Although Henry IV. was much accustomed to call things by their own names, the tent which he had spoken of was a handsome house in the town of Chamberry, his camp the wide circuit of the city itself, though, to say sooth, there were other tents, and another camp without the walls. The purveyors of the royal household had not, it is true, been much more careful in providing "cates divine" for the monarch's table than they usually had been in times past. Perhaps no general officer in his army fared so ill as Henry IV., for he was too good-humoured to take notice of any little derelictions, and cared less for an offence against his own person than one against the state. Perhaps he was wrong; I believe he was: for a man who tolerates disobedience of orders or default of duty in one instance, gives encouragement to the same fault in another. But still men of great genius have many roads open before them to the same ends; and the rigid rule which one considers necessary to the attainment of his objects, may be dispensed with by another without danger.
It may be true as an axiom, that the French nation can never remain peaceable and prosperous--considering their peculiar national characteristics--except under a tyrant. It may be true that Henry IV., had he been a tyrant, would never have perished by the knife of Ravaillac. It may be true, that nostrong-mindedtyrant ever fell either by the hands of the assassin or the judgment of his people; that it is the combination of weakness of character with despotic theories, that has been the downfall of every monarch who has succumbed to public indignation or private vengeance:--"The roar of liberated Rome" itself was merely the exultation of a people who had been cowed for years by a madman and a fool, at their liberation from a yoke as pitiful as it was oppressive. But there is a power in love, when excited by a being whose sterner and stronger qualities command respect, which is powerful over great masses; and although Henri Quatre passed over many small faults in those who surrounded him, I believe his vigour and determination in great things would have secured him against anything like popular caprice or versatility; and that the only thing which he had to fear, as a consequence of his good-humoured lenity in regard to personal offences, was the cowardly means of private assassination.
However that may be, the king's table, on the day of which we have been speaking, was certainly more poorly provided than that of many private gentlemen of modern fortune. The pomp and circumstance of a court waited around; but yet his scanty meal was no way royal, and the king felt a little mortified that such penuriousness had been displayed before a stranger.
Immediately after dinner, Henry left the fair Julia with Madame de Rosni and some other ladies, and called Gowrie away to a small cabinet of the house in which he had taken up his quarters. Seating himself, he motioned his young guest to a chair, and then said, "I take it for granted, my lord, that what you have said is actually the case, and that you have not seen our good cousin of Savoy, nor know anything of his affairs; but that you are simply travelling homeward with the beautiful bird in your trap, intending, of course, to make her your bride when you reach your native land?"
Gowrie merely bowed his head, saying, "I assure your majesty, I know nothing of the Duke of Savoy whatever."
"Well, then," replied Henry, "there may be one, perhaps, whom you may be well pleased to know--I mean Elizabeth, Queen of England. I will therefore write her majesty a few lines in your favour; and you will do well, when you reach Paris, to see her ambassador, Sir Henry Neville, in order that he may second my recommendation. I can see the time coming," continued the king, "when favour in England may be highly beneficial to a Scottish nobleman. If you should attain it, use it discreetly, for you have to deal with two people who have their peculiarities. The one, with strong sense, has small sincerity, with infinite policy combines many weaknesses, who can be a bitter enemy, but not an honest friend, and who will always sacrifice to expediency those who have served her--and there are none others--for their own ends. It will be right for you to be well with her, but not too well. The other has the greatest wit of any man I know, and the least wisdom. Cunning as a fox, his policy is as wily as that of the beast, and as pitiful. But his hatred is very dangerous, for it is strong in proportion to his weakness, and will pursue paths as obscure as his logic or his religion. To the latter personage you must have access from your own rank; to the former I will give you a letter, which will prove of good or bad effect on your own fortunes as you shall use it. Wait a moment, and I will write. You have done me some wrong in your own thoughts to-day; but I do not bear malice long; and I will not tell the maiden queen that you were half afraid to trust yourself with her brother of France, having a fair maiden in your company."
The king looked at him with a meaning smile as he spoke; but Gowrie instantly replied, "It was doing your majesty no wrong to suppose that you have great power over all hearts, and to be anxious to preserve one at least from your sway."
"Out, flatterer!" said the king; "do you think I do not know mankind, when I have dealt with them, fought with them, negotiated with them, and played at cards with them for seven-and-forty years? I knew what was going on in your young heart better than you did yourself, and would have teased you a little longer, but that I know myself too, and am aware that it is dangerous sporting where a fair girl is concerned--at least, with Gascon blood in one's veins. So you shall go, and God speed you. I knew your father in my youth, when he was here in France, and I would have saved his life if he had fled to me at once, as he should have done. You are a sad race of rebels, you Ruthvens; but all my best friends have been rebels in their day, and therefore I must not exclude you."
Thus saying, the king began to write with a rapid and careless hand, while the young earl, in whom some part of what he had said had wakened painful memories, sat with his eyes bent upon the ground, and his mind buried in thought.
Henry's letter, though somewhat quaint and formal, as his epistles to Queen Elizabeth usually were, was conceived in a gay and light tone, and intended beyond all doubt to do the young earl service with the royal lady to whom it was addressed. After the usual form of superscription, he went on to say, "I have learnt of your Majesty to deal promptly with enemies, and therefore, though most unwilling to have recourse to arms against our good cousin of Savoy. Being desirous to live peaceably with all men, yet finding that he mistook us for children, I judged it right to lead here, into the heart of his territories, an army which, I think, is bringing him rapidly to a better judgment. We have taken a number of his towns and castles, and are now here in the very heart of the mountains, with Chamberry and Montmeillant in our hands, and nothing but the citadels holding out. In the midst of these successes, I have been visited by the noble lord, the Earl of Gowrie, who will lay these at your feet; and as he is exceedingly desirous of serving your Majesty, I trust my letter to his care, being well assured of his honour and fidelity. Moreover, as doubtless your Majesty well knows, he is bound to honour and serve your royal person, even by the ties of blood, being descended, though remotely, and by the female line, from that great prince who terminated by the sword on Bosworth field the dissensions of York and Lancaster. I doubt not that for his own sake you will grace him with your favour, and whatever may be wanting in his own deserts to the eyes of one who judges not lightly, I trust you will grant him, for the sake of your Majesty's brother and grateful servant." "HENRY."
"Now, a few words to good Sir Henry Neville," said the king, looking up; "and then I will dismiss you, Gowrie, to your journey, that you may say, you had nothing but good at the hands of the King of France."
He then wrote a letter, in rather a different strain, to the English ambassador in Paris, recommending the young earl to his care and notice, and begging him to forward to the utmost of his power, consistently with his duty to his royal mistress, whatever views the earl might have at the English court. Then starting up, he said, "Now call the page, Gowrie, and let him bring wax and silk to seal these epistles, after which we will to horse with all speed, for I must on the way too. I have played Henry of France long enough to-day. I must now play Henry of Navarre again, for I intend to have Charbonnieres before to-morrow night."
The letters were soon sealed, and once more Lord Gowrie and his party set out upon their way, the king himself accompanying them with a small troop some three or four miles on their road. He then took leave of them with a gallant speech to the fair Julia, and a gay jest with the young earl; and wending onwards slowly, those whom he thus left made the best of their way to Lyons, where some repose became absolutely necessary.
As this book is not intended for an itinerary, I shall not dwell upon the events of their farther journey, which was very much like all other journeys in that day, when very few facilities were offered to the traveller for proceeding at a rapid pace to the end of his journey. Inns, indeed, were infinitely more numerous in France than even at present, for the very slowness of progression rendered it necessary that halting places should be provided at short distances; and, of course, those inns were sometimes very good, and sometimes very bad, according to the quality of the landlord, and the class of guests whom he was accustomed to receive. Although it is probable that, from the most barbarous ages down to the present time, some sorts of machines on wheels, usually called carriages, have been used amongst European nations, and that persons travelled in them from one part of a country to another, yet very few persons in France at that period ever adopted such a mode of conveyance, but performed their journeys on horseback, when they were capable of so doing. I am not aware, indeed, whether the horses which were provided for travellers at different stations all along the high roads, were even fitted for draft; and the usual plan, when either dignity or infirmity induced any one to travel in a carriage, was to proceed with his own horses, or to hire of the peasantry beasts of draft, which could usually be obtained at any of the small towns on the road. For travellers journeying with their own horses, the best inns were of course always open; and the appearance of the party of the Earl of Gowrie secured reverent reception from landlords and attendants. Nevertheless, the inconvenience and fatigue to which the fair Julia was subjected during her long journey were so great, that at Lyons Gowrie determined to purchase a carriage and four horses for herself and her maid, and in this conveyance they proceeded on their way, escorted by the rest of the party on horseback. The length of time spent on the journey, however, was by this means rendered much greater than it otherwise would have been, for--tell it not in these days of railroads--the utmost they could accomplish on the average was three-and-twenty miles in the day.
Who is there now-a-days who would not declare such a journey very tiresome? but yet, if the truth must be told, neither Lord Gowrie nor his fair companion found it so. Bee-like, they extracted pleasure from every flower on the way; and an impression seemed to have taken possession of them, which we but too rarely obtain in life, that the present may be rendered, if we please, the happiest part of existence. There were no particular clouds in the horizon of the future. There was nothing tangible which could make them dread the coming days; but they felt that they were very happy in the society of each other; and though they both longed for the hour when their fate would be permanently united, every other change but that presented itself to imagination as something fearful. Long as the journey from Lyons to Paris was, it was at length accomplished; and as they approached the barriers of the great city, Lord Gowrie rode on with a single servant, to seek and prepare lodgings for his whole party. He commended Julia to the care of Mr. Rhind, but spoke a few words, before he rode away, to Austin Jute, directing him where to seek him in the city, and trusting, if the truth must be told, more to his wit and capacity than to any knowledge of the world possessed by his former tutor.
The carriage passed the gates of Paris without difficulty, and went slowly on through the tortuous streets of the capital of France, the way being so narrow in many places, that the servants who rode with the vehicle were obliged to drop behind. Mr. Rhind had taken a place in the coach at the barrier; but he could not refrain here and there from drawing back the leathern curtains which covered that open space which is defended by windows in more modern vehicles, but which was then altogether destitute of glass. The motive he assigned to himself and Julia for so doing was to see that the driver went right to the Place Royale, where they were to meet the young earl; but, in truth, the worthy gentleman's knowledge of Paris was much too limited to enable him to give any accurate directions in case the man had gone wrong, and perhaps curiosity might have as great a share in the act as caution. However that may be, the proceeding proved unfortunate. The sea remains long agitated after a storm, and the civil wars which had desolated France for so many years had left a great deal of licence in the capital, which not all the firmness and energy of the king had been able to repress. Just as the carriage was turning out of the Rue St. Antoine towards the river, and while the servants were yet behind, a gay company of young men rode by at the very moment Mr. Rhind was about to close the curtain again. The look which one of them gave into the vehicle called the colour into Julia's cheek. It might be difficult to explain what there was in the expression which caused the blood to rush so quickly into her face--she never could explain it herself; but she felt that it was insolent, if not insulting. The curtain, however, was immediately drawn, and she thought the annoyance past, when suddenly the clatter of a horse's feet at the side of the carriage was heard, the curtain was pulled rudely back from without, and the same face which she had before seen was thrust partly into the carriage.
The stranger said something in a laughing tone, but Julia heard not what it was, and almost at the same moment she saw an arm stretched out, and a clenched fist strike the intruder a violent blow on the side of the head, while the voice of Austin Jute exclaimed in English, "Take that, for showing so much more impudence than wit. Never thrust your snout where you can't get it out."
A scene of strange confusion instantly followed, of which she could only behold or comprehend a small part. She saw Austin Jute off his horse, and the stranger in the same situation. But then Mr. Rhind drew the curtain tight, and tied the thongs. There was a clashing of swords, however, and the combatants seemed to run round and round the vehicle, which, by this time, had stopped, till at length there came a low cry and a deep groan, and then the voice of Austin exclaimed aloud, speaking to the driver, "On!--on to the Place Royale as quick as possible!"
We must now change the scene for a while, and carry the reader to a very different part of the world. In a small cabinet in the old castle of Stirling, sat a young man between nineteen and twenty years of age. It was clear, and even a warm day, though the season was winter. No snow, however, had yet fallen; the fields were still green; and the beautiful scene that stretched out beneath the eye, with the tall highlands mounting to the sky on the one side, with the fair lowland scene spread out for miles on the other, displaying all the windings of the Forth on its course towards the sea, little needed the leafy foliage of the spring or summer to render it exquisitely beautiful. It is probable, indeed, that he who built the high turret in which the cabinet was situated, had little thought of affording a beautiful scene to those who occupied it, for its destination was that of a watch tower, and from its peculiar position it commanded the widest possible view to be obtained of the country on three sides. The young man whom I have mentioned, paid as little attention to the fair landscape stretched beneath his eyes as the builder of the tower may be supposed to have done, though he sat near one of the four small windows which it contained, and the casement was wide open. In his hand--as he had cast himself back, resting against the stone-work of the window, with his head leaning forward, and his feet crossed over each other--was a small piece of paper, closely written in a female hand, and oft he gazed upon it, and oft he smiled, and once he raised it to his lips and kissed it. There was something that pleased him well in that paper. Oh, false and treacherous hopes of youth, how often do ye prove sweet poisons, which we quaff gaily to our own destruction! I once saw a curious piece of ancient sculpture, representing a child playing with a serpent, and I have often thought that the sculptor must have intended to typify the hopes of youth.
Still he gazed, and smiled, and played with the paper, and fell into thought. What was it the enchantress promised him? What was the golden dream which, for the hour, possessed the palace of the soul? I know not. Woman's love belike, for he was as fair a youth to look upon as ever mortal eye beheld--exceedingly like his brother, the Earl of Gowrie, but of a lighter and a gayer aspect.
Hark! There is the sound of a foot upon the short flight of steps that lead up to the turret from the large chamber below! It is not the step of her he loves. It is not hers, the giver of the gay day-dream in which he has been indulging; for see, he suddenly hides the paper, and looks towards the door with a glance of surprise if not alarm. And yet it is a woman's foot, light and soft falling; and the form that now appears at the door is surely young enough and bright enough to waken all the tenderest emotions of the heart.
But no! There is a slight gesture of pettish impatience, and he exclaims, "What, Beatrice! What do you want now? Really, you tiresome girl, one cannot have a moment's time for thought."
"Thought, Alex?" cried the young lady, with a laugh; "I wish to Heaven you would think, or think to some purpose. I have come to make you think if I can. Nay, nay, no signs of impatience, for I intend to lecture you; and you must both hear and consider what I have to say. Though I be a year younger, yet I am older in court and experience than you are. Oh, if you get up that way I shall lock the door;" and she did as she threatened, adding, "What do you laugh at?"
"At your sauciness, silly girl," answered Alexander Ruthven. "Where should you get experience, and what right have you to assume all the airs of sage old age?"
"I got my experience in this court," answered Beatrice, "where I have been for eighteen months, and you but three; and as for age, Alex, a woman of eighteen is as old as a man of four or five-and-twenty. So now sit you down there, like a good boy, and listen to what I am going to say to you."
Alexander Ruthven cast himself down in the seat again, with an air in which a certain affectation of scornful merriment overlaid, but could not conceal altogether, an expression of irritable mortification. "Well," he said, "here I am. Pray to what do your sage counsels tend, sister of mine?"
"They tend to your happiness, your safety, your honour, Alex," answered the Lady Beatrice, a little sharply, for though she had come with the kindest as well as highest purposes, her brother's tone hurt her.
"Now, gad's my life!" replied Alexander Ruthven, "I do believe that no man upon earth would suppose this to be the gay, bird-hearted Beatrice Ruthven."
"If so, what must be the brother's conduct which has so changed me, which has made the gay, grave, the light-hearted, heavy?" demanded Beatrice.
Her words now seemed to strike him more than those which she had previously uttered, for there was a deep melancholy in her tone, which gave their meaning additional point. "Well, Beatrice," he said, laying his hand on hers, "you are a dear good girl, I believe, and love me truly. Tell me what it is in my conduct that you object to?"
Beatrice instantly threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. "This is like my own dear brother," she said; "and now I'll be Beatrice again. But to the point. Do you know, Alex Ruthven--do you know that you are flirting with a queen till it is remarked by many?"
The youth's cheek turned fiery red. "Pooh, pooh!" he cried, "this is all folly! Can I not, in common courteous gallantry, profess my devotion to my sovereign's wife without any evil construction? Surely the difference between our stations is so great as to leave no ground either for danger or suspicion."
"The difference of station is so great as to free her from all danger of evil," replied Beatrice; "and I trust there are higher and holier principles too which would keep you, Alex, from the same; but neither those principles nor that difference will free either of you from suspicion, nor will it free you from danger even of your life, if you and she go on as you have been doing."
"Why, what have I done, and what ought I to have done?" demanded the young man, almost sullenly.
"I can tell you better what you ought not to have done," answered his sister. "You ought not to take private moments for stooping over the queen's chair, and whispering words into her ear with low tones and sweet smiles. You ought not, in any mask or pageant at the court, to seek her out, and find her instantly, as if you had some secret way of discovering which she is, amongst a hundred different disguises. You should not have pages coming to you with billets to be delivered secretly. I could tell you a dozen more things you should not do; but methinks this is enough."
The young man's countenance had changed expression several times while she spoke; but at last he answered, angrily, "Do you consider, Beatrice, that you censure your royal mistress as well as me?"
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed his sister. "I am her lady of honour; and her honour is dear to me as my own. No, no, what she does, and what she permits, is, I do believe, from a knowledge of the vast difference between her and you--the barriers between the sovereign and the subject, which she never dreams that you will venture to overstep. She knows not the danger to herself and you, even of that which is done in all innocence; and you, who should know it better, go rashly on, I trust with a pure heart, but still with an evil aspect to the world. Nay more, Alex, I tell you, you are watched by eager and jealous eyes, and that your name--which never should be--is ever coupled in men's mouths with the queen's. Beware, beware in time, my dear brother."
Alexander Ruthven put his hand to his head and gazed down on the ground with an expression no longer that of anger, but rather of sorrow, and almost of despair. "I knew not it would come to this," he said. "Heaven and earth! what is to be done?"
"I thought you knew it not," said his sister, "and therefore, my dear brother, I was resolved to warn you. As to what is to be done, I think nothing can be more easy. Get leave of absence for a while, and when you return, be careful of all your words and looks. Of your purposes and acts, I believe--nay, I am sure--there is no need to warn you to be careful. But remember, my brother, and ever bear it in mind, that though you yourself and though the queen may be perfectly blameless, a court is always filled, not alone with the suspicious, but with the malevolent. It must ever be so in a place where one man can only rise by another man's downfall. If your purposes be true and noble, and I will not doubt they are so, and if your conduct be but prudent, the task before you is an easy one."
The young man waved his hand and turned away his head. "More difficult than you know," he said, gloomily. "Oh, how difficult!"
He seemed as if he were about to go on, but at that moment some one suddenly laid a hand upon the lock of the door, and tried to open it. The young man and his sister both started, and looked at each other with an expression difficult to describe. Beatrice turned very pale, her brother very red, for each fixed in their own mind upon a person in that court as the yet unseen visitor; and in the imagination of both it was the same. Another instant, however, undeceived them. The door was shaken violently, and the voice of the king exclaimed, in broad Scotch, "Hout! What's this? Wha's lockit in here? Alex Ruthven, what need to steek the door, man?" At the same time he continued to shake the door furiously, as if seeking to force his way in.
Beatrice instantly started forward and turned the key, and the door at once flew open, nearly knocking her down. In the door-way appeared James himself, with his coarse countenance flushed, and a heavy frown upon his brow, while a little behind was seen one of his favourites at that time, named Doctor Herries, and another form, the sight of which made Beatrice's heart beat quick. Without noticing the young lady, James took a stride into the room, and looked all round, with his large tongue lolling about in his mouth, and the tip appearing between his half-open teeth. It was evident that he expected to see some other person besides those which the room contained; but there was no place of concealment of any kind, and no means of exit except the door near which he stood. The furniture itself was so scanty, that one glance was sufficient to show him he had been mistaken. Prefixing one of those blasphemous oaths in which he so frequently indulged, he exclaimed, "What the de'il is the meaning o' this? Why should brother and sister lock the door upon themselves?"
By this time, however, Beatrice had recovered her self-possession, and she replied, with a low curtsey, "It was nothing, your majesty, but that Alex and I have had a little bit of a quarrel; and I was determined to have it out with him. He wanted to run away, and so I locked the door."
"I think that's a flaw, lassie," replied the king, coarsely; "but gin you've quarrelled with your billy, tell me what it's about, and I'll soon redd ye."
"It's all redd up already, sire," answered Beatrice. The king, however, was determined to hear more, and pressed her closely; but Beatrice, without any want of respect, answered him with spirit. "I am not going to tell of my brother, sir," she said. "When brother and sister quarrel, it is better, like man and wife, that they should settle their quarrels themselves; and ours is settled. So, with your majesty's good leave, I'll not begin the matter again."
"Ay," murmured the king to himself, in a bitter tone. "These Ruthvens are all rebels. By----" he continued, turning to Doctor Herries, "I thought he had got some one else locked in here than his sister, and that there were more sweet words than bitter ones going on."
Dr. Herries, a coarse hard-featured man, with a club foot, shrugged his shoulders, saying, in a low voice, "Your majesty is seldom wrong in the end; but you had better not let him see all that you suspect, and give him some reason for coming."
"Oo, ay," said the king. "It had gane clean out o' my head. Weel, Alex, my bairn," he continued, in a cajoling tone, which he not unfrequently assumed when seeking to cozen some one, against whom he meditated evil, into a belief that he was well disposed towards him, "I was just bringing you this good knight here, who came this morning with letters from your mother. 'Deed, his business, it seems, is mair with your saucy titty than yoursel; but I thought it just as weel to let you know what was going on before I put they two together."
Beatrice coloured till the blood mounted over her whole forehead, but Alexander Ruthven answered somewhat sullenly, "I thank your majesty, and am well pleased to see Sir John Hume. As for my sister, she is her own mistress, and sometimes wants to be mine, too."
"There now," said the king, laughing, "the bairn's in the dorts; but what he says is true enough, as Sir John may find out some day. She'd fain manage us all. So now I shall leave you three together, for I've got a world of work to do. A crowned heed is no a light ane."
Thus saying, he retired with his club-footed favourite, taking a look back at the door to see the expression of the faces he left behind; but well knowing his majesty's habits, all parties guarded their looks till he was gone, and the door shut. Even then they were silent till the heavy step of Doctor Herries was heard crossing the room below, for the king's propensity to eaves-dropping was no secret in Stirling Castle.
As soon as they were assured that he was gone, Sir John Hume, even before he exchanged greetings with her he loved, turned to young Ruthven, exclaiming, "In Heaven's name, Alex, what is the matter with the king?"
"I don't know," answered Alexander Ruthven. "He does not make me the keeper of his secrets."
"But this secret somehow affects you," replied Hume; "and it is worth looking to, my friend, for James's enmities are very deadly, and his fears often as much so."
"What makes you think that he has any ill will towards me, Hume?" asked the young man, who, if the truth must be told, had been not a little alarmed by all that had taken place.
"His whole conduct," answered Hume. "He kept me below nearly half an hour talking the merest nonsense in the world--a heap of learned trash about Padua and Livy, just like the daudling nonsense of old Rollock of the High School, when he fell into his dotage. And yet he fidgeted about the whole time, pulling the points of his hose in a way that showed me he was uneasy. Then he called a page, and whispered to him some message; and then he began again upon Livy, and roared out a whole page of crabbed Latin, and asked me if I could translate it. Just at that minute the boy came back again, and said aloud he could not find her Majesty, upon which up started James, saying, 'We'll find some one, I'll warrant. Come along, Cowdenknows. Come along, Herries. You must come and see the work;' and then he said, as if he had forgotten to say it before, 'I'll take you to Alex Ruthven, John Hume.' All this time he was rolling away towards the door, like an empty barrel trundled through the streets by a cooper's man. I never saw him go so fast before in my life--muttering all the way, too, till he came to this door; and he seemed in such a fury when he found it locked, that I did not know what was to happen next; and a bright sight for me was the face of this dear lady when I came in. Bright as it always is," he added, taking Beatrice's hand and kissing it, "it never looked so bright as then."
"Nay, nay, Hume," said Beatrice, "let us talk of more serious matter, and seriously. What you say makes me very uneasy. I saw the king was angry about something, and your account proves that his anger was not light. Give us your counsel. What is best to be done?"
Alexander Ruthven had cast himself down again, and seemed buried in bitter thought; but his sister's words roused him, and he started up, exclaiming, "What I will do is decided. I will away to the king, and ask leave of absence--absence!" he murmured to himself--"a bitter boon! He well may grant that;" and without waiting for reply or comment, he hurried from the room.
"And now, dear girl," said Hume, as soon as he was gone, "let us speak of happier themes. Is my Beatrice changed, or does the heart of the woman still confirm the promise of the girl?"
"Don't you see I am changed?" answered Beatrice, gaily. "I am half an inch taller, and a great deal thinner. My mother was quite right to say that she had no notion of a girl marrying till she had done growing."
"Ay, but is the mind changed?" said Hume: "you have changed, my Beatrice--from lovely to lovelier."
"Fie!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You might have made it a superlative, and said loveliest, at once; but if you think I have become more beautiful in person, why should you think I am uglier in mind? And would it not be so, John Hume, to cast old love lightly away like a crumpled farthingale? No, no; you know right well that Beatrice does not change; and, therefore, all the time that you are asking such silly questions, you call her your Beatrice, to show that you are quite sure."
"And you are my own dear Beatrice, ever," said the young knight, throwing his arm round her, with a smile; "and if there was the least little bit of doubt engendered by two long years of absence, it was the least little bit in the world."
"There, that will do," said Beatrice, turning away her head, but not very resolutely. "But now, tell me about my dear brother Gowrie. Where is he? What is he doing? When is he coming back?"
"When last I left him, he was at Voghera," replied her lover. "What he was doing, was making love; and when he will be back depends upon the state of the roads, the courage of Mr. Rhind, and the strength of the fair lady who bears him company."
"Making love?" said Beatrice. "I heard something of this from my mother. A fair Italian, is not she? Beautiful, I will answer for it: for John knew what beauty is, even when a boy; but I do not think that he would be taken by beauty alone. Heaven and earth! I must get somebody to teach me a few more phrases of Italian than I have. Can the dear girl speak French, do you know?"
"I cannot tell," answered Hume, laughing; "for I never spoke to her in anything but English, which she speaks nearly as well as you do, Beatrice, and better than I do. There is Florentine blood in her veins, it is true; and the warm south shines out in her eyes, and glows upon her cheek; but she is Scottish by birth, and half Scottish by parentage. More I cannot tell you, Beatrice, for more I do not know. She is protestant, too, Gowrie says; and certainly I never saw her tell beads or heard her say Pater-nosters. She was likely to have got roasted for the omission; but that, I trust, will secure her a warm reception here."
"From me and mine, at least," replied Beatrice. "But if you mean from the court, I do not know what to say. The king has his own notions of religion as well as of government. They are both much the same, and both somewhat strange. I believe he would willingly have the whole land papist, if he might but be the pope. Indeed, he insists upon being the pope of his own church, and makes every one bow the head to his infallibility."
"He'll find that a hard matter in Scotland," said Sir John Hume, gravely; "and I almost fear that Gowrie's humour will not suit all he finds here--at least, what I hear on my return makes me think so. I understand the king has forbidden three or four ministers to preach, because they would not defend his actual supremacy. The days of old John Knox seem to be quite forgotten."
"Not quite," answered Beatrice. "There are those who remember them, though the king does not. God guard that Gowrie may have the prudence to keep quiet, for the king will have his way. There are some men who oppose him, and many who laugh at him; but by one means or another, he makes them all bend to his will sooner or later; and there is generally harm comes of it, if people do not yield readily."
"Everybody is tired of the feuds we have had," answered Hume; "and therefore men give way to things they disapprove; but Gowrie's is a spirit not easily bowed, and I doubt that he will ever be a favourite here."
"Heaven grant that he never may," replied the lady; "for it is a place of peril, depend upon it, Hume, and one out of which I shall be right glad to be."
"That may be when you will, dear Beatrice," answered Hume. "You have but to say the day, and free yourself from the bonds that tie you to a court."
"In order to fetter myself with others," said Beatrice, gaily; "but it is not so easy as you suppose, John. When my mother's letter came to the queen, telling her majesty that she consented to our marriage, the king vowed, with a great many hard oaths, that he would not have it for a twelvemonth."
At this announcement, Sir John Hume became very wroth, and ventured to break the precepts of the wise king in regard to speaking ill of princes; but his angry exclamations were cut short by the return of Alexander Ruthven, with the tidings that he had obtained leave of absence very readily, and was about to set out. "What must be done, had better be done quickly," he said; and then with a meaning look he added, "Excuse me to her Majesty, Beatrice, for I shall not be able to see her before I go."
It is probable that the young man did not in truth seek to deceive his sister; but certain it is, that some two hours after, when the king had gone out on horseback, Beatrice, as she looked forth from one of the windows, saw Anne of Denmark walking, unattended, between the castle wall and Heading Hill, a little mound just beyond the limits of the castle. I have said unattended, but not unaccompanied, for by her side was a form very like that of Alexander Ruthven; and Beatrice, as she saw it, pressed her hands together tightly, murmuring, "Rash boy!"
In the year 1599, the Place Royal at Paris was a new and fashionable part of the world; but nevertheless, one of the best houses, forming an angle with the street which led down from the Rue St. Antoine, had been taken by an Italian speculator, to be let out in apartments as a sort of inn, or, as it would now be called, hotel, though the more modest title of auberge was all that it then assumed. Next door to this house, was the hotel of the English ambassador, Sir Henry Neville; and before the porte cochère of each of the two houses was assembled a little knot of four or five persons: in the one instance composed of servants gazing vacantly out into the Place; and in the other, of the master of the house, some of his waiters, and the Earl of Gowrie, with the servant whom he had taken with him from the gates. The young earl and the host, with whom he had just arranged for the reception of his party, were looking up the street, and waiting for the arrival of the carriage, when suddenly they saw it approaching at a much more rapid pace than they expected, and a tumultuous assemblage of several persons following, while Austin Jute, at a quick trot, rode on before. The moment he arrived in the square, he sprang from his horse, and throwing the rein loose, approached his master, saying, in English, "I am sorry to tell you, my lord, that a young man has just thought fit to insult the Lady Julia, so I ran him through the body; and now they are following with a guard to catch me. I had therefore better be off, and find your lordship out afterwards."
He spoke rapidly, without any of his usual proverbs; but his young lord replied, "Stay, stay, Austin; if you are not in fault, I will protect you."
"I could not help myself, sir," replied the man. "He thrust his head into the carriage. I boxed his ears. He drew his sword; and I defended myself. There are plenty who can prove it."
"Let him come in here," said one of the English ambassador's servants, who had been listening. "If he's an Englishman, here's the proper place for him. This is the embassy."
"Run in there, Austin," said the young earl. "Tell your story to Sir Henry Neville, if he be within, and say that I will see him in a few minutes. Let him know that you are a subject of her Majesty the queen, and he will give you protection."
"Come along, come along! there is no time to stand talking," cried the English servant; and, hurrying after him, Austin Jute ran under the porte cochère, and the gates were closed just as the carriage drove into the Place, and stopped at the door of the inn. The servants who had remained with the vehicle were four in number; and they had without difficulty contrived to cover Austin Jute's retreat, by riding between the wheels of the carriage and the houses of the narrow street, though pressed upon by two mounted gentlemen, who followed them with drawn swords and menacing words. The moment the carriage entered the Place, however, the horsemen who were pursuing dashed round the vehicle and the servants, and just caught sight of the closing gates of the English embassy. At the same time, coming down the street, as fast as they could run, were five or six of the town guard, with large unwieldy halbards on their shoulders, which, of course, greatly impeded their advance.
"Did he go in there?" shouted one of the horsemen, as soon as he saw Austin's riderless horse in the Place, and the gates of the English embassy closed.
The words were addressed to no one in particular; but he looked straight to the Earl of Gowrie as he spoke. The young nobleman took no notice of him, however, but calmly handed Julia out of the vehicle, saying, "Go straight in with Mr. Rhind, dear one. Everything is ready for you;" and then, seeing that she was very pale, he added, "Do not be alarmed. There is no danger. Austin has taken refuge at the English ambassador's.--Go in with the lady, and show her the apartments, sir," he said, speaking to the landlord. "I will follow immediately."
"But, my dear lord," said Mr. Rhind, who had by this time got out of the carriage----
"Go in, go in," said Gowrie, interrupting him, as he saw the two horsemen coming up towards them, and the guard entering the Place. "Go in, my dear sir, and do not leave her till I come. Now, gentlemen," he continued, turning to the strangers, as soon as he saw that Julia was safe in the hotel, "you seem to have business with me."
"Sacre bleu!" cried one of the others; "does that carriage belong to you, sir?"
"It does," replied Lord Gowrie, quite calmly.
"Well, then, one of your companions has just killed a gentleman, our friend," rejoined the stranger, furiously; "and we will have vengeance upon him."
"I understand," replied Gowrie, in the same unmoved tone, "that one of my servants--seeing a person, whom I will not honour by calling him a gentleman, insult a lady--punished him as he deserved, and then, in his own defence, ran him through the body. Is this the case or not?"
"Your servant!" exclaimed the Frenchman, without giving a direct answer, but mixing a few very indecent expletives with his speech; "was it a coquin of a servant who ventured to draw his sword upon a gentleman?"
"It is impossible to know a gentleman but by his actions," replied the young earl; "and whether he were gentle or simple, my servant would certainly punish any one who insulted a lady under his protection, well knowing, sir, that I would justify him and support him either with my sword or with my means; and let me add more, that whoever or whatsoever you may be, I shall look upon those who take part with him who committed the insult, as having shared in it, and treat them accordingly."
The Frenchman to whom he spoke instantly sprang to the ground; and perhaps more serious results would have ensued, had not the guard with their halbards come up, and thrust themselves between the earl and his opponent, both of whom had their hands upon their swords.
"Where is he? where is he?" was the cry; and the officer of the guard seemed much inclined to lay hands upon Gowrie himself, not having a very correct notion of the personal appearance of him he was to apprehend.
"You are mistaken, my good sir," said Lord Gowrie; "the person you are in search of apparently, has taken refuge at the house of the English ambassador, being a subject of that crown. At present, I am but scantily informed of what has occurred. Is the person he fought with dead, and who is he?"
"He is not dead, but he will die certainly," said the officer; and the Frenchman, who had dismounted, as I have stated, finished the reply by saying, "He is a Scotch lord, who has been brought up with us at this university, the Seigneur de Ramsay."
"I know no Scottish lord of that name," said the earl.
"We must have the homicide out, however," observed the officer of the guard; and approaching the gate of the embassy, he knocked hard for admission.
It was common, in all large Parisian houses at that period, to have a small iron grating inserted in the great gates, at the height of a man's head, through which, in times of danger, letters or messages might be received by those within, without opening the doors. This, at the English embassy, was covered in the inside with a thick shutter of wood, which, on the loud knocking of the officer of the guard, was withdrawn, showing the face of a burly porter behind the grate.
"What do you want?" demanded the porter.
"I want the body of a man who has taken refuge here after committing homicide," replied the officer.
"You can't have him, either body or soul, unless his excellency gives him up," answered the porter, gruffly.
There is in every man's mind, I believe, a store of the comic, which, though often battened down under strange and little-penetrable hatches, is sometimes arrived at, even in a very obdurate bosom, by the simplest of all possible processes. The Earl of Gowrie was in no very jesting mood. He was vexed at the scrape his servant had got into; and he was vexed to think that the life of a human being had been endangered, if not lost. He was vexed, moreover, then, that Julia--his Julia, should have been insulted by any one on her first entrance into the French capital. But yet the braggadocio tone of the French cavalier had somewhat amused him; and the reply of the sturdy English porter, delivered in very indifferent French, almost made him laugh, notwithstanding the seriousness of the subject. He had approached close to the gate with the officer, who, for the moment, seemed completely rebuffed by the reply; and knowing well that the matter could not end there, Gowrie interposed, to procure a more just and reasonable arrangement. He did not choose to use the English language, lest any suspicion should be excited in the minds of the Frenchmen around; but speaking French almost as well as he did his native language, he said, "Be kind enough, my good friend, to tell Sir Henry Neville that the Earl of Gowrie is at his gate, and would fain speak with him; but as French gentlemen are very apt to take their own prepossessions for realities, and to suspect, whenever they are in the wrong themselves, that others are in fault, it will be better, if he does me the honour of admitting me, that he should admit this officer of the prevot, and also this gentleman, who styles himself the friend of the wounded man."
"I demand that the culprit should be delivered up," said the cavalier, fiercely. "The privileges of no ambassador can shelter a murderer; and as to prepossessions, we all know that you Englishmen are the natural enemies of France, and that you have never aided any party in this country but for the purpose of promoting dissensions, and thereby nullify the efforts of Frenchmen for the honour and glory of their native land."
"His majesty, your king, might well be grateful to you for the observation, sir," replied the earl; "and my opinion of a Frenchman's prejudices is not altered thereby; but as my proposal is a fair one, I am quite willing to abide by it if it suits you. If not, I shall demand entrance for myself alone, which I think will not be refused me, as a distant relative of the ambassador's sovereign."
The latter words of the earl's reply had no slight effect upon the officer of the guard, who thenceforth addressed the young earl as "monseigneur," and took pains to explain to him that he was only acting in the strict line of duty. The two French cavaliers stood apart, consulting between themselves, till the porter returned, after carrying Gowrie's message to Sir Henry Neville.
"I am to permit three to enter," he said; "but while I do so, the rest must stand back to at least thirty paces from the gate, that I may open the wicket in safety."
The guard, and Gowrie's men, who had crowded round, were ordered to withdraw to the prescribed distance; and the command having been obeyed with no great alacrity, a small wicket in the gate was opened, through which Gowrie passed at once, taking precedence of the others as his right, from a knowledge that it is always dangerous to yield a single step to a Frenchman, who is certain never to consider it as a courtesy, but to look upon it as an acknowledgment of his superiority. The officer of the guard followed; and then came the stranger, looking back for a moment to some half-dozen idlers who had gathered round, with a strong inclination to call upon them to assert the honour of France, whether impugned or not impugned. Although Gowrie saw the glance, and easily comprehended what was passing in the worthy gentleman's bosom, his mind was put perfectly at ease by the array which he saw drawn up in the court-yard of the embassy. Those days were not as these, when powdered lacqueys, in the gold and silver lace which their masters will not condescend to wear, with two or three attaches and a few clerks hired on the spot, are the only guards of a diplomatist accredited by one court to another. Men went prepared for any contingency, and buckler and broadsword were as common in the suite of an ambassador as paper and pen and ink. Full forty men, well armed and stout in limb, were drawn up in the court of the embassy, while the secretary of the envoy himself waited at the foot of the stairs, on the left hand, ready to conduct the earl and his companions to the minister's cabinet. To the Earl of Gowrie he was particularly deferential and attentive, while to the French cavalier who followed, and whom he addressed as Monsieur de Malzais, he was coldly polite. After passing through two or three handsome saloons, the whole party was ushered into a small room surrounded with book-shelves; and a tall, elegant, dignified looking man rose up from a table to receive them, laying down a book which he had been reading, with the most perfect appearance of tranquillity and ease. His eye instantly rested on the Earl of Gowrie, being in truth well acquainted with the persons of the two others, and advancing towards him, he took his hand, and welcomed him to Paris with many expressions of esteem and regard.
"I have had a letter from his majesty, the King of France," he said, "informing me of your lordship's approaching arrival; and I only regretted that I did not know how I might serve you in anticipation of your coming, so that all might be prepared for you. Pray, my lord, be seated;" and placing a chair for him, he remained standing till the earl had taken his seat.
We can hardly bring our minds in the present day to believe that all this ceremonious respect, this ostentatious display of reverence for a fellow man, could have any effect upon the view which reasonable beings would take of a simple question of justice. But there was very little of the old Roman left in the sixteenth century. When men sold their loyalty and compounded for their treason, it was not to be supposed that justice was unmarketable. Cromwell, with all his faults and all his crimes, was the first who thoroughly purified the seat of justice, and taught the world that, in one country at least, neither rank nor wealth, nor even long conceded privilege, could prove a shield against the sword of justice. The immunities claimed by and granted to ambassadors were then enormous, and the influence of high rank often amounted to elevation above the law. The officer of the guard, though a man sensible of his duties and willing to perform them, was not less subject than others to the general feelings of the age and country in which he lived; and Monsieur de Malzais, though resolute even to obstinacy and bold to rashness, was habitually impressed with the reverence thus thought due to high station; and though they had both entered the room with a determination to require that Austin Jute should be at once given up to justice, the honours shown to his master by the ambassador of the haughtiest queen in Europe, rendered their demand very moderate in tone, and not very persevering in character.
To the surprise of both, however, Gowrie himself pressed for immediate investigation. He had been brought up in a sterner school, in which that spirit prevailed which afterwards shone forth with so strong a light in the higher and purer of the puritan party in England.
"I do not request your excellency," he said, after the officer of the guard had stated his object, and Monsieur de Malzais had preferred his charge, "to throw your protection over my servant, unless a clear case of justification can be made out in his favour; and then only so far as to shield him from long imprisonment and perhaps suffering, till it is ascertained whether the gentleman he has wounded lives or dies. I doubt not that the laws of the land will do justice between man and man, though the one be a mere servant and the other a person moving in a more elevated station of life, and I shall myself stay to see that it is so. But, in the first instance, as your own countryman and as my servant, I think you have every right to inquire whether he did, as he says, injure this gentleman in his own defence or not."
"I shall certainly do so," replied Sir Henry Neville; "for I should not be fulfilling my duty to my sovereign, were I to suffer one of her subjects to undergo unnecessary imprisonment for an act which he was compelled to perform. I shall deal with the case, my lord, exactly as if it were that of one of my own servants. If I find he has been guilty of a crime, I shall give him up at once to justice; if I find he has not, I shall protect him against all and every one, as far as my privileges extend. To this neither you yourself nor these gentlemen can object."
Whatever might be their abstract notions of the sovereignty of the law, neither of the Frenchmen did venture to object, and Austin Jute was called into the presence of the ambassador, and told his story in his own words, which were translated by the secretary for the benefit of those who did not understand the English tongue.
"We were riding along quietly enough, your excellency," he said, "much more like sheep that have got into a strange fold than anything else, when three gentlemen, of whom that was one," and he pointed to Monsieur de Malzais, "rode up and passed the carriage. We made way for them to go by, for they say, 'when you meet a fool in an alley, give him the wall;' but then they said something amongst themselves and laughed, and one of them wheeled his horse with a demivolte, and poked his head in at the carriage window, holding back the curtain. As it must have been done on purpose, unless he and his horse were both taken giddy, which was not likely, for it is rare for two animals to be seized with dizziness at the same time, I reminded him of the way he ought to go by a knock on the side of the head. He did not like that sort of direction, and jumping off his beast, or tumbling off, as the case may be, he drew his sword and poked at me in a way that would have made the daylight shine through me if I had not slipped off on the other side. An open enemy is better than a false friend; and now I knew what I was about. A cat in a corner is a lion; so having no means of escape, I drew cold iron too, and we both poked away at each other till he got a wound and fell. Thereupon, thinking to make my heels save my head, I got on my beast again and came hither."
"Did this gentleman here present, or any of the others, attempt to part you and your opponent?" asked Sir Harry Neville.
"No," answered Austin Jute; "that gentleman called out, 'Well lunged, Ramsay,' or some such name--'punish the dog.' I know French enough to understand that."
"Well, sir, what do you say to this?" asked Sir Harry Neville, turning to Monsieur de Malzais. "If the man's story is true, it would seem that the provocation came on the side of your friend; that he was justly punished for insulting a lady, and that then he drove this good man to defend himself."
"But his story is not true," replied the Frenchman, in a somewhat hesitating tone; "the Seigneur de Ramsay did not insult the lady. He only looked into the carriage, as any gentleman might do."
"That's a lie!" said Austin Jute, who had a very tolerable knowledge of the French tongue. "He looked into the carriage as no gentleman would do, and pulled back the curtain with his hand. There were plenty of people to prove it. Ask Mr. Rhind, and the other servants."
A part of this reply only was translated to Monsieur de Malzais, who was answering warmly; but Gowrie interposed, saying, "I will send for Mr. Rhind, who was in the carriage, and also for some of the servants. I have spoken with none of them myself. This man has had time to speak with none of them either, and therefore their account will be unbiassed."
The persons whom he mentioned were speedily brought to the embassy, and fully and clearly confirmed the account of Austin Jute. Mr. Rhind testified that the curtain of the carriage had been rudely and insolently drawn back, and the head of a stranger thrust into the vehicle; and the servants proved that the wounded man had drawn his sword, and made a thrust at their companion, before Austin Jute had even unsheathed his weapon. That first lunge, they said, would most probably have proved fatal, had not Austin dexterously slipped from his horse, and so avoided it.
While they proceeded in giving their evidence, the secretary translated their replies almost literally; and although the French gentleman did not actually look ashamed, yet he seemed very much puzzled how to meet their testimony. He had recourse, however, to a means not uncommon with persons in his predicament, declaring there was evidently a conspiracy to shield the offender, which called a smile upon the lips of Sir Henry Neville, who replied, in a quiet tone, "You have had so many conspiracies in France lately, Monsieur de Malzais, that you fancy almost every transaction is of the same nature. It seems to me, and I doubt not also to the officer of the guard, that no time has elapsed sufficient for these people to make themselves perfect in exactly the same account of the whole transaction. It will therefore be my duty to protect this poor man, who seems to have done nothing but what he was bound to do in defence of his lady and of his own life. My house must therefore be his place of refuge, from which he shall not be taken except by violence, which, I presume, nobody will think of attempting."
"Assuredly not, your excellency," replied the officer of the guard; "my view of the case is the same as your own; but neither you nor I are judges in this land; and I only consent to abstain from any farther proceedings against this person, till it is ascertained whether the gentleman he has wounded lives or dies. Should the latter event occur, I must apply to higher authorities for directions as to my future conduct."
"That as you please, sir," replied the ambassador; "but be assured, that under no circumstances will I give him up, unless I have express directions so to do."
"And in the meantime he will of course escape," said Monsieur de Malzais.
The ambassador made no reply, but rose and turned upon his heel with a look of some contempt; and the French gentleman, with the officer of the guard, retired.
"Now, Master Austin Jute," said Sir Henry Neville, "you may depend upon my protection so long as you keep yourself within the limits of this house, its courts, and garden; but if you venture out upon any pretext, you are very likely to get into the little Chatellet, in which case you might find yourself some day stretched out considerably beyond your usual length, upon an instrument called the rack, and perhaps might never be heard of afterwards; for there are often curious things done in this country in the name of justice. Be warned, therefore, and do not go abroad."
"Don't be afraid, sir," answered Austin Jute; "I will never stretch my feet beyond the length of my sheet. I know when to let well alone. When the waters are out, it is better to be on the top of a hill than in the bottom of a valley. If the maid had kept the pitcher in her hand, it would not have got broken; so, with many thanks, I will follow your advice to the letter."
With these quaint saws the good youth withdrew, accompanied by the rest of the Earl of Gowrie's servants, who had been summoned to give evidence; and as soon as they were gone, Sir Henry Neville said, with a smile, "I trust this young man will not die, my lord, for it might occasion us some trouble, although his character is well known here in Paris."
"Who is he?" demanded Lord Gowrie. "There are so many Ramsays in Scotland, that it is impossible to distinguish one from another, unless one knows the name of the estate belonging to the person."
"I do not believe he has any estate to distinguish him," replied the ambassador; "but he is a cousin of Sir George Ramsay of Dalhousie, whose brother John is page to your own sovereign, King James. This young man, proving of an unruly disposition, and likely to bring disgrace upon himself and his very honourable family, was sent hither by Sir George, one of the finest and highest-minded men I know, to study at the university here. He has rendered himself, however, more famous for rashness, violence, and insolence, than for learning or talent; and I believe the reports of his conduct which have reached Scotland have given great pain to his elder cousin, though the younger still remains much attached to him, and has promised, they say, to use his influence at the court of the king for this young man's advancement. But now, my good lord, by your leave I will accompany you to pay my respects to your fair lady. I was not, indeed, aware that your lordship was married."
The colour somewhat mounted into Gowrie's cheek; but he replied, "Nor am I, Sir Henry. The lady whom I have the honour of escorting back to Scotland,--her grandfather, with whom she resided, having very lately died in Italy--is my cousin, the Lady Julia Douglas."
Perhaps the slight shade of embarrassment apparent in the earl's manner, in making this announcement, might excite the ambassador's curiosity; but he was too good a diplomatist to suffer any trace of what was passing in his mind to appear in his demeanour, and repeating his wish to be presented to the lady, he accompanied Gowrie to the inn. By this time all trace of the little disturbance which had occurred had vanished from the Place Royale; and gay groups of Parisians were beginning to assemble there, to walk up and down, and converse, make love, or observe each other, as was customary during the evening of each fine day. After being introduced to Julia, with whose exceeding beauty he seemed greatly struck, the ambassador proceeded to discuss with Gowrie that nobleman's plans. He advised him strongly to remain in Paris till the result of Ramsay's wound was known, adding, in a low voice, for the young earl's own ear, "I can almost forgive Ramsay's attempt to get another sight of a face and form like that, when once he had seen them."
"I shall not forgive him so easily," answered the earl; "for no lady under my care and escort shall be insulted with impunity."
"I beseech you, let the matter drop, my good lord," replied Neville; "if the young man dies, there is an end of it; if he recovers, he has surely been punished enough."
"He shall apologise, however," said the earl, in a thoughtful tone; "though I am not disposed to be harsh with him. Perhaps, indeed," he continued, "he may have received a lesson from the hand of my servant which may do him good. I know Sir George Ramsay well, at least I did so in my boyhood; and if there be one drop of his blood in this young man's veins, there must be some good qualities at bottom."
"Let us trust that the bad blood has been let out," said the ambassador, "and that the good remains behind, and that he may recover to make a better use of life than he has hitherto done. I will send in a short time to inquire how he is going on, and will let you know the answer I receive. In the meantime I take my leave, and will do my best to provide for your amusement during your sojourn in Paris."