The Project Gutenberg eBook ofOrrain: A RomanceThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Orrain: A RomanceAuthor: S. Levett YeatsRelease date: December 26, 2006 [eBook #20192]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORRAIN: A ROMANCE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Orrain: A RomanceAuthor: S. Levett YeatsRelease date: December 26, 2006 [eBook #20192]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
Title: Orrain: A Romance
Author: S. Levett Yeats
Author: S. Levett Yeats
Release date: December 26, 2006 [eBook #20192]
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORRAIN: A ROMANCE ***
E-text prepared by Al Haines
A Romance
by
Author of"The Lord Protector," "The Chevalier d'Auriac," etc.
Longmans, Green, and Co. 91 and 93 Fifth Avenue, New York London and Bombay 1904
Copyright, 1904, byS. Levett-YeatsAll Rights Reserved
My father, René, Vidame d'Orrain, was twice married. By his first wife he had one son, Simon, who subsequently succeeded to his title and estates, and was through his life my bitter enemy. By his second wife, whom he married somewhat late in life, he had two sons—the elder, Anne, known as the Chevalier de St. Martin from his mother's lands, which he inherited; and the younger, Bertrand—myself.
Simon betook himself early to the Court, and we heard but little of him, and that not to his credit; St. Martin went to Italy under the banner of Brissac; and as for me, my parents yielding to the persuasion of my mother's uncle, the Bishop of Seez, decided that I should become a Churchman, and I was forthwith packed off to Paris, and entered at the College of Cambrai, being then about seventeen years of age. Being remarkably tall and strongly built, with a natural taste for all manly exercises, it might have been expected that my books saw little of me; but, on the contrary, I found in them a pleasure and a companionship that has lasted through my life. Thus it happened that I made considerable progress. So much so that the good Bishop, my great-uncle, often flattered me with the ambitious hopes of some day filling his Episcopal chair—a hope that, I need not say, was never realised.
About this time, I being nineteen years of age, things happened that entirely altered my life. My mother sickened and died. Shortly after news came of the death of my brother St. Martin, who was killed in an affair of honour at Milan. The Vidame, my father, then in his eighty-first year, and much enfeebled by old wounds, especially one he had received at Fornovo, felt that his last hours were come, and summoned my brother Simon and myself home to receive his last blessing before he died.
I hurried back as fast as possible, but when I reached Orrain I found to my astonishment the gates of the Chateau closed against me, and Simon, leaning over the battlements, bade me begone.
Overcome with this reception, I was for a space struck speechless; but at length finding voice I begged, even with tears, to be allowed to see my father. But Simon sneered back:
"You will have to take a long journey, then; either below or above—I know not which," he mocked. "Your father is dead. He has left you his curse, and the lands of St. Martin are yours. I am master here at last, thank God! And I tell you to be off! Take that pink and white face of yours back to your College of Cambrai!"
He lied, for, as I afterwards heard, my father was not dead then, but lay dying in his chamber, to which no one but Simon had access, and over which he had placed a guard of his men-at-arms, a cut-throat set of Italians whom he ever had with him.
Simon's cruel words stung me to the quick. My blood flamed with rage, and I dared him to come forth and meet me as a man; but he only laughed all the more, and, pointing to the tree of justice outside the gate, asked how I would like to swing from one of its branches. He added that, as I was his step-brother, he would give me a high one, if I chose.
I can almost see him now as I write this, with his cruel hatchet face snarling over the parapet, his red hair, his tall, thin figure and bent back—if the truth were known, Simon's affairs of gallantry must have been few.
In brief, despite all my efforts, I was unable to see my father, who died that night asking for me.
In the hamlet of Orrain itself I could find no shelter, although the villagers knew and loved me, and this was from fear of the new Vidame. I, however, found a temporary retreat in the forest, living there like a wild beast for four days, waiting with a burning heart for a chance of meeting Simon, but he never came forth.
On the fourth day my father was buried at dead of night in the Chapel of St. Hugo of Orrain, where every Vidame of Orrain, save one, lies.
Pierrebon, now my steward, and at that time my servant, and the only companion I had with me, brought me news from the village that this was to be, and I determined to be there at all hazard. This resolution I carried out, and Simon and I met beside our father's grave. The time and the occasion sealed my lips and stayed my hand. Even Simon spake never a word, but, when it was all over, rode off sullenly through the night back to the Chateau, his cursed Italians around him, and with the dawn started off for Paris.
This I did too. There was nothing else to be done, and I returned to my College.
I was, however, no longer in the position of a poor cadet, without means or resource. My mother's lands of St. Martin had come to me on Anne's death. Even my great-uncle the good Bishop agreed with me, with many sighs, that the profession of arms was more suited to my present position than the Church, but advised me to stay for a year more in College, and fortify my mind by taking the course of Philosophy.
I very willingly assented to this; but the wealthy Chevalier d'Orrain as I was called—I did not take the name of St. Martin—was a vastly different person from the poor cadet of the past year. I found myself courted and sought after. I began to find pleasures in life unknown to me before, and in the young man of fashion, who entered the world a year later it was hardly possible to recognise the once quiet and studious Bertrand d'Orrain.
I plunged into the dissipations of the capital. At the Court I found a patron in Monseigneur the Duc d'Enghien. My extravagance and my follies brought me many reproofs from the Bishop of Seez, but the good man's warnings were in vain, and might have been shouted to the stars. They were certainly at times loud enough to be heard there.
I often met Simon, now Vidame d'Orrain. He was high in favour with the Dauphin, who succeeded to the throne as Henri II., and his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, whom he made Duchess of Valentinois. By tacit consent there was an armed peace between us, though I well knew he would take any chance that might arise to my injury. As it was, we met, and passed each other without greeting, and in silence, ever with black looks, and hands on the hilts of our swords.
My acres began to diminish and the woods of St. Martin to go down. Things, in fact, were going from bad to worse, when war with the Emperor broke out afresh, and I was amongst the first of those who volunteered under Enghien for the Italian campaign. There I did my part, and shared in the day of Cerisolles as a captain in the Light Horse of Monsieur de Randan. Then, on the peace, back to Paris once more and the old life; with this difference, that now there was no restraining hand over me, for my great-uncle was dead. He left me his blessing, his copy of "Plutarch's Lives," and thirty crowns of the sun—all his fortune—for, though Bishop of Seez, he was a true shepherd of God, and laid up for himself all his treasures on high.
It was impossible that things could go on much longer without disaster, and the death—murder, rather—of that gallant prince the Duc d'Enghien deprived me of a protector upon whom I could always rely. This, followed by an unfortunate duel, the circumstances of which will be detailed later, precipitated matters. The Edict of Fontainebleau served as a weapon to my enemies, and it was put in force with the utmost rigour against me. My principal accuser was my unnatural step-brother the Vidame d'Orrain. He went so far as to charge me with aiding and harbouring the members of the New Heresy, and the discovery of a small leaflet printed at Geneva amongst my books was held to be sufficient proof against me. The affair of the duel I might have lived through, but this meant death. I took refuge in flight; it was the only course. I was condemned in my absence by the Chambre Ardente to the extreme penalty, and what remained of my property was given to Simon, who shared it with Diane, the mistress of the King.
Thus at five and twenty I found myself an exile, and penniless. One friend alone remained to me, and this was a young man of Orrain called Pierrebon, whom I have mentioned before. Through good and ill he adhered to me with ancient fidelity, and he lives still, honoured and trusted by all who know him.
Together we sought a refuge in the Low Countries, and there I learned the first great lesson of my life, and that was to live by honest work. For five years I labored, until I had amassed sufficient to give me a small estate of about fifty écus.
During those five years so many things had happened—I myself was so changed—that I began to think that I and my affairs had been consigned to oblivion, and that I might safely return to France. One day I was seized with an uncontrollable desire to see my native land once again. I determined to do so then and there, and a fortnight later, accompanied by Pierrebon, I was in Paris.
I had every reason to confirm the opinion I had formed, that I and my doings had been forgotten. In the humble class to which I now belonged no one had ever heard of the Chevalier d'Orrain. Here in Paris I felt I was safe, and I consequently determined to fix my abode in the great city. I hired an apartment in the Rue des Lavandières, and established myself there, giving out that I was a fencing-master. No pupils came; but at any rate there was peace and contentment. I formed no acquaintances except one, a certain Camus, a glove-maker, who had an apartment above mine. For some reason or other this man forced himself upon me, and though at first I repulsed his attentions he would not be denied, and I grew to tolerate him. He was possessed of extraordinary learning, and, under the guise of his ostensible calling, plied another terrible trade—those who know the story of Jeanne of Navarre will know what I mean.
This I was unaware of at the time; but, despite myself, the man's conversation interested me, so that I occasionally yielded to his importunities, and visited him for an hour or so after supper, when we passed the time in discussion.
In this manner close upon six years elapsed, until I myself had almost forgotten in the Bourgeois Broussel—the name I assumed—the once brilliant Chevalier d'Orrain. Pierrebon alone knew my secret, and he was as silent as the grave. At times the honest fellow would speak hopefully of a good day to come; but I poured cold water on that, and, pointing to my lute and my copy of "Plutarch's Lives," was wont to say that there was enough happiness there for my life without seeking to reopen the past or delve into the future.
One night—I remember it well; it was the night of Pentecost, in the year 1555—I went up, at Camus' request, to his apartment. I had not seen the old man for some time, and our talk was longer than usual. By some chance we began to discuss poisons, and Camus opened the stores of his curious knowledge. He had studied, he said, with a strange smile, the works of the Rabbi Moses bin Maimon, and was possessed of antidotes for each of the sixteen poisons; but there was one venom, outside the sixteen, the composition of which he knew, but to which there was no antidote. On my inquiry he stated that this was the poison used by the Borgia, and it was prepared as follows:
A bear having been caught, it was made to swallow a draught ofAcqua di Borgia. On this beginning to take effect the bear was suspended head downwards. Whilst the animal was in convulsions there poured from his mouth a foamy stream. This, collected in a silver vessel and securely bottled, was the Borgia venom, and to this there was no antidote.
I made some remark of horror, and he laughed a dry, crackling laugh, and rose from his seat.
"I will show you," he said, and was moving towards a press when we were startled by a cry from the street—a cry for help:
"A moi!A moi!"
I started from my seat, and Camus, with a turn and a step, reached the window, where, resting his hands on the mullions, he leaned far out. I was on his heels; but the window was narrow, a mere slit, and so I could see nothing below. Late as it was the cry had, however, reached other ears than ours as well. Here and there a dim light glowed for an instant or so in an overhanging window. Here and there a shadowy figure appeared at a balcony, only to vanish like a ghost after peering for a moment in the direction of the sound. This was all the interest, all the attention it excited, and this spoke for the times.
"What is it? Can you see anything?" I asked, craning over Camus' shoulder; and, as if in answer to my question, the cry rang out again, just below the window:
"A moi!Au secours!" Then came an oath, and the rasp of steel.
"They are killing someone there," said Camus; "killing with clumsy steel. Well! 'tis an affair for the watch." And with a shrug of his lean shoulders he turned back. But I waited to hear no more. Drawing my sword I made all haste down the stairway and into the street, and there before me, where the moonlight glistened on the mud and on the green and slimy cobble stones of the Rue des Lavandières, two men, their backs to the wall, fought for their lives against four, whilst a fifth, who seemed to direct them, stood a little apart.
The odds were heavy against the two. All the heavier because one, dressed in the bizarre attire of jester, had no sword but only a dagger for defence. Nevertheless, with his short cloak wrapped over his left arm, and the dagger in his right hand, he held his own with skill and courage.
The attack, however, was chiefly directed upon his companion, a fair-haired man, with a short moustache and beard. He had lost his hat. There was a red line of blood on his face from a wound in the forehead, and a twitching smile on his lips; but he fought silent as a wolf.
A thrust that would have found his heart was parried, but not by him. Quick as thought, the swordless man by his side hit up the bravo's rapier with his left arm, and the blade, stabbing the air, struck and bent against the stones of the wall just over shoulder-height.
"Sus!sus!" cried the leader of the night-hawks; and he ran forward.
Clearly it was time that help came. So I passed my sword through one of the bravos, and as the others, surprised and disconcerted, gave way a little, I ranged myself beside the two.
"Courage!" I said, "affairs are more equal now."
Cursing and growling, spitting like so many cats, the villains came on with a rush, their leader first. A long arm and a long sword are, however, great advantages in affairs of this kind, and I took him on the riposte. A cry and a gasp, a sword clattered on to the pavement, and the stricken man spun round and, holding his hand to his side, tried to stagger off, but after stumbling a few steps he fell in a heap in the shadow.
This settled the matter. The others, seeing their leader hit, waited for no more, but fled. There was no pursuit. For a few brief seconds we heard the patter of running feet, and then all was still.
We stood, all three staring at each other, and then the fair-haired man held out his hand, saying simply: "I thank you, monsieur!"
I met his grasp, expressing at the same time my concern for his wound.
"It is not much, I think—all due to a weak parry on my part." And he strove with a gold-laced handkerchief to staunch the blood that was flowing somewhat freely. I was about to offer what help I could when the jester cut in.
"Faith of a fool!" he said, sheathing his dagger, "my gossip here is apt to make light of these scratches; but I would give my cap and bells now for a little salve."
"If you will come into my house, messieurs—'tis but a step—we will see to the hurt."
I almost repented of my offer the moment after I made it, for I caught the jester plucking at my friend's sleeve in warning; but the other laughed, and, addressing me in a high and gracious way, said:
"Monsieur, once more thanks! I accept your offer. Of a truth!" and he ruefully looked at his handkerchief, "this is a trifle too much cupping for me."
I bowed, and led the way across the road; but the jester stayed us, calling out in his high-pitched tones:
"Just a look at this carrion! One may as well see upon whom our friend here has put his mark." So saying he stooped and turned over the man, the first of the two who had fallen. He lay half in a stagnant pool of water, and was quite dead, as we could see, for the moon fell clearly on his evil and distorted face and horny, film-covered eyes.
"As dead as imperial Caesar," said the jester; "nor can I say who or what he was. St. Siege! Stay—see this!" And throwing back the man's cloak, which half covered his breast, he pointed with his fingers at a crest embroidered on the doublet. It was a crescent in silver, with a scroll beneath it, and as we all stooped down to see, the jester's keen eyes met those of his companion.
"The scroll explains all," he said, as if in reference to the attack upon them: "it istotum donec impleat orbem."
"Diane?"
"Yes; Diane de Poitiers—Diane, Duchess of Valentinois—Diane, the curse of France! But I should play the Caliph Aaron no more, and keep home of nights; better still, take horse with the dawn for Navarre!"
There was a strange earnestness in the speaker's voice. There he was, one knee to ground, a finger resting on the ill-omened crest of the mistress of the King, the moon shining on his rich dress of black and gold, on the sharp, weasel-like face, and keen eyes that looked up at his friend.
"There is more in this than I thought at first," I said to myself, and scanned the features of the dead man more closely. He looked like a foreigner, and, saying that I was going to see after the other, I turned away, but with my ears skinned, as I began to dislike the affair exceedingly.
As I suspected, the jester began to warn his friend once more.
"Monseigneur, there has been enough folly for tonight, and your wound is but slight. Go not into the house! Let us thank him—reward him if you will—but let us be off!"
"Hush, Le Brusquet!" said the other in the same low tone. "There is no fear, and if there is danger I turn not from it."
I had heard enough, and seen enough too. The other man had got off somehow. He had fallen, it is true, but recovered himself sufficiently to make away. One can never be sure of the riposte in an uncertain light, and uncertain moonlight is worst of all.
"He has got off," I said as I returned; "and 'twere well to have your wound looked after, if you mean to have it done."
With this I led the way to the door of my house, and opening it bade them enter. The fair-haired man passed in at once, but I caught a gleam in Le Brusquet's hand as he followed. He had drawn his dagger once more.
My first thought had been, much as I disliked him, to ask Camus to help me in dressing the wound; but upon consideration, and chiefly, after I had heard Le Brusquet address his friend as "Monseigneur," I deemed it preferable that I should see to it myself. I had some experience in these things. A soldier should know how to stop as well as to let blood; and by way of precaution I always keep a little store of remedies at hand, for one never knows when they may be needed, as they were then. With this in my mind I led the way up into my apartment. Here, I may mention, I had established myself modestly but comfortably. It is true that the walls were bare, except for a demi-suit of mail, a couple of swords, and a banner I had taken at Cerisolles; but for the rest, what with my books—I had five in all—and my lute, I flattered myself that I had all that a man needed.
Pierrebon was asleep on a settle, and I had to call twice ere I could wake him, for he slept like the dead. But he rose quickly enough, and lit the candles. Then, bidding him fetch me materials for dressing a cut, I begged my guests to be seated. It was the first chance we had of really seeing each other. The jester Le Brusquet I did not recognize at all, though I noticed the royal cipher on his pourpoint. As for the other, there is only one house in France that bears such features, and the greatest of them all is now King, and owes his being to the man who stood before me.
As the lights fell on us I noticed a quick glance pass between the two, and Le Brusquet's hand moved beneath his cloak. It was as if suspicion were gone and he had resheathed his poniard. I smiled to myself; but Pierrebon now entered with a ewer and the things I required. He placed these on the table, and at a look from me, which he understood, vanished again.
I set myself at once to dress the wound, which was, after all, but a slight affair, though it had bled freely. I said so as I finished, adding that if it had been a trifle deeper the business would have been serious; but, as it was, a couple of days would mend matters entirely, except for a patch.
"Not Frenel himself could have tended me better," said the wounded man."Monsieur, I am deeply obliged to you."
And Pierrebon entering at this time with some wine I begged them to do me the honour to drink a cup.
This they willingly assented to, and filling three cups from the flagonI raised mine on high.
"Messieurs, a toast for all good Christians! Down with the crescent!"
They understood and drank—Le Brusquet with a searching look in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and his companion with a reckless laugh.
And now they rose. "Monsieur," said the wounded man, "will you add to your kindness by telling us to whom we are indebted? You are a soldier—I can see that—and I can keep that sword of yours from rusting if you will."
So he had not recognised me! Well, ten years make a difference! And yet, if once, he had seen me a hundred times in the days when his valiant brother Enghien lived. I began to feel sure that if he did not know me I was safe indeed; but I had no mind to change my present peace for any other life, and so made answer:
"Monseigneur, it were idle for me to say that I do not know you. Rest assured that were I so minded I could follow no braver or more generous prince than Antony of Vendôme, but my sword is hung to the wall. My name is Broussel. I am bourgeois, as you see, and having a small estate of fifty écus have all that suffices for the simple needs of a citizen such as I. Monseigneur, the little service I rendered is small; let it be forgotten. Nevertheless, I thank you for the kind offer you have made."
I delivered this speech with a respectful air, but yet in a tone that carried the conviction that my resolve was unchangeable.
"As you will," said the Duke, with some coldness of manner. "A Bourbon does not offer twice. And so, farewell! I fear 'tis a long road and an ugly road we have yet to travel, thanks to my folly—eh, Le Brusquet?"
Out of the tail of my eye I had been watching Le Brusquet. All this time he had been engaged in examining the silver cup from which he had drunk his wine—a relic of my past splendour. He toyed with it this way and that, looking at the arms engraved thereon, and comparing them with those on the flagon. Then his little eyes stole a swift, searching glance at me, and a smile—just the shadow of a smile—flickered over his lips. He had not, however, lost a word of what was passing between Vendôme and myself, and on the Duke addressing him he put down the cup he held in his hand, saying quietly: "If Monsieur Broussel will add to his kindness by lending me a sword it may, perhaps, be better for us, and I promise faithfully to return it."
Without a word I took a sword from the wall and handed it to Le Brusquet, who received it with a bow, and then, turning to the Duke, I offered to accompany them to the end of the street, which was an evil place even by day. I added that a little beyond the end of the street was the Gloriette, where the guards of Monsieur the Lieutenant of the Châtelet were to be found, and that thence their way would be safe.
The Duke pulled a long face, apparently at the thought of having to disclose his identity to the guards of the Châtelet, but Le Brusquet cut in with a "Let it be so, Monseigneur. Three are better than two, except in love-making."
At this the Duke laughed, and agreed, and we all three went out into the street, which twisted and wound its crooked way towards the river face between two rows of overhanging houses, that seemed as if they were ever threatening to fall over and bury it in their ruins.
For a little we walked without a word; for Antony of Vendôme—fickle and vain, at once the hope and despair of his time—felt himself hurt and aggrieved by the refusal of his offer, and for a space preserved a sulky silence. Ere we had gone a quarter mile, however, his temper—variable as the wind—began to change and his kindly nature to reassert itself. We were passing the house of the Duplessis Richelieu when he spoke.
"Eh bien, Monsieur Broussel, change your mind and think better of my offer. What with one thing and another there is steel in the air at present, and a stout heart and a good sword such as you are may make an estate of fifty écus five hundred or more. Come, think of it!"
I felt my blood warm within me in spite of my fancied devotion to my contented life; but I thought of that affair of the duel, of the judgment of the Chambre Ardente, and above all, of Simon and the cards he held against me. Besides, I knew Vendôme, and so I refused once more.
"Well, well," he said, "as you will; but never say Antony of Vendôme was ungrateful."
We had by this time reached the point where the road opened out upon the river face, and halted together in the moonlight.
A little distance from us lay the Seine, shining in scales of hammered brass. The convicts were still on the Gloriette. Poor wretches! They slaved there day and night, and lights were moving to and fro amongst them as the guards watched them at their toil. They were singing a weird refrain—a chorus—ever and again interrupted by yells and curses as the lash of the task-master fell on some victim of his hatred or sluggard at work.
"Here we part, Monseigneur!" I said. "The lieutenant of the Châtelet will give you guards to escort you farther."
I bowed to both, and would have gone—for I thought it well not to be mixed up further in this matter—but the Duke stayed me. He had taken off his glove, and was fumbling with a ring on his finger. This he drew off and thrust into my hand.
"Keep this, monsieur. Remember, if ever you want a friend you have but to send it to me. Farewell!"
"Au revoir!" cried Le Brusquet, who had up to now preserved silence. "Remember, Le Brusquet is also your debtor doubly—once for a life and once for a sword—and forget not my address is the sign of the Crescent."
With this mocking allusion to the Louvre and to Diane de Poitiers' influence there, he followed on the heels of Vendôme, leaving me with the ring in my hand.
I watched them until they were lost in the shivering haze. They never sought the Gloriette, but kept on the right, making directly for the Louvre.
Then I looked at the ring. It was light enough for me to see that it was a plain gold signet in the shape of a shield, with the arms of Béarn—two cows on a fieldOr—cut thereon.
"Perhaps," I said to myself, "I shall need it some day." With this I slipped it on my finger, and went back.
I may say at once that in this chronicle it often befalls that I have to describe the actions and deal with the motives of others. In doing this I have given no rein to idle fancy, but have strictly followed what those who played a part in my life have told me.
To show that my authorities in this respect are beyond reproach I have but to mention the names of my friends—Blaise Ste. Marie de Lorgnac, now, as all know, the Maréchal Duc de Lorgnac; and Nicholas d'Ayen, Sieur de Besme, of the Quercy, who acted so strange a part in his day under the name of Le Brusquet. Each of these is prepared on his faith, as knight and gentleman, to support my words, either on foot or on horseback, with sword or with lance, and in this respect I too am ready to cross a blade, or run a course; and so, God defend the Truth!
If further proof is needed I beg leave to refer to the confession of the Italian, Torquato Trotto, made at his expiation, which gives many and curious details, especially of what happened in Le Jaquemart, and which is registered in the archives of the Parliament of Paris, where all who list may see it. There is yet one other whom I could name, one who is ever at my side, and who for good or for ill has taken me as part of her life; but for the present the names I have cited are sufficient, and I shall say no more on the subject.
On returning to my apartment after leaving Vendôme and Le Brusquet I found old Camus at the door awaiting me. He entered with me, saying:
"I watched it all from the window. Hey! but it was well done!"
I pretended to take no notice of this remark, and pressed some refreshment upon him; but the old rascal refused, and sat with his knee between his hands, rocking himself backwards and forwards. He went on to make some roundabout inquiries as to who the persons were to whose assistance I had gone, but I told him plainly that I did not desire to discuss the subject.
Becoming nettled at this, he said: "Ho! ho! and so you do not trust me, Monsieur Broussel! Well, I tell you I know at any rate who it is that lies dead out there, for I have been to see, and it will not take long for me to find out the rest."
"Go and find out, then!" I said somewhat roughly, being annoyed in my turn.
At which he rose in a white heat. "That I will," he said; "and you will find that the hand of Madame Diane, soft as it is, can grip hard—hard, mind you, Monsieur Broussel!"
With this he flung out; and so we, who but an hour or two ago were in friendly converse, parted in anger, and with stormy words.
In a manner I was not sorry for this, for in my heart I always felt a warning against him, and there was something so ominous, so evil, in his face as he left that I felt assured he would strike a felon blow at the first opportunity.
The more I reflected on what had happened, and on Camus' threat in connection with Diane de Poitiers, the more I began to see a crop of dangers ahead of me. I began to think it well to retire to some other city. In this I was influenced by the fact that, if there were trouble about the dead man and I were involved in it, as after Camus' words I felt I should certainly be, it was hardly possible that I could escape being recognised.
The sentence against me, cruel and unjust as it was, stood still, and, once I was discovered, it would be put into force for certain.
Like a prudent general, I felt I must beat a retreat. The bulk of my money was in trustworthy hands in Antwerp, but in my oak chest were a hundred gold crowns of the sun—a great stand-by and help in the hour of trouble.
There was nothing for it but to go, and, summoning Pierrebon, I told him of my intention. We set to work to pack a valise at once. This being done, we waited for the small hours.
It was about four in the morning that I decided to move, and taking a last look at the place where I had lived so long in peace I went out into the street, followed by Pierrebon bearing the valise. I had to leave everything behind except the barest necessities and my money, and to trust the well-being of my goods to Fortune. The jade was unkind enough to forget me in this matter, which put me to heavy loss.
It was, of course, impossible to leave Paris at this hour, as the gates would be shut; but behind the Abbey of St. Germain de Pres was a little hostel called the Chapeau Rouge, where I knew I could find shelter until I could procure a couple of horses and be off.
At four in the morning night-hawks are abed, and even the convicts had ceased working on the Gloriette. The moon had gone, and it was dark now—the darkness that precedes the dawn.
We met not a soul as we stumbled along, and coming out at length to the Vallée de Misère we passed the Gloriette, and kept to our right along the river face, until almost opposite the Church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois. Here moored to the bank were a number of boats, the boatmen sleeping within them. Groping about in the darkness—such noises as we made being fortunately drowned by the continual lap, lap of the water against the sides of the boat, and their creaking and groaning as they rubbed against each other—we at length found a small empty boat tied to a large one. Favoured by darkness, we loosened the knot, and, taking to the oars, crossed the river without being perceived by a soul.
Once on the opposite bank we made the boat fast to some piles of wood near the water's edge, and leaving a piece of silver for the boatman, which I trust he found, we took the road to the Abbey of St. Germain. Near here we found a retreat in the scaffolding of a house that was being repaired. There we stayed until it was light, and about six in the morning arrived at the inn, as though we were early travellers who had entered Paris on the opening of the Porte St. Germain. In this manner, favoured by luck, and by the exercise of caution, I bade farewell to the Rue de Lavandières, and gave Camus the slip, without leaving any trace behind me.
The Chapeau Rouge was an inn mostly frequented by students, and in my younger days I knew it well, though, to be sure, more than a dozen years had passed since I last entered it. It was surrounded by a large garden, enclosed by a high wall, and I could have chosen no better place for my purpose, which was to lie close during the day, and, as soon as horses were procured, to depart at dusk, about the hour of the shutting of the gates.
As it happened, on this day there was scarce a soul at the inn, all the usual customers having been drawn away to witness the execution of a Portuguese named Gomez, who had been found guilty of sorcery, witchcraft, and other crimes, and was to suffer in expiation on the Place Maubert.
This ill wind, however, blew fair for me, as it left me undisturbed; and sending Pierrebon to purchase or hire horses I awaited his return.
It was well on in the afternoon, and the sun being hot I was resting in the shade of the garden wall, when from within a summer-house all covered with roses, that stood near to me, I heard a lute string touched by a master-hand, and a man's voice, full and clear, began to sing "The Three Cavaliers." With a rush a hundred recollections of the past came back to me, and I felt myself once more a heedless boy, sitting on that very same seat where the singer was now, and singing the same song. I rose and went forward, and to my surprise saw it was Le Brusquet, lute in hand, and by his side there sat a small brown ape, a collar of gold round his neck.
I listened till the last of the song, and was about to turn away; but, the ape running out of the summer-house at the time, the jester put his head through the entrance, with a "Back! Pompon! back!" and caught sight of me.
In a moment he was by my side, and, willy-nilly, forced me into the summer-house.
"The very man I wanted," he said. "I came here to think of you. I always come here when in doubt or trouble—and here you are—dropped from the clouds." He poured out some wine for me, and when we had drank a health together he asked me:
"Eh bien, monsieur, tell me how you came here; tell me all, for I am a friend."
It was impossible not to see this, and in a few words I told him. He listened gravely the while, stroking his ape's head.
When I had done he spoke. "I too have something to tell you. There is an outcry about Madame Diane's Italian—the first time an outcry has been made about any such scum. This morning there was a scene at thepetit couvert. I was there. The short of it is that the King, my gossip, sided with his mistress as against Vendôme. Words ran so high that the Duke was ordered to leave Paris, which he did at once."
I looked at the ring on my finger, and Le Brusquet saw the look.
"I fear," he said, "that little talisman has lost its power for the present; but, to go on, I had other business in the morning which I could not avoid. Towards eleven o'clock I hastened to the Rue des Lavandières to return your sword and to warn you. To my relief you were not there. Your hermit's paradise is gone, and an angel, in the form of one of M. Morin's guards, is at the door. Instead of a flaming sword he carries an arquebus——"
"It is quick work," I cut in; "and they have seized everything, I suppose?"
"Yes; everything. And your ostensible accuser and witness against you is one Camus, a glove-maker. He laid an information against you at sunrise. He was with Valentinois an hour later. Diane rises with the dawn, you know; and he is her glove-maker."
"So he has struck hard, and struck quickly."
"Yes; there is very little glove about his action. And more, Diane seems bent upon avenging the death of her Italian. But, monsieur, what is your next move?"
I explained my intention, and how I proposed to quit Paris; whereat he shook his head.
"It will not do," he said; "the gates are watched. So far you have beaten them, but there you will fail, and here detection is certain."
"I must risk something."
"As little as possible." And after a pause: "What do you say to theLouvre?"
"The Louvre!—the lion's den!"
"The safest place on earth. See here, Monsieur Broussel. I owe you my life; give me a chance to make some return. Can you trust me enough to put yourself in my hands? I will not fail you. It is not Le Brusquet the King's jester, but Nicholas d'Ayen, Sieur de Besme, of the Quercy, who pledges his word."
We stared each other in the face, and my good genius came to my elbow.
"Yes," I said.
In short, it was arranged that I should meet him towards sunset at the entrance to the tennis court, east of the Louvre. There was some difficulty about Pierrebon and the horses; but in this Le Brusquet again came to my aid, and it was settled that Pierrebon should find shelter in a house in the Rue Tire Boudin, which belonged to Monsieur Blaise de Lorgnac, Seigneur of Malezieux, and lieutenant of the Queen's guard, the same being a tried and true friend of my new-found benefactor.
Pierrebon at this moment returning, I hailed him. He had been unsuccessful in his attempt to obtain horses such as we needed, but hoped to do so the next day; and shortly after Le Brusquet departed, taking Pierrebon with him, and my valise.
"Fast bind, safe find," he said as he pointed at Pierrebon; and then, calling to his ape, went off.
Towards the appointed time I found myself close to the parvis of St. Germain l'Auxerrois. For some reason or other there was a greater crowd than usual, and I was compelled to halt for a moment. Just at this moment a body of eight or ten horsemen came trotting rapidly towards the Châtelet. Their leader all but rode over a child, and would certainly have done so had I not made a long arm and pushed it aside. There was no doubt of it, the leading horseman was my brother Simon, the Vidame d'Orrain, and I thanked my good star that, owing to the dusk, the bustle, and the pace he was going at, he did not recognise me. Something, however, struck him, for twice he turned back to look. I did not wait for a third glance, and, mixing with the crowd, was lost to view.
At the gate of the tennis court I met Le Brusquet, and, passing through a wicket, we entered the precincts of the Louvre.
Where the eastern wing of the Louvre rose high above the Rue St. Thomas lay the apartments of Le Brusquet, at the end of a labyrinth of passages and galleries. Having brought me here my friend left me, with a warning not to stir forth until his return—a piece of advice I was quite prepared to follow. Once alone I stepped out into a small, overhanging balcony, that clung like a beehive to the leprous grey of the wall, and, sitting well under cover of the battlements, looked around. Far below me was a walled courtyard, in which an archer of M. de Lorges' guard paced steadily backwards and forwards. Beyond this lay the narrow Rue St. Thomas du Louvre, its many-storeyed houses crowding one above the other, as if struggling for light and air. Here were the spires of St. Thomas du Louvre, the church raised to the martyr of Canterbury, and St. Nicaise. There lay the Quinze Vingts. To the right stood the Campanile of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, all empurpled in the afterglow of the sunset. Still farther, where the mouth of the street opened out, was a glimpse of the Seine; and with a turn of my head I could see, huge and vast, the enormous keep of the Louvre, built by Philip Augustus, and evilly known as the Philippine. But although my eyes, straining through the twilight, rested on these and more, my thoughts were far away. At a puff my pyramid of cards, the little life I had built up for myself, had come down, and all my labour and toil were in vain.
I am not of those who give way to despair; but the blue devils attack the best hearted at times, and for once I felt the hopelessness of my position, and began to think it useless to struggle further. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to accept defeat and surrender myself. Better that than being hunted like a hare, as I was. And then my thoughts were cut short. Something soft and furry sprang into my lap. It was Pompon, Le Brusquet's ape, and he looked into my face with soft, melancholy eyes.
"Poor little beast!"—and I stroked him. "You at least build no pyramids of cards."
"Tudieu!" said a voice, "that is true, but for pulling them down he has no equal." And Le Brusquet appeared at the window, which opened out upon the balcony.
I rose and came in. Le Brusquet stepped back and seated himself on a table, and then for the first time I noticed a third person in the room—a tall, soldierly man, with the collar of The Order at his neck. With a wave of his hand Le Brusquet presented me to the stranger, whom I found was M. de Lorgnac, the lieutenant of the Queen's guard—he in whose house Pierrebon had obtained shelter.
I thanked him for the kindness he had shown in this, to one so utterly unknown as I was to him; but he stayed me with a smile, saying that in this or any other matter I could command him, as the friend of Le Brusquet, and went on to pay me a handsome compliment in regard to the affair of the previous night.
"An affair that is like to place me on the road to Montfauçon," I said a little bitterly.
"On the contrary," replied De Lorgnac, "rather, perhaps, on the road to better things."
"Hearken not unto him!" said Le Brusquet; "he is for ever looking out for recruits for his guard. Blaise de Lorgnac is as insatiable a stirrer of the porridge of the times as I; only I use a longer ladle, as beseems a person of my wisdom. As for you,mon amiBlaise,—you throw your lures in vain! Know you that Monsieur Broussel is a philosopher, who has found contentment in—fifty écus a year, did you not say, monsieur?" And, reaching for his lute, he ran his fingers over the strings and began to sing:
"Mes amis, la terre est à moi.J'ai de quoiVivre en roiSi l'éclat me tente.Les honneurs me sont devolusJ'ai cinquante écus,J'ai cinquante écus,J'ai cinquante écus de."
"Mille tonnerres! Stop! Do you want to bring half the Louvre here to listen?" And De Lorgnac placed his hand over the singer's mouth, and took the lute from him.
"Enough!" said Le Brusquet; "you have banished the inspiration. I sing no more. And as for you, Monsieur Blaise, take yourself off with that long sword of yours. It frightens the ape, and I have that to say which is for M. Broussel's ear alone."
"Au revoir!" said Lorgnac, but as he reached the door he turned to me.
"Your Pierrebon is safe and sound in the Rue Tire Boudin. He has received orders not to stir forth. In the matter of the horses—you must let that be my care." And without waiting for reply he went away.
"I know not how to thank M. de Lorgnac or you——" I began, but LeBrusquet cut in:
"As yet the thanks are due from me, and Lorgnac is helping me to pay my debts. And now listen,mon ami. One half the world consists of fools who give advice, and the other half of idiots who refuse to benefit by it; let me for once see an exception to the rule."
"I hardly follow you."
"I will explain. Between us there is this difference. In the search for happiness that every man makes I remained in the world, and you left it and turned philosopher. The result is that I am fairly satisfied with life, whereas you are sick of it in your heart. Yet, until this disaster came to you, you tried to play the happy man with your lute, your 'Plutarch's Lives,' and your hermit's cell of a house. Is it not so?"
I made no answer, and he continued:
"Last night, for some reason of your own—perhaps because you still clung to your belief in your own way of life—you refused a chance; that chance has gone; but another is left, and it remains for you to take it or not."
"What is left?"
"What is left is this. Last night you refused the sauce of a prince of the blood; to-day will you refuse the soup of a Queen?"
"Of a Queen!"
"Yes; of the Queen of France. In brief, the Queen wants a reliable person to do something for her. It must be someone unknown to the Court. Will you undertake the business or not? It will, at any rate, enable you to leave Paris in safety, in broad day if you will, though out of Paris you may have to look to your skin."
Like an old war-horse I scented the battle, and my blood flamed through me. Le Brusquet was right. With cunning knowledge he had pulled at my heart-strings, and laid bare my secret to myself. Win or lose, I now knew that I had to come back to the world; and it should be now. I rose to my feet.
"I accept," I said, "whatever is offered me."
"I thought you would," he answered; "and I may tell you that De Lorgnac knows of this. At first it was he who was to have undertaken the affair; but he is too well known, and the Queen would have none of him. He it was who suggested your name to me; and," he went on, with a smile, "it was all prearranged that he should leave us together, so that I might open the matter to you."
"But the Queen! Perhaps——"
"There is no perhaps about it. The Queen asked De Lorgnac to find her an agent, and he has named you."
"I was going to say that if the Queen finds I am bourgeois——"
"We can leave the matter of a coat-of-arms to the Queen." And he laughed as he continued: "Perhaps that may come to the plain Monsieur Broussel—and—it has just gone compline, and we, or rather you, must see the Queen."
"I am ready," I said.
"Then let us be away! Everything has gone well. The King has left forFontainebleau to hunt the boar. He started this afternoon; MadameDiane is with him. The royal children are at St. Germain-en-Laye, andbut for its guards the Louvre is deserted; there is no one here but theQueen. Come, then!"
With a whistle to the ape, which hopped along in front of us, he opened the door and passed out, I following on his heels. Outside, we found ourselves in a maze of twisting passages, along which my guide went with quick, light steps. Finally, we turned into an arched doorway, and, ascending a stair, stood on the roof of one of the galleries connecting the wings of the Louvre with the great keep.
The twilight was dead, but the moon was rising in a clear, cloudless sky. By her light we walked along the lonely battlements until we reached a flight of steps, upon which the shadow of the Philippine fell darkly. Arrived at the head of the steps we gained an embattled balcony, giving access, by means of a lancet arch, into the keep. Through this we passed, and entered a long, low corridor. So low, indeed, that by raising the baton he carried in his hand Le Brusquet, though not a tall man, could easily reach the joints of the groined roof. Here we stood for a space, where a banner of moonlight lay on the floor—the ape a dark spot in its whiteness. All was silent as the grave. Once there was a startling rush of wings as a homing-pigeon flew past the open arch and hissed off into the night. All was in semi-gloom, except where the moon lit the floor at our feet, and where, at intervals, a dim yellow halo marked the spot where a feeble lamp was burning in a niche set far back in the huge walls.
"And this leads to the Queen's apartment," whispered Le Brusquet, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he led the way along the gallery, which curved with the shape of the keep. On rounding the curve it came to an abrupt ending. Here a lamp swung by a chain from the roof, and by its light we dimly saw before us a large door, firmly closed, and seeming to bar all further progress. Near the door a man was seated in an alcove in the wall, his knees almost up to his chin, his drawn sword in his hand. He swung round on to his feet as we came up. It was De Lorgnac.
"The Queen awaits you," he said, without further greeting, and tapped twice at the door. It was opened at once, and both Le Brusquet and myself were about to step in when De Lorgnac laid his hand on the former's arm.
"M. Broussel alone," he said, drawing Le Brusquet back, and I passed through the door.
I found myself in a small ante-chamber; but there was not a soul within. I stood for a moment irresolute, when the door behind me opened once again, and I heard De Lorgnac's voice.
"Onwards! Through the curtains ahead of you."
This I did, and entered a large room, richly furnished. The light, bright though soft, of the tall candles burning in grotesque holders fell on the curtains of violet velvet, starred with the golden lilies of France, on the rare tapestry, that covered the walls, on embroidered cushions and quaint carvings. There were flowers in abundance everywhere; but their scent was killed by something that burned in a cup held by a little bronze Ganymede, the odour of which filled the room with a sweet but heavy scent. This room, like the other, was likewise empty, and after glancing round twice to make sure, I took my stand near a table, upon which there were some writing materials and a pair of richly embroidered gloves. The sight of the gloves brought old Camus back to my mind, and I was about to take one up, to look at the workmanship, when I heard a footfall; the curtains were set aside, and a woman stood before me.
It was Catherine de Medicis herself. It was years since I had seen her, then a young girl; but now, though still young, she was in the bloom of ripened womanhood. People said that, with all her accomplishments, she lacked courage, and was dull and stupid. As my glance rested on the pale features, on the somewhat sullen mouth, and on the dark, expressionless eyes before me, I began to think they were right. To-day, however, I was also to begin learning a new lesson. Others have since learned it too, and paid for the learning as lessons have never been paid for before or after. She let fall the curtain she held as I sank on one knee before her and extended me a shapely hand. As I touched it with my lips she said in her deep-toned voice:
"M. Broussel, arise!"
I did so, and, moving towards the chair near the table, she sat down, and began toying with one of the gloves, her eyes not meeting my look, but surveying me with a swift sidelong glance.
"Eh bien!" she said, "you are that M. Broussel who came so opportunely to the rescue of my cousin of Vendôme."
I bowed, and with another of her swift glances she asked:
"And you are to be trusted?"
"Your Majesty," I said, "I have but my word to offer for this—I have none who will add his pledge to mine."
"No one? Are you sure?"
"Your Majesty, it is as I have said."
A faint smile parted her lips, and she looked up at me suddenly and quickly, her eyes as alive with intelligence as they had appeared dull and lifeless before.
"Well, monsieur, before I trust you," and she struck the glove she held in her hand on the table, "it is necessary for me to tell you something. Listen. Many years ago—I was new to France then—a young gentleman of the best blood of Burgundy came to Paris, and entered at the College of Cambrai. Well, he did what none other of his time did, nor has any of his order done the like since. He took the three courses—took them brilliantly. You follow me?"
"I am all attention, madame." My voice was as cold and measured as hers, but in my heart I began to wonder if I would leave the room for a journey to Montfauçon, with a halt by the way at the Châtelet.
"But," she continued, "this man was not a mere bookworm nor a pedant, though Le Brun, whose voice was the voice of the Sorbonne then, prophesied a red hat for him. The red hat never came, nor did a marshal's baton, though Bevilacqua himself foretold the latter one day, as he brushed away a chalk mark just over the heart, where this young man's foil had touched him. Bevilacqua, mind you—the best sword in Europe!"
I made as if about to speak. I was about to ask her bluntly what was to be the end of this, but with a wave of her hand she stayed me.
"Permit me to continue, monsieur! This man, or boy as he was then, was true metal all through, but he was cursed with an open heart and wealth. Let us say that the course of Philosophy unsettled his mind, that the two campaigns in Italy brought but withered laurels. Let it be what you will, but back he came to Paris; and because his blood was warm, his spirits high, and his heart full of vanity and vain imaginings, the red wine was poured forth, the dice rattled, fair women smiled, and the gold crowns went. It was the old, old story; but the pity of it, monsieur, was that it was such pure good steel that was fretting thus to rust! Was it not?"
She stopped, and looked at me again with her wonderful, searching eyes, and I braced myself, as one who was about to receive a death-blow.
"At last the end came. This brave, gallant—fool—yes, that is the word—quarrelled with his best friend over a lady of the Marais—of the Marais, mind you! This friend wanted to save him from himself. The result was that those two, who had been like brothers, met each other sword in hand under the lee of the Louvre, and one—it was not the fool—fell."
The words seemed to thunder in my ears. By some effort, I knew not how, I managed to restrain myself, and her cold, passionless voice went on:
"After that came ruin—ruin utter and hopeless. And he who might have been anything died like a dog of the streets."
Something like a gasp of relief broke from me; but the Medicis had not done yet. She rose swiftly, and for one brief second let her white hand, glittering with rings, rest on my shoulder. It was for a moment only, and then she let fall her hand, with a smile on her face.
"They say, monsieur, that the age of miracles is past. Caraffa the Legate smiles if you mention them. But I—I believe, for I know. The dead have come back before. Why not again, Bertrand d'Orrain? Would you live again, and pledge your faith for that of the Bourgeois Broussel?"