"With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe dashed forward."
With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe dashed forward. They struck us in front, they swirled tumultuously around our flanks, driving us back and cheering lustily, "For the King!" The fate of the day hung trembling in the balance, but Henry of Bearn on the one flank, and Condé on the other, rallied their troops, while in the centre the stout old Admiral plunged yet again into the fray.
"Forward! Forward!" we shouted. "On them! They are giving way!" and Felix, snatching a flag from a wounded man, charged with reckless abandon into the very midst of the foe.
"The flag!" I cried, "follow the flag!" Straight ahead of us it went, now waving triumphantly aloft,now drooping, now swaying again, and high above the din of strife sounded my comrade's voice, crying, "For the Admiral! For the Faith! Forward! Forward!"
The daring hazardous exploit sent a wave of fire through every man. We flung off our fatigue as if it were a cloak, dealing our blows as vigorously as though the battle were but newly joined. And as we toiled on, following the flag, a great shout of victory arose on our right. Henry of Bearn had thrust back his assailants; they were running fast, and his horsemen were hanging on their heels like sleuth-hounds.
The cry was taken up and repeated all along the line, and in a few minutes the enemy, smitten by sudden fear, were flying in all directions. For some distance we pursued, sweeping numbers of prisoners to the rear; but our animals were wearied, and presently all but a few of the most fiery spirits had halted.
The victory was ours, but we had bought it at a high price. Some of our bravest officers were dead, and Coligny looked mournfully at his diminished band of attendants. We rode back to our lines, and to me the joy of our triumph was sadly dimmed by the absence of my comrade. In the wild stampede I had lost sight of the flag, and no one had seen its gallant bearer.
"Has Monsieur Bellièvre fallen?" asked Jacques, who had ridden well and boldly with the troopers.
"I do not know; I fear so. He was a long distance ahead of us in the last charge. I am going to search for him."
"There is your English friend, monsieur; he is not hurt."
Roger grasped my hand warmly. "Safe!" he exclaimed; "I hardly dared to hope it. It has been a terrible fight. Our poor fellows"—he spoke of the English remnant—"have suffered severely. Where is Felix?"
"We are on our way to look for him; I fear he has fallen."
Roger turned and went with us. "I saw him with the flag," he remarked. "'Twas a gallant deed. It helped us to win the battle. By my word, Cossé must have lost frightfully; the field just here looks carpeted with the dead."
"'Tis a fearful sight to see in cold blood," I replied.
Numbers of men were removing the wounded, but knowing that Felix had ridden some distance ahead we kept steadily on our way.
"'Twas here Cossé's troops began to break," said Jacques presently, "and 'tis hereabout we ought to find Monsieur Bellièvre's body."
The words jarred upon me horribly; they expressed the thought I was trying hard to keep out of my head.
We went quickly from one to the other, doing what we could for the wounded, and hurrying on again. It was a gruesome task, and the fear of finding what we sought so earnestly added to the horror.
Suddenly my heart gave a leap, and I ran forward quickly to where I saw the colour of the blood-stained flag. A dead horse lay near it, and by the animal's side lay my comrade. His head was bare, and his fair hair clustered in curls over his forehead. He was very white and still, and his eyes were closed.
"Poor fellow; I fear he is past help," murmured Roger.
"Let us find out," advised the practical Jacques, and, kneeling down on the other side, he assisted me to loosen the doublet.
"The heart beats, monsieur; faintly, but it beats."
"Are you sure, Jacques? Are you quite certain?"
"I can feel it plainly, monsieur. He has lost a great deal of blood. If we move him the bleeding may begin again; I will fetch a surgeon to dress his wounds here."
It seemed an age before Jacques returned with a surgeon, and meanwhile Felix lay perfectly still. There was not the flutter of an eyelid, not the twitching of a muscle; only by placing a hand over his heart could one tell that he still lived.
The surgeon shook his head as he bound up the wounds, evidently having little faith in my comrade's chance of recovery. We got him back to the camp, however, where Jacques and I watched by turns all night at his side. Toward morning he moved restlessly, and presently his eyes opened.
"Felix," I said softly, with a great joy at my heart, "Felix, do you know me?"
"The flag!" he said feebly, "follow the flag! Forward, brave hearts!" and he would have risen, but I held him down gently.
"The battle is over, Felix; we have won a greatvictory. It is I, Edmond. You have been wounded, but are getting better. We found you on the field."
"I dropped the flag," he said, smiling at me, but not knowing me.
"It is all right. We picked it up; it is here," and I placed it near him. His hand closed lovingly round the silken folds, and his eyes were filled with deep contentment.
Leaving the room quietly, I called to Jacques, saying, "He is awake, but he does not recognize me."
"Give him time, monsieur; his brain is not yet clear, but he will come round. Sit by him a while, so that he can see you; he will remember by degrees."
Acting on this suggestion, I returned to the bedside and sat down, but without speaking. Felix lay fingering the flag, but presently his eyes sought mine, wonderingly at first, but afterwards with a gleam of recognition in them.
I had sat thus for perhaps half an hour, when he called me by name, and I bent over him with a throb of joy.
"Edmond," he said, "where are we? Is the battle over?"
"Yes, and Cossé has been badly beaten. You were hurt in the last charge."
"Yes," he said slowly, "I remember. Ah, you found the flag!"
"It was lying beside you; your horse was killed."
"A pistol-shot," he said, "and a fellow cut at me with his sword at the same time. But I am tired. Is the Admiral safe?"
"Yes, I am going to him now. Jacques will stay with you, and I will send the surgeon."
Fearing lest he should overtax his strength, I went out, and after a visit to the surgeon proceeded to Coligny's tent. My heart ached as I gazed around at my comrades, and realized more fully what the victory had cost us.
"Is Bellièvre likely to recover?" asked one.
"I hope so; he is quite sensible, but very weak."
"He did a splendid thing! The Admiral is very proud of him."
"That piece of information will go a long way toward pulling him through!" I said.
Just then Coligny himself came from his tent, and hearing our talk inquired kindly after my comrade.
"He is sensible, my lord, and I am hoping he may recover," I replied.
"I trust so; we cannot well afford to lose such a gallant lad. I must come to see him presently, and tell him how much we owe him."
"That will do him more good than all the surgeon's skill!" I said.
The excitement of the closing scenes of the battle, the uncertainty as to my comrade's fate, and the long night's watch had driven from my head all remembrance of the incident connected with Henry of Bearn, but the prince himself had not forgotten.
During the forenoon he came riding over to Coligny's quarters, debonair and gracious as ever.
"I have come," said he to the Admiral, "not exactly to pay a debt, but to acknowledge it. I owe my lifeto one of your gentlemen; but for his bravery and skill with the sword Henry of Bearn would be food for the worms. I trust he still lives to accept my thanks."
"Le Blanc! It is Le Blanc!" murmured my comrades.
"That is the name," said the prince with his frank smile, "and there is the gentleman."
My comrades pushed me forward, and I advanced awkwardly, hot with confusion, but—I have no false shame about admitting the truth—my breast swelling with pride.
"Monsieur," exclaimed the prince genially, "yesterday we had leisure for but little speech, and my thanks were necessarily of the scantiest. To-day I wish to acknowledge before your comrades in arms that, when I was sorely beset and had no thought except to sell my life dearly, you came in the most gallant manner to my rescue. I have not much to offer you, monsieur, beyond my friendship, but that is yours until the day of my death."
He paused here, and, unbuckling his sword, placed it in my hands, saying, "Here is the token of my promise. Should the day ever come when you ask in vain anything that I can grant, let all men call Henry of Bearn ingrate and traitor to his plighted word. I call you, my Lord Admiral, and you, gentlemen, to witness."
I tried to say something in reply, but the words were choked in my throat; not one would come. But a still higher honour was in store for me. The Admiral—the great and good leader whom we all worshipped—removing my sword, buckled on the prince's gift with his own hands.
"I rejoice," said he speaking slowly as was his wont, "that the son of the hero who died for the Cause at St. Jean d'Angely should thus add honour to his father's name."
I managed to stammer out a few words, and then my comrades crowded around, cheering me with generous enthusiasm. And, when the prince had gone, I had the further happiness of conducting the Admiral to our tent, and of hearing the words of praise he spoke to Felix, who would gladly have died a thousand deaths to have secured such honour.
I said nothing to him that day of the prince's gracious gift—he had already had as much excitement as he could bear—but Jacques, of course, had heard of it, and the trusty fellow showed as much pride as if he himself had received a patent of nobility. Roger Braund, too, came to congratulate me, and his pleasure was so genuine that it made mine the greater. Altogether I think that day after the battle of Arnay-le-Duc was the most wonderful of my life.
The defeat of Marshal Cossé was so complete that we met with no further opposition, but pushed on to Chatillon, the sleepy little town which had the honour of being the birth-place of our noble chief. Having to attend on the Admiral, I left my wounded comrade in the care of Jacques, who made him as comfortable as possible in one of the wagons, and waited upon him day and night. Whenever opportunity offered I rodeback to see him, and each time found to my delight that he was progressing favourably.
At last we reached the town and rode along the main street through groups of cheering citizens to the castle, a strong and massive fortress with ample accommodation for thousands of persons. It stood in the midst of a vast enclosure, surrounded by a deep and wide fosse; and the thick walls, as Roger remarked, appeared capable of withstanding the assaults of a well-equipped army.
Inside the enclosure were large gardens and handsome terraces, while the huge tower, sixty feet high, looked down into a wide and spacious courtyard.
"This is pleasant and comfortable," said Roger that same evening, "but what does it mean? Why have we come here? I understood we were to march on Paris."
"I do not know; there is some talk of peace. Several important messengers were despatched post-haste to the king directly after the defeat of Cossé."
Roger shrugged his shoulders. "I think it a mistake," he said; "one should never come to terms with an enemy who is only half-beaten; it gives him time to recover."
"Well, this is pleasanter than marching through Dauphigny."
"So it is," he agreed laughingly; "what a magnificent old place it is! Your nobles are very powerful; almost too powerful for the king's comfort I should fancy. How is Felix?"
"Getting well rapidly, and clamouring to leave his bed. As usual, he is just a little too impatient."
"That is his chief failing," said Roger, "but he is a gallant fellow nevertheless. I wonder how your mother and sister are!"
"If we stay here, as seems likely, I shall despatch Jacques on a visit to Rochelle."
"Do not forget to say I send them my deepest respect and sympathy. Indeed, Jacques might carry a little note from me."
"To my mother?" I asked mischievously.
"Of course," he replied, with a blush that became him well; but all the same when, a few days later, Jacques started on his journey, I noticed that Roger's letter was addressed to Jeanne. Perhaps being in a hurry he had made a mistake!
We passed our time at Chatillon very pleasantly. Felix was soon able to leave his bed, and every day increased his strength. The rumours of an approaching peace became stronger, and at last it was announced that Coligny had signed a treaty, which secured to those of the Religion perfect freedom to worship as they pleased.
"As long as we keep our swords loose, and our horses saddled," said Felix, "but no longer," and Roger, rather to my surprise, agreed with him.
It was the time of evening, and we were walking on one of the terraces, when Jacques rode slowly into the courtyard. He looked tired and travel-stained, as was but natural, but his face wore a gloomy expression that could not be due to fatigue. I went down to him quickly with a sudden sinking of the heart.
"Well, Jacques, what news?" I cried, with forced cheerfulness.
"The country is quiet, monsieur, and the citizens are rejoicing in Rochelle."
"I care nothing for Rochelle just now; 'tis of my mother and sister I would hear. Are they well? Are they cheerful? Have they written to me? Speak out, man; is your tongue in a knot?"
"I would it were," said he, "if that would alter the news I bring. You must brace yourself, monsieur, to face another calamity. But here is a letter from Mademoiselle Jeanne."
"From Jeanne?" I repeated, and at that I understood the truth. My mother was dead!
I read the blotted and tear-stained paper with moist eyes. On the very day when we started from Narbonne on our memorable march, my poor mother, who had never really recovered from the shock of my father's death, breathed her last. Concerning herself, Jeanne said little except that she was living in the household of the Queen of Navarre, who was holding her court at Rochelle.
After telling Felix and Roger the sad news, I went away to brood over my sorrow alone. It was a heavy blow, and the heavier because so unexpected. The chance that my mother might die during my absence had never struck me, and I had been looking forward impatiently to meeting her again.
Fortunately, the newly-signed peace brought me many active duties. The army was disbanded, and most of our chiefs began their preparations for a visitto Rochelle. Felix and I were kept busy, and indeed until the journey began we had few idle moments.
The little band of Englishmen who had survived the war—gallant hearts, they had spent themselves so recklessly that barely a dozen remained—accompanied us, and naturally we saw a great deal of Roger.
"I suppose," said Felix to him one day, "that now you will return to England?"
"My comrades are returning at once," he replied, "but I shall stay a while longer; perhaps even pay a visit to Paris before I leave."
"If you wish to see Paris," said Felix, "it will be well to go quickly, before the clouds burst again"; but Roger observed with a smile that he intended to stay in Rochelle for a few weeks at least.
Our entry into the city was very different from that after the rout of Montcontour. Cannon boomed, church bells rang merrily, the streets were gay with flags and flowers and triumphal arches; while the citizens, dressed in their best, with happy smiling faces, cheered until they were hoarse, as the Admiral, with Henry of Bearn on his right and the youthful Condé on his left, rode through the gateway.
Jeanne, with several of the queen's ladies, was sitting in the balcony of theHôtel Coligny. Catching sight of us, she stood up and waved her hand, and we bowed low in our saddles, and smiled, and waved our hands in return.
"Your sister is more beautiful than ever, Edmond," said my comrade enthusiastically.
"She looked paler, I thought," I replied, as weturned into the courtyard; "but now the war is over we shall have a chance to cheer her a little."
"Did she see Roger Braund, do you think?"
"It is likely enough," I laughed; "he is a fair size, and sits up well in the saddle," a harmless pleasantry which, to judge by his peevish exclamation, Felix did not appreciate.
That evening we all met at the reception given by the Queen of Navarre, a reception brilliant by reason of the number of brave men and beautiful women assembled. I had spent an hour alone with Jeanne during the afternoon, and she had told me of our mother's illness, and of her last loving message to myself.
I asked how she came to be in the Queen of Navarre's household, and her eyes kindled and her face flushed as she answered, "Oh, Edmond, the queen has been the kindest of friends! She sought me out in my sorrow, saying it was not right that the daughter of so brave a soldier as my father should be left to bear her grief alone. She insisted on my becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, and ever since has done her best to make me happy."
My sister was certainly very beautiful, and I could not wonder to see the numbers of handsome and highborn cavaliers who clustered around her that evening. But Jeanne was staunch and leal, and, though courteous to all, it was in the company of her old friends Felix and Roger she found her chief pleasure.
We four were chatting together, and Felix wasdescribing in his lively way some of our adventures, when Henry of Bearn drew near.
"Le Blanc," he exclaimed, looking at me, "surely it is Le Blanc!" and taking my arm he added jovially, "come with me, I must present you specially to my mother. She ought to know to whom she is indebted for her son's life."
Jeanne looked at me in surprise, and as we moved away I heard Felix saying, "I warrant he never told you a word of that. By my faith, one could hardly blame him had he cried it from the housetops!"
Meanwhile the prince marched up the room, his arm placed affectionately on my shoulder, and presented me to the gracious lady who was such a tower of strength to the Cause.
"Madame," he said in his hearty way, "this is the cavalier of whom I spoke. But for his courage Henry of Bearn would have been left lying on the field at Arnay-le-Duc."
She gave me her hand to kiss, and thanked me graciously, saying that while she or her son lived I should not want a true friend.
"Madame," I replied, "in taking my sister under your gracious protection you have already shown your kindness."
"Your sister!" she said in surprise; "who is your sister?"
"Jeanne Le Blanc, whom your Majesty has honoured by making one of your ladies-in-waiting."
"Then you must be the Sieur Le Blanc!"
"Edmond Le Blanc, your Majesty. My fathersacrificed his title and his lands, as well as his life, for the Cause!"
"How is this?" asked her son, and when I had related the story, he declared roundly that, with the Admiral's support, he would force the king to restore my rights.
Presently I withdrew, and Jeanne, to whom Felix had related the adventure, kissed me and made much of me, to the envy of my two comrades, who, poor fellows, had no pretty sister of their own. It was a proud night for me, but the shadow of my parents' death lay on my happiness, and I would gladly have sacrificed all my honours for their presence.
"If life at Rochelle is to be as agreeable as this," remarked Roger, with a glance at my sister, "I shall be loth to return to England."
"Then you can be no true Englishman!" laughed Jeanne, as she wished us good-night before going to attend upon her royal mistress.
Life flowed very smoothly in La Rochelle during that autumn of 1570. Amongst us at least the peace was not broken, though we heard rumours of dark threats from the Guises, and Coligny received numerous warnings not to trust himself, without an armed force, outside the city walls.
The first break came about with the departure of Roger Braund. An English ship put into the harbour one morning at the end of November, and her master brought a letter which compelled my comrade to return home.
"No," he said in reply to my question, "there is no bad news; it is simply a matter of business. I shall not wish you good-bye; I have still my promised visit to Paris to make. Perhaps we shall all be able to go there together."
What he said to Jeanne I do not know, but she did not seem so much cast down at his departure as I expected, for they two had become very close friends. Indeed, I sometimes thought their friendship was even warmer than that between Jeanne and Felix.
However, we went down to the harbour, Felix and I,and aboard his ship, an uncomfortable-looking craft, with but scanty accommodation for a passenger. But Roger did not mind this. He had sailed in a much worse vessel, he said, and a far longer distance than the passage across the Channel.
Felix shrugged his shoulders. "On land," he remarked, "danger does not alarm me, but I should not care to put to sea in such a boat as that!" in which I was at one with him.
"I will choose a better craft next time," laughed Roger, as, after bidding him farewell, we walked across the gangway to the wharf, where we stood waving our hands until he disappeared from sight.
"Does he really mean to return?" my comrade asked.
"I think so. He has evidently made up his mind to visit Paris."
"I fancy," said Felix rather bitterly, it struck me, "that he will be satisfied with Rochelle, as long as Queen Joan holds her Court there!"
My friend was not in the best of humour, but he recovered his spirits in a day or two, and before a week had passed was as lively and merry as usual. Black Care and Felix were not congenial companions.
Nothing happened after Roger's departure until the spring of 1571, when we heard of the king's marriage with Elizabeth of Germany. None of our leaders attended the ceremony, which seemed to have been a very brilliant affair, the new queen riding into Paris in an open litter hung with cloth of silver, drawn by the very finest mules shod with the same gleaming metal.
A courier who waited upon the Admiral declared that the decorations were a triumph of art, and that the bridge of Notre Dame was like a scene taken bodily from fairy land. A triumphal arch was erected at each end of the bridge; the roadway was covered with an awning smothered in flowers and evergreens, while between every window on the first floor of the houses were figures of nymphs bearing fruits and flowers, and crowned with laurel.
But, although debarred from attending the marriage of the king, we were not without our rejoicings. Our noble leader was married to Jacqueline of Montbel, Countess of Entremont, who came to la Rochelle attended by fifty gentlemen of her kindred. Headed by Coligny, we rode out to meet her, and the cannon thundered forth a joyous salute. The citizens lined the streets, and if our decorations were not as gay as those of Paris, there was, perhaps, a more genuine heartiness in our welcome.
These public rejoicings, however, could not make me forget that my position was still very awkward. My stock of money was dwindling, and I could not expect to live in the Admiral's house for ever; while, as long as we remained at Rochelle, Henry of Beam's generous promise was not likely to bear fruit.
Jacques, who paid one or two visits to Le Blanc, reported that the castle remained closed, and that the tenants on the property had received orders to pay their rents to the crown. This was bad enough, but his second piece of Information made my blood hot with anger.
I asked if he had learned anything of Etienne Cordel,and he replied angrily, "More than enough, monsieur. I shall certainly spit that insolent upstart one of these days. He is giving himself all the airs of a grand personage, and boasts openly that before long he will be the Sieur Le Blanc. He is a serpent, monsieur—a crawling, loathsome, deadly serpent; his breath pollutes the very air."
"He is no worse than his kind," I replied somewhat bitterly. "He is but trying to raise himself on the misfortunes of others."
"Worse than that, monsieur. In my opinion it was he who caused the downfall of your house, for his own wicked ends. Your father's property was to be his reward for doing Monseigneur's dirty work."
"It is likely enough," I replied, "but we can do nothing without the Admiral."
A day or two after this conversation—it was as far as I can remember about the middle of July—Felix came to me in a state of great excitement.
"Have you heard the news?" he asked. "The king has sent for our chief!"
"For what purpose?"
"He has written a most kindly letter and has promised to follow his counsel."
"Faith," said I, "it smacks to me of the invitation of the hungry fox to the plump pullet! I think Coligny will be well advised to remain within the walls of La Rochelle."
The king's letter was the subject of eager discussion, and almost every one declared that our beloved chief would run the greatest risk in accepting the invitation.
"The king may be honest enough, though I doubt it," said one, "but the Guises are murderers; while as for Monseigneur and his mother, I would as soon trust to a pack of wolves!"
Queen Joan, Henry of Bearn, young Condé, and all our leaders, though making use of less blunt speech, were of the same opinion, but the Admiral cared little for his own safety, when there was a chance of benefiting his country.
"The king is surrounded by evil counsellors," he said; "there is all the greater need for one who will tender him honest advice. I have ventured my life freely for France; you would not have me turn coward in my old age?"
"To die on the field of battle, my lord," exclaimed one of his oldest comrades in arms, "and to be stabbed in the back by a cowardly assassin are two very different things."
"You love me over-much," replied the Admiral, placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder; "you are too tender of my welfare. What is one man's life compared with the good of France?"
"Very little, my lord, except when the man is yourself, and then it becomes everything!"
"Well," replied Coligny, "at the least we can ponder his majesty's request."
"He will go," declared Felix that evening; "his mind is made up. With him France is first, second, and third; Coligny is nowhere."
"The king may really mean well," I suggested.
"If he doesn't," said Felix, "and any harm happensto our chief, the House of Valois will rue it! We will clear them out, root and branch."
My comrade foretold the Admiral's decision correctly. With his eyes wide open to the terrible risk, he elected to place himself in the king's power, in the hope of healing the wounds from which France was still bleeding.
Jeanne was so happy with her royal mistress that I felt no misgiving in leaving her, and for myself I was not sorry to exchange the confinement of Rochelle for a more active life. Besides, I could not help reflecting that it was to the Admiral's influence I looked for the recovery of my father's estates.
The evening before leaving La Rochelle I went to take farewell of my sister. "If Roger Braund should return during our absence," I said, "you can tell him we have gone to Blois and perhaps to Paris. What is it, sweetheart?" for at this, a wave of colour spread over her fair face.
"'Tis nothing, brother," said she, gazing earnestly at the ground, "only this very morning the master of an English ship brought me a note from him."
"A note for you! 'Tis strange he did not write to me!"
"He speaks of you in his letter, and hopes you are well. There is some trouble at Court" he says, "and he cannot obtain his queen's permission to leave the country."
"Then we have seen the last of him. I am sorry."
"He thinks he may be able to come in a few months,"she continued, but, strangely enough, she did not show me his letter, nor did she mention the subject to Felix, who presently joined us.
The next morning, to the visible anxiety of our friends, we rode out from the city, fifty strong, with the Admiral at our head. We journeyed pleasantly and at our leisure to Blois, where the king accorded our chief a most gracious and kindly reception. If he really meditated treachery, he was a most accomplished actor.
His gentlemen entertained us with lavish hospitality, and, though there were occasionally sharp differences of opinion, we got on very well together. When the king treated our leader so affectionately, calling him "Father," and placing his arm round his neck, the members of the royal household could not afford to be churlish.
One morning I chanced to be in attendance on the Admiral when he and the king were taking a turn in the grounds. Felix and two or three of the king's gentlemen were with me, and we were all chatting pleasantly together when my patron, turning round, beckoned me to approach.
"This is the young man, sire," he said; "he comes from a good family, and I have proved him to be a trusty servant."
"My dear Admiral," cried Charles, "a word from you is sufficient recommendation. But there are forms to be observed, and you would not have me override the Parliament! Eh, my dear Admiral, you would not have me do that," and he laughed roguishly.
"I would have you do nothing unjustly, sire, but I would have you set the wrong right, and this is a foulwrong. The Sieur Le Blanc did nothing more than any other Huguenot gentleman. Why was he outlawed, and a price set on his head, and his property confiscated?"
"Upon my word," exclaimed Charles, looking very foolish, "I do not know!"
"You were pleased at St. Jean d'Angely to call him a very gallant gentleman."
"At D'Angely?" echoed the king. "Are you speaking of the man who set us so long at defiance? My brother was not well pleased with him."
"Your brother, sire, does not rule France."
"No, by St. James!" cried Charles, with sudden fury, "and while I live he never shall! I am the king, and what I wish shall be done. This Le Blanc who fought at D'Angely was as brave a soldier as ever drew sword. Had he been on our side, I would have made him a marshal. I swear it!"
"He fought against you, sire, but it was for what he thought right."
"Perhaps he was right," said Charles. "Why can't we all live at peace with each other? When we have finished cutting each other's throats, the Spaniards will step in and seize the country. I am not a fool, though my brother thinks I am!"
"While France remains true to herself, sire, Spain can do her no harm. And a generous action, your majesty, goes far toward gaining a nation's love."
"You wish me to restore this young man's estates? They shall be restored, my dear Admiral; I will look into the matter on my return to Paris. There will be papersto sign—it seems to me I am always signing papers, principally to please my mother and Monseigneur—in this I will please myself."
"I thank you, sire, not only for myself, but for Henry of Beam, whose life the youth had the good fortune to save, and who is greatly interested in him."
"If it will please Henry of Beam," said the king with an interest for which I could not account, but which became clearer afterwards, "that is a further reason why I should have justice done. Let the young man go to his estates whenever he pleases; I will see that whatever forms are necessary are made out."
At that I thanked his majesty very respectfully, and at a sign from my patron fell back to rejoin my companions. I said nothing to Felix then concerning this conversation, but at night, when we were alone, I told him of the king's promise.
"He will keep his word," said my comrade, "unless Anjou gets hold of him. But if Anjou has promised the estates to his tool, I foresee difficulties."
"Surely the king is master of his own actions!" I remarked.
My comrade laughed. "He is a mere puppet; his mother and Anjou between them pull the strings as they please. Charles is a weakling, Edmond, and easily swayed by other people's opinions."
"He seems to be under the Admiral's influence just at present."
"Yes; it is when he returns to Paris that the trouble will begin. The other side will work hard to drive him away from our patron."
A fortnight passed before I heard anything more of the subject, and I was beginning to feel somewhat doubtful of the king's good faith when one morning the Admiral sent for me.
"His majesty is returning to Paris, Le Blanc," he said, "and I am going for a short while to Chatillon. He has promised to set things right for you, but he may forget, and I shall not be with him."
"It is very kind of you to think of my troubles, my lord."
"I must be true to those who are true to me," he replied graciously, "and I am still deeply in your debt. Now, what is to be done? Until the papers are signed, your tenants must continue to pay their rents to the crown; but it may be as well for you to take the king at his word, and go to your estates. Of course, you will need money, but, fortunately, I can supply that."
"You are indeed generous, my lord; but there is another objection," I stammered out awkwardly.
"What is that?" he asked
"My duty to yourself, my lord. It is not the part of a gentleman of France to leave his chief in danger."
"But I am not in danger, my boy! France is at peace; the king is my friend; we have blotted out the past. Still, should the time come when I have need of a trusty sword, I shall not fail to send for Edmond Le Blanc. I leave Blois in two or three days, but before then I will send my chaplain to you. Keep a stout heart; the king is anxious to stand well with Prince Henry, who will not forget to press your claims."
I took my leave of him with heart-felt gratitude, andsought my comrade, whose face clouded as he listened to my story.
"'Tis good advice, Edmond," he exclaimed dolefully, "and it is selfish in me to feel sorry; but it puts an end to our comradeship."
"Say, rather, it breaks it for a time," I suggested. "As soon as the affair is settled I shall come back."
"Will you?" he cried delightedly; "then I hope the king will sign the papers directly he reaches Paris. I shall be miserable until your return."
"The pleasures of the capital will help to keep up your spirits," I laughed. "It will be a novelty to see our friends attending the royal banquets and receptions. Monseigneur and the Guises will be charmed with your society."
"It is a big risk," he remarked thoughtfully. "I wonder how it will all end?" and I hardly liked to answer the question even to myself.
The next day the chaplain brought me a purse of money, with a kindly message from the chief, who had gone to attend the king, and I told Jacques to prepare for setting out early in the morning.
"Are we going to Paris?" he asked, and I laughed at the amazed expression of his face on hearing that we were about to return home.
"'Tis a long story," I said, "but there will be ample time to tell it on the journey."
I wished my comrades farewell, and early in the morning took my departure from Blois, Felix riding a short distance with me.
"I would we were travelling the whole journey together," he said; "but as that is out of the question I shall pray for your speedy return. Good-bye, Edmond, till we meet again."
"And may that be soon!" I exclaimed warmly.
The hour being late when we reached Le Blanc, Jacques proposed that we should put up at the inn. Old Pierre came bustling out with a hearty welcome; the horses were stabled, a room was prepared, and by the time we had removed the traces of our journey Pierre brought in a substantial and appetising supper.
"Why, Pierre," I exclaimed laughing, "you must have laid your larder bare!"
"All the larders in the village would be laid bare for monsieur's use," replied the old man, and I believed him.
"Come Jacques," I said, "sit down and fall-to; the ride to-day must have put an edge on your appetite!" for we had eaten nothing since the early morning.
After supper I bade Pierre seat himself and tell us the news of the neighbourhood, which he did willingly, though there was but little to relate. The castle still remained closed, and when I asked about the keys he said they had been taken away by the officer, and no one knew what had become of them.
"That need not keep us out long," said Jacques, "we can easily get fresh ones made in the morning; Urie will see to that."
"Has Etienne Cordel been in the village lately?" I asked.
"He is always here, monsieur," cried the old man with an angry outburst; "he collects the money for the crown, and acts as if he were the rightful owner. He gives himself as many airs as if he were some great lord!"
"Which he may be one of these days; he has powerful friends at Court. Doesn't he talk of what he will do in the future?"
"He tells idle tales, monsieur," replied Pierre with a frown.
"What does he say?"
"That before long the estates will be his own, and that the king has promised to make him the Sieur Le Blanc. He is going to live in the castle and grind us under his feet. But"—and the old man shook his head scornfully—"I don't think his life at the castle will be a long one! A rascally lawyer to be our master, forsooth!"
"Well, Pierre," I said, "at present I intend living there myself, and, I do not suppose Cordel will care to keep me company. Send word to Urie that I shall need his services at daylight, and now we will go to bed; Jacques is half asleep already."
"I do feel drowsy, monsieur," said Jacques, almost as if it were a crime to be tired, "but I shall be fresh by the morning."
The news of my return quickly spread, and next day all the village had assembled outside Pierre's door. Men, women and children were there, and I confess their hearty and genuine welcome touched me very closely. I had always been a favourite with them, and the death of my father, of whose prowess at D'Angely they had heard, increased their love.
"Ho, ho!" exclaimed one burly fellow, "now that our young lord has come back Monsieur Cordel can take himself off, or he will get a taste of my cudgel!"
"No, no, my friend!" I cried hastily, for his companions had begun to cheer, "you must not interfere with Monsieur Cordel, or you will get into trouble. I have returned to Le Blanc by the king's instructions, but his majesty has not yet signed the necessary papers permitting me to take possession of my property. That will come in time, but meanwhile we must be patient and give no cause of offence."
"We will do whatever you tell us, monsieur," they answered.
From the first streak of dawn Urie, the blacksmith and worker in iron, had with the assistance of Jacques been busily fashioning the new keys. It was a troublesome business, and evening was again approaching when I succeeded in entering my old home.
Rather to my surprise, I discovered that the royal troops had committed little damage, and in a few days, through the willing labours of the villagers, everything was restored to its former condition. Several of my father's old servants were eager to return, but, knowing how uncertain the future was, I decided to manage with as few as possible.
"I fear, monsieur," said Jacques one evening, about a week after our return, "that we must expect trouble."
"How so?" I asked.
"Cordel has been in the village, and has gone off in a towering passion. It seems he has only just learned of your arrival, and has let fall several threats to old Pierre."
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, "what harm can the fellow do us?"
"I do not know, monsieur; but he is a false knave and full of cunning. He will play you a nasty trick if he can find a way!"
"We will wait till that time comes," I replied cheerfully, thinking Jacques had magnified the danger.
Cordel did not tax my patience long. The very next afternoon an officer with an escort of twenty troopers, clattering up to the drawbridge, demanded admittance in the king's name. He was accompanied by the lawyer, and, knowing it would be folly to offer resistance, I ordered the bridge to be lowered.
"Edmond Le Blanc?" said the officer brusquely.
"Permit me to put you right," I replied: "the Sieur Le Blanc!"
He looked at Cordel, who said, "No one bears that name now. His father was outlawed, and his estate confiscated. The castle belongs to the king; this fellow has no right here, and," viciously, "I doubt if he has a right to his life. In any case, as the king's representative, I order you to arrest him!"
"You will be responsible?" asked the officer, who seemed suddenly to have become somewhat timorous. "You will give me an order in writing?"
"I tell you," exclaimed Cordel furiously, taken aback by this question, "that I am carrying out the wishes of Monseigneur. If you desire to make an enemy of him, you must."
"But Monseigneur is not the king," said the perplexed officer.
"You must choose between them," I remarked, rather enjoying his dilemma. "This man appears to shelter himself under the authority of Monseigneur; I am here at the express command of his majesty, to whom, as you wear his uniform, I suppose you are responsible. However, the business is none of mine, but when the king calls you to account, remember that I gave you warning."
"A plague on you both!" cried the officer, now thoroughly exasperated. "To offend Monseigneur will be bad; to offend the king may be worse. Do I understand, monsieur, that you are here by the king's wish?"
"I am acting on his instructions. Of course, if you force me to accompany you, I must submit, but it will be at your own peril."
He drew Cordel aside, and the two conversed earnestly together for several minutes. Then, turning to me, he said, "I am going away, monsieur; when I return it will be with his majesty's order in my pocket."
"You will find me always ready to obey his majesty's commands," I answered, and at that the whole bodyrode off, Cordel turning round to give me a glance of bitter and vindictive hatred.
"The lawyer's first move!" observed Jacques, who had been standing by my side during the parley, "what will be the second?"
"To seek the advice of his patron. To-morrow most likely he will set out for Paris. It was bound to come to this, but I am rather sorry. Monseigneur has immense influence over the king. I fear that he and the Queen-Mother will prove more than a match for the Admiral. However, we will go on hoping until the worst happens."
The next evening Jacques returned with the information that the lawyer had departed. Having expected this move I was not surprised, but it made my prospects distinctly gloomy. Anjou possessed much influence at Court, and the king was hardly likely to quarrel with his brother over the affairs of an unknown and penniless lad.
Several weeks passed, and even after Cordel's return from Paris I remained in quiet possession of the castle. I received no papers from the king, but, on the other hand, no one made any attempt to molest me. It appeared as if the cloud had passed over without bursting. But I was yet to learn of what Etienne Cordel was capable.
I was sitting one night alone in my room, reading for the second time a letter from Jeanne. She wrote very brightly and hopefully. She continued to be a decided favourite with her royal mistress, and was very happy in her service. This was good news, asI thought it unwise for her to come to Le Blanc until my affairs were settled.
She wrote at great length, too, on a subject that was producing much excitement in Queen Joan's little court. This was a proposal that Henry of Bearn should marry the king's sister, Margaret. Charles was said to be eager for the marriage, which was also approved of by the leading Huguenot gentlemen, but thus far Queen Joan had refused her consent.
"Faith," I said to myself, "nothing could be better; it would give our party a strong friend at Court. It might help me out of my difficulty too. I wish the marriage were taking place to-morrow!"
It was a wild night outside; very cold, with a heavy downfall of rain, while now and then the wind howled round the building in furious gusts. I had put the letter away, and was sitting down again when some one knocked at the door. Knowing it must be Jacques, I told him to enter.
"A wild night, Jacques," I remarked. "We have the best of it indoors."
"Truly, monsieur, only those who are forced will ride abroad in weather like this. But there is one person eager enough for your company to brave the storm. He has travelled far, too, by the look of his horse."
"A visitor for me! Where is he? Who is it?"
"He is in the courtyard, where, if you take my advice, you will let him stay. As to who he is, he either has no name or is too shy to tell it. He is muffled up so closely that one cannot see his face."
"And he will not give his name?"
"He says it is sufficient to tell you he is the writer of the letter from St. Jean d'Angely."
"It is all right, Jacques. Have the horse put in the stables, and bring the rider here."
"Is it wise, monsieur? One cannot be too careful in these days."
"The man is a friend, Jacques, and will do me no harm. You are getting fanciful."
"Very good, monsieur," said he stolidly, and turned away.
"The writer of the letter from St. Jean d'Angely," I said. "He must have come from Paris on purpose to see me! What does he want? Does he bring news? What a dolt Jacques is! Why is he so long? Ah, they are coming!" and in my eagerness I hurried to the door.
My visitor was heavily cloaked and closely muffled, and he made no movement toward undoing his wrappings.
"Is it L'Estang?" I asked, at which he turned as if to remind me that my servant was present.
"You can trust Jacques as you would trust myself," I said; "but come into my room, while he prepares some supper; you are wet; it is a wild night."
"A terrible night, monsieur; I was glad to see the walls of your castle."
Bidding Jacques see that a good meal was got ready, I led my visitor into my chamber, where he removed his hat and cloak, which I sent away to be dried I made him take off his boots, and gave him a changeof clothing, for his own was soaked by the heavy rain.
"It is kind of you, monsieur," he said, "but I must depart before morning. I am supposed to be in Paris, and I cannot afford to be recognized here."
"Still," I said pleasantly, "you may as well be comfortable while you remain. No one will see you but Jacques, and I would trust him with my life. Join me when you are ready."
Jacques had everything arranged so that there was no need for any one to enter the room, and at a sign from me he went out, though very reluctantly, being afraid apparently lest my unexpected visitor should have some evil design on my life.
L'Estang sat down to the table and ate and drank like a man who had fasted long.
"It is a curious situation, is it not?" said he presently. "Here am I, in the service of Anjou, accepting the hospitality of one of Coligny's attendants. We ought really to be cutting each other's throats!"
"There can be no question of strife between you and me, L'Estang."
"No," he said slowly, "I am too much in your debt. I have not forgotten."
"You repaid me at D'Angely, and now I fancy I shall be in your debt. You have journeyed from Paris on purpose to see me!"
"To warn you of danger!"
"From Cordel? He is my bitter enemy, and hates me, though I scarcely know why."
"The reason is plain. You are in his way, andbaulk his plans. He has been very useful to Monseigneur, and is deep in his secrets."
"But that does not concern me!"
L'Estang looked at me a moment before replying. "It concerns you very nearly, monsieur. Cordel expects to be paid for his work, and his wages were agreed upon long ago. They are the estates of Le Blanc, and a patent of nobility. Cordel flies high."
"It appears so."
"As you know, the estates were confiscated, and he was made receiver for the crown. That was the first step. Good progress had been made with the second, when Coligny appealed to the king at Blois."
"You know that?"
"I am acquainted with many things," he answered, smiling. "The king brought up the subject in Paris; Monseigneur protested, but Charles had one of his obstinate fits and declared he would do as he pleased. Monseigneur went to his mother, who talked to Charles with the result that the papers are still unsigned."
"The Admiral will use his influence," I said.
"The Admiral is a broken reed, monsieur; but if it were not so, your danger would be just as great. Cordel has been in Paris: he is furious at the check to his plans, and afraid lest they should be overthrown. He can see but one way out of the difficulty."
"And that?"
"Is obvious; you are the obstacle in his path, and he intends to remove it."
"You mean that he will try to take my life?"
"If you were dead, he would obtain the estates without trouble, and the patent would follow."
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, "Etienne Cordel is too timorous a knave to play with naked steel, or even to fire a pistol from behind a hedge!"
"But not too timorous to employ others," said L'Estang. "There are scores of ruffians in Paris ready to earn a few crowns, and Cordel knows where to seek them. That is what brought me here to-night. Weigh well what I say, monsieur. This rascal has marked you down, and sleeping or waking your life is in danger."
I thanked the kind-hearted adventurer warmly for his service—it was strange to think that but for a trifling accident he might have been earning Cordel's pay—and promised to observe the greatest caution.
"If I learn anything more," he said, "I will send you a note by a trusty messenger, and that you may be sure it comes from me I will sign it D'Angely."
"A good suggestion, monsieur. Now, there is still time for an hour or two's sleep before starting on your journey."
"I must not be here at daylight: if Cordel recognizes me, I can do you no more good."
"The mornings are dark; I will call you in ample time, and Jacques will have your horse ready. You can be miles away from Le Blanc before the villagers are stirring."
The heavy supper and the warmth of the room after his cold, wet ride had made him drowsy, and onmy promising to call him at the end of two hours he went to bed.
It was still dark when Jacques undid the fastenings of the gate, and I bade my guest farewell.
"Remember my warning!" he whispered, "and keep free from Cordel's clutches."
"A short visit, monsieur," commented Jacques, as L'Estang rode off.
"But full of interest, nevertheless. My visitor came all the way from Paris in this wretched weather and at some risk to himself to warn me against Etienne Cordel"; and thereupon I told Jacques the story, though without revealing the adventurer's identity.
"The tale rings true," said he, "but we ought to be a match for the lawyer's cut-throats. 'Tis a pity that Cordel won't give us a chance of measuring swords with him."
"He knows better how to handle the goose-quill," I laughed, leaving Jacques to fasten the gate, and returning to my room.
L'Estang's information caused me a certain amount of anxiety, and during the next few weeks I was rarely abroad except for a ride in the broad daylight. Cordel, who was still at home, occasionally came into the village, but nothing happened that served to show he was pushing on his plot.
Indeed, as Jacques pointed out one evening when we were discussing the matter, the lawyer had a difficult game to play. He could strike at me only outside the castle walls, while the villagers were my devoted friends, and every man of them would be eager to put me on my guard.
But Cordel's threats had apparently ended in smoke. Week followed week; the old year gave place to the new, and I remained unmolested.
About the beginning of February, 1572, I received another letter from Jeanne, informing me that her royal mistress had finally consented to journey to Blois, and that they would set out in a week or two at the latest. She also added, in a brief postscript at the end, that Roger Braund intended to pay us a visit before the summer ended.
About the same time a message reached me from Felix, who was at Blois again, in attendance on our patron. The king, he wrote, was more than ever fixed on the marriage of his sister Margaret to Henry of Beam, though the Pope and all the Guises were bitterly opposed to the match. "But the marriage is certain to take place," he concluded, "and then, if not before, I trust Charles will see that justice is done you."
"'Twas from Monsieur Bellièvre, Jacques," I said, when the messenger had departed with my reply; "he is at Blois once more. There is to be a marriage between the king's sister and our Prince Henry, and the Court is filled with excitement. Do you know, Jacques, I am getting weary of this life. If we were at Blois I should have a chance of meeting the king and pressing my claims. The longer we stay here, the more likely I am to be forgotten."
"True, monsieur; in my opinion it was a mistake to come. When one is not in sight, one is not in mind, and the Admiral has many weighty matters to think about."
"I have told Monsieur Bellièvre what I think, and asked his advice. But still, I cannot return without the Admiral's commands."
The next morning Jacques came early to my room before I had risen. "Monsieur," he said, "will you get up? A strange thing has happened."
"A strange thing?" I repeated, springing from the bed.
"A man has been slain—at least I believe the poorfellow is dead—on the highroad. Urie found him; he was not dead then, and had sufficient strength to whisper your name. Urie declares that he said quite distinctly, 'Monsieur Le Blanc!' so he had him brought here."
"Do we know him?" I asked, now thoroughly roused.
"He is a stranger to me. I have never seen him before, and he does not belong to these parts. But one thing is certain: he is no peaceable citizen."
All this time I was hastily dressing, and now, filled with curiosity, I accompanied Jacques to the room where the wounded man lay. He was a sturdy-looking fellow, in the prime of life, tough, wiry, and with muscles well developed by exercise. His dress was that of an ordinary trooper; he wore a long knife at his girdle, and Urie had placed his sword, which was broken and stained with blood, by his side. The mark of an old scar disfigured his left cheek, and his chest showed that he had been wounded more than once in his life. Jacques was certainly right in saying he was no peaceable citizen.
Urie had fetched the curé, who had bandaged his hurts, but the worthy priest shook his head at me as if to say, "There was really little use in doing it."
"Foul work!" I exclaimed; "the man must have made a desperate struggle for life. Where did you find him, Urie?"
"Just outside the little wood, monsieur. The ground all around was ploughed up by horses' hoofs, and stained with blood. I should say he was attackedby at least three horsemen. I thought he was dead, but when I bent over him he was muttering 'Monsieur Le Blanc'"
"Did he seem sensible?"
"I asked him several questions, but he did not reply, except to repeat monsieur's name, so I had him brought here."
"It is very strange," I said; "he is a perfect stranger; I have never seen him before. Why should he mention my name? Is it possible for him to recover?"
"Quite impossible, my son," exclaimed the curé; "he is dying fast; no surgeon could do anything for him. The wonder is that he has lived so long. He has been fearfully hurt."
"Did you meet no strange persons in the village?" I asked Urie.
"Not a soul, monsieur. It was very early; the villagers were not yet about, and the road was empty."
The wounded man groaned, and the curé partly raised his head, when he seemed more comfortable. His eyes were closed, and his breath came in quick gasps; the shadow of death was stealing across his face. Would he have strength to speak before he died? It was unlikely.
Who was he? What was his secret? How did it concern me? These and a dozen similar questions ran through my mind as I stood there watching him die, and quite helpless to obtain the information I needed. Once or twice he stirred uneasily; his eyes opened; his fingers strayed uncertainly over the bed as if seeking something that had gone astray, andpresently he said quite distinctly, but very, very faintly, "Le Blanc! Monsieur Le Blanc!"
"He is here," said the curé softly. "This is Monsieur Le Blanc. What have you to tell him?"
I do not know if the man heard; his eyes remained open; his fingers were still fumbling among the bedclothes; a frown clouded his forehead, and presently he whispered, but to himself, not to us, "The note! I can't find it. It has gone."
I bent over, him, placing my hand on his brow. "The note?" I said, "tell me about it. Who gave it you? Come, who gave you the note that is lost?"
My question produced an effect, but not the one I intended. The angry scowl spread over his face; the dying eyes filled with passion; the voice became quite strong again as the man cried angrily, "I did not lose it. I earned my money. It was stolen. They set on me—three of them—they were too many—I—I—"
A great hush fell across us, and we gazed at each other blankly. "It is too late," said the curé; "he has carried his secret to the grave."
"Is he dead?"
"Dead, monsieur."
"We must make inquiries," I murmured. "Urie shall show us the place where he found the body. Come, Jacques, we can do no good here."
"I will follow in a few minutes, monsieur. I wish to discover if there is anything by which we can identify the stranger."
Urie and I went out together, but the keenest search failed to help us. The dead man's horse had disappeared, and his assailants had left no trace behind them. I questioned the villagers closely, but none could throw any light on the tragedy. The victim was unknown to them, and no one had seen any strange persons in the neighbourhood. Jacques, too, was at fault, having failed to find anything in the stranger's clothing that would tend to solve the mystery.
"It is a curious thing, monsieur," he remarked that evening. "A dead body on the highroad is not an uncommon sight, but this man was coming to you on a special errand."
"It is evident he was bringing me a letter. The question is—did his murderers kill him to obtain possession of it?"
"The note has disappeared."
"True, and I am inclined to think it was the possession of the letter that cost him his life. Now, who are the persons likely to write to me? My sister—but we can dismiss her—one doesn't commit murder for a page of ordinary gossip."
"No," said Jacques, "I do not think the poor fellow was a messenger from Mademoiselle Jeanne."
"There is Monsieur Bellièvre! He is at Court and aware of what is going on there. Is it likely that he has heard some favourable news, and—"
"Ah, monsieur," Jacques broke in hastily, "our thoughts are the same. These cut-throats are in the pay of Etienne Cordel, and in killing this poor fellow they have struck at you. But how, I cannot understand."
"We know that Cordel has friends at Court," I continued. "Let us suppose for an instant that the king has agreed to sign the papers; the lawyer would learn the news quickly enough."
"Yes, monsieur," agreed Jacques, "that is so. But how does that help us?"
"Thus. Monsieur Bellièvre or the Admiral writes, giving me the information, and advising me to return. I arrive at Blois, or wherever the Court may be; the papers are signed, and Cordel's chance of the estates has vanished. He certainly might kill me afterwards, but it could be only in revenge."
"But, monsieur, the news could not have been kept from you for long. Besides, the journey to Blois would have given the lawyer the very chance he wanted. It would have suited him better for the letter to have reached you. Then his ruffians would have waited, and have waylaid you on the road."
"He might not have thought of that!"
"It would not have needed much cunning, monsieur!"
"There is just one other solution possible," I said. "You remember the man who came here on the night of the wild storm? You did not recognize him, but—"
"I am hardly likely to forget the man who tried hard to kill both of us!" interrupted Jacques.
"You have kept your knowledge very close then!" I replied.
"I had no wish to pry into your secrets, monsieur."
"It was not exactly a secret. Something happenedwhile you were with the Count of St Cyr. I had this man's life in my hand, and spared it."
Jacques shrugged his shoulders as if to imply that he had hardly thought me capable of acting so foolishly.
"He is in Monseigneur's service, and, as you know, came to warn me against Etienne Cordel. He promised, if he could ferret out the lawyer's schemes, to write to me."
"Do you really trust this fellow, monsieur?"
"He bears no love to those of the Religion," I answered; "but for me personally I believe he would lay down his life."
"Very good," said Jacques, as if argument was utterly useless against such folly.
"I was thinking it possible that in coming to or going from Le Blanc he was recognized. If so, the lawyer would be put on his guard."
"There is certainly something in that, monsieur."
"And if he sent me a warning message, it would be to Cordel's interest to secure it."
"'Twould be easy to test the truth of the matter," said Jacques. "This fellow will be with Monseigneur; let me go to him, and put the question directly. In that way, if you are right, we shall get at the lawyer's schemes in spite of his villainy. I will not loiter on the road, and I don't see how any danger can happen to you before my return."
We talked the plan over, and at length I agreed that Jacques should start on the journey the next morning. I gave him the name of my strange friend, and he promised to get to work with the utmost caution.
"It is possible," I remarked, "you will find him at Blois, and in that case you will have an opportunity of talking with Monsieur Bellièvre. Tell him that Mademoiselle Jeanne is accompanying the Queen of Navarre."
He went to the stables, and I did not see him again until just before my time for going to bed, when he returned looking gloomy and troubled.
"I have been thinking, monsieur," he said rather shamefacedly, "and I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of my advice. If Cordel's ruffians are close at hand, my going away will make their work easier. Now that it comes to the point I do not like leaving you, and that is the truth."
"That's a poor compliment, Jacques!" I laughed; "evidently you don't think I can take care of myself."
"The poor fellow they brought here this morning was as strong as you, and had as much experience, but he is dead all the same."
"I will take care, Jacques; I will go only into the village, and if it will make you feel more easy, Urie shall sleep here at night all the time you are away."
He was somewhat relieved by this promise, and his face brightened considerably.
"Let Urie bring an iron bar," he laughed, "and a man need wear a thick steel cap to save his skull!"
I went to bed hoping to obtain a good night's rest, but the startling tragedy had weakened my nerves more than I guessed, and I lay awake a long time, wondering what the secret was that the dead man had carried with him to the grave. Was he really a messenger from L'Estang? And if so, what was the news he was bringing? I little dreamed that one of these questions was to be answered within a few hours.
We rose early; I saw that Jacques made a good breakfast, and was standing in the courtyard giving him his final instructions when we heard the clatter of hoofs, and saw a horseman coming at a gallop up the slope.