"What a marriage night!" she murmured to herself; "the husband flees from me—the lover forsakes me!"
At that moment, coming from the Tour de Bois, and going up toward the Moulin de la Monnaie, on the other side of the fosse passed a student, his hand on his hip, and singing:
Marguerite listened with a melancholy smile; then when the student's voice was lost in the distance, she shut the window, and called Gillonne to help her to prepare for bed.
The next day and those that followed were devoted to festivals, balls, and tournaments.
The same amalgamation continued to take place between the two parties. The caresses and compliments lavished were enough to turn the heads of the most bigoted Huguenots. Père Cotton was to be seen dining and carousing with the Baron de Courtaumer; the Duc de Guise went boating on the Seine with the Prince de Condé. King Charles seemed to have laid aside his usual melancholy, and could not get enough of the society of his new brother-in-law, Henry. Moreover, the queen mother was so gay, and so occupied with embroidery, ornaments, and plumes, that she could not sleep.
The Huguenots, to some degree contaminated by this new Capua, began to assume silken pourpoints, wear devices, and parade before certain balconies, as if they were Catholics.
On every side there was such a reaction in favor of the Protestants that it seemed as if the whole court was about to become Protestant; even the admiral, in spite of his experience, was deceived, and was so carried away that one evening he forgot for two whole hours to chew on his toothpick, which he always used from two o'clock, at which time he finished his dinner, until eight o'clock at night, when he sat down to supper.
The evening on which the admiral thus unaccountably deviated from his usual habit, King Charles IX. had invited Henry of Navarre and the Duc de Guise to sup with him. After the repast he took them into his chamber, and was busily explaining to them the ingenious mechanism of a wolf-trap he had invented, when, interrupting himself,—
"Isn't the admiral coming to-night?" he asked. "Who has seen him to-day and can tell me anything about him?"
"I have," said the King of Navarre; "and if your Majesty is anxious about his health, I can reassure you, for I saw him this morning at six, and this evening at seven o'clock."
"Aha!" replied the King, whose eyes were instantly fixed with a searching expression on his brother-in-law; "for a new-married man, Harry, you are very early."
"Yes, sire," answered the King of Navarre, "I wished to inquire of the admiral, who knows everything, whether some gentlemen I am expecting are on their way hither."
"More gentlemen! why, you had eight hundred on the day of your wedding, and fresh ones join you every day. You are surely not going to invade us?" said Charles IX., smiling.
The Duc de Guise frowned.
"Sire," returned the Béarnais, "a war with Flanders is spoken of, and I am collecting round me all those gentlemen of my country and its neighborhood whom I think can be useful to your Majesty."
The duke, calling to mind the pretended project Henry had mentioned to Marguerite the day of their marriage, listened still more attentively.
"Well, well," replied the King, with his sinister smile, "the more the better; let them all come, Henry. But who are these gentlemen?—brave ones, I trust."
"I know not, sire, if my gentlemen will ever equal those of your Majesty, or the Duc d'Anjou's, or the Duc de Guise's, but I know that they will do their best."
"Do you expect many?"
"Ten or a dozen more."
"What are their names?"
"Sire, their names escape me, and with the exception of one, whom Téligny recommended to me as a most accomplished gentleman, and whose name is De la Mole, I cannot tell."
"De la Mole!" exclaimed the King, who was deeply skilled in the science of genealogy; "is he not a Lerac de la Mole, a Provençal?"
"Exactly so, sire; you see I recruit even in Provence."
"And I," added the Duc de Guise, with a sarcastic smile, "go even further than his majesty the King of Navarre, for I seek even in Piedmont all the trusty Catholics I can find."
"Catholic or Huguenot," interrupted the King, "it little matters to me, so they are brave."
The King's face while he uttered these words, which thus united Catholics and Huguenots in his thoughts, bore such an expression of indifference that the duke himself was surprised.
"Your Majesty is occupied with the Flemings," said the admiral, to whom Charles had some days previously accorded the favor of entering without being announced, and who had overheard the King's last words.
"Ah! here is my father the admiral!" cried Charles, opening his arms. "We were speaking of war, of gentlemen, of brave men—andhecomes. It is like the lodestone which attracts the iron. My brother-in-law of Navarre and my cousin of Guise are expecting reinforcements for your army. That was what we were talking about."
"And these reinforcements are on their way," said the admiral.
"Have you had news of them?" asked the Béarnais.
"Yes, my son, and particularly of M. de la Mole; he was at Orléans yesterday, and will be in Paris to-morrow or the day after."
"The devil! You must be a sorcerer, admiral," said the Duc de Guise, "to know what is taking place at thirty or forty leagues' distance. I should like to know for a certainty what happened or is happening before Orléans."
Coligny remained unmoved at this savage onslaught, which evidently alluded to the death of François de Guise, the duke's father, killed before Orléans by Poltrot de Méré, and not without a suspicion that the admiral had advised the crime.
"Sir," replied he, coldly and with dignity, "I am a sorcerer whenever I wish to know anything positively that concerns my own affairs or the King's. My courier arrived an hour ago from Orléans, having travelled, thanks to the post, thirty-two leagues in a day. As M. de la Mole has only his own horse, he rides but ten leagues a day, and will not arrive in Paris before the 24th. Here is all my magic."
"Bravo, my father, a clever answer!" cried Charles IX.; "teach these young men that wisdom as well as age has whitened your hair and beard; so now we will send them to talk of their tournaments and their love-affairs and you and I will stay and talk of our wars. Good councillors make good kings, my father. Leave us, gentlemen. I wish to talk with the admiral."
The two young men took their departure; the King of Navarre first, then the Duc de Guise; but outside the door they separated, after a formal salute.
Coligny followed them with his eyes, not without anxiety, for he never saw those two personified hatreds meet without a dread that some new lightning flash would leap forth. Charles IX. saw what was passing in his mind, and, going to him, laid his hand on his arm:
"Have no fear, my father; I am here to preserve peace and obedience. I am really a king, now that my mother is no longer queen, and she is no longer queen now that Coligny is my father."
"Oh, sire!" said the admiral, "Queen Catharine"—
"Is a marplot. Peace is impossible with her. These Italian Catholics are furious, and will hear of nothing but extermination; now, for my part, I not only wish to pacify, but I wish to put power into the hands of those that profess the reformed religion. The others are too dissolute, and scandalize me by their love affairs and their quarrels. Shall I speak frankly to you?" continued Charles, redoubling in energy. "I mistrust every one about me except my new friends. I suspect Tavannes's ambition. Vieilleville cares only for good wine, and would betray his king for a cask of Malvoisie; Montmorency thinks only of the chase, and spends all his time among his dogs and falcons; the Comte de Retz is a Spaniard; the De Guises are Lorraines. I think there are no true Frenchmen in France, except myself, my brother-in-law of Navarre, and you; but I am chained to the throne, and cannot command armies; it is as much as I can do to hunt at my ease at Saint Germain or Rambouillet. My brother-in-law of Navarre is too young and too inexperienced; besides, he seems to me exactly like his father Antoine, ruined by women. There is but you, my father, who can be called, at the same time, as brave as Cæsar and as wise as Plato; so that I scarcely know what to do—keep you near me, as my adviser, or send you to the army, as its general. If you act as my counsellor, who will command? If you command, who will be my counsellor?"
"Sire," said Coligny, "we must conquer first, and then take counsel after the victory."
"That is your advice—so be it; Monday you shall leave for Flanders, and I for Amboise."
"Your Majesty leaves Paris, then?"
"Yes; I am weary of this confusion, and of these fêtes. I am not a man of action; I am a dreamer. I was not born to be a king; I was born to be a poet. You shall form a council which shall govern while you are at war, and provided my mother is not in it, all will go well. I have already sent word to Ronsard to join me; and yonder, we two together, far from all tumult, far from the world, far from evil men, under our mighty trees on the banks of the river, with the murmur of brooks in our ears, will talk about divine things, the only compensation which there is in the world for the affairs of men. Wait! Hear these lines in which I invite him to join me; I wrote them this morning."
Coligny smiled. Charles IX. rubbed his hand over his brow, yellow and shining like ivory, and repeated in a kind of sing-song the following couplets:
"Bravo! sire, bravo!" cried Coligny, "I am better versed in matters of war than in matters of poetry, but it seems to me that those lines are equal to the best, even written by Ronsard, or Dorat, or even Michel de l'Hôpital, Chancellor of France."
"Ah! my father!" exclaimed Charles IX.; "would what you said were true! For the title of poet, you see, is what I am ambitious, above all things, to gain; and as I said a few days ago to my master in poetry:
"Sire," said Coligny, "I was well aware that your Majesty conversed with the Muses, but I did not know that you were their chief counsellor."
"After you, my father, after you. And in order that I may not be disturbed in my relations with them, I wish to put you at the head of everything. So listen: I must now go and reply to a new madrigal my dear and illustrious poet has sent me. I cannot, therefore, give you the documents necessary to make you acquainted with the question now debating between Philip II. and myself. There is, besides, a plan of the campaign drawn up by my ministers. I will find it all for you, and give it to you to-morrow."
"At what time, sire?"
"At ten o'clock; and if by chance I am busy making verses, or in my cabinet writing, well—you will come in just the same, and take all the papers which you will find on the table in this red portfolio. The color is remarkable, and you cannot mistake it. I am now going to write to Ronsard."
"Adieu, sire!"
"Adieu, my father!"
"Your hand?"
"What, my hand? In my arms, in my heart, there is your place! Come, my old soldier, come!"
And Charles IX., drawing Coligny toward him as he bowed, pressed his lips to his white hair.
The admiral left the room, wiping away a tear.
Charles IX. followed him with his eyes as long as he could see, and listened as long as he could catch a sound; then, when he could no longer hear or see anything, he bent his head over toward his shoulder, as his custom was, and slowly entered his armory.
This armory was the king's favorite apartment; there he took his fencing-lessons with Pompée, and his poetry lessons with Ronsard. He had gathered there a great collection of the most costly weapons he had been able to find. The walls were hung with axes, shields, spears, halberds, pistols, and muskets, and that day a famous armorer had brought him a magnificent arquebuse, on the barrel of which were inlaid in silver these four lines, composed by the royal poet himself:
Charles, as we have said, entered this room, and after having shut the door by which he had entered, he raised the tapestry that masked a passage leading into a little chamber, where a woman kneeling before apriedieuwas saying her prayers.
As this movement was executed noiselessly, and the footsteps of the king, deadened by the thick carpet, made no more noise than a phantom's, the kneeling woman heard no sound, and continued to pray. Charles stood for a moment pensively looking at her.
She was a woman of thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, whose vigorous beauty was set off by the costume of the peasants of Caux. She wore the high cap so much the fashion at the court of France during the time of Isabel of Bavaria, and her red bodice was embroidered with gold, like those of thecontadineof Nettuno and Sora. The apartment which she had for nearly twenty years occupied was close to the King's bed-chamber and presented a singular mixture of elegance and rusticity. In equal measure the palace had encroached upon the cottage, and the cottage upon the palace, so that the room combined the simplicity of the peasant woman and the luxury of the court lady.
Thepriedieuon which she knelt was of oak, marvellously carved, covered with velvet and with gold fringes, while the Bible from which she was reading (for she was of the reformed religion) was very old and torn, like those found in the poorest cottages; now everything in the room was typified by thepriedieuand the Bible.
"Eh, Madelon!" said the King.
The kneeling woman lifted her head smilingly at the well-known voice, and rising from her knees,—
"Ah! it is you, my son," said she.
"Yes, nurse; come here."
Charles IX. let fall the curtain, and sat down on the arm of an easy-chair. The nurse appeared.
"What do you want with me, Charlot?"
"Come near, and answer in a low tone."
The nurse approached him with a familiarity such as might come from that maternal affection felt by a woman for her nursling, but attributed by the pamphlets of the time to a source infinitely less pure.
"Here I am," said she; "speak!"
"Is the man I sent for come?"
"He has been here half an hour."
Charles rose, approached the window, looked to assure himself there were no eavesdroppers, went to the door and looked out there also, shook the dust from his trophies of arms, patted a large greyhound which followed him wherever he went, stopping when he stopped and moving when he moved,—then returning to his nurse:
"Very well, nurse, let him come in," said he.
The worthy woman disappeared by the same passage by which she had entered, while the king went and leaned against a table on which were scattered arms of every kind.
Scarcely had he done so when the portière was again lifted, and the person whom he expected entered.
He was a man of about forty, his eyes gray and false, his nose curved like the beak of a screech-owl, his cheek-bones prominent. His face tried to look respectful, but all that he could do was to wear a hypocritical smile on his lips blanched with fear.
Charles gently put his hand behind him, and grasped the butt of a pistol of a new construction, that was discharged, not by a match, as formerly, but by a flint brought in contact with a wheel of steel. He fixed his dull eyes steadily on the newcomer; meantime he whistled, with perfect precision and with remarkable sweetness, one of his favorite hunting-airs.
After a pause of some minutes, during which the expression of the stranger's face grew more and more discomposed,
"You are the person," said the King, "called François de Louvièrs Maurevel?"
"Yes, sire."
"Captain of petardeers?"
"Yes, sire."
"I wanted to see you."
Maurevel made a low bow.
"You know," continued Charles, laying a stress on each word, "that I love all my subjects equally?"
"I know," stammered Maurevel, "that your Majesty is the father of your people."
"And that the Huguenots and Catholics are equally my children?"
Maurevel remained silent, but his agitation was manifest to the King's piercing eyes, although the person whom he was addressing was almost concealed in the darkness.
"Does this displease you," said the King, "you who have waged such a bitter war on the Huguenots?"
Maurevel fell on his knees.
"Sire," stammered he, "believe that"—
"I believe," continued Charles, looking more and more keenly at Maurevel, while his eyes, which at first had seemed like glass, now became almost fiery, "I believe that you had a great desire at Moncontour to kill the admiral, who has just left me; I believe you missed your aim, and that then you entered the army of my brother, the Duc d'Anjou; I believe that then you went for a second time over to the prince's and there took service in the company of M. de Mouy de Saint Phale"—
"Oh, sire!"
"A brave gentleman from Picardy"—
"Sire, sire!" cried Maurevel, "do not overwhelm me."
"He was a brave officer," continued Charles, whose features assumed an aspect of almost ferocious cruelty, "who received you as if you had been his son; fed you, lodged you, and clothed you."
Maurevel uttered a despairing sigh.
"You called him your father, I believe," continued the King, pitilessly, "and a tender friendship existed between you and the young De Mouy, his son."
Maurevel, still on his knees, bowed low, more and more crushed under the indignation of the King, who stood immovable, like a statue whose lips only are endowed with vitality.
"By the way," continued the King, "M. de Guise was to give you ten thousand crowns if you killed the admiral—was he not?"
The assassin in consternation struck his forehead against the floor.
"As regards your worthy father, the Sieur de Mouy, you were one day acting as his escort in a reconnaissance toward Chevreux. He dropped his whip and dismounted to pick it up. You were alone with him; you took a pistol from your holster, and while he was bending over, you shot him in the back; then seeing he was dead—for you killed him on the spot—you escaped on the horse he had given you. This is your history, I believe?"
And as Maurevel remained mute under this accusation, every circumstance of which was true, Charles IX. began to whistle again, with the same precision and melody, the same hunting-air.
"Now, then, murderer!" said he after a little, "do you know I have a great mind to have you hanged?"
"Oh, your Majesty!" cried Maurevel.
"Young De Mouy entreated me to do so only yesterday, and I scarcely knew what answer to make him, for his demand was perfectly just."
Maurevel clasped his hands.
"All the more just, because I am, as you say, the father of my people; and because, as I answered you, now that I am reconciled to the Huguenots, they are as much my children as the Catholics."
"Sire," said Maurevel, in despair, "my life is in your hands; do with it what you will."
"You are quite right, and I would not give a groat for it."
"But, sire," asked the assassin, "is there no means of redeeming my crime?"
"None that I know of; only if I were in your place—but thank God I am not"—
"Well, sire, if you were in my place?" murmured Maurevel, his eyes fixed on the King's lips.
"I think I could extricate myself," said the King.
Maurevel raised himself on one knee and one hand, fixing his eyes upon Charles to make certain that he was not jesting.
"I am very fond of young De Mouy," said the King; "but I am equally fond of my cousin De Guise; and if my cousin asked me to spare a man that the other wanted me to hang, I confess I should be embarrassed; but for policy as well as religion's sake I should comply with my cousin De Guise's request, for De Mouy, brave captain though he be, is but a petty personage compared with a prince of Lorraine."
During these words, Maurevel slowly rose, like a man whose life is saved.
"In your critical situation it would be a very important thing to gain my cousin De Guise's favor. So I am going to tell you what he said to me last night."
Maurevel drew nearer.
"'Imagine, sire,' said he to me, 'that every morning, at ten o'clock, my deadliest enemy passes down the Rue Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, on his return from the Louvre. I see him from a barred window in the room of my old preceptor, the Canon Pierre Piles, and I pray the devil to open the earth and swallow him in its abysses.' Now, Maître Maurevel," continued the King, "perhaps if you were the devil, or if for an instant you should take his place, that would perhaps please my cousin De Guise."
Maurevel's infernal smile came back to his lips, though they were still bloodless with terror, and he stammered out these words:
"But, sire, I cannot make the earth open."
"Yet you made it open wide enough for the worthy De Mouy, if I remember correctly. After this you will tell me how with a pistol—have you not that pistol still?"
"Forgive me, sire, I am a still better marksman with an arquebuse than a pistol," replied Maurevel, now quite reassured.
"Pistol or arquebuse makes no difference," said the King; "I am sure my cousin De Guise will not cavil over the choice of methods."
"But," said Maurevel, "I must have a weapon I can rely on, as, perhaps, I shall have to fire from a long distance."
"I have ten arquebuses in this room," replied Charles IX., "with which I can hit a crown-piece at a hundred and fifty paces—will you try one?"
"Most willingly, sire!" cried Maurevel, with the greatest joy, going in the direction of one which was standing in a corner of the room. It was the one which that day had been brought to the King.
"No, not that one," said the King, "not that one; I reserve that for myself. Some day I am going to have a grand hunt and then I hope to use it. Take any other you like."
Maurevel took one down from a trophy.
"And who is this enemy, sire?" asked the assassin.
"How should I know," replied Charles, withering the wretch with his contemptuous look.
"I must ask M. de Guise, then," faltered Maurevel.
The King shrugged his shoulders.
"Do not ask," said he; "for M. de Guise will not answer. Do people generally answer such questions? Those that do not wish to be hanged must guess them."
"But how shall I know him?"
"I tell you he passes the Canon's house every morning at ten o'clock."
"But many pass that house. Would your Majesty deign to give me any certain sign?"
"Oh, that is easy enough; to-morrow, for example, he will carry a red morocco portfolio under his arm."
"That is sufficient, sire."
"You still have the fast horse M. de Mouy gave you?"
"Sire, I have one of the fleetest of horses."
"Oh, I am not in the least anxious about you; only it is as well to let you know the monastery has a back door."
"Thanks, sire; pray Heaven for me!"
"Oh, a thousand devils! pray to Satan rather; for only by his aid can you escape a halter."
"Adieu, sire."
"Adieu! By the way, M. de Maurevel, remember that if you are heard of before ten to-morrow, or arenotheard of afterward, there is a dungeon at the Louvre."
And Charles IX. calmly began to whistle, with more than usual precision, his favorite air.
Our readers have not forgotten that in the previous chapter we mentioned a gentleman named De la Mole whom Henry of Navarre was anxiously expecting.
This young gentleman, as the admiral had announced, entered Paris by the gate of Saint Marcel the evening of the 24th of August, 1572; and bestowing a contemptuous glance on the numerous hostelries that displayed their picturesque signs on either side of him, he spurred his steaming horse on into the heart of the city, and after having crossed the Place Maubert, Le Petit Pont, the Pont Notre-Dame, and skirted the quays, he stopped at the end of the Rue de Bresec, which we have since corrupted into the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, and for the greater convenience of our readers we will call by its modern name.
The name pleased him, no doubt, for he entered the street, and finding on his left a large sheet-iron plate swinging, creaking on its hinges, with an accompaniment of little bells, he stopped and read these words, "La Belle Étoile," written on a scroll beneath the sign, which was a most attractive one for a famished traveller, as it represented a fowl roasting in the midst of a black sky, while a man in a red cloak held out his hands and his purse toward this new-fangled constellation.
"Here," said the gentleman to himself, "is an inn that promises well, and the landlord must be a most ingenious fellow. I have always heard that the Rue de l'Arbre Sec was near the Louvre; and, provided that the interior answers to the exterior, I shall be admirably lodged."
While the newcomer was thus indulging in this monologue another horseman who had entered the street at the other end, that is to say, by the Rue Saint-Honoré, stopped also to admire the sign ofLa Belle Étoile.
The gentleman whom we already know, at least by name, rode a white steed of Spanish lineage and wore a black doublet ornamented with jet; his cloak was of dark violet velvet; his boots were of black leather, and he had a sword and poniard with hilts of chased steel.
Now if we pass from his costume to his features we shall conclude that he was twenty-four or twenty-five years of age. His complexion was dark; his eyes were blue; he had a delicate mustache and brilliant teeth which seemed to light up his whole face when his exquisitely modelled lips parted in a sweet and melancholy smile.
The contrast between him and the second traveller was very striking. Beneath his cocked hat escaped a profusion of frizzled hair, red rather than brown; beneath this mop of hair sparkled a pair of gray eyes which at the slightest opposition grew so fierce that they seemed black; a fair complexion, thin lips, a tawny mustache, and admirable teeth completed the description of his face. Taken all in all, with his white skin, lofty stature, and broad shoulders, he was indeed abeau cavalierin the ordinary acceptation of the term, and during the last hour which he had employed in staring up at all the windows, under the pretext of looking for signs, he had attracted the general attention of women, while the men, though they may have felt inclined to laugh at his scanty cloak, his tight-fitting small-clothes, and his old-fashioned boots, checked their rising mirth with a most cordialDieu vous garde, after they had more attentively studied his face, which every moment assumed a dozen different expressions, but never that good-natured one characteristic of a bewildered provincial.
He it was who first addressed the other gentleman who, as I have said, was gazing at the hostelry ofLa Belle Étoile.
"By Heaven! monsieur," said he, with that horrible mountain accent which would instantly distinguish a native of Piedmont among a hundred strangers, "we are close to the Louvre, are we not? At all events, I think your choice is the same as mine, and I am highly flattered by it."
"Monsieur," replied the other, with a Provençal accent which rivalled that of his companion, "I believe this inn is near the Louvre. However, I am still deliberating whether or not I shall have the honor of sharing your opinion. I am in a quandary."
"You have not yet decided, sir? Nevertheless, the house is attractive. But perhaps, after all, I have been won over to it by your presence. Yet you will grant that is a pretty painting?"
"Very! and it is for that very reason I mistrust it. Paris, I am told, is full of sharpers, and you may be just as well tricked by a sign as by anything else."
"By Heaven!" replied the Piedmontese, "I don't care a fig for their tricks; and if the host does not serve me a chicken as well roasted as the one on his sign, I will put him on the spit, nor will I let him off till I have done him to a turn. Come, let us go in."
"You have decided me," said the Provençal, laughing; "precede me, I beg."
"Oh, sir, on my soul I could not think of it, for I am only your most obedient servant, the Comte Annibal de Coconnas."
"And I, monsieur, but the Comte Joseph Hyacinthe Boniface de Lerac de la Mole, equally at your service."
"Since that is the case, let us go in together, arm in arm."
The result of this conciliatory proposition was that the two young men got off their horses, threw the bridles to the ostler, linked arms, adjusted their swords, and approached the door of the inn, where the landlord was standing. But contrary to the custom of men of his profession, the worthy proprietor seemed not to notice them, so busy was he talking with a tall, sallow man, wrapped in a drab-colored cloak like an owl buried in his feathers.
The two gentlemen were so near the landlord and his friend in the drab-colored cloak that Coconnas, indignant that he and his companion should be treated with such lack of consideration, touched the landlord's sleeve.
He appeared suddenly to perceive them, and dismissed his friend with an "Au revoir!come soon and let me know the hour appointed."
"Well,monsieur le drole," said Coconnas, "do not you see we have business with you?"
"I beg pardon, gentlemen," said the host; "I did not see you."
"Eh, by Heaven! then you ought to have seen us; and now that you do see us, say, 'Monsieur le Comte,' and not merely 'Monsieur,' if you please."
La Mole stood by, leaving Coconnas, who seemed to have undertaken the affair, to speak; but by the scowling on his face it was evident that he was ready to come to his assistance when the moment of action should present itself.
"Well, what is your pleasure, Monsieur le Comte?" asked the landlord, in a quiet tone.
"Ah, that's better; is it not?" said Coconnas, turning to La Mole, who nodded affirmatively. "Monsieur le Comte and myself, attracted by the sign of your establishment, wish to sup and sleep here to-night."
"Gentlemen," said the host, "I am very sorry, but I have only one chamber, and I am afraid that would not suit you."
"So much the better," said La Mole; "we will go and lodge somewhere else."
"By no means," said Coconnas, "I shall stay here; my horse is tired. I will have the room, since you will not."
"Ah! that is quite different," replied the host, with the same cool tone of impertinence. "If there is only one of you I cannot lodge you at all, then."
"By Heaven!" cried Coconnas, "here's a witty animal! Just now you could not lodge us because we were two, and now you have not room for one. You will not lodge us at all, then?"
"Since you take this high tone, gentlemen, I will answer you frankly."
"Answer, then; only answer quickly."
"Well, then, I should prefer not to have the honor of lodging you at all."
"For what reason?" asked Coconnas, growing white with rage.
"Because you have no servants, and for one master's room full, I should have two servants' rooms empty; so that, if I let you have the master's room, I run the risk of not letting the others."
"Monsieur de la Mole," said Coconnas, "do you not think we ought to massacre this fellow?"
"Decidedly," said La Mole, preparing himself, together with Coconnas, to lay his whip over the landlord's back.
But the landlord contented himself with retreating a step or two, despite this two-fold demonstration, which was not particularly reassuring, considering that the two gentlemen appeared so full of determination.
"It is easy to see," said he, in a tone of raillery, "that these gentlemen are just from the provinces. At Paris it is no longer the fashion to massacre innkeepers who refuse to let them rooms—only great men are massacred nowadays and not the common people; and if you make any disturbance, I will call my neighbors, and you shall be beaten yourselves, and that would be an indignity for two such gentlemen."
"Why! he is laughing at us," cried Coconnas, in a rage.
"Grégoire, my arquebuse," said the host, with the same voice with which he would have said, "Give these gentleman a chair."
"Trippe del papa!" cried Coconnas, drawing his sword; "warm up, Monsieur de la Mole."
"No, no; for while we warm up, our supper will get cold."
"What, you think"—cried Coconnas.
"That Monsieur de la Belle Étoile is right; only he does not know how to treat his guests, especially when they are gentlemen, for instead of brutally saying, 'Gentlemen, I do not want you,' it would have been better if he had said, 'Enter, gentlemen'—at the same time reserving to himself the right to charge in his bill, master's room, so much; servants' room, so much."
With these words, La Mole gently pushed by the landlord, who was just on the point of taking his arquebuse, and entered with Coconnas.
"Well," said Coconnas, "I am sorry to sheathe my sword before I have ascertained that it is as sharp as that rascal's larding-needle."
"Patience, my dear friend, patience," said La Mole. "All the inns in Paris are full of gentlemen come to attend the King of Navarre's marriage or attracted by the approaching war with Flanders; we should not find another lodging; besides, perhaps it is the custom at Paris to receive strangers in this manner."
"By Heaven! how patient you are, Monsieur de la Mole!" muttered Coconnas, curling his red mustache with rage and hurling the lightning of his eyes on the landlord. "But let the scoundrel take care; for if his cooking be bad, if his bed be hard, his wine less than three years in bottle, and his waiter be not as pliant as a reed"—
"There! there! my dear gentleman!" said the landlord, whetting his knife on a strap, "you may make yourself easy; you are in the land of Cocagne."
Then in a low tone he added:
"These are some Huguenots; traitors have grown so insolent since the marriage of their Béarnais with Mademoiselle Margot!"
Then, with a smile that would have made his guests shudder had they seen it:
"How strange it would be if I were just to have two Huguenots come to my house, when"—
"Now, then," interrupted Coconnas, pointedly, "are we going to have any supper?"
"Yes, as soon as you please, monsieur," returned the landlord, softened, no doubt, by the last reflection.
"Well, then, the sooner the better," said Coconnas; and turning to La Mole:
"Pray, Monsieur le Comte, while they are putting our room in order, tell me, do you think Paris seems a gay city?"
"Faith! no," said La Mole. "All the faces I have seen looked scared or forbidding; perhaps the Parisians also are afraid of the storm; see how very black the sky is, and the air feels heavy."
"Tell me, count, are you not bound for the Louvre?"
"Yes! and you also, Monsieur de Coconnas."
"Well, let us go together."
"It is rather late to go out, is it not?" said La Mole.
"Early or late, I must go; my orders are peremptory—'Come instantly to Paris, and report to the Duc de Guise without delay.'"
At the Duc de Guise's name the landlord drew nearer.
"I think the rascal is listening to us," said Coconnas, who, as a true son of Piedmont, was very truculent, and could not forgive the proprietor ofLa Belle Étoilehis rude reception of them.
"I am listening, gentlemen," replied he, taking off his cap; "but it is to serve you. I heard the great duke's name mentioned, and I came immediately. What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
"Aha! that name is magical, since it renders you so polite. Tell me, maître,—what's your name?"
"Maître la Hurière," replied the host, bowing.
"Well, Maître la Hurière, do you think my arm is lighter than the Duc de Guise's, who makes you so civil?"
"No, Monsieur le Comte, but it is not so long," replied La Hurière; "besides," he added, "I must tell you that the great Henry is the idol of us Parisians."
"Which Henry?" asked La Mole.
"It seems to me there is only one," replied the landlord.
"You are mistaken; there is another, whom I desire you do not speak ill of, and that is Henry of Navarre; and then there is Henry de Condé, who has his share of merit."
"I do not know them," said the landlord.
"But I do; and as I am on my way to the King of Navarre, I desire you not to speak slightingly of him before me."
The landlord replied by merely touching his cap, and continued to lavish his assiduities on Coconnas:
"So monsieur is going to see the great Duc de Guise? Monsieur is a very fortunate gentleman; he has come, no doubt, for"—
"What?" asked Coconnas.
"For the festivity," replied the host, with a singular smile.
"You should say for the festivities," replied Coconnas; "for Paris, I hear, runs riot with festivals; at least there is nothing talked about but balls, festivals, and orgies. Does not every one find plenty of amusement?"
"A moderate amount, but they will have more soon, I hope."
"But the marriage of his majesty the King of Navarre has brought a great many people to Paris, has it not?" said La Mole.
"A great many Huguenots—yes," replied La Hurière, but suddenly changing his tone:
"Pardon me, gentlemen," said he, "perhaps you are of that religion?"
"I," cried Coconnas, "I am as good a Catholic as the pope himself."
La Hurière looked at La Mole, but La Mole did not or would not comprehend him.
"If you do not know the King of Navarre, Maître La Hurière," said La Mole, "perhaps you know the admiral. I have heard he has some influence at court, and as I have letters for him, perhaps you will tell me where he lives, if his name does not take the skin off your lips."
"Hedidlive in the Rue de Béthizy down here at the right," replied the landlord, with an inward satisfaction he could not conceal.
"Hedidlive?" exclaimed La Mole. "Has he changed his residence?"
"Yes—from this world, perhaps."
"What do you mean?" cried both the gentlemen together, "the admiral removed from this world?"
"What, Monsieur de Coconnas," pursued the landlord, with a shrewd smile, "are you a friend of the Duc de Guise, and do not knowthat?"
"Know what?"
"That the day before yesterday, as the admiral was passing along the place Saint Germain l'Auxerrois before the house of the Canon Pierre Piles, he was fired at"—
"And killed?" said La Mole.
"No; he had his arm broken and two fingers taken off; but it is hoped the balls were poisoned."
"How, wretch!" cried La Mole; "hoped?"
"Believed, I mean," said the landlord, winking at Coconnas; "do not take a word too seriously, it was a slip of the tongue."
And Maître La Hurière, turning his back on La Mole, poked out his tongue at Coconnas in the most insulting way, accompanying this action with a meaning wink.
"Really!" said Coconnas, joyfully.
"Really!" said La Mole, with sorrowful stupefaction.
"It is just as I have the honor of telling you, gentlemen," said the landlord.
"In that case," said La Mole, "I must go instantly to the Louvre. Shall I find the King of Navarre there?"
"Most likely, since he lives there."
"And I," said Coconnas, "must also go to the Louvre. Shall I find the Duc de Guise there?"
"Most likely; for only a moment ago I saw him pass with two hundred gentlemen."
"Come, then, Monsieur de Coconnas," said La Mole.
"I will follow you, sir," replied Coconnas.
"But your supper, gentlemen!" cried La Hurière.
"Ah," said La Mole, "I shall most likely sup with the King of Navarre."
"And I," said Coconnas, "with the Duc de Guise."
"And I," said the landlord, after having watched the two gentlemen on their way to the Louvre, "I will go and burnish my sallet, put a match to my arquebuse, and sharpen my partisan, for no one knows what may happen."
The two young men, directed by the first person they met, went down the Rue d'Averon, the Rue Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, and soon found themselves before the Louvre, the towers of which were beginning to be lost in the early shades of the gloaming.
"What is the matter with you?" asked Coconnas of La Mole, who, as they came in sight of the old château, stopped and gazed, not without awe, on the drawbridges, the narrow windows, and the pointed belfries, which suddenly rose before his vision.
"I scarcely know," said La Mole; "my heart beats strangely. I am not timid, but somehow this old palace seems so gloomy and terrible."
"Well, as for me, I don't know any reason for it," replied Coconnas, "but I feel in excellent spirits. My dress is somewhat disordered," he went on to say, glancing at his travelling costume, "but never mind, it looks as if I had been riding. Besides, my instructions commanded promptness and I shall be welcome because I shall have obeyed punctually."
The two young men continued their way, each under the influence of the feelings he had expressed.
There was a strong guard at the Louvre and the sentinels were doubled. Our two cavaliers were somewhat embarrassed, therefore, but Coconnas, who had noticed that the Duc de Guise's name acted like a talisman on the Parisians, approached a sentinel, and making use of the all-powerful name, asked if by means of it he might not be allowed to enter.
The name seemed to produce its ordinary effect upon the soldier; nevertheless he asked Coconnas if he had the countersign.
Coconnas was forced to confess he had not.
"Stand back, then," said the soldier.
At this moment a person who was talking with the officer of the guard and who had overheard Coconnas ask leave to enter, broke off his conversation and came to him.
"Vat do you vant with Monsieur dee Gouise?" asked he.
"I wish to see him," said Coconnas, smiling.
"Imbossible! the duke is mit the King."
"But I have a letter for him."
"Ah, you haf a ledder for him?"
"Yes, and I have come a long distance."
"Ah! you haf gome a long tistance?"
"I have come from Piedmont."
"Vell, vell! dat iss anodder ting. And vat iss your name?"
"The Comte Annibal de Coconnas."
"Goot! goot! kif me the ledder, Monsieur Annibal, kif it to me!"
"On my word," said La Mole to himself, "a very civil man. I hope I may find one like him to conduct me to the King of Navarre."
"But kif me the ledder," said the German gentleman, holding out his hand toward Coconnas, who hesitated.
"By Heaven!" replied the Piedmontese, distrustful like a half-Italian, "I scarcely know whether I ought, as I have not the honor of knowing you."
"I am Pesme; I'm addached to Monsir le Douque de Gouise."
"Pesme," murmured Coconnas; "I am not acquainted with that name."
"It is Monsieur de Besme, my dear sir," said the sentinel. "His pronunciation misled you, that is all; you may safely give him your letter, I'll answer for it."
"Ah! Monsieur de Besme!" cried Coconnas; "of course I know you! with the greatest pleasure. Here is the letter. Pardon my hesitation; but fidelity requires one to be careful."
"Goot, goot! dere iss no need of any egscuse," said Besme.
"Perhaps, sir," said La Mole, "you will be so kind as to the same for my letter that you have done for my friend?"
"And vat iss your name, monsir?"
"The Comte Lerac de la Mole."
"Gount Lerag dee la Mole?"
"Yes."
"I don't know de name."
"It is not strange that I have not the honor of being known to you, sir, for like the Comte de Coconnas I am only just arrived in Paris."
"Where do you gome from?"
"From Provence."
"Vit a ledder?"
"Yes."
"For Monsir dee Gouise?"
"No; for his majesty the King of Navarre."
"I do not pelong to de King of Navarre," said De Besme coldly, "and derefore I gannot dake your ledder."
And turning on his heel, he entered the Louvre, bidding Coconnas follow him.
La Mole was left alone.
At this moment a troop of cavaliers, about a hundred in number, came out from the Louvre by a gate alongside that of which Besme and Coconnas had entered.
"Aha!" said the sentinel to his comrade, "there are De Mouy and his Huguenots! See how joyous they all are! The King has probably promised them to put to death the assassin of the admiral; and as it was he who murdered De Mouy's father, the son will kill two birds with one stone."
"Excuse me, my good fellow," interrupted La Mole, "did you not say that officer is M. de Mouy?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that those with him are"—
"Are heretics—I said so."
"Thank you," said La Mole, affecting not to notice the scornful wordparpaillots, employed by the sentinel. "That was all I wished to know;" and advancing to the chief of the cavaliers:
"Sir," said he, "I am told you are M. de Mouy."
"Yes, sir," returned the officer, courteously.
"Your name, well known among those of our faith, emboldens me to address you, sir, to ask a special favor."
"What may that be, sir,—but first whom have I the honor of addressing?"
"The Comte Lerac de la Mole."
The young men bowed to each other.
"What can I do for you, sir?" asked De Mouy.
"Sir, I am just arrived from Aix, and bring a letter from M. d'Auriac, Governor of Provence. This letter is directed to the King of Navarre and contains important and pressing news. How can I give it to him? How can I enter the Louvre?"
"Nothing is easier than to enter the Louvre, sir," replied De Mouy; "but I fear the King of Navarre will be too busy to see you at this hour. However, if you please, I will take you to his apartments, and then you must manage for yourself."
"A thousand thanks!"
"Come, then," said De Mouy.
De Mouy dismounted, threw the reins to his lackey, stepped toward the wicket, passed the sentinel, conducted La Mole into the château, and, opening the door leading to the king's apartments:
"Enter, and inquire for yourself, sir," said he.
And saluting La Mole, he retired.
La Mole, left alone, looked round.
The ante-room was vacant. One of the inner doors was open. He advanced a few paces and found himself in a passage.
He knocked and spoke, but no one answered. The profoundest silence reigned in this part of the Louvre.
"What was told me about the stern etiquette of this place?" said he to himself. "One may come and go in this palace as if it were a public place."
Then he called again, but without obtaining any better result than before.
"Well, let us walk straight on," thought he, "I must meet some one," and he proceeded down the corridor, which grew darker and darker.
Suddenly the door opposite that by which he had entered opened, and two pages appeared, lighting a lady of noble bearing and exquisite beauty.
The glare of the torches fell full on La Mole, who stood motionless.
The lady stopped also.
"What do you want, sir?" said she, in a voice which fell upon his ears like exquisite music.
"Oh, madame," said La Mole, casting down his eyes, "pardon me; I have just parted from M. de Mouy, who was so good as to conduct me here, and I wish to see the King of Navarre."
"His majesty is not here, sir; he is with his brother-in-law. But, in his absence, could you not say to the queen"—
"Oh, yes, madame," returned La Mole, "if I could obtain audience of her."
"You have it already, sir."
"What?" cried La Mole.
"I am the Queen of Navarre."
La Mole made such a hasty movement of surprise and alarm that it caused the queen to smile.
"Speak, sir," said Marguerite, "but speak quickly, for the queen mother is waiting for me."
"Oh, madame, if the queen mother is waiting for you," said La Mole, "suffer me to leave you, for just now it would be impossible for me to speak to you. I am incapable of collecting my ideas. The sight of you has dazzled me. I no longer think, I can only admire."
Marguerite advanced graciously toward the handsome young man, who, without knowing it, was acting like a finished courtier.
"Recover yourself, sir," said she; "I will wait and they will wait for me."
"Pardon me, madame," said La Mole, "if I did not salute your majesty at first with all the respect which you have a right to expect from one of your humblest servants, but"—
"You took me for one of my ladies?" said Marguerite.
"No, madame; but for the shade of the beautiful Diane de Poitiers, who is said to haunt the Louvre."
"Come, sir," said Marguerite, "I see you will make your fortune at court; you said you had a letter for the king, it was not needed, but no matter! Where is it? I will give it to him—only make haste, I beg of you."
In a twinkling La Mole threw open his doublet, and drew from his breast a letter enveloped in silk.
Marguerite took the letter, and glanced at the writing.
"Are you not Monsieur de la Mole?" asked she.
"Yes, madame. Oh,mon Dieu! Can I hope my name is known to your majesty?"
"I have heard the king, my husband, and the Duc d'Alençon, my brother, speak of you. I know they expect you."
And in her corsage, glittering with embroidery and diamonds, she slipped the letter which had just come from the young man's doublet and was still warm from the vital heat of his body. La Mole eagerly watched Marguerite's every movement.
"Now, sir," said she, "descend to the gallery below, and wait until some one comes to you from the King of Navarre or the Duc d'Alençon. One of my pages will show you the way."
And Marguerite, as she said these words, went on her way. La Mole drew himself up close to the wall. But the passage was so narrow and the Queen of Navarre's farthingale was so voluminous that her silken gown brushed against the young man's clothes, while a penetrating perfume hovered where she passed.
La Mole trembled all over and, feeling that he was in danger of falling, he tried to find a support against the wall.
Marguerite disappeared like a vision.
"Are you coming, sir?" asked the page who was to conduct La Mole to the lower gallery.
"Oh, yes—yes!" cried La Mole, joyfully; for as the page led him the same way by which Marguerite had gone, he hoped that by making haste he might see her again.
And in truth, as he reached the top of the staircase, he perceived her below; and whether she heard his step or looked round by chance, Marguerite raised her head, and La Mole saw her a second time.
"Oh," said he, as he followed the page, "she is not a mortal—she is a goddess, and as Vergilius Maro says: 'Et vera incessu patuit dea.'"
"Well?" asked the page.
"Here I am," replied La Mole, "excuse me, here I am."
The page, preceding La Mole, descended a story lower, opened one door, then another, and stopping,
"You are to wait here," said he.
La Mole entered the gallery, the door of which closed after him.
The gallery was vacant except for one gentleman, who was sauntering up and down, and seemed also waiting for some one.
The evening was by this time beginning to scatter monstrous shadows from the depths of the vaulted ceiling, and though the two gentlemen were not twenty paces apart, it was impossible for either to recognize the other's face.
La Mole drew nearer.
"By Heaven!" muttered he as soon as he was within a few feet of the other, "here is Monsieur le Comte de Coconnas again!"
At the sound of footsteps Coconnas had already turned, and was staring at La Mole with no less astonishment than the other showed.
"By Heaven!" cried he. "The devil take me but here is Monsieur de la Mole! What am I doing? Swearing in the King's palace? Well, never mind; it seems the King swears in a different way from mine, and even in churches. Here we are at last, then, in the Louvre!"
"Yes; I suppose Monsieur de Besme introduced you?"
"Oh, he is a charming German. Who brought you in?"
"M. de Mouy—I told you the Huguenots had some interest at court. Have you seen Monsieur de Guise?"
"No, not yet. Have you obtained your audience with the King of Navarre?"
"No, but I soon shall. I was brought here and told to wait."
"Ah, you will see there is some great supper under way and we shall be placed side by side. What a strange chance! For two hours fortune has joined us! But what is the matter? You seem ill at ease."
"I?" exclaimed La Mole, shivering, for in truth he was still dazzled by the vision which had been vouchsafed him. "Oh, no, but the place in which we are brings into my mind a throng of reflections."
"Philosophical ones, I suppose. Just the same as it is with me. When you came in I was just going over in my mind all my tutor's recommendations. Monsieur le Comte, are you acquainted with Plutarch?"
"Certainly I am!" exclaimed La Mole, smiling, "he is one of my favorite authors."
"Very well," Coconnas went on gravely, "this great man does not seem to me so far wrong when he compares the gifts of nature to brilliant but ephemeral flowers, while he regards virtue as a balsamic plant of imperishable perfume and sovereign efficacy for the healing of wounds."
"Do you know Greek, Monsieur de Coconnas?" said La Mole, gazing keenly at his companion.
"No, I do not; but my tutor did, and he strongly advised me when I should be at court to talk about virtue. 'That looks well,' he said. So I assure you I am well fortified with it. By the way, are you hungry?"
"No."
"And yet you seemed anxious to taste the broiled fowl ofLa Belle Étoile. As for me, I am dying of starvation!"
"Well, Monsieur de Coconnas, here is a fine chance for you to make use of your arguments on virtue and to put your admiration for Plutarch to the proof, for that great writer says somewhere: 'It is good to accustom the soul to pain and the stomach to hunger'—'Prepon esti tên men psvchên odunê, ton de gastéra semó askeïn.'"
"Ah, indeed! So you know Greek?" exclaimed Coconnas in surprise.
"Faith, yes," replied La Mole, "my tutor taught me."
"By Heaven! count, your fortune is made if that is so; you will compose poetry with Charles IX. and you will talk Greek with Queen Marguerite!"
"Not to reckon that I can still talk Gascon with the King of Navarre!" added La Mole, laughing.
At this moment the door communicating with the King's apartment opened, a step was heard, and a shade was seen approaching in the darkness. This shade materialized into a body. This body belonged to Monsieur de Besme.
He scrutinized both gentlemen, so as to pick out the one he wanted, and then motioned Coconnas to follow him.
Coconnas waved his hand to La Mole.
De Besme conducted Coconnas to the end of the gallery, opened a door, and stood at the head of a staircase.
He looked cautiously round, then up and down.
"Monsir de Gogonnas," said he, "vere are you staying?"
"AtLa Belle Étoile, Rue de l'Arbre Sec."
"Goot, goot! dat is glose by. Go pack to your hodel gwick and to-nide"—
He looked around him again.
"Well, to-night?"
"Vell, gome here mit a vite gross in your hat. De bassvord is 'Gouise.' Hush! nod a vord."
"What time am I to come?"
"Ven you hear de dogsin."
"What's the dogsin?" asked Coconnas.
"Ja! de dogsin—pum! pum!"
"Oh! the tocsin!"
"Ja, vot elus tid I zay?"
"Good—I shall be here," said Coconnas.
And, saluting De Besme, he took his departure, asking himself:
"What the devil does he mean and why should the tocsin be rung? No matter! I persist in my opinion: Monsieur de Besme is a charming Tedesco—Why not wait for the Comte de la Mole? Ah faith, no! he will probably be invited to supper with the King of Navarre."
And Coconnas set forth for the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, where the sign ofLa Belle Étoilelike a lodestone attracted him.
Meantime a gallery door which led to the King of Navarre's apartment opened, and a page approached Monsieur de la Mole.
"You are the Comte de la Mole?" said he.
"That is my name."
"Where do you lodge?"
"AtLa Belle Étoile, Rue de l'Arbre Sec."
"Good, that is close to the Louvre. Listen—his majesty the King of Navarre has desired me to inform you that he cannot at present receive you; perhaps he may send for you to-night; but if to-morrow morning you have received no word, come to the Louvre."
"But supposing the sentinel refuse me admission."
"True: the countersign is 'Navarre;' that word will open all doors to you."
"Thanks."
"Wait, my dear sir, I am ordered to escort you to the wicket gate for fear you should get lost in the Louvre."
"By the way, how about Coconnas?" said La Mole to himself as soon as he was fairly in the street. "Oh, he will remain to supper with the Duc de Guise."
But as soon as he entered Maître la Hurière's the first thing La Mole saw was Coconnas seated before a gigantic omelet.
"Oho!" cried Coconnas, laughing heartily, "I see you have no more dined with the King of Navarre than I have supped with the Duc de Guise."
"Faith, no."
"Are you hungry now?"
"I believe I am."
"In spite of Plutarch?"
"Count," said La Mole, laughing, "Plutarch says in another place: 'Let him that hath, share with him that hath not.' Are you willing for the love of Plutarch to share your omelet with me? Then while we eat we will converse on virtue!"
"Oh, faith, not on that subject," cried Coconnas. "It is all right when one is at the Louvre and there is danger of eavesdroppers and one's stomach is empty. Sit down and have something to eat with me."
"There, now I see that fate has decidedly made us inseparable. Are you going to sleep here?"
"I have not the least idea."
"Nor I either."
"At any rate, I know where I shall spend the night."
"Where?"
"Wherever you do: that is settled."
And both burst out laughing and then set to work to do honor to Maître la Hurière's omelet.