep-mouthed cheer as they broke through the mailed ranks of de Rône's own cuirassiers, and drove horse and foot, knight and knave, in a huddled mob before them.

It may have been fancy, but I thought I saw in the press a dark figure that suddenly turned the reins of a huge, black charger and flew at the King. For an instant two bright sword blades crossed in the air, and then the black horse plunged riderless into the grey spate of smoke that the wind was bearing westwards, and a groan as of despair fell on my ears.

'Vive le Roi!' Once again came the full-throated cry, and the bay horse was galloping towards us, followed by the line of swords, no longer shining, but dulled and red with the slaughter they had made.

From a heap of dead and dying that lay about two yards off me, a figure, so hideous with wounds that it seemed barely human, rose to a sitting posture, and then staggering to its feet, swayed backwards and forwards, with the fragment of a sword still clutched in its hand. With a supreme effort it steadied itself, and as the poor, mad eyes, alive with pain, caught sight of the enemy, they lit again with the fire of battle, and de Leyva's voice rang out strong and clear as of old:

'The guns—the guns—turn them on the King!'

'They are spiked,' someone gave answer, with a grim, hopeless laugh.

As he heard this reply, de Leyva slipped sideways, and would have fallen had I not sprang forward and supported him with my arm. He leaned his smitten frame against me for a moment, and something that was like a sob burst from him. But he recovered himself on the instant, and with the strength so often given to those who are about to die, pushed me aside with an oath, and shaking his broken blade in the face of the advancing line, fell forwards in a huddled mass, a dead man.

The next moment the enemy were on us. We met them with a row of pikes; but what could we do, for we were few in number, weary with the long struggle, and weak with wounds? The issue was never in doubt, and they broke us at once. I have a vague memory of fighting for dear life amidst a thunder of hoofs, and the hissing sweep of swords, but was ridden down by some one, and all became dark around me.

When my mind came back, it was with the consciousness of rain that was falling softly, and the cool drops plashed on my burning head with a sensation of relief that I cannot describe. I suffered from an intolerable thirst, and strove to rise that I might find means to quench it; but found I was powerless to move, and writhed in my agony in the rut amidst the corn-stalks wherein I had fallen. The rain was but a passing shower, and when it ceased a light but cool breeze sprang up. It was night, and a fitful moon shone through the uneasy clouds that hurried to and fro overhead in the uncertain breeze, which shifted its quarter as often as a child might change its mind. I seemed to be alive only in the head, and began to wonder to myself how long I was to lie there until death came, and with it the end of all things. I began to wish it would come quickly, and there was a secret whispering in my soul to pray—to pray to the God of whom I had never thought since childhood—to entreat that Invisible Being, at whose existence I had so often laughed, to stoop from above the stars and end my pain, and I cursed myself for a white-livered cur that forgot the Godhead in my strength, and in my weakness could almost have shrieked to him for help. I pulled my fainting courage up, as I thought that if there was no God, it was useless wasting my breath in calling on him, whilst if, on the other hand, there was one, no prayer of mine could go higher than my sword's point, were I to hold the blade out at arm's length above me—and now that the end was coming, I was not going to cringe and whimper. So my sinful pride caught me by the heel as I lay there in my dolour.

A half-hour or so may have passed thus, and the moon was now almost entirely obscured. Occasionally I could hear through the darkness around me the moaning of some poor wounded wretch, and now and again rose the shrill discordant shriek of a maimed horse, an awful cry of pain, the effect of which those only who may have heard it can understand. Soon a number of twinkling lights began to hover over the plain. Sometimes they moved forward rapidly, sometimes they were raised and lowered, and at other times stationary. Gradually two of these lanthorns came closer to me, stopping about ten paces off, and when I saw who bore them I knew at once they were death-hunters, and that in a few moments the knife of one of these ghouls might end my suffering. There were two of these fiends, a man and a woman, and as they halted the man stooped: there was a choking cry for mercy, the blow of a dagger, and a groan. The robber busied himself in searching the dead man's person, and, in the silence that followed, the woman with him threw up her head and laughed a horrid shrill laugh. It pealed out with so eerie a sound that the death-hunter sprang to his feet; but finding who it was, burst into the foulest language.

'Sangdieu! Be still, fool,' he snarled, 'or you'll laugh another way if I tickle you with my knife.'

'Oh, ho! The brave Mauginot,' answered the she-devil, 'you will tickle me with your butcher knife—will you? I, too, can make you skip,' and she shook a bright dagger in her long lean arm, but suddenly changing her tone, 'Pouf!' she said, 'there is no use in squabbling, partner. This is the sixth we have helped to hell to-night, and not a broad piece amongst them. Holy Virgin! This is a field of paupers—let us begone!' and to my joy she made as if to go.

'Stay Babette! what shines there?' and Mauginot ran forward a couple of paces, and bending low wrenched something from a body, and then stood up, holding it to the light.

I saw his face clearly, and saw also his prize. It was poor de Leyva's collar of the Golden Fleece, and the blood-stained hand of the croquemort held it up to the lantern, and clinked the jewelled links, whilst he feasted his eyes on the gold and gems. Over his shoulders peered the pitiless features of his partner, and in her eyes blazed all the bad light of avarice and murder. I almost held my breath as I watched the eyes of the woman leave the jewel and turn on the man with death in their look. As for him, he was unconscious of the knife quivering in the nervous fingers behind him, and he chuckled over his find.

'That is the collar of the Toison d'Or, Babette. Sacre chien! But I will wed you, and we will buy an estate and settle down, and you will be Madame de Mauginot—hey! That carrion there must have been a great prince—a field of paupers—bah! Give me more paupers like this. I am sorry he is dead, Babette, I would like to have—Ah, mon Dieu!—you devil! you devil!' for as he babbled on, his words were cut short by Babette's knife, which was buried to the hilt between his shoulder-blades, and he fell on his knees and then lurched on his face stone dead. The murderess made a snatch at the jewel, which I saw her conceal, and then with a mocking 'Adieu, M. de Mauginot!' to her victim, stepped over my body and moved out of sight, swinging her lantern, and laughing low to herself.

As I watched this hideous scene, I for the moment forgot the pain of my hurts; but they soon began to assert themselves in such a manner that I longed for the relief that unconsciousness would afford, nor indeed would I have been sorry if the night-hag, Babette, had come back and put an end to me. My senses half failed me again, and I felt myself tottering on the brink of delirium. I caught myself shouting and speaking out aloud in a mad manner; but I had no power of stopping myself. So the long hours of the night passed, and at last it was dawn once more, and morning came.

Lying with my ear against the ground, I heard the dull beat of horses' hoofs, growing louder and more distinct as they approached, and in a little time the party, whoever they were, rode into the cornfield. For a second my eyes were dazzled by the reflection of the sun on the silver-plate of their armour; but I recovered myself with an effort, and watched eagerly, intending to cry out for help as they passed me, for my voice was too weak to reach where they were. There were two ladies amongst them, and all appeared to be looking with much concern and anxiety for some one. As they came closer I saw it was the King himself, with Madame Gabrielle and another lady, doubtless of the court, and a numerous retinue. Henry was mounted on his famous bay charger; and, as he lifted his hat and looked silently around him, I had good opportunity of observing the man who was without doubt the most heroic figure of the age, and who united in himself the most opposite extremes of character. I saw before me a spare figure, the head covered with short black hair, a long hooked nose that fell over the upper lip, and a sharp protruding chin, half hidden in a beard tinged with grey. His long curled moustaches were white as snow, and the story went that they had become so on the night when the Edicts of Pacification were revoked by the last of the Valois. Under his bushy eyebrows his keen restless eyes glittered like two beads, but for the moment they seemed dilated with a soft light, and there was an infinite sadness in them as he looked round the bloody field.

'I am afraid we search in vain, madame,' and a tall cavalier mounted on a big bay addressed Madame de Beaufort. She nodded her head to him sadly, and turned to the King.

'It is useless, sire, and I can bear this no longer—it is too horrible—let us go.'

'Mignonne, you are right—this is no place for you. Roquelaure will see you and your little friend there back, and I will come to you soon—but now I have a letter to write—just a few lines to Béarn.' The King spoke with a strong southern accent, and as he spoke leaned forward and caressed Madame Gabrielle's hand. She, however, declined to go. 'I will wait, sire, but it shall be with my eyes shut,' and the King's mistress, whose cheeks were very pale, put her hand to her eyes as if to shut out the sight around her. The lady with Madame de Beaufort coming nearer at this time, I recognised my unknown Madame of the outposts, who had evidently found her way back to her friends. But it was with a bitter disappointment that I saw her in the company of the duchess, and evidently in attendance on her. Madame was nothing to me I thought, but I could not associate her with the fallen woman who was the mistress of the King. I was learning the lesson that love comes on a man like a thief in the night, and, unconsciously to myself, Madame had climbed on a pinnacle in my heart, and the thought that I had deceived myself in my estimate of her moved me to sudden anger, and stilled the cry for help that was rising to my lips—I would have no help from her and her friends.

In the meantime the King was busily engaged in writing his despatch on a small tablet, which he rested on the pommel of his saddle, and as he wrote he repeated the words aloud, and the purport of the note, which was to de la Force at Pau, was to send him a dozen young peach-trees, carefully packed in mould, each in a tin case one foot long, these to be planted in his gardens of St. Germain.

As he was thus engaged, a little shrivelled old man pushed his horse beside Madame de Beaufort, and said in mincing tones as hard as steel. 'Come, madame, your brother has met a soldier's death, and no Frenchman can hope for a better—or he is safe and well somewhere. Dry your tears, and rejoice at the glorious victory we have won.' The duchess made some answer in a broken voice, and the King, hearing her, stopped writing and put his tablet away.

'M'amye! D'Ayen speaks rightly, though he speaks from the head. God keep us from more scenes like this. As for your brother, de Cœuvres, I will not rest till there is news of him; but now we can do no more. Come, then—open your pretty eyes and we will go—there is much on hand.'

I was a hot-headed fool and furious in those days, and I set my teeth together grimly as they made ready to start, swearing I would rather die than make the slightest signal for aid. They rode past quite close to me—Gabrielle weeping at the King's bridle hand, and his Majesty sucking at a nectarine he had pulled from his holster. Madame was immediately behind, and as she came up to me, our eyes met with an instant recognition. In a moment her cheek had crimsoned and paled, and she reined in with a cry:

'Stop—halt!'

'It is Louis—Louis—O God, no!' exclaimed Madame de Beaufort, swinging round, the glad note in her voice breaking as she saw I was not her brother, de Cœuvres; but Madame had already dismounted and was holding my head up, and gently passing a handkerchief over my face.

They had all surrounded me now, and I heard quick orders given.

'He is past mending,' said d'Ayen, bending over me from his saddle, 'a gentleman, too, it seems. Let him lie there—he will die very soon, poor devil!'

'Mon Dieu! No!' broke in the duchess, and Madame looked at the speaker with a cold contempt.

'He is the only man living here,' and the strong accent of the Béarnais came as from a distance; 'Ventre-saint-Gris! But they fought like paladins, and Frenchman or foreigner, he shall be saved if it can be done.'

'Sire,' said a soft voice, 'you are the true King of the brave.'

Then two men-at-arms raised me with a rough gentleness on their crossed spears, and inflicted on me in their kindness the most infinite torture. The King himself pressed a flask of wine to my lips, and, as I drank greedily, two cool hands held up my head. Then we moved on slowly, Madame refusing to ride, but walking by my side, and supporting my burning head.

CHAPTER IV

[THE CHATEAU DE LA BIDACHE]

Months had passed since I shook hands with death in the cornfield by the banks of the Oise, and the grass was tall and green on the mounds around La Fère which marked the graves of those who had fought and died there, in reality for the hand of Spain, in spirit for the League that was dead. It was autumn now, and as I, well and strong again, walked down the long avenue of beeches that led to the park gates of Bidache, I let my memory run back to the days in the hospital of Ste. Geneviève, whither I was borne from the field; to the soft-voiced, gentle-handed sisters of mercy; to the physician Marescot, the King's own leech, with his acid face and kind heart, who doctored me; and above all to the tall, slight, black-robed figure that came to see me daily, and for whose coming I used to long, in the dreary hours of my pain, with an infinite desire. I argued with myself on the absurdity of the thing—here was I, hardened by ten years of campaigning which ought to have taught me the world, conquered out of hand by the glance of a pair of bright eyes, and the tones of a sweet voice. As the days wore on, I cursed myself for the unworthy suspicions that had come to me and tied my tongue when I lay wounded, and was rescued by chance, and her charity. Who or what she was I cared not, and recklessly abandoned myself to the feelings that were aroused in my heart.

I shall not forget what happened one afternoon. A long gallery in the convent of Ste. Geneviève had been turned into a ward, and here the wounded lay on pallets with a walking space between. Owing to Madame's kindness I was comfortably quartered at the end of the gallery, and a screen had been set between me and the other patients. I was gaining strength daily, and, at the moment I speak of, was in a state between sleeping and waking, when I heard a laugh and the sound of footsteps, and saw through the partly open wing of the screen that my lady had come to make her daily rounds, not attended as usual only by her women, but by a gaily-dressed cavalier as well, and it was his laugh that I had heard. In this person, dressed in the extreme of fashion, I made out M. d'Ayen, the same who had so kindly suggested that I should be left to die in the field. He pattered along, holding a kerchief edged with gold lace to his nose, and ever and again waving it in the air, whilst he spoke in a loud tone, regardless of the looks cast at him by the sisters in attendance on the wounded. They came slowly towards me, for Madame stayed constantly to speak to some maimed wretch, and I saw her slip money into the hands of some, and there were kind words for all. I felt a strange pleasure in watching her, whilst at the same time I thought of my past, and how unfit I was even to nurse such a dream as my love for her. When within a yard or so of the screen, Madame bent over a sufferer, and d'Ayen exclaimed in his biting voice—

'Morbleu! Madame! But you are the Princess of Charity. Let us hasten to your interesting patient, however. His Majesty is most anxious to hear of him.'

'His Majesty has never done me the honour to inquire,' she answered coldly.

'You could hardly expect that, madame. But it came about in this way. We were at flux, and as usual I held a bad cascade——'

But Madame, to whom his presence was unwelcome, waited to hear no more, and passing the screen, came to my side, and would have spoken; d'Ayen, however, cut in with a rudeness for which I could have run him through.

'My compliments, M. d'Auriac. You are a lucky man. The King takes so great an interest in you that he has charged me with a message to you. His Majesty bids me say,' and his bead-like eyes twinkled down on me from his painted cheeks, and then turned slily towards Madame.

I waited for him to continue, and he went on, talking as if his words were meant for Madame as well.

'His Majesty trusts you will soon be recovered, and relieve Madame de la Bidache from the strain of watching you, and begs me to add that he is of a temper that can brook no rival in war—or love. Let me say, on my own account, that it would be well if M. le Chevalier would take a change of air.'

I looked from one to another in blank amaze—at the little ape with his cruel eyes, and at Madame, who was still as a stone. Then she coloured to her eyelids, her hands fell clenched to her side, and she turned on d'Ayen.

'Such a message, monsieur, should not have been delivered before me. I will take care that M. d'Auriac has a change of air; and, monsieur, your presence oppresses me. I beg you will not trouble to escort me farther.'

Then she turned from us and passed down the ward, but d'Ayen remained.

'I will kill you for this,' I gasped.

He looked at me with a shrug of his lean shoulders.

'Perhaps—I am old. But you would do well to take my advice, monsieur,' and with a bow he too turned and went.

I was left lost in wonder, utterly in the dark as to what this all meant, but determined to find out and bring d'Ayen to book at the first chance. I made up my mind to ask the next day. The next day came; but Madame did not, and then another and yet another day of dreariness passed. At last someone, I forget who, told me she had gone with the court to Nantes, and that I would see her no more. Later on, when Marescot came to me, I begged the favour of his getting me the knot of ribbon he would find in the lefthand breast pocket of the doublet I wore on the day I was brought into the hospital.

'You are getting well,' he said, and turned away, but came back in a little with a wrinkled smile on his lips, 'I cannot find the cordial you want, Chevalier.'

I had half raised my head in expectancy as he returned, but sank back again at his words, and Marescot went on in his low voice that sounded like the humming of a bee. 'M. le Chevalier, that bow of ribbon has gone away, so high up that a taller man than you could not reach it. Forget it. But I have news for you, which the clumsy fool who told you of Madame's departure should have given you: you are to go to Bidache shortly, and stay there until you are well again. It will not be for long. After that, try the tonic of the Italian war. France will be all ploughshares now that the King is king.'

I caught him by the sleeve of his soutane. 'Tell me,' I said weakly, 'who is Madame, where is Bidache?'

'Madame, as we all call her, is Claude de Rochemars, widow of Antoine de la Tremouille, and heiress of Bidache, Pelouse, and a quarter of the Cevennes. Bidache, where you go, is her chateau in Normandy. Madame,' he went on with a ghost of a smile on his thin lips, 'is kindness itself. Now no more talk for to-day.' Then he went, and I lay back, as sore in mind as in body.

In a day or so Madame's steward of Bidache arrived, bearing a letter from her, in which, as a poor return for the service I had done her—so she put it—she placed her Norman chateau at my disposal until I was well again. I had a mind to refuse; but in my state could summon up no such resolution, and, muttering my thanks to the steward, said they could do what they listed with me. They moved me here by easy stages, carrying me in a litter as I was too weak to ride, and when I came to Bidache, and was borne to my apartments, imagine my joy and surprise at seeing there my knave Jacques, whom I thought to be either dead or home again at Auriac; and not only Jacques, but hanging on the wall my own sword, and the sight of it was like meeting a tried friend. Later on, Jacques informed me that after the rout he had made the best of his way back to the old rock, and stayed there, hoping for news of me. At last it came, with orders for him to hurry to Bidache, and he did so, bearing with him such things as he thought I needed, as well as a hundred pistoles of rents, the same being half the sum due to me for my rights over the fish in the bay of Auriac. As for the sword, it had been given to him on his arrival by Madame's orders to keep for me. I had come to a low ebb by this, and the money was trebly welcome, as it would furnish me with a couple of horses, and leave a round sum besides when I left Bidache, which I meant to do as soon as ever I was fit to travel. And now the time had come for me to depart, and I was to start that evening. For forty crowns Jacques had picked up a couple of stout cobs at Evreux, and we meant to leave an hour or so before sundown and make for Paris, where, if the King would accept an old leaguer's sword, we would stay; if not, the world was wide. I was as far as ever from understanding the strange message that M. d'Ayen had delivered to me, and felt myself safe in going to Paris, as a general amnesty covered all our sins of rebellion—so they were called now.

So absorbed was I in these thoughts, that I did not mark the rapid approach of a horseman, nor indeed was I aware of his presence until, when within a few yards of me, he reigned in his plunging beast, whose bit and neck were white with foam, and lifting his hat respectfully, inquired if I was the Chevalier d'Auriac and on my reply exclaimed, 'Madame will be overjoyed. We heard that you had already left Bidache, and my lady arrives within the hour from Evreux. Pardon, monsieur—I go to give the news to the household,' and, saluting again, the lackey dashed onwards towards the chateau.

So I would meet her within the hour. Half unconsciously I glanced down to see if my doublet sat aright and my points were tied. Then I thought I would go back to the house and meet her there, and, as I did this, I looked at the fall of the plumes in my hat, and, finally, laughing at myself for a coxcomb, took my heart in both hands, and marched onwards towards the gates. The porter had already been warned, and on my coming I found him there with a crowd of yokels, all in a state of high excitement.

'It is three years since Madame was here, monsieur,' the honest fellow exclaimed to me as I came up, 'three years, and now she comes without a word of warning—hola! There they are, and there is Madame on the jennet she purchased from M. le duc de Sully—he was but the Sieur de Rosny then—hola! hola!'

The crowd joined with him in his cheers, although as yet the party was far off—not so far, however, that I could not easily make out the graceful figure on the jennet, and in the two riders who accompanied Madame, apart from the half-dozen servants behind, I recognised to my surprise d'Ayen, and guessed that the grey-beard in the tall-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, with the sad-coloured cloak over his shoulders, was no other than the old Huguenot, whose zeal had outrun his discretion on the night when I saved Madame from a great peril.

This guess of mine I hazarded aloud to the gate-keeper, who replied:

'Yes, M. le Chevalier, that is Maître Palin, Madame's chaplain, and he was also chaplain to M. le Compte before he died.'

'When was it that M. le Compte died?'

'Let me see, monsieur—ah, yes—four years ago in Paris, at the time of the Plague. He was a great lord, as you may know, and brother of the duke, who they say has quarrelled with the King because of his conversion, and of Madame Charlotte, the Princess of Condé, who lives in the Rue Grenelle, and whom the King kept for long a close prisoner in the tower of St. Jean d'Angely—no one knows why; but it is buzzed that Monseigneur, the Prince of Condé, the King's cousin, died of a flask of wine, and that the Princess—but hola! hola! welcome to your own house, madame,' and he dropped on his knees as the cavalcade rode up, and presented the keys of the chateau gates slung on a silver chain to their mistress. She bent from the saddle and touched them with her hand, and the peasantry surrounded her with hearty greeting, hedging her in with cheerful red faces and broad smiles, so that she could not move. Meanwhile, I stood apart, tugging at my moustache, wondering by what right d'Ayen rode at her bridle hand, and feeling how true Marescot's words were, that the bow of ribbon was hung too high for me. Not that it was a question of birth—de Breuil of Auriac was a name that was old when Tremouille was unknown; but—there were other things which made all the difference, and men and women of the world will understand what I mean when I say this.

As Madame lifted her head our eyes met, and, raising my hat, I advanced towards her, the people giving way respectfully. My ears were buzzing, and I was as shy and nervous as a schoolboy as I bowed over her gloved hand, and touched it with my lips.

'Let me welcome you back to health, Chevalier,' she said, 'and say how glad I am to be able, even for a short while, to do the honours of my poor house in person to you. News came to us that you had already left Bidache—without even a word to me;' her voice dropped a little as she said this, but the tone was cool and friendly, nothing more.

'I go to-night, madame.'

'So soon; but I understand why, and will not press you to stay—here is one who, like myself, has longed for an opportunity to thank you in person. Mon père,' and she turned to the Huguenot priest, 'this is our friend to whom we owe so much.'

'In the service of the Lord one would willingly lay down life,' said Palin, as he shook me warmly by the hand, 'nevertheless, a few hours more of the world for an old man is a grace not to be despised, and I thank the instrument that has bestowed this benefit upon me.'

D'Ayen, between whom and myself there had passed no greeting, now spoke in a voice that fairly trembled with anger.

'I was not aware that I should have the pleasure of meeting you here, M. le Chevalier. It will surprise the King,' he added, in a lower tone to Madame.

I made no answer; but the memory of his warning and my determination to settle with him came up in full force. Madame, however, spoke.

'M. d'Ayen, when, by the order of the King, you were directed to escort me to Bidache, there was nothing said about your right to dictate to me who shall be my guests. Remember, monsieur, that your company is forced upon me, and let me add that you are a trifle too paternal.'

D'Ayen paled under his rouge, and, muttering something, reined back a pace, whilst Palin, looking him full in the eyes, said:

'Will you swallow that, too, M. d'Ayen? At your age one would have thought digestion hard.'

And there was no answer.

Madame had in the meantime signalled a lackey to dismount and offer me his beast.

'I cannot allow you to walk, and we will reach the house quicker in this way, besides, I want to hear all your news. My friends,' and she turned to the people, 'come to Bidache: it is long since we have met, and I would have you to make merry as of old—come, Chevalier.'

In the cheers which followed, she touched her horse lightly on the shoulder with her whip, and galloped on, Palin and I on either hand, and the suite behind. In a little while she slackened pace, saying with a laugh, 'We are going too fast to talk, Chevalier, and I am a woman, you know, and must hear my own voice, if nothing else—so you are quite well and strong again?'

'I am, madame, thanks to your kindness, which Alban de Breuil can never forget.'

Her colour deepened slightly. 'It is the other way, Chevalier, the debt is on my side.'

'I have done nothing—and the repayment was too much.'

'I am sorry you think so,' looking straight between her horse's ears.

'I did not mean that—I have already said I can never requite your kindness, and if Madame ever needs a stout arm and a good sword, it is my hope she will call on that of Auriac.'

'Perhaps I may—some day,' she answered, 'for the blood of my fathers runs strong in me, but I think Maître Palin here will tell you that I am wrong, and that the sword is accursed.'

'Unless it be drawn in the service of God, madame,' put in the Huguenot gravely.

'Mon père Palin has been a man-at-arms in his day,' said Madame, 'and has fought at Jarnac and Moncontour. He is therefore of the church militant, as you see.'

'I am proud to meet so brave a soldier as I doubt not you were, Maître Palin. We took different sides; but all that is passed now, and Huguenot and Leaguer are merged in the common name of Frenchman.'

'Long live the King!' said Madame gaily; but Palin answered sadly:

'Would it were so. But to my eyes there are still dark clouds ahead. We have no longer Henry of Navarre, but Henry of France; no longer a prince of the true faith, but a pervert.'

'His Majesty will be delighted to hear that,' put in d'Ayen; but Madame took no more notice of him than of a fly.

'Hush! mon père,' and she raised a warning hand, 'I will have no word against the King. M. le Chevalier is right, we are all one again, as France should ever be.'

'Amen!' answered Palin; 'but too much blood has been shed for this compromise to be accepted. The way is dark—but I will say no more,' and the old croaker dropped a half length behind.

A turn in the avenue at this moment brought us in full view of the grey walls of Bidache, and on the wide stone staircase that led to the great hall we saw the servants of the household assembled. Madame waved her hand in greeting, and the cheer which broke from them was drowned in the boom of the bombard from the keep. As the blue wreaths of smoke curled upwards a little ball ran to the top of the flagstaff on the keep, and the next moment the banner of Tremouille, with the arms of Rochemars of Bidache quartered thereon, spread out its folds to the morning, and Madame was come home once more.

We dined an hour or so later than usual, Madame, d'Ayen, Palin, and myself at the high table, and the rest of the household with all Bidache at the next. Madame, who seemed in nowise fatigued by her long ride, was in the gayest of spirits and rippled with talk. As if thinking she had punished d'Ayen enough, she directed all her conversation towards him, and the old beau was in his element in discussing the intrigues of court life, and, let me add, interesting, for his memory went far back. Madame spoke of the Edict, but for which they would never have been at Bidache; of the surrender of Mercoeur, and of the betrothal of his daughter Francoise de Lorraine, the greatest heiress in France, to César Monsieur, the little Duc de Vendôme; of the Constable and his disappointment thereat; of the squabbles between M. de Bar and his wife, the King's sister; of court gossip and court scandal, until Palin's face grew sour, and I felt a disappointment within me, as she prattled on like some Paris beauty, whose sole thoughts were of masques at the Louvre and hunting parties at Vincennes. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as she discussed with d'Ayen whether the ruff or the collar drooped in the Italian manner was the more becoming, and whether the cinque pace dance was more enjoyable than the minuet. Pardieu! Their speech was all frill and furbelows. But for a word thrown in here and there, I sipped my Romanée in silence, wondering at this flow of talk, and wondering, too, at this change of front, and if I was wrong in my estimate of Madame. As she talked, my head for a moment overcame my heart, and I began to judge her in that way, showing, in doing so, my ignorance of that complex thing—a woman.

At last the dinner came to a close, and Palin, rising, opened his lips with a long thanksgiving, to which all, Madame included, listened devoutly. Our hostess then retired, and we three were left together in an absolute silence. Had it been any other place I would have felt bound to call d'Ayen to account, and ask him to name a proxy if he was unable to meet me by reason of his age. But as it was this was impossible, and I contented myself with a frigid reserve, in which I was joined by the Huguenot. He looked from one to the other of us with a satirical smile on his thin lips, and then rising made a slight bow and left us to ourselves. As we returned to our seats from our response to his greeting, I blurted out the questions:

'Who is M. d'Ayen? Why is he here?'

'Who is he? It is enough to say he is one of those men who live on the follies of kings. And it is enough to say that his company is forced upon us.'

'I have heard that before; but Madame seemed to like him well enough at dinner.' I felt I was wrong as I said this, but the words came out.

'He is here by the King's orders, by the orders of Henry the Great,' said Palin with bitterness. 'Monsieur, you seem a man of honour, what do you think of a king who would force a marriage on a woman to——' and he whispered words in my ear which struck me speechless.

I could not believe him. It was incredible. Was this the hero king, the gallant soldier, the father of his people? It could not be true.

Palin saw the doubt on my face.

'Even you,' he said; 'well, go to Paris and see.'

'I shall go, I am going to-day.'

'It will be at the risk of your life.'

'Maître Palin, there is the King's Peace, and even if it were not so I will go.'

He looked at me long and attentively: 'Let it be so,' he muttered to himself, and then loudly, 'Well, Chevalier, I have warned you; if you go you will want a safe lodging—seek out Pantin in the Rue des Deux Mondes, and mention my name. The house faces the Pont Neuf, you can't miss it.'

'Thank you, I will do so.'

Then after a few minutes more of talk we wished each other good-bye and parted.

As for myself, I was on the cross with what I had heard. My mind was racked with doubt, and at last in despair I sought my own room to think over the matter. I could make nothing of it, turn it which way I would. To me Palin's story was incredible. But yet it explained and made clear so much! It was not to offer my sword only to the King that I would now go to Paris, it would be to save the woman I loved if possible. How I was to do this I had no definite idea, the one thing at present in my mind was Paris, Paris. I therefore gave the necessary orders to Jacques to make ready to start at once, and, descending the winding staircase of the tower wherein my room lay, sought the great hall with the view of either finding Madame there, or of sending some one with the request to permit my waiting on her to say good-bye. The staircase ended in a long dark corridor, hung on each side with trophies of the chase, old armour, and frayed and tattered banners. At the end of this was an arched doorway hidden by a heavy curtain, and above the arch was a half-length portrait of a man. The painter had not flattered his subject; the long pointed face with its grey beard was bent forward slightly, there was a cynical curve to the lips, and the eyes looked down on me as if with a laugh in them. I had passed this picture fifty times before, but had never stayed to examine it. Somehow I did so on this occasion, and as I read the inscription 'Antoine de la Tremouille' on the frame, the thin lips appeared to lengthen out into a grin. For a moment a chill fell on me, and then, laughing at myself for a fool, I lifted the curtain and passed into the great hall. At first I thought it was empty, but a second glance showed me Madame, seated at a small table, in the recess of the bow window that overlooked the park. Her face, leaning on her hand, was half averted from me, and I caught, a glimpse of a small foot resting on one of the lions' heads in which the legs of the table finished. The foot was beating up and down as if in unison with the impatience of Madame's thoughts, but I could see nothing of her face beyond its contour. She was, as usual, robed in black, wearing no jewels except a gold collar round her neck. For a moment I stood in silence, looking at her, half thinking that here was a chance to speak out what was in my heart, and then stilling the words by the thought of how impossible it was for a poor man to woo a rich woman.

Through the open window I could see the woods, ruddy in their autumn foliage, and ever and again came the sound of cheerful voices, marking where the good people of Bidache were holding revelry in honour of their mistress' return.

As I stood, hat in hand, Madame suddenly turned with a little start, and hastily concealed something as she caught sight of me. I went up at once, and she rose to meet me.

'I have come to say farewell, madame,' and I held out my hand.

'So soon,' she said, as she took it for a moment, her eyes not meeting mine.

'Yes—Paris is far—and it will be well for me to be there as quickly as possible.'

'Paris! You are surely not—' and she stopped.

'Why not, madame?'

'Oh! I don't know,' and hastily, 'one sometimes says things that don't exactly convey one's meaning. But I can imagine why you go to Paris—you are tired of Bidache, and pine for the great city.'

'It is not that; but,' and I pointed to the rolling woods and wide lands that spread before us, 'I have no responsibilities like these—and Auriac, which stands by the sea, takes care of itself—besides, I have my way to make as yet.'

'You have friends?'

'One at any rate, and that was restored to me by you,' and I glanced to the hilt of my sword.

'Man does not want a better; but you have another—here at Bidache, and I shall be in Paris soon, too, and—this place is dull. It kills me.'

'And yet you have not been here for three years—madame, are all the masques at the Louvre so attractive that you can desert your home, where your name is honoured as that of the King, for the follies of the court?'

I spoke with some bitterness, for I was sore at what I had heard at dinner, and she glanced up at me in a slight surprise. Then her lips parted in a half smile. 'Chevalier, will you answer me a question or so?'

'Why not?'

'You like gaiety, cheerfulness, light, do you not?'

'Assuredly.'

'You sometimes amuse yourself by gaming, do you not—and losing more than you can afford?'

I bowed in simple wonder.

'That friend of yours at your side has not been drawn only in battle, has it?'

De Gonnor's white face rose up before me, and I felt my forehead burn. I could make no answer. Madame looked at me for a moment, and then dropped a stately little courtesy. 'Monsieur, you are very good to advise me, and I take your reproof. But surely what is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose. Is not the Chevalier d'Auriac a little hasty? How is it that he is not at home at Auriac, instead of hastening to Paris as fast as he can—to the masques at the Louvre, and the salons of Zamet?'

'It is different,' I stammered.

'Ah, yes, it is different,' with a superb scorn; 'I saw you pull a half league of face as I talked at dinner. Monsieur can go here. Monsieur can go there. He may dance at a revel from curfew till cockcrow, he may stake his estates on a throw of the dice, he may run his friend through for a word spoken in jest—it is all comme il faut. But, Madame—she must sit at home with her distaff, her only relaxation a prêche, her amusement and joy to await Monsieur's return—is not that your idea, Chevalier?' She was laughing, but it was with a red spot on each cheek.

'Madame,' I replied, 'when I was but fifteen I joined the Cardinal de Joyeuse, and from that time to now my life has been passed in the field; I am therefore but a soldier, rough of speech, unused to argument, apt to say what is in my mind bluntly. I was wrong to make the remark I did, and ask your pardon; but, madame, brush away the idea that in this case the sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose—I use your own words—think what it would be if all womankind acted on what you have preached—think what would happen if the illusions that surround you, and which are now your strength, are dispelled. The worst of men have some memory of a home made happy by a woman, sister, mother, or wife, and the return to which was like a glimpse into heaven—the thought of which often made them better men—do not destroy this. And, madame, there is yet another thing—man is a fighting animal, and the final issues of an affair come to the sword—where would a struggle between this hand and mine end?—'in my eagerness I took her small white fingers in mine as I spoke, and shut them within my palm—'Madame,' I continued, 'rest assured that the glory and strength of a woman is in her weakness, and when she puts aside that armour she is lost. Think not that you have no mission—it is at a mother's knee that empires have been lost and won, that generations have, and will be, cursed or blessed.'

I stood over her as I spoke; I was a tall man then and strong, and whether it was my speech or what I know not, but I felt the hand I held tremble in mine, and her eyes were turned from me.

'Let me say good-bye now,' I continued, 'and thank you again for what you have done.'

She shook her head in deprecation.

'Very well, then, I will not recall it to you; but I can never forget—life is sweet of savour, and you gave it back to me. We will meet again in Paris—till then good-bye.'

'At the Louvre?' As she glanced up at me, trying to smile, I saw her eyes were moist with tears, and then—but the wide lands of Bidache were before me, and I held myself in somehow.

'Good-bye.'

I turned, and without another look passed out of the hall. As I went down the stairway I saw on the terrace to my right the figure of d'Ayen. He had changed his costume to the slashed and puffed dress which earned for the gay gentlemen of Henry's court the nickname of 'Bigarrets,' from M. de Savoye's caustic tongue, and his wizened face stood out of his snowy ruff in all the glow of its fresh paint. With one foot resting on the parapet, he was engaged in throwing crumbs to the peacocks that basked on the turf beneath him. I would have passed, but he called out.

'M. le Chevalier—a word.'

'A word then only, sir, I am in haste.'

'A bad thing, haste,' he said, staring at me from head to foot; 'these woods would fetch a good price, would they not?' and he waved his hand towards the wide-stretching forest.

'You mistake, M. d'Ayen, I am not a timber merchant.'

'Oh! a good price,' he went on, not heeding my reply. 'M. le Chevalier, I was going to say I will have them down when I am master here. They obstruct the view.'

I could have flung him from the terrace, but held myself in and turned on my heel.

'Adieu! Chevalier,' he called out after me, 'and remember what I have said.'

I took no notice. The man was old, and his gibing tongue his only weapon. I ran down the steps to where Jacques was, ready for me with the horses. Springing into the saddle, I put spurs to the beast, and we dashed down the avenue, but as I did so I yielded to an impulse, and glanced up to the window—it was empty.

CHAPTER V

[A GOOD DEED COMES HOME TO ROOST]

We dashed through the streets of Bidache, arousing the village dogs asleep in the yellow-sunlight to a chorus of disapprobation. About a dozen sought to revenge their disturbed slumbers, and, following the horses, snapped viciously at their heels; but we soon distanced them, and flinging a curse or so after us, in dog language, they gave up the pursuit, and returned to blink away the afternoon. It was my intention to keep to the right of Ivry, and after crossing the Eure, head straight for Paris, which I would enter either by way of Versailles or St. Germains; it mattered little what road, and there was plenty of time to decide.

I have, however, to confess here to a weakness, and that was my disappointment that Madame had not stayed to see the last of me. Looking back upon it, I am perfectly aware that I had no right to have any feeling in the matter whatsoever; but let any one who has been placed similarly to myself be asked to lay bare his heart—I would stake my peregrine, Etoile, to a hedge crow on the result.

Madame knew I loved her. She must have seen the hunger in my eyes, as I watched her come and go, in the days when I lay at Ste. Geneviève, wounded to death. She must have felt the words I crushed down, I know not how, when we parted. She knew it all. Every woman knows how a man stands towards her. I was going away. I might never see her again. It was little to have waved me Godspeed as I rode on my way, and yet that little was not given.

In this manner, like the fool I was, I rasped and fretted, easing my unhappy temper by letting the horse feel the rowels, and swearing at myself for a whining infant that wept for a slice of the moon.

For a league or so we galloped along the undulating ground which sloped towards the ford near Ezy; but as we began to approach the river, the country, studded with apple orchards, and trim with hedgerows of holly and hawthorn, broke into a wild and rugged moorland, intersected by ravines, whose depths were concealed by a tall undergrowth of Christ's Thorn and hornbeam, whilst beyond this, in russet, in sombre greens, and greys that faded into absolute blue, stretched the forests and woods of Anet and Croth-Sorel.

In the flood of the mellow sunlight the countless bells of heather enamelling the roadside were clothed in royal purple, and the brown tips of the bracken glistened like shafts of beaten gold. At times the track took its course over the edge of a steep bank, and here we slackened pace, picking our way over the crumbling earth, covered with grass, whose growth was choked by a network of twining cranesbill, gay with its crimson flowers, and listening to the dreamy humming of the restless bees, and the cheerful, if insistent, skirl of the grass crickets, from their snug retreats amidst the yarrow and sweet-scented thyme.

As we slid rather than rode down one of these banks, my horse cast a shoe, and this put a stop to any further hard riding until the mishap could be repaired.

'There is a smith at Ezy, monsieur,' said Jacques, 'where we can get what we want done, and then push on to Rouvres, where there is good accommodation at the Grand Cerf.'

'I suppose Ezy can give us nothing in that way?'

'I doubt much, monsieur, for the place sank to nothing when Monseigneur the Duc d'Aumale was exiled, and the King, as monsieur is aware, has given the castle to Madame Gabrielle, for her son, little César Monsieur—the Duc de Vendôme.'

'Morbleu! It is well that Madame de Beaufort has not set eyes on Auriac—eh, Jacques?' and I laughed as I saw the huge grey outlines of Anet rising in the foreground, and thought how secure my barren, stormbeaten rock was from the rapacity of the King's mistress.

Jacques came of a rugged race, and my words roused him.

'But M. le Chevalier would never let Auriac fall into the hands of the King or his Madame? We could man the tower with a hundred stout hearts and——'

'Swing on the gibbet at the castle gates in two weeks, Jacques. But remember, we are loyal subjects now, and are going to Paris to serve the King.'

'As for me,' answered Jacques, obstinately, 'I serve my master, the Chevalier de Breuil d'Auriac, and none besides.'

In this manner we jogged along, making but slow progress, and the sun was setting when we came in view of the willow-lined banks of the Eure, and entered the walnut groves of the outlying forest in which Ezy lay. As we approached we saw that the village was three parts deserted, and the ruined orchards and smokeless chimneys told their own tale. Turning a bend of the grass-grown road we came upon a few children shaking walnuts from a tree, about two hundred paces from us, whilst a man and a woman stood hard by observing them. At the sight of us the woman turned to the man with an alarmed gesture, and he half drew a sword—we saw the white flash, and then, changing his mind, ran off into the forest. The children followed suit, sliding down the trunk of the tree, and fleeing into the brushwood, looking for all the world like little brown rabbits as they dashed into the gaps in the thorn.

As for the woman, she turned slowly and began to walk towards the village.

'They are very bashful here, Jacques,' I said, quickening my pace.

'Except the lady, monsieur,' and then we trotted up alongside her.

Reining in, I asked if she could direct me to the blacksmith's, for there seemed no sign of a forge about. She made no answer but stopped and stared at us through her hair, which fell in thick masses over her forehead and neck. As she did this I saw that she appeared to be of the superior peasant class, but evidently sunk in poverty. She was young, and her features so correct that with circumstances a little altered she would have been more than ordinarily good-looking. At present, however, the face was wan with privation, and there was a frightened look in her eyes. I repeated my question in as gentle a tone as I could command, and she found tongue.

'There is none here, monsieur; but at Anet you will find everything. That is the way, see!' and she pointed down a winding glade, lit up here and there with bars of sunlight until it faded into a dark tunnel of over-arching trees. I felt convinced from her tone and manner that she was trying to put us off, and Jacques burst in.

'Nonsense, my girl, I know there is a smith at Ezy, for but two days back one of Madame of Bidache's horses was shod here. You don't know your own village—try and think.'

'There is none,' she said shortly.

'Very well,' said Jacques, 'we won't trouble you further, and we will find out for ourselves. It will not be difficult.'

We went on a pace or so, when she called out after us.

'Monsieur!'

'What is it?'

She stood twisting the ends of her apron between her fingers and then, suddenly,

'Monsieur, pardon, I will guide you.'

'Oh! that is all very well,' began Jacques; but I interrupted him, wondering a little to myself what this meant.

'Very well and thanks.'

She dropped a courtesy, and then asked with a timid eagerness,

'Monsieur does not come from the Blaisois?'

'Ma foi! No! This is hardly the way from the Orléannois; but lead on, please, it grows late.'

She glanced up again, a suspicion in her eyes, and then without another word went on before us. We followed her down the winding grass-grown lane, past a few straggling cottages where not a soul was visible, and up through the narrow street, where the sight of us drove the few wretched inhabitants into their tumble-down houses, as if we had the plague itself at our saddle bows. Finally we stopped before a cottage of some pretensions to size; but decayed and worn, as all else was in this village, which seemed but half alive. Over the entrance to the cottage hung a faded signboard, marking that it was the local hostelry, and to the right was a small shed, apparently used as a workshop; and here the smith was, seated on a rough bench, gazing into space.

He rose at our approach and made as if he would be off; but his daughter, as the young woman turned out to be, gave him a sign to stay, and he halted, muttering something I could not catch; and as I looked at the gloomy figure of the man, and the musty inn, I said out aloud, 'Morbleu! But it is well we have time to mend our trouble and make Rouvres; thanks, my girl, you might have told us at once instead of making all this fuss,' and bending from the saddle I offered our guide a coin. She fairly snatched at it, and then, colouring up, turned and ran into the inn. I threw another coin to the smith and bade him set about shoeing the horse.

He shuffled this way and that, and then answered dully that he would do the job willingly, but it would take time—two hours.

'But it will be night by then,' I expostulated, 'and I have to go on; I cannot stay here.'

'As monsieur chooses,' answered the clod; 'but, you see, I have nothing ready, and I am slow now; I cannot help it.'

'This is a devil of a place,' I exclaimed, resigning myself to circumstances, and, dismounting, handed the reins to Jacques. As I did so I heard voices from the inn, one apparently that of the girl, and the other that of a man, and it would seem that she was urging something; but what it was I could not catch, nor was I curious as to the point of discussion; but it struck me that as we had to wait here two hours it would be well to inquire if I could get some refreshment for ourselves and a feed for the beasts. For answer to my question I got a gruff 'Go and ask my daughter,' from the smith, who turned as he spoke and began to fumble with his tools. I felt my temper rising hotly, but stayed my arm, and bidding Jacques keep an eye on the horses, stepped towards the door of the inn. As I put my hand on it to press it open some one from within made an effort to keep it shut; but I was in no mood to be trifled with further, and, pushing back the door without further ceremony, stepped in. In doing so I thrust some one back a yard or so, and found that it was the girl who was trying to bar me out. Ashamed of the violence I had shown, I began to apologise, whilst she stood before me rubbing her elbow, and her face flushed and red. The room was bare and drear beyond description. There were a couple of rough tables, a chair or so, an iron pot simmering over a fire of green wood whose pungent odour filled the chamber. In a corner a man lay apparently asleep, a tattered cloak drawn over his features so as to entirely conceal them. I felt in a moment that this was the stranger who had fled on our approach, and that he was playing fox. Guessing there was more behind this than appeared, but not showing any suspicions in the least, I addressed the girl.

'I am truly sorry, and hope you are not hurt; had I known it was you I should have been gentler. I have but come to ask if I can get some wine for ourselves and food for the horses.'

'It is nothing,' she stammered, 'I am not hurt. There is but a little soup here, and for the horses—the grass that grows outside.'

'There is some wine there at any rate,' and I rested my eye on a horn cup, down whose side a red drop was trickling, and then let it fall on the still figure in the corner of the room. 'There is no fear,' I continued, 'you will be paid. I do not look like a gentleman of the road, I trust?'

She shrank back at my words, and it appeared as if a hand moved suddenly under the cloak of the man who lay feigning sleep in the room, and the quick movement was as if he had clutched the haft of a dagger. I was never a brawler or blusterer, and least of all did I wish to worry these poor people; but the times were such that a man's safety lay chiefly in himself, for the writ of the King ran weak in the outlying districts. The whole business, too, was so strange that I was determined to fathom it; and, unbuckling my sword, I placed it on a table so as to be ready on the instant, and then, seating myself on a stool beside it, said somewhat sharply,

'Enough, my girl; get me some wine and take out some to my servant. This will pay for it,' and I rang a fat crown piece on the table. 'Hurry your father if you can, and I will be gone the moment my horse is shod.'

My tone was one not to be denied, and taking up the money she turned to a cupboard and with shaking fingers drew a bottle therefrom and placed it before me. Filling a cup I asked her to bear it out to Jacques, and then leaning back against the wall took a pull at my own goblet, and judge of my surprise when I found I was tasting nothing short of d'Arbois of the '92 vintage!

As I sipped my wine, and speculated how it came there, the girl came back, and seeing that matters were as before began to attend to her cooking. Whatever she had said to the smith apparently had the effect of rousing him to greater activity, for through the open door I heard the puffing of his bellows, and very soon came the clang, clang of his hammer as he beat out a shoe.

It was getting dark now within the room, over which the flames of the fire occasionally blazed up and cast a fitful and uncertain light. Outside, however, there was a moon; and, in a few minutes at the most, my horse would be shod and I would have to continue my journey without having discovered what this little mystery meant. I could not help being a little amused at the manner in which my bashful friend, whose face was so well covered up, kept himself a prisoner in his corner. But at this moment the girl's cooking was finished, and the savoury odour of it was apparently more than he could endure, for he suddenly sprang to his feet exclaiming,

'Nom du diable! I am sick of this, and hungry as a wolf. Give me my supper, Marie, and if he wants to take me let him do so if he can; he will have to fight an old soldier first.'

As he spoke I distinctly saw his hand indicate me, and with an alarmed cry the girl sprang between us. It flashed upon me that my gentleman was, after all, only some one who was wanted, and that he regarded me with as much apprehension as I had regarded him with caution.

'Tush!' I said, 'you good people make a great fuss over nothing. I certainly do not want to take you, my man, and neither you nor your little sweetheart here need be in the least alarmed.'

I had hardly finished speaking when he rushed forward.

'It is the Chevalier! It is Monsieur d'Auriac! Idiot, turkey, pig that I am to have kept my eyes shut and not recognised you. Monsieur, do you not know me—Nicholas—your sergeant, whom you saved from the rope?'

'Where you appear likely to go again, Nicholas; but what are you skulking about here for?' The wood in the fireplace blazed up as I spoke, and I saw Nicholas shift uneasily and look at the girl, who had moved to his side, and stood with her hands holding on to his cloak.

'This place was my home once, monsieur,' he said bitterly, 'and I have come back to it.'

'I see you have, sergeant; but why in this way?'

'Monsieur, I was driven to straits and did a thing. Then they hunted me from Dreux to Rouvres, from Rouvres to Anet——'

'Where you appear to have made free with the duke's cellar, eh?'

'It is not so, monsieur,' burst in the girl; 'neither he nor we have done that. The wine you have drunk was a gift from madame the duchess.'

There was truth in every line of her features, in the fierce little gesture with which she turned upon me in defence of her lover. I was sorry to let my tongue bite so hard, and said so, and went on with my inquiries.

'And from Anet you came here?'

'It is but a stone-throw,' Nicholas answered, 'and I had a business in hand. After which we were going away.'

Whilst he was speaking Marie lit a lantern, and I saw that my ex-sergeant was evidently in the lowest water. He had been a smart soldier, but was now unkempt and dirty, and his eye had the shifty look of a hunted animal. He wore a rusty corselet and a rustier chain cap on his head, drawn over a bandage that covered his ears. As my eye fell on the bandage I called to mind the mutilation that had been inflicted on him, a brand that had cast him out of the pale of all honest men. Nicholas watched my glance, and ground his teeth with rage.

'I will kill him,' he hissed, 'kill him like the dog he is. Monsieur, that was my business!'

'Then de Gomeron——'

'Is but an hour's ride away, monsieur—at Anet.'

'At Anet! What does he do there?'

'Monsieur,' he answered hoarsely, taking me by the sleeve of my doublet, 'I know not; but a fortnight ago he came here with a score of lances at his back and the King's commission in his pocket, and he lords it as if he were the duke himself. Yesterday a great noble came up from the Blaisois, and another whose name I know not has come from Paris; and they hatch treason against the King. Monsieur, I can prove this. You saved my life once, and, beast as I am now, I am still grateful. Come with me. I will settle my score with him; and to-morrow you can bear news to the court that will make you a great man.'

It was one of those moments that require instant decision. I was certainly not going to assist Nicholas in committing a murder. Any such plan of his could be easily stopped, but if what the man said was true, then he had given me information that might be of the greatest value to me. If it was false—well then, I should have a fool's errand for my pains, but be otherwise none the worse off. There was no time to question him in detail; for a second I was silent, and Marie looked from one to another of us with wide-open eyes.

'You have a horse?' I asked.

'Yes, monsieur. It is hidden in the forest not three hundred toises from here.'

'We are ready. Monsieur le Chevalier,' and Jacques' voice broke in upon us, Jacques himself standing in the doorway. My mind was made up that instant, and I decided to take the chance.

'Jacques,' I said, 'I have business here to-night, which must be done alone. Ride on therefore yourself to Rouvres and await me at the Grand Cerf. If anyone tries to hinder you, say that you ride for your master in the King's name. If I am not at Rouvres by morning, make your way to Septeuil. If I do not arrive in two days, go home and do the best you can for yourself. You follow?

'Monsieur.'

'Adieu, then; and Marie, here is something as a wedding portion for you,' and I thrust a handful of gold pieces into her palm, and, being moved by many things, added: 'When this is over, you and Nicholas go to Auriac. I will arrange for you there.'

The girl stared blankly at me for a moment, then suddenly caught my hand and kissed it, and then with a rapid movement flung herself into her lover's arms.

'No,' she said, 'no; take back your gift, monsieur. He will not go.'

'Nonsense, Marie,' and Nicholas gently released her arms. 'I have come back to you to mend my ways, and must begin by paying my debts. Come, monsieur.'

CHAPTER VI

['GREEN AS A JADE CUP']

We passed the lacework of trees that bordered the skirts of the forest, Nicholas and I. On our left we could hear the drumming of a horse's hoofs growing fainter and more faint, as Jacques rode through the night to Rouvres. Marie's wailing came to us from behind, and Nicholas, who was walking doggedly along by the neck of my horse, stopped short suddenly and looked back. Turning in my saddle I looked back too, and there she was, in shadowy outline, at the ruined gates of the inn, and again her sobbing cry came to us.

'Morbleu!' I muttered to myself as I saw Nicholas' face twitch in the moonlight; 'I must end this at once,' and then sharply to my companion, 'What stays you? Pick your heart up, man! One would think you go into the bottomless pit, you walk with so tender a foot!'

'I don't know what is in the bottomless pit, monsieur, and, like other fools, would probably go there on the run; but I do know the mercy of M. de Gomeron, and—I am not wont to be so, but my heart is as heavy as lead.'

'Very well; then let us go back. It is like to be a fool's errand with such a guide.'

My words, and the tone they were uttered in, touched him on the raw, and he swung round.

'I will go, monsieur; this way—to the right.'

We turned sharply behind the silently waving arms of a hedge of hornbeam, and it was a relief to find that this cut away all further chance of seeing the pitiful figure at the gates of the inn. Nicholas drew the folds of his frayed cloak over his head, as if to shut out all sound, and hurried onwards—a tall figure, lank and dark, that flitted before me within the shadow of the hedgerow. My horse's knees were hidden by the undergrowth on either side of the winding track, that twined and twisted like a snake under the tangle of grass and weed. This waste over which we passed, grey-green in the moonlight, and swaying in the wind, rolled like a heaving, sighing sea to where it was brought up abruptly by the dark mass of the forest, standing up solidly against the sky as though it were a high coast line. As we forced our way onwards, the swish of the grass was as the churning of water at the bows of a boat, and one could well imagine that the long, shaking plashes of white, mottling the moving surface before us, was caused by the breaking of uneasy water into foam. Of a truth these white plashes were but marguerites.

From the warm, dark depths at our feet myriads of grasshoppers shrilled to each other to be of good cheer, and ever and again we heard the sudden plunge and bustle of a startled hare, as it scuttered away in a mad fear at nothing.

'You count your toises long here, Nicholas,' I remarked, for something to say, as we spattered in and out of a shallow pool; and the gnats, asleep on its surface, rose in a brown cloud, and hummed their anger about our ears.

'They are as we reckon them, monsieur. But a few steps further and we will get my horse; and after that there is no difficulty, for I know each track and byepath of these woods.'

'And I wager that many a fat buck has dropped here to your arquebus on moonlight nights such as this.'

'One does not learn the forest for nothing, M. le Chevalier; but the bucks fell lawfully enough. My grandfather came here as huntsman to Madame Diane; my father succeeded him, and I had followed my father; but for the war——'

'And a smart soldier you made. I remember that when I cut you down from a nasty position I had not time then to hear how you came in such plight. How was it? Tell me the truth.'

'I have almost forgotten how to do so. I will try, however, and make it short. When M. le Marquis bore you off after the duel and the escape of the prisoners, the Captain de Gomeron turned on me, and, damning me from head to toe, swore he would flay me to ribbons. Feeling sure he would do so, and careless of the consequences, I answered back—with the result you know. Marked as I was, it was useless to seek employment anywhere, and then I became what I am, and will end on the wheel.'

'I don't think so,' I said; but he interrupted,

'At any rate not before I have paid my debt, and the bill presses.'

I had purposely worked up to this.

'See here, sergeant,' I said, 'no nonsense. Brush off that bee you have on your head. You are here to-day to attend to my business, not your own. You say you are sick of your present life. Well, I have means to give you another chance, and I will do so; but I repeat again "no nonsense." You understand?'

He stood silently for a moment, looking this way and that. We were within a yard or so of the forest, and its shadow covered him, all but his face, which was turned to me, drawn and white. He was struggling against old habits of absolute obedience, and they won.

'I understand, M. le Chevalier.'

'Very well, then, go on, and remember what I have said.'

He turned and stepped forwards; 'This way, and mind the branches overhead,' and we entered the forest, my horse leaping a shallow ditch that separated it from the grass land. We took a soft turf-covered path, overhung by branches, and went on for about fifty paces before coming to a halt, which we did in a small irregular patch of trees that lay in the full flood of the moonlight. In the darkness beyond I heard the gentle murmur of a small spring, and then the distinct movement of a heavy body and the clink of iron. My hand reached to my holster in a flash, but Nicholas saw the gesture, and said, 'It is the horse. A moment, monsieur,' and lifting up the curtain of leaves beside him, from which, as he did so, the dew fell in a soft shower, he dived into the thicket, to reappear again leading the long black length of his horse. It struck me at once that the beast was of uncommon size, and this, and the white star on its forehead, brought to my mind the recollection of de Rône's great English charger, Couronne.

'Harnibleu!' I burst out; 'you seem to be in the lowest water, and here you have a horse worth a hundred pistoles at the least!'

'Did you see her by daylight, monsieur, you would know that twice a hundred pistoles would not purchase her. Do you not know her, M. le Chevalier? This is Couronne, M. de Rône's charger!'

'Couronne! I thought so. And how the devil do you come by her?'

'Her reins were in the wind when I caught her; a fair prize of war, and M. de Rône will never need her more. Since I got her she has saved me twice, and if I can help it we shall never part.'

He stroked the mare's sleek neck, wet and glistening with the dew, and, quickly mounting, swung her round to the bit and laid her beside me. It was not the time for talk, and we drew out of the clearing in single file, and, after forcing our way through the wet and shining leaves around us, found a bridle path. Along this my guide went at a trot. On either side of us the silent tree trunks stretched to an infinite distance in gloomy colonnades. Overhead, the boughs swayed and shook sadly; below, the dry leaves hissed and crackled. Once, when we had slackened pace for a moment, the sullen groaning of an old and very savage boar came to us, and we heard him grinding his tusks in his lair of juniper. At another time we surprised a number of deer in an open glade, and, startled by our sudden appearance, they dashed off with a wild rush into the forest, and then all was still. Beyond the glade the roadway widened, so that two might keep abreast, and down this we went at a gallop, to find ourselves once more in the endless aisles of the forest, passing through a ghostly light that barely enabled the horses to pick their way in and out amongst the huge moss-grown trees standing in measureless numbers around us, and where each pace took them fetlock-deep into the carpet of wet and withered leaves. Amidst the creaking of the boughs overhead, and the churn of the leaves at our feet, we rode on, nose to tail, Nicholas leading the way with unerring certainty. What his thoughts were, I knew not; but as I looked at the square outlines of the figure before me I could not but feel pity for this man, reduced to such a condition. True, the life of a common soldier was not such as to make a man squeamish about many things, but the ex-sergeant had always struck me as being a man of a different stamp to the generality of his fellows, and it was a thousand pities to see him forced to be a rogue; de Gomeron had truly much to answer for. But if I could I would mend this matter.

I had done too little good in the world to neglect the opportunity that seemed to present itself to me, so as we went on I weaved a little plan to give the man another start in life. I had already a rough idea when I parted with those gold pieces to Marie, but pulled all the threads together as we rode along, fully resolving to give my plan effect as soon as the business I had in hand was done. And of this business I could not hope much. We were going straight into the lion's mouth, as it were, for, whether de Gomeron held the King's commission or not, he had twenty lances at his back at Anet; and who on earth would question him if a crop-eared thief and his companion were slain. Besides, even if we were not discovered, I could see no way of laying hold of the tail of the conspiracy by floundering through a measureless forest at night, and finally skulking round the castle like a homeless cat. I half began to repent me of the whole affair, and to wish that I had tossed the venture up and down a trifle more in my mind before I embarked upon it. At the worst, however, perhaps it meant nothing more than a night in the forest, and, the next day, a tired horse and man. On the other hand, there was, or rather is, such a thing as luck in the world, and did I make a discovery of any consequence my hand would be much stronger. Perchance, indeed, I might be assured of success, and then—other things might happen. Whilst I was thus ruminating, Nicholas suddenly pulled up, and held out a warning hand.

'What is it?' I asked in a low tone.

'Hist!' he said, and then in a rapid whisper, 'another fifty yards and we come to the open. Anet lies before us, and the rest of the way must be done on foot.'

'And the horses?'

'Fasten them here. You have a picketing rope?'

'Yes—round the neck of the horse.'

'Good; I had not noticed it before, and was half afraid you had none, monsieur.'

The horses were soon securely fastened, and, when this was done, Nicholas spoke low and earnestly: 'Should we be discovered, monsieur, there is no use making a standing fight. The odds are too many. When we come to the open I will show you a withered oak. This is exactly opposite where the horses are—in this direction. If we are pursued, make for the forest, and lie down. The chances are they will pass us by. Then to the horses and follow me. If I go down—ride northwards for your life.'

'How the devil am I to find my way through the trees?'

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'That was my affair.'

We had gone too far to go back, however, and placing my pistols in my belt, and loosening my sword in its sheath, I followed Nicholas with cautious footsteps. As he said, in about fifty yards we came to the open, and halted close to a huge oak, bald of all leaves, with its gnarled trunk riven and scarred by lightning. Before us a level stretch of turf sloped gently down towards what was once an ornamental lake, but now overgrown with the rankest weeds. In the centre of the lake was a small island, on which was set a summerhouse, fashioned like a Moorish kiosque, and beyond this arose, huge and square, the enormous façade of the chateau. It was in darkness except for an oriel window above a long terrace on the east wing, which was bright with light, and in the courtyard below there was evidently a fire. Men were singing around it, and a lilting chorus came to our ears.

Nicholas pointed to the window, then looked at the priming of his wheel lock pistol and whispered hoarsely, 'We must keep in the shadow, monsieur. Stay—this is the tree; you cannot mistake it, and now come on. Be careful not to trip or stumble, and, above all, do not cough.'

No worse warning than the latter could have been given to me, and I all but choked myself in my efforts to restrain an almost uncontrollable desire either to sneeze or cough. Luckily, I managed to hold myself in. Inch by inch we crept onwards, keeping well in the shadow, and edging our way round the frills of the forest. I could hear Nicholas breathing hard, and from time to time he stopped to rest; but I was a glad man to find I was not winded, and that therefore I must be truly as strong again as ever I was. At last, by dint of creeping, crawling, and wriggling along, we worked our way to within twenty paces of the terrace, above which the stained glass of the oriel window glowed with light. Here we came to a stop and watched. Sometimes we saw a shadow moving backwards and forwards in the light of the window, then the shadow was joined by another, and both stopped, as if the two men to whom they belonged were in earnest converse. The merriment from the courtyard was unceasing, and whatever may have been the dark plots weaving upstairs, below there was nothing but the can and the catch.

'We must get to the window,' I whispered with an inquiring look.

'By the terrace,' said Nicholas in answer, and as he spoke there came to us the faint but distinct sound of a horn, apparently from the very depths of the forest, and the notes roused a brace of hounds in the courtyard, who bayed into the night. Nicholas gripped my arm, and I turned to him in surprise. His face was pale, he was shaking all over like an aspen, and his black eyes were dilated with fear.

'Did you hear that, monsieur?' he said thickly.

'Diable! What? I hear three different things—dogs, men, and someone blowing a horn.'

'Then you did hear it—the horn?'

'Yes. What of it? No doubt a post on its way to Anet.'

'No post ever rang that blast, monsieur. That is the Wild Huntsman, and the blast means death.'

As he spoke it came again, wild and shrill with an eerie flourish, the like of which I had never heard before. The dogs seemed to go mad with the sound, there was a hubbub in the courtyard, and someone in the chamber above the terrace threw open the sash and peered out into the night. I thought at first it was de Gomeron; but the voice was not his, for, after looking for a moment, he gave a quick order to the men below and stepped in again. As for Nicholas, he seemed beside himself, and I had to hold him by main force by my side, or he would have broken and fled.

'Diable!' I said, 'sit still, fool—see, there are a couple of horsemen gone in search of your Wild Huntsman, who has been so nearly spoiling our soup. They will occupy him at any rate—sit still.'

The men rode by us slowly, one of them carrying a torch, and, turning to the right, trotted off into the forest, cursing the orders they had received to go forth after the horn-winder. As they passed, I began to breathe more freely, for had they gone to the left it was an even chance that they would have discovered our horses, owing to one of the beasts neighing, a danger always to be guarded against in an ambuscade. In a minute or so Nicholas, too, began to get more composed, and seeing this I determined to prick him into anger, for then he would fear nothing.

'Pull up, man,' I said; 'your ears lie beyond that pane of glass. Do you not want them back?'

He put his hand up to the side of his head with a muttered curse, to which de Gomeron's name was linked, and I saw that he was better.

'Now,' I whispered, 'for the window.'

'We must get to the terrace,' he answered. 'From there it might be done.' And with a hurried look behind him, at which I began to laugh in a low tone of mockery, he crawled forward rapidly. I followed with equal speed and caution, and in a half minute we had gained the shadow of the terrace, and, working along its ivy-covered wall, got to the main building. Here we cast about for some means to get up. It was not possible to do this by holding on to the ivy, as if it came away there would be a fall and all our fat would be in the fire. The ascent had to be made noiselessly, and, as I looked at the high wall before us, I began to think it was impossible. Running my eye on the lichen-grey face of the main building, however, I noticed something that looked like a series of huge monograms, with a crescent above each, cut in high relief on the stones, beginning about ten feet from the ground.

'We might get up that way,' I whispered.

Nicholas nodded, with a pale face. In his excitement he had forgotten the Wild Huntsman, much to my satisfaction.

'Bend then, and I will ascend from your back.'

He leaned forwards against the wall, and climbing on to his shoulders, I found that I might possibly raise myself by the monograms, which I discovered to be the letters H. D. interlaced in one another, the initials of the second Henry and Diane de Poitiers; and the crescent was, as is well-known, Madame Diane's crest. Taking a long breath, I lifted myself slowly—there was but an inch or so to hold on to—and at last found a crevice in which I could just put the point of my boot. This was enough for me to change my hold to the next higher monogram, and finally I came to a level with the parapet of the terrace. Here there was a difficulty. Every time I stretched my hand out to grasp the parapet I found that I could not reach over, and that my fingers slipped off from the slime and moss on the stones. Three times I made the attempt, and swung back three times, until I began to feel that the effort was beyond me. There was, however, one chance, and quietly thrusting my boot forward, I began to feel amidst the ivy for a possible foothold, and, to my delight, found it rest at once on a small projecting ledge that ran round the terrace. The remainder of my task was easy, and the next moment I found myself lying flat on my face beneath the oriel window.

Here I paused to recover myself, peering down at Nicholas, who was making an attempt to raise himself by his hands to reach the monograms and climb to me. 'Steady,' I whispered, 'and catch this.' Rapidly unwinding a silken sash I wore round my waist, in the fashion I had learned when serving in Spain, I dropped one end towards him, and after an effort or two he managed to seize it. Then I looped a fold of the silk round a buttress of the parapet, and, holding on to the other end, told Nicholas to climb, and as the sash tightened suddenly, I cast up a prayer that it might not break. It was, however, of Eastern make, and one may have hung a bombard to it with safety. I heard Nicholas breathing hard, and once or twice the ivy rustled more than it ought to have, but at last his head appeared over the parapet and he too was beside me. A moment after we saw the flash of a torch in the forest and heard the voices of the men who had gone forth returning, and then three instead of two horsemen appeared, riding towards the main entrance.

'There, Nicholas, is your Wild Huntsman. Are you satisfied now?'

And he hung his head like a great dog that has been detected in something wrong.

'Now for the window,' I said. 'I will rise slowly and find out what I can. You keep your pistol ready and your eyes open. Do not rise, and remember my orders.'

'There is a broken pane to the left; it is half-hidden by the curtain. You can hear and see from there.'

As he said this I rose softly to my feet, and finding the broken pane without any difficulty, peered in.

The room was bright with the light of candles, and at a table covered with papers were seated two men, whilst a third was standing and pointing with his fingers at a scroll. In the man with his back to me I had no difficulty in recognising de Gomeron. The one looking towards me was assuredly Biron, for his was a face that once seen could never be forgotten. As for the man who was standing beside him, I knew him not, though subsequently—but I anticipate.

Biron was evidently in a high state of excitement. He was biting at the end of his dark moustache, and the fingers of his hand were playing nervously with the star on his breast, whilst his shifty, treacherous eyes were turning now on de Gomeron, now on the figure standing at his elbow. He seemed to be hesitating, and I heard de Gomeron say:

'This is my price—not money, not land, not a title, but only a few words. You have each one, my lord, your share of the spoils, set down in writing. I do not want so much even. All I ask is your word of honour to favour my suit with the King. For me the word of Biron is enough, and I know his Majesty can refuse you nothing.'

'My God!' exclaimed Biron, and writhed in his chair.

'The Marshal might give me the promise I seek, Lafin,' and de Gomeron turned to the man who was standing at Biron's elbow. 'The word will give me a wife—not much of a reward.'

'And the lands of Bidache and Pelouse, eh?'

I almost fell forwards in my eagerness to hear, and only checked myself in time.

'Exactly,' sneered de Gomeron. 'Do you think I have risked my life for the good of my health? See here, Chevalier,' and he bent forward and whispered a word or so that made the other pale, and then de Gomeron leaned back in his chair and smiled. Biron did not apparently see or hear. His forehead was resting on his clasped hand, and he seemed to be revolving the hazard of some great step. As for me, I thought I caught the words, 'your instant help,' followed by 'lances' and 'power,' and guessed—I was not wrong—that the captain had forced Lafin's hand.

'My dear de Gomeron,' he said, 'the Marshal is willing enough, but you know the common talk, that the King has other views for Madame, and that M. d'Ayen——' But Biron interposed:

'M. de Gomeron, you ask too much. Madame de la Bidache is of the first nobility. Tremouille was my friend. It is too much.'

'And I give Monseigneur a crown.'

'Peste! My lord, after all M. de Gomeron has deserved his price, and a good sword and a better head must not be thrown away. Remember, monseigneur, an open hand makes faithful hearts,' said Lafin.

'But the King would never consent,' began Biron.

'Give me your word to help me, monseigneur. I will do the rest for myself.'

'Give it, my lord.'

Biron hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly threw up his hands. 'Very well, let it be as you wish. I promise, M. de Gomeron.'

'Enough, my lord; I thank you. The Chevalier Lafin has laid before you in detail all our resources. Let me now show you this.' He unrolled a parchment that was before him, and handed it to the Marshal. 'Here,' he added, 'are the signatures of all. It only needs that of Biron; now sign.'

I could hear the beating of my heart in the silence that followed, and then Biron said hoarsely, 'No! no! I will never put my name to paper.'

'Morbleu! Marshal,' burst out Lafin, 'This is no time for nibbling at a cherry. Tremouille and Epernon have signed. Put your seal to the scroll, and the day it reaches M. de Savoye, thirty thousand troops are across the frontier, and you will change the cabbage gardens of Biron for the coronet of Burgundy and La Breese.'

'And see your head on a crown piece, Marshal,' added de Gomeron.

'But we have not heard, Lafin—' began the Marshal.

'We will hear to-night, monseigneur—that horn meant news, and Zamet never fails. Curse the low-bred Italian! Pardieu! he is here,' and as he spoke, I heard what seemed to be three distinct knocks at a carved door, and, Lafin opening it, a man booted and spurred entered the room. He was splashed with mud as one who had ridden fast and far.

'Zamet!' exclaimed the Marshal and de Gomeron, both rising, and the face of the former was pale as death.

'Good evening, gentlemen! Maledetto! But I have had a devil of a ride, and some fool kept winding a will-o'-the-wisp kind of horn that led me a fine dance. It was lucky I met your men.'

'Then that blast we heard was not yours?'

'Corpo di Bacco! No, Chevalier.'

I was a glad man to think that Nicholas, who was crouching at my feet, did not hear this, or there might have been a catastrophe, but that indeed was not long delayed.

'Well, friends, you all seem to have pale faces—would you not like to hear the news? I have ridden post to tell you.'

There was no answer, and the Italian continued: 'I suppose I must give it, make your minds easy. It is all over—she died last night. We are free at any rate from the enmity of Gabrielle—she knew too much.'

'Did it hurt her?' asked Biron nervously.

'I don't know,' answered Zamet brutally, 'I have never tasted the Borgia citron myself.'

'Mon Dieu!' exclaimed the Marshal, springing to his feet, 'this is too terrible,' and he began to pace up and down, whilst the other three remained in whispered converse, their eyes now and again turning to Biron, who walked the room like a caged beast. Nicholas had risen slowly to his feet despite my orders, and was looking over my shoulders with a white face and blazing eyes. I dared not tell him to go back; but, with a warning look at him, strained my ears to catch what was being said, but could hear nothing, until at length Zamet raised his voice: 'Have done with it, Marshal, and sign. After all, Madame de Beaufort was no more than a——,' and he used a foul word. 'The King is prostrate now; but in a week Gabrielle will be forgotten, and then anything might happen. He is beginning to recover. He already writes verses on the lost one,' he went on with a grin, 'charmante Gabrielle—diavolo! but you should have seen her as she lay dead—she was green as a jade cup.'

'Be still, dog,' and Biron turned fiercely on him. The Italian stepped back, his hand on his dagger; but in a moment he recovered himself. His black eyebrows lifted, and his upper lip drew back over his teeth in a sneer.

'I did not know Monseigneur would be so affected; but time presses and we need the name of Biron to that scroll. Hand the Marshal the pen, Lafin.'

'It is here,' and de Gomeron, dipping a pen in a silver ink-stand, held it out in his hand.

Biron made a half step forward to take it, when a thing happened. I felt myself suddenly thrust aside, and there was a blinding flash, a loud report, and a shout from Nicholas, 'Missed, by God!'

There was absolutely no time to do anything but make for the horses. Nicholas had fired at de Gomeron in his mad thirst for revenge, and had practically given our lives away. In the uproar and din that followed we slid down the sash like apes, and dashed towards the horses. Some one shouted 'Traitor—traitor,' and let fly at us twice as we ran across the open space. From the courtyard we could hear the hurry and bustle of men suddenly aroused, and as we reached the oak we heard the bay of the bloodhounds, and the thunder of hoofs in pursuit.

CHAPTER VII

[POOR NICHOLAS!]

From the oak to the spot where our horses were tethered was close upon fifty paces, and never, I think, was ground covered at a speedier rate by men running for their lives. I was bursting with anger, and know not what restrained me from pistolling Nicholas, so furious was I at the blind folly of the man. As we reached the horses, we could hear the dogs splashing through the spill-water at the edge of the lake, and someone fired a third shot at us from horseback—a shot in the dark which whistled through the branches overhead.

'Quick! quick, monsieur! 'gasped Nicholas, and with a turn of his hand he freed Couronne, and sprang to her back—the great mare standing steady as a rock.

'Quick!' he called out again more loudly, and I made a vain effort to loosen my beast, which, startled by the shots, the baying of the dogs, and our haste and hurry, plunged and kicked as though it were demented.

'Damn you!' I hissed, half at the horse, half at the crop-eared idiot who had caused this disaster, and, managing somehow to scramble to the saddle, cut the halter with a draw of my dagger. At this moment the dogs reached us; a dark object sprang up from the ground, and, fastening on the jaws of my horse, brought him to his knees, whilst the other beast flew at my companion. Nicholas' pistol rang out to no purpose, the report was echoed by a chorus of shouts from the troopers following us, and Couronne, swinging round, lashed out with her heels at the hound that was baying her. Leaning forward with one arm half round the neck of my snorting horse, I thrust twice at the hound hanging to him, the first time sliding off his metal collar, but at the second blow my blade slipped to the hilt into something soft, it seemed of its own accord, and as the dead dog fell suddenly back, bearing my poniard with it, my freed horse rose to its feet, and mad with pain dashed forwards into the teeth of our pursuers. I let him go—one might as well have tried to stop the rush of a mad bull. By a miracle I escaped being torn off by the overhanging branches, and as we raced into the open, Nicholas at my heels shouting 'To the north! to the north!' we were not twenty paces away from the troopers. My frantic horse went straight at them, and, driving my spurs home, I made him leap at the foremost horseman. His animal swerved off—a piece of good luck for both of us. Then my pistol missed fire, and I was in the midst of them. The quarters were so close, and the confusion so great, that at first only those on the outside could use their weapons, and in their hurry to do so some of these perhaps struck at each other. One man, however, shortened his sword, and would have run me through had I not luckily seen the flash of the blade and given him the heavy iron-bound butt of my pistol on the forehead. He was probably much hurt, but although he lurched backwards senseless, so close was the press that he was held in his saddle. The butt of the pistol was broken off by the blow, and for the moment I was disarmed. I dared not call out to Nicholas for fear of being recognised; but at this juncture horse and man on my right seemed to be dashed to earth, and Nicholas was at my elbow, striking right and left with the heavy hilt of his sword. Profiting by the relief, I drew out my second pistol and shot the man before me. Pressing against his mount with my brave little nag, who was now in hand again, I got clear, and, with a shout to Nicholas to follow, dashed off towards the north. It was at this moment that three other riders galloped up, and I heard de Gomeron call out, 'Sangdieu! They are off. After them, dogs,' and clapping spurs to his beast he rode after us. We had, however, gained a full twenty yards' start, which was more than trebled by the few seconds' delay before the troopers could recover themselves and follow. My horse was going at racing pace; but Couronne kept by his side with a long and effortless stride. De Gomeron was at our heels, and with a sudden rush ranged alongside of Nicholas. The sergeant possibly did not recognise his assailant, and managed somehow to parry the cut aimed at him, and the next moment de Gomeron's horse stumbled and went down; but the man himself, who was a rare horseman, fell on his feet like a cat. It was, however, a moment more of respite, and Nicholas, with a wild cheer, dashed into the forest, riding recklessly through the trees. We both leaned forward to the necks of our horses, and as far as I was concerned I made no attempt to guide my beast, but let him follow Couronne, who, surefooted as a stag, turned and twisted amongst the trees with almost human forethought. The single hound that was left strained bravely behind us; but, mindful probably of the fate that had overtaken his brother, made no direct attack. As we dashed into the wood the troopers attempted to follow; but it was with a relaxed speed, and every moment we were distancing them, and their cries, shouts, and curses became fainter and more faint. I began to think if we could but be rid of the sleuthhound, we would get off with whole skins. The beast was, however, not to be shaken off, and, avoiding the heels of the horses, came with a lop, lop, through the leaves alongside my nag, just out of reach of the point of my sword, which I had managed to draw. As he snapped and growled, my horse, already once wounded, and still smarting with pain, shied off from him, bruising my leg against a tree trunk, in the bark of which my spur remained, and all but unseating me. Another shy amongst the trees would have finished my business, for the pain of the bruise at the moment was exquisite; but, leaping a fallen log, Nicholas burst through a juniper bush, and my horse following him, we came on to an open stretch which sloped down to the river.

'Ouf! Out of it at last!' I gasped out to Nicholas.

'It's a mile yet to the river, monsieur,' he answered, slackening pace slightly to allow me to get alongside of him.

The dog, however, was not yet shaken off, and kept steadily beside my horse. In the bright moon I could see him running freely and easily; and, much as I cursed his presence there, I could not help but admire the gallant beast. He seemed to know perfectly the danger that lay in the long shining sword, that thrust out at him like a snake's tongue whenever he came too near.

I, however, owed him one for the bruise, and it was not a time to waste in admiring things. So I called to Nicholas.

'Slacken pace a little more. I want to be rid of the dog.'

'We can kill him in the river,' answered the sergeant.

'Better stop him here,' and Nicholas obeyed.

Seeing us slacken, the hound tried to head the horses. This was exactly what I wanted; and shortening the reins, I pulled round my nag suddenly, right upon the dog, and, stooping low, gave him a couple of inches in the quarters as he attempted to double. It was not a wound that would kill. I had no intention, unless forced to, of doing that; but it had the desired effect, and he fled back howling with pain.

'Adieu, monsieur!' I cried out after him with a laugh, and joining the sergeant we cantered on through the clearing towards the river.

The ill-will I felt towards Nicholas had gone by this time. He had borne himself like a brave man, as he was; and, after all, if I had been in his position I would perhaps have done the same, and let drive at de Gomeron at sight. My little nag, however, at this time began to show signs of distress, and I turned my attention from the sergeant to husbanding the poor beast's strength—patting him on his foam-covered neck to encourage him, and speaking to him in the manner that horses love. Pardieu! If men only knew it, there are moments when a touch of the hand and a kind word are better than four-inch spurs.

We came to a narrow patch now, and rode down this, the river being in sight, winding like a silver ribbon thrown carelessly down. On the opposite bank it was overhung with willows, whose drooping boughs swung low to the very surface of the water. Here and there the stump of a felled tree stood up like a sentinel. In the distance, behind us, we could hear one or two of the troopers, who had by this time managed to get through the wood, yelling and shouting as they urged their horses towards the river. Doubtless more would soon follow, and I cursed them loudly and heartily. Nicholas looked back.

'But fifteen yards of a swim, monsieur, and we are safe.'

'Not exactly. See there?'

The sergeant followed my outstretched blade, and swore too. Right before us two men galloped out of a strip of coppice that stretched to the water's edge and cut us off from the stream.

'Sacrebleu! How did they know that cut? Have at them, monsieur.'

And we did.

It had to be a matter of moments only. The troopers behind were coming on, and, if once they reached us, we could not well hope to escape again; the odds were too many. I did not, therefore, waste time, but went straight for my man, and, to do him justice, he seemed nothing loath to meet me. He cut over the shoulder, and, receiving this on my forte, I gave him the point in the centre of his breastplate, making it ring like a bell. Only a Milanese corselet could have saved him as it did. My nag went on, but turned on its haunches to the reins, and before he could well recover himself I was at him again, and discovered that he wore a demi-mask on his face.

'Monsieur, shall I prick your mask off before killing you?' I mocked, suiting the words to a thrust that all but effected the object, and ripped him on the cheek.

He was a good swordsman, but this made him beside himself with passion, and this frantic state, and the sound of his voice as he kept cursing me, told me that my opponent was none other than Biron himself. Now came a serious difficulty, which I had to consider like lightning. Did I kill him, and he was an infant in my hands, there could be no hope for me—he was too great—too highly placed for me to have any chance if I compassed his death. Therefore, as I pressed him, I called out loud enough for him to hear, 'Marshal, you are mad—go back—you are known to me.'

He thrust at me for answer; but I could stand no more nonsense, and, getting within his guard, struck him off his horse with a blow from the hilt of my sword, and, wasting not a second more on him, turned to the assistance of Nicholas.

It was much needed, for the sergeant's opponent was none other than de Gomeron himself, who had remounted after his fall, and, by cutting off a corner, intercepted us, almost with complete success. How Nicholas held his own against this finished swordsman for even so long a period as a half-minute I am unable to say. It was doubtless due to the strength of his bitter hatred, and his fury for revenge. Even as it was, I was too late. As I dashed towards him, Nicholas fairly screamed out:

'Leave him to me—he is—a—ah!'

He never finished, for de Gomeron saw his chance and passed his sword through the sergeant's throat, and he fell limply from Couronne a dead man.

Before, however, the free-lance could recover himself I was on him, and, standing in my stirrups, cut at him with the full swing of my sword. He parried like lightning, but the force of the blow beat down his guard, and although my blade fell flat upon his steel cap, he went down like an ox.

Poor Nicholas was gone! I knew that thrust, and once received there was nothing for it but masses for the soul. A half-dozen troopers were not two hundred yards away, and life lay on the other side of the Eure. I went straight on, and jumped my horse into the stream. It was running high and deep, and as I fell into the water with a splash and hiss of white foam around me, I heard another heavy plunge close to my shoulder, and, in the glance I cast towards the sound, saw that it was the now riderless Couronne, who had followed her companion of the night. To ease the horse, I slipped from the saddle, and, hanging on to the pommel, was towed along by him as the good beast breasted the stream bravely. Pardieu! How the yellow water grumbled and foamed and bubbled around us. The current set towards the opposite bank, and the force of it carried us down, it seemed in a moment, fully fifty yards from the spot where we had plunged in, to within a few feet of the opposite shore. Here, however, the river ran strong and swiftly, the bank was high, and the horses could make no headway, but kept drifting down. By this time the troopers had reached the scene of the fight, and I could hear them howling with anger as they gathered around their fallen leaders, and, without a head to guide them, hesitated what to do, each moment of delay giving me precious time, and bringing me closer to a shelving bank a few yards to the left. Not one of the troopers dared the stream, and they had apparently emptied their arquebuses after us in pursuit, for none fired, although they called to each other, 'Shoot him down—shoot him down!'

A couple of men galloped down stream a little below me, and, dismounting, began to load hurriedly, it being evidently their intention to pick me off as I drifted past. For the moment I gave myself up for lost; but, determining to make a last effort to save myself, made a snatch at the willows that overhung the bank and brushed us with their wet and dripping leaves as we struggled underneath. As I did this, I loosed my hold of the saddle, and the horses slid past me, and I was dragged by the current right into the bank. The willows were tough, and I held on to them like a leech, and the troopers, who had seen what I was about, began to laugh at me, and adjure me to hold on tight as they would be ready to shoot in a moment. The fools! They gave me the moment's time I wanted, and, digging my boot into the soft bank, I laid hold of the stem of a willow and with an effort reached the shore. I rolled over at full length, and then lay flat on my face, whilst the troopers with many curses ran forward a few feet and let off their arquebuses, on the off chance of bringing me down. They aimed truly enough, and had I not lain to earth as I did, I should infallibly have been killed, for the bullets whizzed past, it seemed, but a few inches above me. I let out a yell as if I was mortally hurt, and then rising, ran down stream behind the willows as fast as my bruised leg would allow me, to see if I could not get back one or both the horses. My stratagem had the desired effect, for on my cry of 'I am dead—I am dead,' two others of the men who had run up let off their pieces where I was supposed to be, and they all shouted, 'We have him; he is down.'

'Morbleu! Not yet,' I could hardly refrain from chuckling to myself, as I hobbled along the bank, and to my joy saw them in a little bay, about a hundred paces from me, moving slowly in the shallow water. One behind the other, towards the land. A spur had been thrown out here, evidently with the object of protecting the bank, and it had cast the main stream on the opposite shore, and given the beasts a chance of landing.

I felt my leg at each step I took; but went on at a round pace somehow, and came up to Couronne just as she was stepping out of the water. Catching her by the bridle, I mounted, although with some difficulty, and slipping my hands through the reins of my own nag, trotted off under cover of the trees, leaving M. de Gomeron, who had doubtless recovered by this time, and his men to make a target of the darkness. I had come through somehow, but I was sick and sore at heart, as I urged Couronne from a trot to a gallop, when I thought of poor Nicholas lying dead by the banks of the Eure.

CHAPTER VIII

[MONSIEUR DE PREAULX]

I kept off the road as far as possible to avoid being tracked. Even if no further attempt to follow me was made to-night, which was uncertain, as de Gomeron was not the man to let the barest chance slip through his fingers, yet there was no doubt as to what would happen on the morrow. I congratulated myself on having crippled the last of the sleuthhounds, as my gentlemen would be placed thereby in a difficulty in regard to my route, and if they scoured the country in twos and threes, I felt confident of being able, with Jacques' aid, to give a good account of myself did we meet, despite my bruised leg, which reminded me of itself unpleasantly.

As I patted Couronne's neck I thought of Nicholas, and with the memory of him the face of Marie came up. I felt myself in a measure responsible for his death, and was resolved to weigh out in full to Marie the payment I had promised them both. It was a debt I would discharge to the end of the measure.

A sense of relief came to my mind with this resolve, and, as Rouvres could not be far distant, I slackened pace to let the horses breathe a trifle, and began to hastily plan my future course of action on reaching Paris. I had not only discovered what was evidently a deep and widely-spread plot, but had also stumbled on the dreadful secret of the death of the woman who was to be Queen of France in name, as she was in reality. It was certain that she had been foully murdered. It was certain that the King's most trusted captain and many of his greatest nobles were hilt-deep in treachery—so much I knew. I had seen with mine own eyes, and heard with mine own ears, but beyond this I had no proofs—and what would my word weigh against theirs! Besides this there was my own trouble. D'Ayen's mocking warning was explicit enough when read with Palin's confidence, and any doubt I may have had on that point was almost set at rest by what I had overheard. In short, I was the rival of the King, and felt my head very loose upon my neck.

What was I to do? It was no easy matter to decide; but I came to the conclusion that my best course was to seek out the all-powerful Sully, tell him what I knew, and beg the help of that great man. I did not know him, except by repute; but my case was strong and my cause good. I would delay not a moment about this on reaching Paris; but it was Rouvres I had to come to first, and many a league lay for reflection between me and the Louvre.

So I jogged on, not quite certain of my way, and every now and again making a cast to find the road, for by riding parallel with it I knew I must reach my destination. Once, however, I lost myself for about an hour, and, on finding the road again, resolved to keep to it for the remainder of my journey, as the moon was rapidly waning, and that darkness which touches the edge of the morning was at hand.

At last I heard the Lauds chime solemnly out into the night, and in a few minutes pulled up the weary beasts before the gates of Rouvres. Here I found a difficulty I might have anticipated. The gates were shut, and the unpleasant prospect of a dreary wait of some hours lay before me. This was not to be borne, and I raised a clamour that might have awakened the dead. It had the desired effect of rousing the watch at the gate; a wicket was opened, the light of a lanthorn flashed through, and a gruff voice bade me begone.

'Open,' I roared, 'open in the King's name.'

'Pardieu! Monsieur, the gates are kept shut in the King's name, and his Majesty does not like his subjects' rest being disturbed,' answered another voice, and from its tone and inflection I guessed it was that of an officer.

'In that case, monsieur,' I said, 'let me in so that we may both go to our beds, and a thousand apologies for disturbing you. My servant is already at the Grand Cerf, and one man cannot take Rouvres.'

'Then you are that M. de Preaulx of the Anjoumois, whose lackey Jacques Bisson arrived last night—for it is morning now?'

'You keep good watch, monsieur—who else should I be?' I said, with an inward 'thank heaven' at the accident that had discovered to me my new name.

There was no reply for a moment, though I heard some one laughing, and the rays of the light were cast to the right and to the left of me to see that I was really alone. Finally orders were given for my admission. The gates went open with a creaking, and I was within Rouvres.

As I rode in I stopped to thank the officer for his courtesy, and the light being very clear, he observed my condition, and exclaimed, 'Diable! But you have ridden far, monsieur, and with a led horse too!'

'I ride in the King's name, monsieur,' I replied a little coldly, and, thanking him once more, was seized with an inspiration, and begged the favour of his company at dinner at the Grand Cerf.

'With pleasure, monsieur. Permit me to introduce myself. I am the Chevalier d'Aubusson, lieutenant of M. de Sancy's company of ordonnance.'

I raised my hat in response; 'His Majesty has no braver word than M. de Sancy. At twelve then, monsieur, I shall have the pleasure of meeting you again; good night, or rather good morning!'

'Adieu!' he answered, 'I will be punctual. The Grand Cerf is but a couple of hundred toises to your right.'

As I rode up the narrow and ill-paved street I heard d'Aubusson whistling a catch as he turned into the guard-room, and congratulated myself on my stratagem and the luck that had befriended it. I knew enough of court intrigue to be aware that de Sancy and the Marshal were at each other's throats, and that I could therefore always get protection here by declaring myself against Biron. Then came a short turn to the right, and Monsieur de Preaulx of the Anjoumois was at the door of the Grand Cerf. It opened to my knock, and Jacques, faithful knave, was in waiting. After this there followed the usual little delay and bustle consequent on a new arrival.

As I dismounted Jacques whispered in my ear, 'You are M. de Preaulx of Saumur in the Anjoumois, monsieur.'

'So M. d'Aubusson tells me,' I replied in the same tone, and then louder, 'but you might have made a mess of it, Jacques—however, you meant well, and I owe you five crowns for your good intentions. Now call mine host, and tell him to show me to my rooms whilst you see to the horses.'

Mine host was already there, in slippered feet, with a long candle in one hand and a cup of warmed Romanée in the other. He led the way with many bows, and I limped after him to a room which was large and comfortable enough.

'Here is some mulled Romanée for monsieur le baron,' he said, as he handed me the goblet; 'his lordship the count will observe that the best room has been kept for him, and later on I will have the pleasure of setting the finest dinner in France before the most noble marquis; good night, monseigneur, good night and good dreams,' and he tottered off, leaving me to drink the mulled wine, which was superb, and to sleep the sleep of the utterly weary.

It was late when I awoke and found Jacques in my room, attending to my things. The rest had done my leg good, although it was still stiff, and the wearing of a long boot painful. As I finished my toilet I asked my man,

'Horses ready?'

'They will be by the time Monsieur has dined. I shall put the valises on the nag we got at Evreux for you.'

'Right. Morbleu! I hear M. d'Aubusson below. It is very late.'

'It has just gone the dinner hour.'

I hurried downstairs, leaving Jacques to pack, and was only just in time to receive my guest.

'A hundred pardons, monsieur; but I overslept myself.'

''Tis a sleepy place,' he answered, 'there is nothing to do but to sleep.'

'Surely there is something to love.'

'Not a decent ankle under a petticoat.'

'At any rate we can eat. Come, sit you down. My ride has made me hungry as a wolf, and I have far to go.'

The dinner was excellent, the Armagnac of the finest vintage, and d'Aubusson to all appearances a gay frank-hearted fellow, and we became very friendly as the wine cup passed.

'Tell me what induced M. de Sancy to quarter his company here?' I asked towards the close of the meal, as the lieutenant was cursing his luck at being stationed at Rouvres.

He burst out laughing; 'Oh! M. de Sancy has a government and five thousand livres a year to maintain his company, and being a pious soul has enlisted all the saints, and keeps them as far as possible from the temptations of Paris.'

'Enlisted the saints!'

'Yes—this Armagnac is excellent—yes, the saints. Our gentlemen are all from heaven—there is St. Andre, St. Vincent, St. Martin, St. Blaise, St. Loy, St. Pol, and half the calendar besides!'

'Ha! ha! the heavenly host.'

'Oh! I am proud, I assure you. I command the company from Paradise.'

'Or the gendarmes of the Kyrielle.'

'Noel! Noel!' he called out gaily, and as he did so we heard a clatter of hoofs in the courtyard, and a few moments afterwards the landlord ushered in two gentlemen. It took me but a glance to recognise in one the Italian Zamet, and in the other the Chevalier Lafin. It cost me an effort to compose myself, so much was I startled; but I comforted myself with the assurance that I was unknown to them, and that an arrest would be no easy matter with Sancy's company at hand. Beyond bowing to us, however, as they passed, they took no further notice of me for the present, and contented themselves with ordering some wine, and conversing in low tones at the table at which they sat.

Nevertheless, it was a piece of ill luck. These men were evidently back on their way to Paris, and by coming through Rouvres had stumbled upon me in such a manner as to hold me at serious disadvantage. My one consolation was that Zamet did not look like a fighting man, and as for the other, there was an equal chance for each of us; but I had no idea what their force might be outside. It turned out that it was very small, and it was owing to this that the incident I am about to describe ended so peacefully. A look or two in our direction appeared to indicate that the new arrivals were discussing us, and my doubts were soon set at rest by a lackey entering and holding a brief whispered talk with Zamet. He dismissed the man quietly, and then bending forward said something to Lafin, and both, rising, approached us.

'Monsieur will pardon me,' said Zamet, addressing me with his lisping Italian accent, 'but I understand that you entered Rouvres late last night.'

'Yes,' I answered, whilst d'Aubusson raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair, twirling his moustache.

'Then would you be so kind as to inform me, if you came by the road from Anet, whether you met a wounded horseman riding this way?'

'Before I answer any questions, will you be good enough to tell me who you are, gentlemen?'

'I am Zamet, Comptroller of the King's household,' replied the Italian.

'And I the Chevalier de Lafin, nephew and heir to the Vidame de Chartres.'

'I see no reason to reply to your question, messieurs, even if you are the persons you name.'

Zamet smiled slightly, with a meaning look towards Lafin, who burst out:

'Have a care, monsieur, remember I follow the Marshal duc de Biron.'

'Of Burgundy and La Bresse,' I added with a sneer, rising from my seat, my hand on my sword hilt.

'It is he,' exclaimed the Italian, and Lafin, who saw my movement, stepped back half a pace, not from fear, but to gain room to draw his weapon.

'My dear lieutenant,' and I turned to d'Aubusson, 'you complain that this is a dull place. We shall now have some relaxation. These gentlemen want a question answered, and I say certainly—I suggest the garden as a suitable place for our conference. Will you do me the favour to look on?'

'That will be slower than ever for me. If you will allow me to join you?'

'Delighted. You are my guest, and it will make us exactly two to two. Now, gentlemen,' I will answer your question on the lawn.' Whilst we were speaking, some hurried words passed between Lafin and Zamet, and as I turned to them with my invitation the Italian answered:

'There was no offence meant, monsieur. We had business with the man from Anet,' he looked hard at me as he spoke, 'and at present we have not leisure to attend to you. We will, therefore, not intrude on you further. We but stay for a glass of wine, and then press onwards.'

'Hum!' exclaimed d'Aubusson, surveying him from head to bootheel, and then turning an equally contemptuous look at Lafin, 'you are very disobliging gentlemen.'

'This is not to be borne,' burst out Lafin. 'Come, sir——'

But Zamet again interposed.

'Diavolo! Chevalier, your courage is known. We will settle with these gentlemen another day—you forget. Will you risk all now? 'His companion put back his half-drawn sword with a curse and a snap, and, turning on his heel, went to the other end of the room, followed by Zamet. There they drank their wine and departed, and an hour later I also started. D'Aubusson insisted on accompanying me part of the way with a couple of his saints, and, as we approached the Paris gate, we observed a man riding slowly, a little ahead of us. 'I recognise the grey,' said Jacques, coming to my side. 'Monsieur, that is one of the three servants the two gentlemen who have gone before had with them.'

This small force accounted, as I have said, for the moderation Zamet had shown; but it flashed upon me that the lackey had been left behind for no other purpose than that of observing our route. Even if I was wrong in this surmise it was well to be prudent, and turning to d'Aubusson I said:

'Monsieur, I wish to be frank with you. It is true that I am bearing news to Paris which will be of the greatest service to the King; but my name is not de Preaulx.'

'I know that,' he said quietly, 'I am of the Anjoumois, and there is no such name there.'

'And you did not arrest me?'

'Why the devil should I? The land is at peace, and I have been Monsieur "I-Don't-Know-What" before now myself. Besides, you were in my hands at the Grand Cerf. You are in my hands now. But I wanted to know more, and when I saw that you were an object of M. Zamet's attentions I knew you were on our side.'

'Exactly so, and I owe you much for this. There is another favour I would ask.'

'And it is?'

'That you stop the man riding ahead of us until this evening.'

'As it will annoy Zamet, I shall do so with pleasure. I had half a mind to stop the shoemaker himself.'

With this allusion to Zamet's ignoble origin he turned and gave a short order to his men. As we came up to the gate the man before us slackened pace so as to let us pass, with the obvious intention, so I thought, of following me at his convenience. He had hardly pulled rein when the two saints closed in, one on each side of him, and in a trice he was in their hands. He protested violently, as might have been expected, but in vain, and we waited until he was well out of sight on his way to the guard-room.

At the gate we asked which way Zamet and his party had gone.

'By Tacoignieres, messieurs,' answered the sentinel.

'Then my way is by Septeuil,' I said. 'I owe you a long debt, M. d'Aubusson, and will repay. We shall meet again.'

'Pardieu! I hope so—and you dine with me at More's.'

'Or where you will—adieu.'

'A good journey.'

And with a parting wave of my hand I turned Couronne's head, and galloped off, followed by Jacques.

CHAPTER IX

[THE MASTER-GENERAL]

In the labyrinth of narrow streets, crooked roads, and blind alleys behind the Palais de Justice, where the houses are so crowded, that they seem to climb one over the other in their efforts to reach higher and higher in their search for air, is a small street called the Rue des Deux Mondes. It had this advantage—that it was wider than most of the other roads in that part of Paris, and opened out abruptly on to the river face, very nearly opposite the upper portion of the Pont Neuf, then under course of construction but not to be finished for some years later. At the corner of the street and overlooking the river, the Pont Neuf, the Passeur aux Vaches, with a glimpse of the Quai Malaquais and the mansions of the Faubourg St. Germain, was a house of moderate size kept and owned by a Maître Pantin, who was engaged nominally, in some legal business in the courts of the city. I say nominally, because he was in reality an agent of the Huguenot party, who, having contributed so largely to help the King to his own, were in reward restricted from the public exercise of their religion to a radius of thirty miles beyond Paris. This restriction did not, however, apply to Madame Catherine, the King's sister, now the Duchess de Bar, and a few of the great nobles such as Bouillon, de Guiche, de Pangeas, and one or two others, who had declined to follow the King's example and see the error of their religious ways, and who when in the capital were allowed to attend the princess' daily prêche in the Louvre, a thing which exasperated all Paris, and induced Monseigneur the Archbishop de Gondy to make public protest to the King, and to come back very downcast with a carrot for his cabbage.

It was this house of Maître Pantin, it will be remembered, that had been recommended to me as a lodging by Palin, who told me of the owner's occupation, and when I demurred on account of my religious convictions, the Huguenot pointed out that I had to do things in Paris which required a safe retreat, and that he could vouch for the honesty and discretion of Pantin. I admitted that his arguments were reasonable, and resolved to take advantage of his recommendation.

We rode into Paris by the St. Germain's gate, and I was immediately struck by the aspect of gloom that the city wore. Most of the shops were indeed open, but there appeared to be no business doing, and instead of men hurrying backwards and forwards, the streets were filled with groups of people evidently engaged in discussing some affair of the utmost moment. Every third or fourth man wore a black scarf over his right arm, and the bells of the churches were tolling dismally for the dead. From St. Germain des Pres, from St. Severin, from the airy spire of Ste. Chapelle, they called out mournfully, and above them all, drowning the distant voices of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, St. Jacques de la Boucherie, St. Antoine, and others less known to fame, pealed out the solemn notes of the Bourdon of Nôtre Dame.

Near the Pré-aux-clercs, hundreds of long-robed students were assembled, and the windows of many of the great houses, including the Logis de Nevers, were hung with black. It was strange to see Paris, always so bright and gay, with this solemn air upon it. No notice was taken of us as we rode on, the knots of people merely moving aside to let us pass, and answering Jacques' cheerful 'good-day 'with a silent inclination of the head or a chill indifference.

'Pardieu, monsieur,' exclaimed Jacques, as we turned up the Rue de la Harpe, hard by the Hôtel de Cluny, 'one would think the King himself were dead, these gentry pull such long faces.' My servant's chance observation sent a sudden shock through me. What if Henry was dead! What if I had got only one thread of the plot that was weaving at Anet? I did not answer Jacques; but observing a Capuchin priest advancing in my direction, I reined in Couronne, and giving him the day, asked what it was that had befallen the city. He looked up at me in a slight surprise, and then, observing my travel-stained appearance, replied:

'I see you are a stranger, sir; but have you not heard the news—it should have gone far by this?'

'I have not, as you see—but what is it? Surely the King is not dead?'

'God forbid,' he answered, 'no, not the King; but she who in a few weeks would have been Queen of France.'

'The Duchesse de Beaufort?'

'Exactly.'

'I knew that; but you don't mean to say that the city is in mourning for the mistress of the King?'

He looked at me straight in the face, and stroked his white beard thoughtfully. He was a tall, a very tall, thin man, and his eyes, of the clearest blue, seemed to lighten with a strange light.

'No, my son, not for the mistress of the King, as you call her, but for the open hand and the generous heart, for the kindly soul that never turned from suffering or from sorrow, for Magdalen bountiful, and, let us hope, Magdalen repentant.'

'But——'

'Adieu, my son—think of what I have said. Is your own heart so pure that you can afford to cast a stone at the dead?' And without waiting for a further answer he went onwards. I turned and watched the tall, slim figure as it moved through the crowd, the people making way for him on every side as if he were a prince of the church.

But though he was slowly passing out of sight, he had left words behind him that were at their work. This was the woman whom I had openly-reviled as fallen and beyond the pale—had I any right to cast stones? For a moment I was lost in myself, when Jacques' voice cut into my thoughts.

'That must have been a cardinal at least, monsieur, though he does not look like the Cardinal du Perron, whom we heard preach at Rheims—I will ask,' and he inquired who the Capuchin was, of a man who had just come up.

'That is the père Ange, monsieur,' was the answer, and the man went on, leaving Jacques' thanks in the air.

The père Ange. The name brought back a host of recollections to me as I shook up Couronne's reins and headed her towards the Pont St. Michel. I saw myself a boy again in the suite of Joyeuse, and remembered with what awe I used to gaze on the brilliant de Bouchage, his brother, who was a frequent visitor at Orleans. His splendid attire, his courtly air, the great deeds he had done were in all men's mouths. We youngsters, who saw him at a respectful distance, aped the cut of his cloak, the tilt of his sword, the cock of his plumed hat. If we only knew how he made love, we would have tried to do so in like manner; but for this each one of us had to find out a way of his own.

All at once it was rumoured that the chevalier had vanished, disappeared mysteriously, and that every trace of him was lost. There were men who whispered of the Chatelet, or, worse still, the Bastille; others who said the Seine was very deep near the mills by the Pont aux Meunniers; others who put together the sudden retreat from the court of the brilliant but infamous Madame de Sauves, the Rose of Guise, with the disappearance of de Bouchage, and shook their heads and winked knowingly. They were all wrong. Gradually the truth came out, and it became known that the polished courtier, the great soldier, and the splendid cavalier had thrown away the world as one would fling aside an old cloak, and buried himself in a cloister.

It was a ten days' wonder; then other things happened, and perhaps not one in ten thousand remembered, in the saintly père Ange, the once fiery prince of the house of Joyeuse.

I have mentioned this because of his reproof to me. Day by day my education was progressing, and I began to recognise that my virtue was pitiless, that I was too ready to judge harshly of others. Père Ange's reproof was a lesson I meant to profit by; and now—to the abode of Maître Pantin.

Palin's directions were clear, and after crossing the Pont St. Michel, a wooden bridge, we kept to the south of Ste. Chapelle, and then, after many a twist and turn, found ourselves in the Rue des Deux Mondes, before the doors of Pantin's house.

The master himself answered my knock and stood in the doorway, a small, wizened figure, looking at us cautiously from grey eyes, shadowed by bushy white brows.

'Good-day, monsieur—what is it I can do for you?'

'You are Maître Pantin?'

'At your service.'

'And I am the Chevalier d'Auriac. I have come to Paris from Bidache on business, and need a lodging. Maître Palin has recommended me to you.'

'Enough, monsieur le chevalier. My friend Palin's name is sufficient, and I have need of clients, for the house is empty. If Monsieur's servant will lead the horses through that lane there, he will find an entrance to the stables—and will Monsieur step in and take a seat while I summon my wife—Annette! Annette!'

I limped in and sat down, escorted by expressions of compassion from Pantin, who mingled these with shouts for Annette. In a little time Madame Pantin appeared, and never have I seen so great a resemblance between husband and wife as between these two. There was the same small, shrivelled figure, the same clear-cut features, the same white eyebrows standing prominently out over the same grey eyes—their height, walk, and tone of voice even, was almost the same. Madame, however, had an eye to business, which her husband, although I understood him to be a notary, had not discovered to me, and whilst he went off to see, as he said, to the arrangements for the horses, Madame Annette struck a bargain with me for my lodging, which I closed with at once, as I was in sufficient funds to be a little extravagant. This matter being arranged by my instant agreement to her terms, she showed me to my rooms, which were on the second floor, and commanded a good view of the river face; and, pocketing a week's rental in advance, the old lady retired, after recommending me to an ordinary where the food was excellent and the Frontignac old.

I spent the remainder of the day doing nothing, going forth but to sup quietly at the Two Ecus, which I found fully upheld the good name Madame Pantin had given it, and returning early to my rooms.

Sitting in an easy chair at a window overlooking the Seine, I lost myself for a while in a dreamland of reverie. Let it be remembered that I was a man of action, who had been awakened by the love he bore for a woman to a sense of his own unfitness, and it will be realised how difficult it was for me to look into myself. I tried to tick off my failings in my mind, and found they were hydra-headed. There were some that I alone could not combat, and I hated myself for my want of moral strength. I had groped towards religion for aid, to the faith of my fathers; but there were doctrines and canons there that I could not reconcile with my inward conscience. I could not believe all I was asked to take on trust, and I felt I was insensibly turning towards the simpler faith of the Huguenot. But here, again, I was in troublous waters. I had got over the sinful pride that prevented me from approaching my God in humbleness, but I found that prayer, though it gave momentary relief, did not give permanent strength to resist, and a sort of spiritual despair fell upon me. Along with this was an unalterable longing to be near the woman I loved, to feel her presence about me, to know that she loved me as I loved her, and, in short, I would rather go ten times up to a battery of guns than feel over again the desolation and agony of spirit that was on me then. So I spent an hour or so in a state of hopeless mental confusion, and at last I cut it short by pulling myself up abruptly. Win or lose, I would follow the dictates of my conscience. If I could, I would win the woman I loved, and with God's help and her aid lead such a life as would bring us both to Him when we died. It was a quick, unspoken prayer that went up from me, and it brought back in a moment its comfort.

Jacques' coming into the room at this juncture was a relief. He lit the tall candles that stood in the grotesque bronze holders that projected from the wall, and then, drawing the curtains, inquired if I needed his services further that night.

'I don't think so, Jacques—but stay!'

'Monsieur.'

'How do we stand?'

'Oh, well enough, monsieur. Better really than for a long time. We have three horses and their equipment—although one of Monsieur's pistols is broken—and a full hundred and fifty crowns.'

'A perfect fortune—are you sure of the crowns?'

'As I am of being here, monsieur.'

'Well, then, there is something I want you to do, and attend with both ears.'

'Monsieur.'

'I want you to take the two horses we got at Evreux and fifty crowns, and go back to Ezy. Keep ten crowns for yourself and give forty to the smith and his daughter, and take them with you to Auriac. The forester's lodge is vacant—let them live there, or, if they like, there is room enough in the château. I will give you a letter to Bozon. He wants help, and these people will be of service to him. After you have done this, sell one of the horses—you may keep the proceeds, and come back to me. If I am not here you will get certain news of me, and can easily find me out—you follow?'

'Exactly.'

'Then when will you be prepared to start?'

'As soon as Monsieur le Chevalier is suited with another man as faithful as I.'

'Eh!'

'Sangdieu! monsieur, I shall never forget what père Michel and the old steward Bozon said when I came home last without you. I believe if I were to do so again the good cure would excommunicate me, and Maître Bozon would have me flung into the bay to follow. If I were to go back and leave you alone in Paris anything might happen. No! no! My fathers have served Auriac for two hundred years, and it shall never be said that Jacques Bisson left the last of the old race to die alone—never!'

'My friend, you are mad—who the devil talks of dying?'

'Monsieur, I am not such a fool as perhaps I look. Do I not understand that Monsieur has an affair in hand which has more to do with a rapier than a ribbon? If not, why the night ride, why the broken pistol, and the blood-stained saddle of Couronne? If Monsieur had come to Paris in the ordinary way, we would have been at court, fluttering it as gaily as the rest, and cocking our bonnets with the best of them—instead of hiding here like a fox in his lair.'

'You are complimentary; but it is to help me I want you to do this.'

'The best help Monsieur can have is a true sword at his elbow—Monsieur will excuse me, but I will not go,' and, angry as his tone was, there were tears in the honest fellow's eyes. Of course I could have dismissed the man; but I knew him too well not to know that nothing short of killing him would rid me of him. Again I was more than touched by his fidelity. Nevertheless, I was determined to carry out my project of making up to Marie in some way for the death of Nicholas, and resolved to temporise with Jacques. There was no one else to send, and it would have to be my stout-hearted knave; but the business was to get him to go.

'Very well, Jacques; but remember, if I get other temporary help that you approve of you will have to go.'

'In that case, monsieur, it is different.'

'Then it must be your business to see to this, and now good night.'

'Good night, monsieur,' and he took himself off.

I had made up my mind to lay my information before Sully. That he was in Paris I knew, having obtained the information from Pantin, and it was my intention to repair the next day to the Hôtel de Béthune, and tell the minister all. The night was one of those in which sleep would not come, not because the place was a strange one—I was too old a campaigner to lose rest because the same feather pillow was not under my head every night—but because my thoughts kept me awake. What these were I have already described, and they were in force sufficient to banish all sleep until the small hours were well on, and I at last dropped off, with the solemn notes of the Bourdon ringing in my ears.

It was about ten o'clock the next morning that I mounted Couronne, and, followed by Jacques, well armed, took my way towards the Hôtel de Béthune. We found the Barillierie thronged with people on their way to St. Denis to witness the burial of Madame de Beaufort, and the Pont au Change was so crowded that we had to wait there for a full half-hour. At last we got across the bridge, on which in their eagerness for gain the money-changers had fixed their stalls, and pushed and struggled and fought over their business on each side of the narrow track they left for the public. Finally, we passed the grey walls of the Grand Chatelet, and turning to our right, past St. Jacques, the Place de Gréve, and the Hôtel de Ville, got into the Rue St. Antoine by a side street that ran from St. Gervais to the Baudets. Here we found the main street almost deserted, all Paris having crowded to the funeral, and a quarter-mile or so brought us to the gates of the Hôtel de Béthune.

Sully had just received the Master-Generalship of the Ordnance, and at his door was a guard of the regiment of La Ferte. I knew the blue uniforms with the white sashes well, and they had fought like fiends at Fontaine Française and Ham. The officer on guard very civilly told me that the minister did not receive that day, but on my insisting and pointing out that my business was of the utmost importance, he gave way with a shrug of his shoulders. 'Go on, monsieur le chevalier, but I can tell you it is of no use; however, that is a business you must settle with Ivoy, the duke's secretary.'

I thanked him, and, dismounting and flinging the reins to Jacques, passed up the courtyard and up the stone steps to the entrance door. Here I was met by the same statement, that Sully was unable to receive to-day; but, on my insisting, the secretary Ivoy appeared and asked me my name and business.

'I have given my name twice already, monsieur,' I answered. 'I am the Chevalier d'Auriac, and as for my business it is of vital import, and is for Monseigneur's ear alone—you will, therefore, excuse me if I decline to mention it to you.'

Ivoy bowed. 'It will come to me in its own good time, monsieur. Will you be seated? I will deliver your message to the duke; but I am afraid it will be of little use.'

'I take the risk. Monsieur d'Ivoy.'

'But not the rating, chevalier,' and the secretary, with a half-smile on his face, went out and left me to myself. In a few minutes he returned.

'The duke will see you, monsieur—this way, please.'

'Pardieu!' I muttered to myself as I followed Ivoy, 'he keeps as much state as if he were the chancellor himself. However, I have a relish for Monseigneur's soup.'

Ivoy led the way up a winding staircase of oak, so old that it was black as ebony, and polished as glass. At the end of this was a landing, where a couple of lackeys were lounging on a bench before a closed door. They sprang up at our approach, and Ivoy tapped gently at the door.

'Come in,' was the answer, given in a cold voice, and the next moment we were in the room.

'Monsieur le Chevalier d'Auriac,' and Ivoy had presented me.

Sully inclined his head frigidly to my bow, and then motioned to Ivoy to retire. When we were alone, he turned to me with a brief 'Well?'

'I have information of the utmost importance which I wish to lay before you.'

'I hear that ten times a day from people. Will your story take long to tell?'

'That depends.'

'Then be seated for a moment, whilst I write a note.'

I took the chair he pointed out, and he began to write rapidly. Whilst he was doing this I had a glance round the room. It was evidently the duke's working cabinet, and it bore everywhere the marks of the prim exactness of its master's character. There was no litter of papers on the table. The huge piles of correspondence on it were arranged neatly, one file above the other. All the books in the long shelves that lined the walls were numbered, the curtains were drawn back at exact angles to the curtain poles, the chairs were set squarely, there was not a thing out of place, not a speck of dust, not a blot on the brown leather writing-pad, on the polished walnut of the table before which Sully sat. On the wall opposite to him was a portrait of Madame de Sully. It was the only ornament in the room. The portrait itself showed a sprightly-looking woman with a laughing eye, and she looked down on her lord and master from the painted canvas with a merry smile on her slightly parted lips. As for the man himself, he sat squarely at his desk, writing rapidly with an even motion of his pen. He was plainly but richly dressed, without arms of any kind. His collar was ruffed in the English fashion, but worn with a droop, over which his long beard, now streaked with grey, fell almost to the middle of his breast. He was bald, and on each side of his high, wrinkled forehead there was a thin wisp of hair, brushed neatly back. His clear eyes looked out coldly, but not unkindly, from under the dark, arched eyebrows, and his short moustaches were carefully trimmed and twisted into two points that stuck out one on each side of his long straight nose. The mouth itself was small, and the lips were drawn together tightly, not, it seemed, naturally, but by a constant habit that had become second nature. It was as if there were two spirits in this man. One a genial influence that was held in bonds by the other, a cold, calculating, intellectual essence. Such was Maximilian de Béthune, Marquis de Rosny and Duc de Sully. He was not yet nominally chief minister. But it was well known that he was in the King's inmost secrets, and that there was no man who held more real power in the State than the Master-General of the Ordnance. As I finished my survey of him, he finished his despatch, and after folding and addressing it he turned it upside down and said to me:

'Now for your important news, monsieur. It must be very important to have brought you here.'

'I do not understand?'

He looked at me, a keen inquiry in his glance. 'You do not understand?' he said.

'Indeed, no, monseigneur.'

'Hum! You are either deeper than I take you to be, or a born fool. Look, you, are you not Alban de Breuil, Sieur d'Auriac, who was lately in arms in the service of Spain against France as a rebel and a traitor?'

'I was on the side of the League.'

'Monsieur, the League died at Ivry——'

'But not for us.'

He made an impatient gesture. 'We won't discuss that. Are you not the man I refer to? Say yes or no.'

'I am d'Auriac—there is no other of my name—but no more a rebel or traitor than Messieurs de Guise, de Mayenne, and others. The King's Peace has pardoned us all. Why should I fear to come to you? I have come to do you a service, or rather the King a service.'

'Thank you. May I ask if you did not receive a warning at La Fère, and another at Bidache?'

'From M. d'Ayen—yes. Monseigneur, I refuse to believe what I heard.'

'And yet your name heads a list of half a dozen whom the King's Peace does not touch. One of my reasons for receiving you was to have you arrested.'

'It is a high honour, all this bother about a poor gentleman of Normandy, when Guise, de Mayenne, Epernon, and others keep their skins whole.'

'You have flown your hawk at too high a quarry, monsieur.'

'Then that painted ape, d'Ayen, told a true tale,' I burst out in uncontrollable anger. 'Monseigneur, do what you will to me. Remember that you help to the eternal dishonour of the King.'

The words hit him, and the blood flushed darkly under the pale olive of the man's cheek.

'Monsieur, you forget yourself.'

'It is not I, but you who do so—you who forget that your name is Béthune. Yes, touch that bell. I make no resistance. I presume it will be the Chatelet?'

His hand, half stretched towards the button of the call-bell before him, suddenly stayed itself.

'Were my temper as hasty as your tongue, monsieur, it would have been the Chatelet in half an hour.'

'Better that——' I began, but he interrupted me with a quick wave of his hand.

'Monsieur d'Auriac, a time will come when you will have reason to regret the words you have used towards me. I do not mean regret them in the place you have mentioned, but in your heart. In this business the honour of Béthune as well as the honour of the King is at stake. Do you think I am likely to throw my hazard like an infant?'

I was silent, but a dim ray of hope flickered up in my heart as I looked at the man before me, and felt, I know not why, in the glance of his eye, in the tone of the voice, in his very gestures, that here was one who had conquered himself, and who knew how to rule.

'Now, sir,' he went on, the animation in his tone dropping to a cold and frigid note, 'proceed with your tale.'

It was a thing easier ordered than done, but I managed it somehow, trying to be as brief as possible, without missing a point. Sully listened without a movement of his stern features, only his eyes seemed to harden like crystal as I spoke of Biron and Zamet. When I told what I heard of the death of Madame de Beaufort, he turned his head to the open window and kept it thus until I ended. When he looked back again at me, however, there was not a trace of emotion in his features, and his voice was as cold and measured as ever as he asked:

'And your reward for this news, chevalier?'

'Is not to be measured in pistoles, monseigneur.'

'I see; and is this all?'

His tone chilled me. 'It is all—no,' and with a sudden thought, 'give me twenty men, and in a week I put the traitors in your hands.'

He fairly laughed out. 'Corbœuf! Monsieur le chevalier, do you want to set France ablaze?'

'It seems, monseigneur, that the torch is held at Anet,' I answered a little sulkily.

'But not lighted yet; leave the dealing with that to me. And, monsieur, the King is at Fontainebleau, and for a month nothing can be done. And see here, monsieur, I can do nothing for you; you follow. At the end of a month go and see the King. Tell him your story, and, if he believes you, claim your reward. I will go so far as to promise that you will be received.'

All the little hope I had begun to gather fluttered away at these words like a scrap of paper cast in the wind. 'Monseigneur,' I said, and my voice sounded strangely even to my own ears, 'in a month it will be too late.'

'Leave that to me,' he answered. 'I have a reminder always before my eyes,' and he pointed through the open window in the direction of a house that towered above the others surrounding it.

'I do not follow,' I stammered.

'That is the Hôtel de Zamet,' he said grimly, and I thought I understood why he had turned to the window when I spoke of Madame de Beaufort's death.

I rose with a sigh I could barely repress: 'Then there is nothing for me to do but to wait?'

'You will not lose by doing so.'

'I thank you, monseigneur; but there is one little favour I ask.'

'And that is?'

'The King's Peace until I see the King.'

'You will be safer in the Chatelet, I assure you, but as you wish—stay, there is one thing. Not a word of your interview with me, even to the King.'

My hopes rose again. 'On my faith as a gentleman, I will not mention it.'

As I finished he struck his bell sharply twice, and Ivoy entered.

'Ivoy, do me the favour to conduct Monsieur d'Auriac to the gates yourself, and impress upon him the necessity of keeping to his lodging. The air of Paris out-of-doors is unhealthy at present. Good-day, monsieur.'

Ivoy bowed, with a slight upraising of his eyebrows, and we passed out. Going down the stairway, he said to me with a smile: 'I see you dine at home to-day, chevalier.'

'At the Two Ecus,' I answered, pretending not to understand his allusion, and he chuckled low to himself. At the gates I observed that the guards were doubled, and a whispered word passed between Ivoy and the officer in command. But of this also I took no notice, and, wishing them the day, rode back as I came.

CHAPTER X

[AN OLD FRIEND]

I was not the man to neglect Sully's warning, and, besides, there was an added reason for being careful of dark corners, as both Zamet and Lafin knew me, and were unlikely to lose any opportunity of doing me harm that might come their way. I could do nothing but wait and exercise patience until the month was over, and it was a hard enough task. Beyond my daily visits to my ordinary, I went nowhere and saw no one. I occasionally, of course, met my landlord and his wife, but few words passed between us, and Jacques had become marvellously taciturn, so that I was alone as if I were in a desert in that vast city, where the roar of the day's traffic and the hum of voices seemed to vibrate through, and possess the stillest hours of the night. Doubtless there were men of my acquaintance in Paris, but I did not seek them, for the reasons already stated, and I lived as secluded a life as though I had taken the vows of a hermit.

In the meantime I was more than anxious that Jacques should execute my plan in regard to Marie. That I felt was a debt of honour to myself; but though I tried the threat of dismissal, he refused to go point blank, and I was weak enough to allow him his way. It was one of the many instances in which my firmness of temper failed, but it is not possible for a man always to keep his heart in a Milan corselet. I could not make out Sully's reasons for his action. It seemed to me that he had got all my information out of me without pledging himself to anything in return, and that he held me as safely as a cat does a wounded mouse. To save my own skin by quitting Paris was a thought I can honestly aver that never came to me. It could not, with the all-pervading presence of my love for Madame. It was for her sake I was here, and for her sake I would go cheerfully to the block if it need be; but it would not be without a try to save her, and if the worst came to the worst I should let all France know the infamy of her King. The hero-worship I had in my heart for him had given place to a bitter hatred for the man who was using his power to drive a woman to ruin, and inflict upon me the most bitter sorrow. All this may sound foolish, but such was my frame of mind, and I was yet to know how great the man was whom I hated—but of that on another day. In the meantime there was no news from Bidache, and I was kept on the cross with anxiety lest some danger had befallen my dear one there. Anet was not three hours' ride away, and at Anet was de Gomeron, unless indeed the conspirators had scattered, as was not at all unlikely, after the manner in which they had been discovered. My doubts in regard to Madame's safety were set at rest about three weeks after my interview with Sully. One evening Pantin knocked at my door, and, on my bidding him enter, came in with many apologies for disturbing me.

'But, chevalier,' he added, 'I have news that Monsieur will no doubt be glad to hear.'

'Then let me have it, Maître Pantin, for good news has been a stranger to me for long.'

'It is this. Our friend Palin arrives in Paris to-morrow or the day after.'

'And stays here?'

'No, for he comes in attendance on Madame de la Bidache, and will doubtless live at the Rue Varenne.'

I half turned for a moment to the window to hide the expression of joy on my face I could not conceal otherwise. Were it daylight I might have been able to see the trees in the gardens of the Rue Varenne; but it was night, and the stars showed nothing beyond the white spectral outline of the Tour de Nesle beyond the Malaquais.

'Indeed, I am glad to hear this,' I said as I looked round once more; 'though Paris will be dull for Madame.'

'Not so, monsieur, for the King comes back tomorrow, and the gossips say that before another fortnight is out there will be another maîtresse en titre at the Louvre. Ciel! How many of them there have been, from poor La Fosseuse to the D'Estrées.'

'Maître Pantin, I forgot myself—will you help yourself to the Frontignac?'

'A hundred thanks, monsieur le chevalier. Is there any message for Palin? Pouf! But I forget. What has a handsome young spark like you got in common with an old greybeard? You will be at court in a week; and they will all be there—bright-eyed D'Entragues, Mary of Guise, Charlotte de Givry, and——'

'Maître Pantin, these details of the court do not interest me. Tell Palin I would see him as soon as he arrives. Ask him as a favour to come here. He said you were discreet——'

'And I know that Monsieur le Chevalier is likewise.' With a quick movement of the hand the short grey goatee that Pantin wore vanished from his chin, and there was before me not the face of the notary, but that of Annette. She laughed out at the amaze in my look, but quickly changed her tone.

'Maître Palin said you were to be trusted utterly, monsieur, and you see I have done so. Your message will be safely delivered, and I promise he will see you. But have you no other?'

'None,' I answered, a little bitterly.

'I have, however, and it is this,' and she placed in my hand a little packet. 'Monsieur may open that at his leisure,' and she turned as if to go.

'One moment—I do not understand. What is the meaning of this masquerade?'

'Only this, that my husband will appear to have been at the same time at the Quartier du Marais as well as the Faubourg St. Germain. I would add that Monsieur would be wise to keep indoors as he is doing. We have found out that the house is being watched. Good-night, monsieur,' and, with a nod of her wrinkled face, this strange woman vanished.

I appeared in truth to be the sport of mystery, and it seemed as if one of those sudden gusts of anger to which I was subject was coming on me. I controlled myself with an effort, and with a turn of my fingers tore open the packet, and in it lay my lost knot of ribbon. For a moment the room swam round me, and I became as cold as ice. Then came the revulsion, and with trembling fingers I raised the token to my lips and kissed it a hundred times. There were no written words with it; there was nothing but this little worn bow! but it told a whole story to me. It had come down to me, that ribbon that Marescot said was hung too high for de Breuil of Auriac; and God alone knows how I swore to guard it, and how my heart thanked him for his goodness to me. For ten long minutes I was in fairyland, and then I saw myself as I was, proscribed and poor, almost in the hands of powerful enemies, striving to fight an almost hopeless cause with nothing on my side and everything against me. Even were it otherwise, the rock of Auriac was too bare to link with the broad lands of Pelouse and Bidache, and, love her as I did, I could never hang my sword in my wife's halls. It was impossible, utterly impossible. So I was tossed now one way, now another, until my mental agony was almost insupportable.

The next day nothing would content me but that I must repair to the Rue Varenne, and, if possible, get a glimpse of Madame as she arrived. I left instructions that Palin should be asked to wait for me if he came during my absence; for my impatience was too great to admit of my staying in for him. I was not, however, in so great a hurry as to entirely neglect the warnings I had received, and dressed myself as simply as possible, removing the plumes from my hat, and wearing a stout buff coat under my long cloak. Thus altered I might be mistaken for a Huguenot, but hardly anyone would look for a former cavalier of the League in the solemnly-dressed man who was strolling to the end of the Malaquais. There I took a boat and went by river the short distance that lay between me and the jetty at the Rue de Bac. At the jetty I disembarked, and went leisurely towards the Rue Varenne. As I was crossing the Rue Grenelle, hard by the Logis de Conde, a half-dozen gentlemen came trotting by and took up the road. I stopped to let them pass, and saw to my surprise that amongst them were my old comrades in arms, de Cosse-Brissac, Tavannes, and de Gie. I was about to wave my hand in greeting, when I recognised amongst them the sinister face of Lafin riding on the far side of me. Quick as thought I pretended to have dropped something, and bent down as if to search for it. The pace they were going at prevented anyone of them, not even excepting Lafin, with his hawk's eye, from recognising me; but it did not prevent Tavannes from turning in his saddle and flinging me a piece of silver with the gibe, 'Go on all fours for that, maître Huguenot.' I kept my head low, and made a rush for the silver, whilst they rode off laughing, a laugh in which I joined myself, though with different reasons. On reaching the Rue Varenne I had no difficulty in finding the house I sought; the arms on the entrance gate gave me this information; and I saw that Madame had only just arrived, and had I been but a half-hour earlier I might have seen and even spoken with her. I hung about for some minutes on the chance of getting a glimpse of her, with no success; then finding that my lounging backwards and forwards outside the gates was beginning to attract attention from the windows of a house opposite, I took myself off, feeling a little foolish at what I had done.

I came back the way I went, and as I walked down the Malaquais met master Jacques taking an airing with two companions. In one of them I recognised Vallon, my old friend de Belin's man; the other I did not know, though he wore the sang-de-bœuf livery of the Compte de Belin. Having no particular interest in lackeys I paid him no further attention, though, could I but have seen into the future, it would have been a good deed to have killed him where he stood.

On seeing me Vallon and Jacques both stopped, and I signalled to them to cross over the road to me, as I was anxious to hear news of Belin, who was an intimate friend. This they did, and on my inquiry Vallon informed me that Belin was at his hotel in the Rue de Bourdonnais, and the good fellow urged me to come there at once, saying that his master would never forgive him were he not to insist on my coming. I was truly glad to hear Belin was in Paris. He was a tried friend, whose assistance I could rely on in any emergency; and, telling Vallon I would be at the Rue de Bourdonnais shortly, I went on to my lodging, followed by Jacques, leaving Vallon to go onwards with his companion.

On coming home I found, as might be expected, that there was no sign of Palin, and, after waiting for him until the dinner hour, gave him up for the present and rode off to the Two Ecus; and when my dinner, a very simple one, was finished, took my way to the Rue de Bourdonnais, this time mounted on Couronne, with Jacques, well armed, on the sorrel.

The hotel of the Compte de Belin lay at the west end of the Rue de Bourdonnais, close to the small house wherein lived Madame de Montpensier of dreadful memory; and on reaching it I found that it more than justified the description Belin had given of it to me, one day whilst we were idling in the trenches before Dourlens. It stood some way back from the road, and the entrance to the courtyard was through a wonderfully worked iron gateway, a counterpart, though on a smaller scale, of the one at Anet. At each corner of the square building was a hanging turret, and from the look of the windows of one of these I guessed that my friend had taken up his quarters there.

I was met by Vallon, who said he had informed his master of my coming; and, telling a servant to hold my horse, he ushered me in, talking of a hundred things at once. I had not gone ten steps up the great stairway when Belin himself appeared, running down to meet me. 'Croix Dieu!' he burst out as we embraced. 'I thought you were with the saints, and that de Rône, you and a hundred others were free from all earthly troubles.'

'Not yet, de Belin. I trust that time will be far distant.'

'Amen! But you as good as buried yourself alive, at any rate.'

'How so?'

'Vallon tells me you have been a month in Paris, and you have never once been to the Rue de Bourdonnais until now. You might have known, man, that this house is as much yours as mine.'

'My dear friend, there were reasons.'

He put a hand on each of my shoulders, looked at me in the face with kind eyes, and then laughed out.

'Reasons! Pardieu! I can hardly make you out. You have a face a half-toise in length, never a plume in your hat, and a general look of those hard-praying and, I will say, hard-fighting gentry who gave the King his own again.'

'How loyal you have become.'

'We were all wrong—the lot of us—and I own my mistake; but you—you have not turned Huguenot, have you?'

'Not yet,' I smiled; 'and is Madame de Belin in Paris?'

'Diable! and he made a wry face. 'Come up to my den, and I'll tell you everything. Vallon, you grinning ape, fetch a flask of our old Chambertin—I will show M. le Chevalier up myself.'

And linking me by the arm, he led me up the stairway, and along a noble corridor hung on each side with the richest tapestry, until we reached a carved door that opened into the rooms in the turret.

'Here we are,' Belin said, as we entered. 'I find that when Madame is away these rooms are enough for me. Tiens! How a woman's presence can fill a house. Sit down there! And here comes Vallon. Set the wine down there, Vallon, and leave us.'

He poured out a full measure for me, then one for himself, and stretched himself out in an armchair, facing me. I always liked the man, with his gay cynicism—if I may use the phrase—his kind heart and his reckless life; and I knew enough to tell that if Madame la Comptesse had been a little more forbearing she might have moulded her husband as she willed.

'Belin,' I said,' I am so old a friend, I know you will forgive me for asking why, if you miss Madame's presence, you do not have her here?'

'Oh, she has got one of her fits, and has gone to grow pears at Belin. It was all through that fool Vallon.'

'Vallon!'

'Yes. Bassompierre, de Vitry, myself, and one or two others, had arranged a little supper, with cards to follow, at More's. You don't know More's, but I'll take you there. Well, to continue: I had gone through about three weeks of my own fireside before this arrangement was made, and longed to stretch my legs a little. To tell Sophie would only cause a discussion. It is as much as I can do to get her to the Louvre accompanied by myself. So when the evening arrived I pleaded urgent business over my steward's accounts, and, giving orders that I was not to be disturbed under any circumstances, came here to my study, a duplicate key to the door of which Sophie keeps. I put Vallon in that chair there before the writing-table, after having made him throw on my robe-de-chambre, and gave him instructions to wave his hand in token that he was not to be disturbed if Madame la Comptesse came in, and, after thoroughly drilling the rascal, vanished by the private stair—the entrance to that is just behind my wife's portrait there.'

'And then?'

'Well, we had as pleasant an evening as might be expected. I won five hundred pistoles and came home straight to my study, and on entering it imagine my feelings on seeing Sophie there—and you can guess the rest.'

'Poor devil,' I laughed, 'so your little plan failed utterly.'

'Vallon failed utterly. It appears that Sophie came up about ten, and, being waved off, went away. She returned, however, about an hour later to find Monsieur Vallon, who had got tired of his position, asleep with his mouth open in the chair in which you are sitting. She refused to believe it was only a card party—though I said I would call the Marshal and de Vitry to witness—burst into tears, and in fine, my friend, I had a bad quarter of an hour, and Sophie has gone off to Belin.'

'And the pistoles?' I asked slily.

He looked at me, and we both laughed.

'She took them,' he answered.

'Belin,' I said after a moment, 'will you ever change?'

'Ventre St. Gris! As the King swears. Why should I? After all, Sophie will come round again. I really am very happy. I have many things to be thankful for. I can always help a friend——'

'I know that,' I interrupted, 'and I want your help.'

'How much is it? Or is it a second?'

'Neither, thanks. Though in either case I would come to you without hesitation. The fact is—' and I explained to him my difficulty in providing for Marie, without, however, going into other matters, or giving him any account of my troubles.

When I ended, Belin said. 'What you want, then, is a trustworthy fellow.'

'At least that is what Jacques wants. I can get on well enough.'

'Morbleu! It is more than I could; but, as it happens, I have the very thing for you. Pull that bell-rope behind you, will you? and oblige a lazy man.'

I did so, and in a minute or so Vallon appeared, wiping his mouth suspiciously with the back of his hand.

'Vallon,' said de Belin, 'does Ravaillac continue to work satisfactorily?'

'As ever, monsieur le compte.'

'Well, I am going to lend him to the Chevalier, who has need of his services.'

'Monsieur.'

'Send him up here, and Bisson, too.'

Vallon bowed and vanished, as I said,

'I do not know how to thank you, Belin.'

'Pouf! A mere bagatelle. I thought we were going to have a little amusement in the gardens of the Tuileries. I know of a perfect spot for a meeting—ça! ça!' and he lunged twice in quarte at an imaginary adversary. As he came back from the second thrust, he said, 'By the way, I must tell you—but here they are,' and Ravaillac came in, followed by Jacques, Vallon bringing up the rear.

As they entered I recognised in Ravaillac the man who was with Jacques and Vallon on the Malaquais, and Belin, turning to Jacques, said quietly: 'Bisson, I am going to lend Ravaillac here to your master, to take your place whilst you go away to Ezy. I pledge you my word that he is a good sword.'

'True enough, monsieur le compte; we were amusing ourselves with a pass or two below, and he touched me twice to my once, and, as your lordship answers for him, I am content.'

'That is well, most excellent Bisson! Ravaillac, you understand? Here is the Chevalier d'Auriac, your new master, who will remain such until he sends you back to me.'

Ravaillac bowed without reply. He was quite young, barely twenty, and very tall and thin; yet there was great breadth of shoulder, and I noticed that he had the framework of a powerful man: his appearance was much beyond that of his class, but there was a sullen ferocity in his pale face—the eyes were set too close together, and the mouth too large and straightly cut to please me. Nevertheless, I was practically bound to accept Belin's recommendation, and after a few orders were given, the men were dismissed.

'What was I about to say before these men came in?' asked Belin.

'I'm afraid I cannot help.'

'Of course not—oh, yes! I recollect. I was about to tell you how I got Ravaillac's service. I lay you five crowns to a tester you would never guess.'

'You have already told me with your wager. You must have won him.'

'Exactly. You've hit it, and it was in this way. About three months ago I was returning to Paris attended but by Vallon, and with only a small sum with me. At an inn at Neuilly I met an acquaintance, a Baron d'Ayen, one of the last of the mignons, and a confirmed gambler.'

'I know him,' I said, my heart beginning to beat faster at the very thought of d'Ayen.

'Then it makes the story more interesting. We dined together, and then had a turn at the dice, with the result that d'Ayen won every ecu that I had.

'"It would be a pity to stop now," he said, as I rose, declaring myself broken. "Suppose we play for your horse, compte?'"

'"No, thanks," I replied; "luck is against me, and I have no mind to foot it to my hotel. But I'll tell you what, I have rather taken a fancy to your man, since I once saw him handle a rapier. I'll lay Vallon against him; what do you call him?"

'"Ravaillac. He is of Anjouleme, and has been a Flagellant. Will he suit you?"

'"I shall have to find that out. Do you accept the stakes?"

'"Mon ami, I would play for my soul in this cursed inn."

'"Very well, then—throw."

'The upshot of it was that I won, and from that moment the blind goddess smiled on me, and after another hour's play I left d'Ayen with nothing but the clothes he stood in. What he regretted most was the loss of his valise, in which lay some cosmetiques he valued beyond price: he got them from Coiffier. I earned his undying friendship by giving him back his valise, lent him his horse, which I had won, and came off with fifty pistoles and a new man. Of course, you know that d'Ayen has fallen on his feet?'

'I do not.'

'I'll tell you. Where the devil have you been burying yourself all these months? You must know that the King is looking forward for another Liancourt for a lady whom he destines for a very high place, and d'Ayen is to be the happy man. It is an honour he fully appreciates, and he has been kind enough to ask me to stand as one of his sponsors at the wedding, which by the King's orders comes off in a fortnight.'

'And you have promised?'

'Yes, it was a little amusement. They say, however, that Madame is furious, and that her temper is worse than that of Mademoiselle d'Entragues—who, by the way, literally flung herself at the King, without avail. Her time will come soon enough, no doubt—but, good gracious, man! what is the matter? You are white as a sheet.'

'It is nothing, Belin—yes, it is more than I can bear. Belin, old friend, is there nothing that can save this lady?'

He looked at me and whistled low to himself. 'Sets the wind that way? I did not know you had even heard of the lily of Bidache. Are you hard hit, d'Auriac?' And he rose from his seat and put a kind hand on my shoulder.

I jumped up furiously. 'Belin, I tell you I will stop this infamy if I die for it! I swear before God that I will kill that man, king though he be, like a mad dog——'

'Be still,' he said. 'What bee has stung you? You and I, d'Auriac, come of houses too old to play the assassin. Croix Dieu, man! Will you sully your shield with murder? There, drink that wine and sit down again. That's right. You do not know what you say. I have fought against the King, and I serve him now, and I tell you, d'Auriac, he is the greatest of Frenchmen. And there is yet hope. Remember, a fortnight is a fortnight.'

I ground my teeth in silent agony.

'Wait a moment,' he continued; 'a chamberlain of the court knows most of its secrets, and I can tell you that it is not such plain sailing as you think for d'Ayen. The death of that unhappy Gabrielle has affected the King much. He is but now beginning to recover, and Biron, who was hurrying to his government of Burgundy, has been ordered to remain in close attendance on the King. Whether Biron knew of the King's intentions or not, I do not know; but he has strongly urged the suit of one of his gentlemen for the hand of Madame—it is that croquemort de Gomeron, with all his faults a stout soldier. It is said that the Marshal has even pressed de Gomeron's suit with Madame, and that rather than marry d'Ayen, and clinging to any chance for escape, she has agreed to fall in with his views. This I heard from the Vidame and the Chevalier de Lafin—good enough authority.'

'One alternative is as bad as the other.'

'There is no satisfying some people. Why, man! don't you see it would be the best thing in the world for you if it was settled in favour of our friend from the Camargue.'

'That low-born scoundrel?'

'Mon ami, we don't know anything about that. Give the devil his due; he is a better man than d'Ayen. I know there is ill blood between you, and wonder that some has not been spilt before now.'

'There will be, by God! before this is ended!'

'Tenez! Let but the King agree to de Gomeron's suit—and he is hard pressed, I tell you, for Sully even is on Biron's side in this matter, and after that——'

'What?'

'Henry's mind will have turned another way. There are many who would like to play queen, and few like Mesdames de Guercheville and Bidache.'

'But in any case, Belin, I lose the game.'

'You have become very clever in your retreat, my friend. You win your game if de Gomeron is accepted; and then——'

'And then, my wise adviser?'

'She need not marry the Camarguer. You can run him through under the limes in the Tuileries, wed Madame, and grow cabbages at Auriac ever after. Pouf! The matter is simple!'

Miserable as I was, I fairly laughed out at Belin's plot. Nevertheless, the hopefulness of the man, his cheery tone and happy spirit, had their effect upon me, and if it turned out that the King was wavering, there was more than a straw of hope floating down-stream to me. My courage grew also when I put together Sully's words with Belin's news that Biron was detained by the side of the King. It surely meant that this was done to prevent the Marshal doing mischief elsewhere. If so, I was nevertheless on the horns of a dilemma, for by telling of the plot I would, if my story were believed, make matters hopeless, and advance d'Ayen's cause, to the misery of the woman I loved.

On the other hand, by keeping silent I was in an equally hard position. My pledge to Sully prevented me from taking Belin fully into my confidence, and, hardly knowing what I was doing, I poured myself out another full goblet of the Chambertin, and drained it at a draught.

'Excellent,' said Belin. 'There is nothing like Burgundy to steady the mind; in another moment you will be yourself again, and think as I do in this matter. Courage, man! Pick your heart up! A fortnight is a devil of a long time, and——'

'Monsieur le Baron d'Ayen,' and Vallon threw open the door, and at its entrance stood the coldblooded instrument of the King. He looked older and more shrivelled than ever, but the paint was bright upon his cheeks, his satin surcoat and puffed breeches were fresh from the tailor's, and his hat, which he carried in his left hand, was plumed with three long crimson marabout feathers, held in a jewelled clasp.

'My dear de Belin,' he said, bowing low, 'I trust my visit is not inopportune? I had no idea you were engaged.'

'Never more welcome, baron. I think Monsieur le Chevalier is known to you; sit down and help yourself to the Chambertin.'

D'Ayen bowed slightly to me, but I took no notice, and rose to depart.

'I will say good day, Belin, and many thanks for what you have done.'

'Do not retire on my account, monsieur le chevalier,' said d'Ayen in his mocking voice. 'I come to give news to my friend here, which will doubtless interest you. The fact is, his Majesty insists on my marriage taking place as soon as possible, and has given instructions for the chapel in the Louvre to be prepared for the ceremony. You still hold good to your promise of being one of my sponsors, de Belin?'

'If the wedding comes off—certainly.'

'Ha! ha! If it comes off! I would ask you too, monsieur,' and he turned to me, 'but I know you have pressing business elsewhere.'

'Whatever my business may be, monsieur, there is one thing I must attend to first, and I must request the pleasure of your company to discuss it.'

'Ah!' he said, stroking the marabout feathers in his hat, 'that difference of opinion we had about the woods of Bidache, eh? I see from your face it is so. I had almost forgotten it.'

'Monsieur's memory is convenient.'

He bowed with a grin; 'I am old, but shall take care not to forget this time——'

'Come, gentlemen,' and Belin interposed, 'the day is too young to begin to quarrel, and if this must come to a meeting allow your seconds to arrange the time and place. One moment, baron,' and taking me by the arm he led me to the door. 'Malheureux!' he whispered, 'will you upset the kettle! See me to-morrow, and adieu!' He pressed my hand and I went out, preceded by Vallon, who must have caught Belin's words, but whose face was as impassive as stone.

CHAPTER XI

[A SWIM IN THE SEINE]

Swearing he would be back again in a week, Jacques set out for Ezy within an hour of our return to the Rue des Deux Mondes, and his going had removed one weight from my mind. I knew full well that, unless something beyond his control happened, my business would be faithfully discharged, though I felt I was losing a tower of strength when I needed support most, as I watched him riding along the Malaquais, mounted on the sorrel and leading the grey.

He went out of sight at last, and, now that the momentary bustle caused by his departure had ceased, I had leisure to think of what I had heard from de Belin; and those who have read the preceding pages, and have formed their judgment as to what was my character at that time, can well imagine that I was mentally on the rack.

The trouble with d'Ayen was bad enough, but united to that was Belin's statement, that she—she was prepared, no matter what the consequences were, to give her hand to de Gomeron! Had I been in her place death would have been preferable to me rather than this alternative; and then I thought of the token she had sent back to me—felt that I was being trifled with, and gave full rein to my jealous and bitter temper.

To all intents and purposes I was alone in my chamber, and yet I could swear that there was an invisible presence at my ear that whispered, 'Fooled! Tricked! She is but as other women are, and you have played the quintain for her practice.'

By heaven! If it was so, I would end it all at once, and not waste another moment of my life on a heartless coquette! It must be so. It was so. By this time I had got beyond power of reason, and jumped to my conclusions like the thrice blind fool I was. Snatching forth the bow from its resting place over my heart, I tore the ribbons asunder, and flung them on the floor before me, with a curse at the vanity of womankind that could make a plaything of a heart. I would be gone that moment. I would leave this country of intrigue and dishonour. In an hour I could catch Jacques up, and in ten days we would be on the seas, and in that New World, which had not yet time to grow wicked, make for myself a fresh life. By God! I would do it! My hand was on the bell-rope, when there came a sharp tap at the door, and the next moment Ravaillac announced in his low voice:

'Maître Palin to wait on Monsieur le Chevalier.'

I pulled myself together with an effort, and advanced to meet my old friend as he came in.

'At last! I have been expecting you hourly for some time.'

'I could not come, chevalier. I will explain in a moment.'

'First sit down. Take that chair there near the window; it commands a good view.'

'Monsieur does not need this?'

It was Ravaillac's voice that broke in upon us, and he himself stood before me, holding out on a salver the ribbons of the torn bow. Civil as the question was, there was something in his tone that made me look at him sharply. It seemed to me, as I looked up, that a faint smile vanished between his bloodless lips like a spider slipping back into a crevice.

I could, however, see no trace of impertinence in the long sallow face, and the whole attitude of my new follower was one of submissive respect. I fancied, therefore, that I had made a mistake, and put it down to the state of mental agitation I was in at the time.

'No,' I answered him; 'you can fling it away. And in future you need not ask me about such trifles.'

'Very well, monsieur, I will remember,' and with a bow he moved towards the door, the salver in his hand.

'Ravaillac,' I called out after him.

'Monsieur.'

'On second thoughts do not throw that away. I did not—I mean, please leave it there on the table.'

'Monsieur,' and, laying down the salver, he stepped out of the room.

'I see you have changed your livery with your old servant, chevalier,' said Palin, sipping at his wine, as the man went out, closing the door carefully and softly behind him.

'Not so. Jacques has merely gone away temporarily on some business of importance. In fact he left to-day, shortly before you came, and this man, or rather youth, has been lent to me by a friend.'

'And his name is Ravaillac?'

'Yes.'

'An uncommon name for a man of his class.'

'Perhaps—but these men assume all kinds of names. He is, however, better educated than the usual run of people in his position, and bears an excellent character, although he has been a Flagellant, from which complaint he has recovered.'

'Most of them do. And now, my good friend, let us dismiss Ravaillac and tell me how you progress.'

For a moment it was in me to tell him all, to say that I had abandoned a worthless cause, and that I could do no more as I was leaving France at once. Mechanically I stretched out my hand towards the tags of ribbon on the table, and my fingers closed over them. What was I to say? I could not answer Palin. Through the now darkening room I could see his earnest features turned towards me for reply, and behind it there moved in the shadow the dim outline of a fair face set in a mass of chestnut hair, and the violet light from its eyes seemed to burn through my veins. My tongue was stilled, and I could say nothing. At length he spoke again.

'Do I gather from your silence that you have failed?'

'No—not so—but little or nothing could be done, as the King has only just come, and then——' I stopped.

'And then—what?'

'It seems that Madame has changed her mind.'

'I do not follow you. Do you know what you are saying?' His tone was coldly stern.

My temper began to rise at this. I put down the ribbons and said: 'Yes, I think I do—or else why has Madame come to Paris, and what is this story I hear about a Monsieur de Gomeron? If that is true it ends the matter.'

I got up as I spoke, and began to pace the room in my excitement.

'Had I been twenty years younger. Monsieur d'Auriac, I would have paraded you for what you have said; but my cloth and my age forbid it. My age, not because it has weakened my arm, but because it has taught me to think. My young friend, you are a fool.'

'I know I have been,' I said bitterly, 'but I shall be so no longer.'

'And, in saying so, confirm yourself in your folly. Are you so beside yourself that you condemn unheard! Sit down, man, and hear what I have to say. It will not keep you long. You can leave Paris five minutes after, if you like.'

I came back to my seat, and Palin continued: 'You appear to be offended at Madame de la Bidache's coming to Paris?'

'I am not offended—I have no right to be.'

'Well, it will interest you to hear that her coming to Paris was forced. That practically we are prisoners.'

'You mean to say that he—the King—has gone as far as that!'

'I mean what I say—Madame cannot leave her hotel, except to go to the Louvre, without his permission.'

'But this is infamous!'

'In an almost similar case this was what the daughter of de Cœuvres said, and yet she died Duchesse de Beaufort. But are you satisfied now?'

'I am,' I said in a low tone, and then, with an effort, 'but there is still the other matter.'

'You are exacting—are you sure you have a right to ask that?'

Luckily, it was too dark for Palin to see my eyes turn to the tangle of crushed ribbons on the table. How much did the Huguenot know? I could not tell, and after all I had no right to ask the question I had, and said so.

'I have no right, but, if it is true, it means that the affair is at an end.'

'If it is true?'

'Then it is not?' My heart began to beat faster.

'I did not say so. Remember that the alternative is Monsieur le Baron d'Ayen.'

'There is another.'

'And that is?'

'Death.'

'We are Huguenots,' he answered coldly, 'and believe in the word of God. We do not kill our souls.'

'Great heavens! man! Tell me if it is true or not? Do not draw this out. In so many words, is Madame de la Bidache pledged to de Gomeron?'

'Most certainly not, but Biron and her nearest relative, Tremouille, have urged it on her as a means of escape. She has, however, given no answer.'

'Then de Belin was wrong?'

'If you mean that the Compte de Belin said so, then he had no authority for the statement.'

I took back the ribbons from the table and thrust them into their old resting-place, my face hot with shame at my unworthy suspicions.

'Palin,' I said, 'you were right. I am a fool.'

'You are,' he answered, 'exactly what your father was before you at your age.'

'My father—you knew him?'

'Yes—Raoul de Breuil, Sieur d'Auriac, and Governor of Provence. We were friends in the old days, and I owed him my life once, as did also Henry the Great, our King and master—in the days of his youth.'

'And you never told me this?'

'I have told you now. I owe the house of Auriac my life twice over, and I recognise in this, as in all things, the hand of God. Young man, I have watched you, and you are worthy—be of good courage.' He stretched out his hand, and I grasped it in silence.

'See here,' he continued, 'I have come to you like a thief in the twilight, because I have that to say which is for you alone. It is useless to appeal to the King. Our only chance is flight, and we have no one to rely on but you. Will you help us—help Madame?'

'Why need to ask? Have I not already said so? Am I not ready to die, if need be, to save her?'

'You are now,' he said, 'but I will not press that point. Then we, or rather I, can count on you?'

'To the end of my sword; but does not Madame know of this?'

'Not yet. Should it fall through, there would be only another bitter disappointment for her. It is, moreover, an idea that has but shaped itself with me to-day.'

'Where do you propose going?'

'To Switzerland. There we would be safe, and there they are of our faith.'

'Remember, Maître Palin, that I am not'

'Look into your own heart and tell me that again at another time. Can you count on a sword or two?'

'If Jacques were only here!' I exclaimed.

And then, remembering my new man's reputation, 'They say Ravaillac is good, and I have a friend'—I bethought me of Belin—'upon whom I think I could rely.'

'Better one blade of steel than two of soft iron, chevalier. We must do what we can with what we have.'

'When do you propose starting?'

The

CHEVALIER D'AURIAC

BY

S. LEVETT YEATS

AUTHOR OF "THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI" ETC.

NEW YORKLONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.LONDON AND BOMBAY1897

Copyright, 1896 and 1897By S. LEVETT YEATS

All rights reserved.

FIRST EDITION, MARCH, 1897REPRINTED, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER, 1897

TROW DIRECTORYPRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANYNEW YORK

THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC

TO THE

CHUMMERY OF THE PALMS

I DEDICATE THIS, IN MEMORY OF CERTAIN

RED-HOT DAYS

PREFACE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

PRELUDE

I.

II.

III.

IV.

THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1897

Copyright, 1896 and 1897
By S. LEVETT YEATS

FIRST EDITION, MARCH, 1897
REPRINTED, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER, 1897

TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK