Satisfied that the presence of Helen de la Tremblade in the château, had not been discovered, father Walter sat in the sacristy without any effort to quit it, although as the reader must have divined, from his words, it was in his power so to do, notwithstanding all the precautions of Madame de Chazeul's servants to prevent him. I had well nigh said that he sat there calmly; for the exterior was so tranquil and still, that it was requisite to look into his heart ere one could fancy that there was anything but repose within. Calm? Oh, no! There, all was agitated and turbulent. The clear precision of his thoughts indeed soon gained their ascendancy; and the plan was speedily laid out for meeting the difficulties of the moment, for overcoming the obstacles presented to him, for thwarting the schemes of his adversaries. All confusion of mere idea was speedily swept away; but much was still left behind: and that which did remain, was the tumult of conflicting passions, the struggle between strong convictions and habitual feelings.
All that had taken place within the last few hours, had worked an extraordinary change in the sensations of Walter de la Tremblade. New perceptions had forced themselves upon him, both in regard to his own heart, and to the conduct and views of others. If I have at all succeeded in conveying to the reader a just view of his character, it must have been already made clear, that he was a man in whom strong passions and great powers of mind, had been bowed down by the influence of the peculiar religious doctrines of the church to which he belonged--doctrines false and evil it is true--principles, which, in many instances besides his own, prostituted the highest qualities and most brilliant talents, to the support of an institution, raised upon error, cemented by falsehood, covered over with crime; but still his devotion had been sincere and strong. He had believed all that his church told him; he had given up thought and judgment to her; his own passions, desires, and feelings, had been fused into her purposes; and, if they ever were individually brought into action, it was in the course which she had fixed for them.
But as I have said, a change had now come over him; the deep well of the heart's strongest emotions had been opened; the stream had gushed forth in a torrent; and many of the delusions which had encumbered the way of his understanding had been swept away. Many but not all. The stern attachment to the church of Rome, and the blind submission to all her dogmas, which had taught him to believe that those who attempted to try her doctrines even by the words of Christ himself, were worthy of nought but persecution and punishment, had been brought into contest with his love for her on whom all his tenderest affections had centred--for her whom he had looked upon from infancy as his child; and they had given way. He felt that he had been led wrong; he had learned, that ambition and the love of domination were part of the creed of Rome, and that, in obeying her fiery dictates, he had supported with his whole strength, the wicked and the base, against the good and noble.--He had learned it by his own sorrows; and, although perhaps he had in some degree perceived it before, and had believed that it was only justifiable to do so, for the great object of the defence of the church, the anguish of his heart now made him comprehend that the dreadful dogma, "the end justifies the means," is always false, and that there is no truth but in the Apostle's own words, "thou shalt not do evil that good may come of it."
Many another feeling, many another conclusion, on which we cannot pause, rose in Walter de la Tremblade's heart and mind; and regret and self-reproach, and the dread of being hurried by the torrent of passions and circumstances into sin and crime, agitated him dreadfully. The truth and fervour of his religious feelings remained the same. Even his attachment to the church, in whose tenets he had been educated, was unchanged, although he admitted that man's vices and prejudices had obscured and perverted her real dogmas. By her he was resolved to abide; but he determined at the same time, to remove himself for ever from the temptations to evil, to which he had been hitherto exposed; and the conclusion to which he came, in the end, was expressed by words which he muttered to himself: "I will take no farther part in this horrible strife; I will but frustrate the wicked arts of this bad woman and her base son, and then, in some far and rigid monastery, wear out the rest of life in prayer."
The time seemed short; for, of all the many terrible struggles that take place within the breast of man, there is none so full of rapid contention, as when the first convictions force themselves upon us, that all our previous course has been one grand error; and when the acts on which we have prided ourselves, the wisdom that has made us vain, the vigour that has proved weakness, the prudence that we have found folly, the penetration that has been but blindness, the meanness of our ambition, and the darkness of our light, stand revealed in their nakedness and deformity, under the bright beams of religious truth. He could have gone on thinking thus for hours, and they would have seemed but as a moment. The clock at length struck three; and the bell was still vibrating, when the sound of an opening door was heard, and then a step. The lock close upon his right hand, was then turned; and the next instant Estoc stood before him.
"Ah! Monsieur de la Tremblade," said the old soldier, "are you here? Have you seen your niece?"
"I have," answered Walter de la Tremblade, taking his hand and pressing it with strong emotion in his own. "I have, and I know all. Deeply, deeply, my old friend, do I thank you for your fatherly kindness to my poor girl. God will bless you for it: God will reward you, if not here, hereafter. I have no time, however, to offer you thanks such as are your due."
"I want no thanks, good father," replied Estoc. "I promised the good man who is dead there," and he pointed to the chapel, "to be a Father to her; and as long as old Estoc lives, she shall never want an arm to strike for her, and a home to receive her. Where is she? I hope you have not been harsh with her--"
The priest shook his head with a melancholy smile. "Harsh withher!" he said. "No, God forbid. She is with Mademoiselle d'Albret. But now listen tome, Estoc, and let us take counsel together, regarding what is to be done. You see me here a prisoner."
"Ha!" cried Estoc, "a prisoner? How is that?"
"I will tell you," answered the priest; "but understand, it is but a prisoner in appearance. They think I am so, but that strong door, though locked, and double locked, would melt away at my touch, as if it were thin air. But there is much for you to learn; dark deeds are going on within these walls, which must be prevented. First, however, there is an enterprize which you must achieve, connected with my confinement here. From Helen's words I discovered some two hours ago, that there is, in a book of Hours lying in her chamber at Chazeul, the only letter left unburnt by that incarnate fiend, Jacqueline de Chazeul. If Helen's account be right, that letter amounts to what they call in the French law, a promise,--par paroles de future, between her and Nicholas de Chazeul--in itself an absolute bar to his marriage with any one else. I instantly roused the page of the Marchioness, and sent him off on horseback to bring the book."
"I saw him go," replied Estoc. "He passed me, as I lay waiting under the bushes at the bottom of the hill."
"Then he is safe so far," replied the priest. "It seems, however, that the man who lies in the same room, while pretending to be asleep, overheard our words, and conveyed the tidings to his mistress. She sent her men to place me in confinement, and will, beyond all doubt, cause the boy to be brought to her on his return, and burn the paper. You must undertake to stop him by the way, and to obtain that precious document."
"That will be easily done," replied Estoc. "I will set about it instantly."
"But there is more to be considered, much more," rejoined the priest. "The boy must be instructed to carry the book on to his mistress, after you have taken possession of the letter you will find amongst its pages. He must be told to say nothing of his having been stopped, but to give it to her quietly, as if he had but gone and returned; for the only way to deal with that woman, is to conceal from her closely your intentions and your power, or she will ever have ready a plan to frustrate you."
"I may tell him," replied Estoc, "but will he obey?"
"I think he will," answered the priest. "I placed him with the Marchioness. To me he owes his whole education. He has ever shown himself attached with boyish devotion to my poor Helen; and she tells me that, in the hour of her indignity and shame, he merited a blow from his fierce mistress, by showing her an act of kindness. If he be but told, that he must do this for the sake of Helen de la Tremblade, I feel sure he will, at every risk."
"Write it down, write it down," said Estoc, dipping a pen in the ink that stood upon the table, and holding it to the priest. "He will believe your word sooner than mine."
Walter de la Tremblade took the pen and wrote--"Philip de Picheau, I beseech you, if you have any regard for him who protected you in childhood and in youth, or for your poor friend Helen de la Tremblade, to give up the book which you are bringing, to Monsieur Estoc, whom you have often seen and know well, to let him take from it that which he thinks fit, and then to carry on the volume of Hours to Madame de Chazeul, without telling her that you have been stopped by the way. I beg of you also to follow entirely the directions of Monsieur Estoc, if you would merit my regard and save Mademoiselle de la Tremblade from deep grief--perhaps from death."
He signed his name, and gave the paper to Estoc, saying in a confident tone, "He will do it."
"And how am I to act when I have got this letter?" asked Estoc.
"Ay, that is the question!" replied the priest. "As yet you do not know all these people's intentions, and it is necessary that you should be informed of all, in order that you should be prepared for whatever it may be necessary to do. You are resolute and fearless, I know, and have before now done much with small means and a strong hand. You may be called upon before many hours are over, to use the sword in defence of right and justice."
"That I am quite ready to do," replied Estoc. "It is but wiles and cunning I fear, for there I am no match for your good Marchioness. But let me hear, father, what are her plans and purposes?"
"These," answered Walter de la Tremblade: "Some of them, I have already frustrated; but I know that, failing these, she will have recourse to force to effect the marriage of her base son with Mademoiselle d'Albret; for she has built up a scheme for his aggrandizement, which nothing will make her abandon, but death. Even perhaps his pre-contract with Helen, she will attempt to pass over by bold authority;" and he proceeded succinctly to display to the eyes of Estoc, the whole plans and purposes of Madame de Chazeul.
"But will Monsieur de Liancourt consent?" exclaimed Estoc. "He is honest at heart--I believe on my life he wishes well."
"But he is weak," replied the priest; "weak as the water of the stream, which may be turned by art whithersoever we will; yet when bent in a particular course, and concentrated within a narrow channel, moves mighty machines, and carries all before it. He is now entirely in the hands of this woman. I am no longer near him to guide him and to counteract her, and you will see that he will do her bidding, like a servant or a dog."
"Force, against force, then," answered Estoc, "and I think myself well justified in using the means I possess, to bring my men in hither. The passage through the wall between the two doors will hold us all, for we are not so many as I could wish; but I will be ready to appear at the first sign."
"How many are you?" asked the priest.
"Seventeen," replied Estoc; "but there are stout men amongst us, well trained to hard blows."
"There are eight and twenty in the château," answered Walter de la Tremblade, "and some of them good men at arms too."
"That matters nothing," cried Estoc, "if we can get in unperceived. Surprise doubles numbers. All the garrison could not act upon one point. We should seize the principal avenues to the chapel before they were aware; and the Count and Chazeul once prisoners, they might fret their souls to dust without preventing me from liberating Mademoiselle d'Albret. I could wish, indeed," he added thoughtfully, "to have had enough to overawe all resistance; for I would rather, if it were possible to avoid it, not stain the consecrated floor of the chapel with Christian blood."
The priest mused for a moment or two, and then replied, "And so would I. But theirs is the villany. Your enterprise is right and just. If they draw the sword to carry out their own iniquitous schemes, theirs is the crime and the sacrilege. I absolve you of all offence in doing aught that may be necessary to prevent the act they meditate."
"It may be better in the hall," said Estoc in return, after a moment's thought. "The contract must be signed there before the marriage, and there the first scene of violence must take place. True, it is not so easy to reach it, or to retreat from it, and we are there more open to attack; but if I can contrive it I will. I must think over the means, however, and I will be early here--as soon as I have got the letter from the boy. If we can lodge ourselves in the passage before it is full daylight, it will be better. The bushes give some shelter, it is true; and they cannot prevent my entrance, so long as I possess the key; but it were better to take them by surprise."
"Far better," replied the priest; "and I calculate that if he make haste, the boy may be back here by five. It was not much past one when he set out. Are you aware," he added laying his hand upon Estoc's arm, and pointing to a door in the sacristy, behind which the priest's vestments and various ornaments and relics were deposited, "Are you aware, that through that closet lies a passage in the hollow of the wall?"
"Oh, yes," replied Estoc, "it is necessary for the defence of the chapel port; but still that would only lead us to the court, and we should have to pass the Corps de Garde, go through the lower hall, and mount the staircase. However, I will think it all over as I go, and lay my plan. I know the château well, and every nook and corner. We shall find means no doubt. I have taken a stronger place than this with fewer men, and more to oppose us. Ere they should carry out their scheme, I would blow in the gates with petards and force my way to the hall sword in hand."
"I trust it will not be necessary," answered the priest. "Indeed I do not believe that there will be aught like bloodshed. Monsieur de Liancourt himself, I should think, would not suffer the sword to be drawn, especially as his heart must tell him that it is in a bad cause."
"Ay, and many of the good fellows here," replied Estoc, "would not take part against us, especially to force poor Rose into a marriage that she hates. Chazeul is little loved by any one; and the Marchioness is hated even by her people. I have heard them speak of her.--But now I will waste no more time. Farewell, Monsieur de la Tremblade: I will be back as soon as I have got the paper."
"God give you success," answered the priest; and Estoc, retiring through the door, closed it after him. Then issuing forth into the country, he crept quietly away under cover of some bushes which approached the walls, till upon the verge of the wood he found two of his men waiting for him. With them he returned to the village, called the rest of his little band together, paid the cottagers, whom he roused from their slumbers, for the accommodation he had received, and rode on towards Chazeul, giving out that it was not his intention to return.
After proceeding for five miles on the way, to a spot which the boy was obliged to pass on his road from the one château to the other, the old soldier halted his men, and ordered them to feed their horses with some corn which they had brought in their bags. A vigilant watch was kept in the meantime upon the side of the high bare hill, down which came the road from Chazeul, and at the foot of which wandered the Huisne; but one half hour passed after another, and no one appeared. All was still and silent, the stars twinkling out above, and the low wind whispering through the yellow grass that covered the wide extend of sloping land between them and a wood above. The road was scarcely to be traced by the eye, except where its sandy banks, against the deep back ground of the trees, marked the spot at which it issued forth from the forest; but upon that point Estoc kept his eyes fixed without seeing any dark object cross the lines, till the sky overhead began to assume a reddish hue, and the light spread gradually around. The day at length fully dawned, and the old soldier was giving his men directions to scatter themselves along the edge of the wood, and close round the boy as soon as he appeared, when the figure of some one on horseback suddenly issued forth upon the side of the hill, and came down at a quick pace, apparently not remarking that there was any one below, till he was half way to the bottom of the descent. Then, however, the boy suddenly pulled in his bridle rein, and seemed to hesitate; but the next instant, instead of turning back to the wood, he darted off to the left, with the intention of crossing the Huisne farther up. Estoc, however, detached three of his men along the low ground on the bank to cut him off there, while he rode up to deprive him of his retreat into the wood, and the rest of the party swept over the side of the hill in a semicircle, gradually drawing closer and closer round the poor page, who doubled before them like a hare before the hounds. At length he saw that the attempt to escape was vain, and pulling in his horse, he stood still till Estoc rode up to him.
"Ah, Monsieur Estoc! is it you?" exclaimed the page with a glad smile, when he saw who was his captor. "You have given me a terrible fright."
"More than needful, Philip," replied Estoc, "for we do not want to hurt you. But, get off your horse, my good boy, and come hither apart with me, for I have something to say to you."
The page did as he was directed; and Estoc, dismounting also, led him a little on one side, demanding, "Have you got it?"
"Got what?" rejoined the page, with a shy look of affected unconsciousness.
"Come, come--no more of that, Master Philip!" exclaimed Estoc: "I mean the book, as you know well enough."
"Yes, I have got it," answered the boy: "but you must not take it from me indeed, Estoc, for my mistress will be so angry."
"Let me look at it," said Estoc: "you shall have it back again, upon my honour! Have you opened it?"
"No!" cried the page with a look of surprise; "is there anything in it?"
"Yes, prayers, to be sure," replied the old soldier, satisfied by the boy's countenance that he spoke the truth. "Come, let me look at it--you shall have it back, I tell you."
The page drew slowly and unwillingly from a pouch under his arm, the book with its velvet cover and silver clasps, and placed it in Estoc's hand, saying, "You promise to give it back, mind."
"Ay!" answered the old soldier, "and I always keep promises;" and, as he spoke, he unfastened with some difficulty the stiff clasps, which seemed to be tightened in their hold by something swelling out the bulk of the volume.
"Ha, ha! you have done what the old gouvernante could not do," cried the boy.
"What, did she try to open it?" asked Estoc, turning over the pages.
"Ay, that she did, the nasty old wolf," replied the page; "and she kept me for two hours waiting in the hall, because she did not choose either to get up and fetch it, or let me. Ah! what have you got there?"
"What I seek," answered Estoc, giving the boy back the book, and putting a letter, which he had taken from between the leaves, in his pocket. "Now, master Philip," he continued, "take the book on to your mistress, and give it to her, without telling her that you have met with any one, or that any one has looked into it."
"She will know that, without any telling," answered the boy in a gloomy tone. "She will find out, in a minute, that the paper has been taken out, and perhaps have me hanged for stealing it, as she did Gabriel Houlot for robbing her of her gold bonbonnière, which was under the pillow of the coach all the time."
"Fear not, fear not!" said Estoc; "she does not know that there was anything in it: and it is to prevent her from knowing it, that I take the paper."
"But father Walter knows," rejoined the boy; "and he will tell her."
"No, no, he will not," replied Estoc. "But, to satisfy you, read that, if you can read."
"Oh, yes, I can!" said the page proudly; "good father Walter had me taught to read:" and, taking the paper which the priest had written, and which Estoc held out to him, he ran his eye over it rapidly. "Have I any regard for her?" he cried, as he saw the words referring to Helen, "Ah, that I have, poor thing! and would shed my blood to serve her, if it would do her any good. The old woman may hang me, if she likes; I will tell her nothing, the tiger!"
"That's a good youth," answered Estoc; "but, read it through."
"Well, what am I to do, Monsieur Estoc?" asked the page as he concluded. "I always promised to obey good father Walter; and, as he tells me to do what you direct me, I will do it. But, what does he mean about saving Mademoiselle Helen from death?--Where is she?--What has happened to her?"
Estoc paused thoughtfully for a moment; and the idea of telling the page that Helen was in the Château de Marzay, and directing him to help her, crossed his mind. The boy's regard for her, and his willingness to serve her and obey the priest, were too evident to be doubted; but discretion, seldom the quality of youth, was too likely to be wanting. "The priest has means of communicating with Helen, by the passage from the sacristy, he thought; and I suppose from what he said, that he has another key of the door. But yet he might be stopped. Most likely the Marchioness does not know where they have placed him. She is not one to overlook such chances, and a thousand to one, she has him removed when she wakes. Then the boy's wit might be of service if he knew all. I will risk something. It cannot do much harm.--Hark ye, Philip," he said aloud, "can you keep a secret without either blabbing it behind the door to a soubrette, or carrying it about in your face as plainly as if your tongue told it?"
"That I can," answered the page. "I have learned that in our house. There have been secrets enough there within the last two years, I can tell you."
"Well then," continued Estoc, "the truth is, that your companion in your room, heard good father Walter tell you to go upon this errand. He went directly and informed your mistress; and she, suspecting there was something in the book which she wished father Walter not to have, has caused him to be confined--locked up--so that he cannot stir."
"I will let him out," cried the boy eagerly.
"At all events be on the watch to serve him," replied the old soldier. "You may in the course of this morning have an opportunity of rendering him a great kindness, if you use your eyes and ears aright, and be ready to do so whenever he asks you."
"That I will!" exclaimed the page; "but pray tell me, Estoc, where is Mademoiselle Helen? What has become of her? I am sure you know more than you say.--Oh, Madame treated her cruelly--terribly."
"She is well," answered Estoc in a grave tone, "and so far in safety, that, if undiscovered, all will go right; but if she be once found by her enemies, her life will be held by a poor tenure, against that bad woman's malice."
The boy cast down his eyes and thought; then looking up, he cried, "She is in the Château of Marzay!"
"Ha!" exclaimed the old soldier, "what makes you think that?"
"Why, whom should she fly to, but Monsieur de Chazeul?" asked the page.
"Fly to him!" replied Estoc in a sharp tone. "She would fly from him to the farthest part of the earth. She abhors him. She hates him. Poor silly boy, you are mistaken."
The page looked puzzled. "He loved her once," he said in a meditative tone, "and she him. Of that I am very sure; for I took the letters."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the other, "then you owe her some gratitude; for she would not tell who brought them, for fear of injuring you, though dear enough it cost her."
"Ah, sweet lady!" cried the boy, "that is so like her.--Poor Mademoiselle Helen, I would die for her willingly," and the tears rose in his young eyes.
"Well, then," said Estoc, "watch for the opportunity of proving how you love her. You may find it soon also. Look well about you; mark every word, and yet seem unconscious; be ready to obey her in an instant: and above all remember, that, of all beings she has most cause to hate and dread, it is Monsieur de Chazeul. There is no one whom you can trust within the Château of Marzay, except father Walter, but least of all Nicholas de Chazeul. Her life may depend upon you, upon your prudence, upon your courage, and upon your quickness; and if you be driven forth, as she was, for serving her, come to me, and I will take you into my band, and make a soldier of you--I shall not be far distant."
The boy clapped his hands gladly; but Estoc went on, "No more, my good lad, at present. Go back to the château with all speed; say not a word to any one of having seen me; but tell the Marchioness how the old woman kept you before she would get the book."
"Stay, stay," cried the page; "I am not to know that Madame did not send me; is it not so?"
"Certainly," replied Estoc; "you are to forget all that I have told you, and only to remember that father Walter sent you for the book, and that you have brought it. That is all.--Now to your horse's back and away."
The boy obeyed at once, remounted, and rode off.
Estoc and his band soon followed; but at the distance of about a mile and a half from Marzay, he gave the word to halt; and then turning to his men he said, "We must take to the wood, my children.--Then for a short council of war; and after that for action!" Thus speaking, he himself dismounted, and led his horse through the brush-wood into the forest, followed by all his companions; but scarcely had he reached the thicket to which his steps were directed, when his ear was greeted by a loud flourish of hunting horns at no great distance.
There is a certain spirit of impatience which not unfrequently carries a particular class of readers on to the end of this volume of a tale like the present, before they have read the beginning; and another spirit--an evil spirit certainly-which leads a second class to do no more than skim gently but swiftly through the pages, catching glimpses of the story here and there, sufficient to satisfy the mind as to the facts, but to give nothing but indistinct notions of what is called the plot itself, and no insight into the characters of the persons brought upon the stage, no knowledge whatsoever of the work itself, in any of its higher qualities. Formerly it was not so. People travelled through a work, as through a country, remarking everything that was curious and interesting by the way; the peculiarities of the people that one met with, the beauty of the scenery displayed, the wit that diversified the day, the moral reflections that suggested themselves from the objects passed--somewhat amused, somewhat instructed, somewhat improved. But this is an age of railroad, morally as well as physically, and very little is thought of, but the end of the journey, and the easiness of the coach. To get over the greatest possible space in the shortest possible time, is the end and object of every man; and, with books as with countries, we go through them at a pace of forty miles an hour. Probably in time, this may work its own cure; and as ere long nothing will be known of any land when thoroughly railroaded, but the nearest and the farthest points, and a mile on each side of the road, and nothing known of books but the beginning and the end, and what a reviewer has pleased to say of the contents, people may, in time, feel a curiosity to learn more, and take trips on a post horse, or in a jaunting car, to see what is in the interior of the country, or in the heart of the book. But railroad is the spirit of the age; it is vain to strive against it; and if the truth must be told, an author feels the same influence, and, as he approaches the termination of his tale, is nearly as much inclined to hurry on to the conclusion, to omit facts, to leap over difficulties, and to hasten the catastrophe, as the reader. But this ought not to be; for then if that time should ever return when books are really read, it might be found out, that only half the story had been told, and that there was a great deal unaccounted for.
I must therefore, very unwillingly, pause by the way, and ere I proceed with all that was going on in the Château de Marzay and its neighbourhood, go back to the old house of Maroles, where the reader will recollect that we left the young Baron de Montigni, in no very pleasant situation.
Too few in number to keep their assailants at a distance, if with proper implements the enemy made a simultaneous attack upon two or three of the different doors of the château, the little party, within, saw no prospect before them but that of being forced to surrender on the following morning, or dying sword in hand. The latter alternative was certainly not a very pleasant one; but we must recollect, that it seems much more terrible in our eyes, who are seldom called upon in these days for such self-sacrifice, than it did to the eyes of men accustomed daily to witness similar acts. De Montigni, however, had still much to live for; the light of hope was still unextinguished before him; the cup of life's joy had been scarcely tasted; and all the bright and warm expectations of youth were leading him forward by the hand. To close the pleasant journey so soon, entered not into his thoughts; and yet perhaps he would sooner have died than yielded himself to the power of Nicholas de Chazeul and that bad man's mother. Of the former he knew little, for they had not met since his boyhood; but yet De Montigni was as much convinced that Chazeul was faithless, treacherous, and cruel, as if he could have seen all the innermost winding of his heart; and, to trust himself a prisoner in his hands, the young nobleman felt would be consigning himself to a fate much worse than an honourable death in arms.
What was to be done was the question; and, in the little council which he held with his attendants, every one gave his opinion, and advice according to his character.
"We had better wait where we are," said one of them. "A thousand to one they get frightened or tired before the morning, or that some party of our own people comes up and forces them to decamp."
"We are off the high road," replied De Montigni, with a shake of the head.
"If we could but send tidings to the King," said the man, "he would soon deliver us."
"I wonder if we could not make our escape by the wood behind." joined in the servant, who had accompanied the young nobleman from Italy.
"It is worth the trial at all events," replied De Montigni. "They can but drive us back again, at the worst; and we might contrive to cut our way through."
"If we had not lost the two horses," observed the guide, "it might be done; but, as it is, we should soon be caught."
"The wood seems extensive," said De Montigni in return, "and we should have a better chance of escape on foot than on horseback. They can but follow the cart and bridle roads, while we could take the footpaths, and even force a way across the brush-wood. It seems to me the only feasible plan, and I will try it. We will leave the horses behind, and an hour or two before daylight the attempt must be made. We may get some sleep in the mean time. Two can lie down upon the floor, while two keep watch, one on each side of the house, for the man whom we saw them send away up the hill, may have been dispatched for tools, to force the doors during the night. Thank heaven, there is a moon, so that we can see their proceedings. But first, let us go round and ascertain which door it will be best to use for our escape."
"We shall scarcely have light," replied the servant, "and we are not likely to get lamps or candles here."
"Then, the sooner we go the better," said De Montigni; and, descending to the hall where they found the other man on watch, they attempted to grope their way about the château, but to no purpose; for, as we have before said, all the windows on the lower story were strongly boarded up, so that even the faint light, which still lingered in the sky, could find no entrance.
A thought seemed suddenly to strike the guide, however. "I have a bit of rope," he said, "at the back of my saddle. I always carry a piece to tie a prisoner with. We can rub a little gunpowder into it, and then set fire to it, with a pistol flint."
This plan was adopted, and though the light obtained was not the most satisfactory, as may be well supposed, it served to guide them through the long passage of the château; and, by observations from above as well as below, they found a door which apparently led into a little herb garden, surrounded by walls, bordered by the road on one side, and by the forest on the other. The best reconnoissance that they could make, both before and after the moon had risen, did not show them any of the enemy on that side; though a party was to be seen round a fire which they had kindled in front of the château, and another upon one of the paths in the rear. They therefore determined to avail themselves of this means of exit; and, while two of the men lay down to rest, propping their heads with the saddles, which they had taken off the horses, De Montigni himself, and the stout soldier who had served him as guide from Marzay, kept watch at the front and back of the house, perambulating the various rooms, from window to window. Every now and then they met and conferred for a few moments, though neither had anything to tell. All was still and silent, except, indeed, when the wind wafted the voices from the enemy's watch-fire, or when a distant clock was heard to chime the hour.
It was just after nine had struck, that De Montigni, meeting his companion at the angle of the building, inquired "Is that the clock of Houdan that we hear?"
"No, Sir," replied the man, "It is Maroles. But do you know I was just thinking, that, if we try to escape, we had better do it at once, or at least not very late, for the clock that reaches our ears, will reach theirs too, and may put them in mind that there are axes and saws to be procured at Maroles. Then by dividing their men, they might break in without our being able to prevent them. In such a clear night as this, the moon will give them quite light enough for their work."
"Or to see us make our escape," replied De Montigni.
"Ay, but in less than half an hour," said the man, "she will be round on this side of the house; and then the whole shadow of the château will be cast over the garden, and the door that leads to it."
"True, true," answered De Montigni, "but a doubt has arisen in my mind, as to the escape by the garden. Shall we be able to get from it into the wood?"
"There is a door," replied the guide, "I saw the mark of it plainly upon the wall."
"But it may be locked," said De Montigni, "and I think we may conclude it is so by these people having placed no one within."
"Oh dear no, Sir," answered the man, who, it must be remembered, was an old soldier. "You do not know how many things are always overlooked even in a regular siege, where there are all the wits of the army to work. I do believe that, if those who are without a place did but attend to all its points of weakness, as well as those within, there is scarce a town in all France that would hold out three days. The mistakes of the besiegers are at least as much in favour of a place, as all its defences. But the best plan will be, for one of us to go out first and see if the door can be opened, and then the rest to follow. The lock must be in the inside, and it will be easily forced with a dagger."
"That will take time," rejoined De Montigni, "but I fear there is no resource; and so it must be done. We will wake these other two as soon as the garden is in shadow, and then put our plan in execution."
It was somewhat longer than they expected ere the shadow of the château was thrown completely over the little garden; and the clock struck eleven, as De Montigni and his guide woke their two companions. All that was necessary to carry with them, was taken from their saddle-bags; the little store of ammunition, which they possessed, was distributed equally amongst them; and, pistol in hand, they approached the door and quietly unlocked it.
The rusty bolts made some noise and resistance ere they would suffer themselves to be withdrawn; but, it would seem, that this attracted no attention from those without, and the door was opened, showing them the neglected garden, become quite a wilderness of weeds since last it was trodden by the foot of man. It was now altogether in profound shade, however; and, although the walls were not high, and they could see the glare of one of the watch-fire of the enemy flashing upon the branches of the trees, yet, being situated upon the same level as the château, the garden was commanded by no spot in the neighbourhood, and consequently they determined to go on to the gate together.
As De Montigni had suspected, the door was locked and the key gone. The bolt, too, was firmly rusted in the staple, so that they could not force it back; and the large nails which fastened the lock were apparently clinched on the other side, and resisted every effort to draw them. Nothing remained then, but either, to scale the wall, to return to the château, or, by slow labour, to cut away the wood work round the staple, and then force it out. The first plan was tried, without success, for the wall was higher on the side of the wood than on that of the road, and they consequently set to work to remove the staple. It cost them near an hour to do so, and just as they had succeeded, the sound of a horse's feet in the gallop met their ear. Pausing to listen for a moment or two, the sounds were heard to come nearer and nearer, and then rose up the buzz of several voices speaking.
"Now or never," said De Montigni, pulling back the door, and the next instant he stood under the branches of the wood. The men followed him silently, and after one glance to the right, where, through the leafless trees, they caught the faint glare of the fire upon the road, they crept silently away to the left, taking the narrowest paths they could find, and looking anxiously round on every side, in expectation of seeing some party of the enemy. Ere they had proceeded far, they heard a loud hollow sound, as of blows struck upon a door, and De Montigni's servant whispered to his master "We must be quick, Sir, we must be quick; for they have got axes, and are breaking in. Our flight will soon be discovered."
De Montigni hurried on at a more rapid pace, and for near an hour nothing indicated that they were pursued. At the end of that time, however, the young nobleman began to suspect that the path they were following led them round, and was conducting them back towards the spot whence they had set out.
"I think so too," replied the guide to whom he expressed his doubts; "the moon is travelling that way, and yet you see we have not got further on the left."
"More on the right," said De Montigni which would be the case if we were coming nearer to the château again. "Let us direct our course from her. That must take us to the edge of the wood." The attempt was more easy than the execution, for the paths were perplexed and intricate, formed apparently for the purposes of the chase, or perhaps by the beasts of the forest themselves, and, displayed little consideration of the direct line from one spot to another. Thus very often when they had followed one road, which led for some way in the direction that they wished to pursue, it suddenly turned off to the right or left, flanked by thick and tangled underwood, without any fresh path presenting itself to enable them to pursue their course. In this devious way they wandered on through the forest labyrinth, till at length the sound of loud voices shouting, and horses galloping at no great distance, showed them that their escape was discovered, and that they were pursued. At this moment they were in a narrow tangled path up which it was impossible for a horse to force its way, and the guide putting his hand upon De Montigni's arm, whispered, "Halt here, Sir, and let them pass us."
The advice was good, and De Montigni followed it. In a few moments the sounds were lost again, and with cautious steps they resumed their course towards the edge of the wood. The moon had now, however, gone down behind the neighbouring hill, and looking up into the sky to see if they could fix on any star, by which to guide themselves, they saw a reddish light spreading overhead and increasing in intensity every moment.
"Can it be yet dawn?" asked De Montigni.
"Oh no, Sir," replied the guide. "I don't know what that can be, unless they have set fire to the château to give them light to look for us."
"Just like Chazeul's people," said one of the others, "it is that depend upon it; but here is the open country."
And so it proved, for they had now reached the further side of the wood; and stretching out before them, lay a wide but gentle slope, descending towards the valley of the Eure, over which the flames of the castle shed a red and fearful light. Some trees, however, advancing from the rest of the forest, which had once been more extensive than it now was, promised them some shelter from the eyes of their pursuers, while the spire of a small church was seen at the distance of about a mile and a half; and, weary of wandering in the wood, gliding for some way under its edge, they approached the scattered trees, and began the descent into the valley.
Ere they had proceeded half a mile, however, the blast of a trumpet sounded, and a party consisting of three horsemen was seen riding down towards them. It was now evident that they were discovered, but still the pursuers did not venture to approach too near. And, pistol in hand, determined to sell their lives dearly, the little body of fugitives hurried on towards the church, hoping to find some village near, where they might obtain assistance or shelter. Still the trumpet sounded, however; and, in a few minutes, another party was seen coming rapidly round from the farther side of the wood, to join the cavaliers who were keeping them in sight.
The flames of the castle could now be distinguished; but the fire was evidently decreasing, so that they had still some hope of darkness befriending them once more; but as the east opened upon their sight, at the turn of the hill, the grey streaks of dawn were observed depriving them of that chance. The church, too, which was now near at hand, displayed no houses around it, and was little more than a chapel in the open country, erected for the benefit of the neighbouring peasantry. A deep wide porch, however, or rather gateway, with a stone seat on either side, presented itself as they hurried on, and there De Montigni determined to make a stand, sheltered, as his men must be on three sides, from the attack of the enemy.
The party who pursued now amounted to twelve, and were at the distance of somewhat less than two hundred yards; but the rest of the troop were seen riding rapidly down the hill, and the others halted, ere they made their attack, to let the whole force come up.
Suddenly the body in the rear, to the surprise of the young Baron and his companions, halted, and one man at furious speed detached himself from the rest, and, galloping down to those below, seemed to make some announcement, which changed the whole course of their operations. Instead of advancing against those whom they had so pertinaciously pursued, every man turned his rein, and setting spurs to his horse's flank sped up the hill towards his comrades.
"What can be the meaning of this?" exclaimed De Montigni.
"They see some party of our friends," replied the guide stepping forward; and De Montigni advancing likewise, and turning his eyes towards the Eure, perceived a confused group of forty or fifty persons on horseback, followed by a number of others on foot, and some twenty couple of dogs. They were advancing at a slow and tranquil pace, so that the young nobleman and his followers had full time to contemplate them. At their head, rode a gentleman in a common hunting dress, with a large white plume in his hat, and a white scarf over his shoulder; and, after gazing for a minute, the guide touched De Montigni on the arm saying, "The white plume! the white plume!--It is the King!" and, rushing out, he cast his hat up into the air exclaiming, "Vive le Roy! Vive Henri Quatre!"