It was once more night--dark, solemn, and sad: the country was a wide undulating plain raised high above the course of the river, which might be heard, swelled by the melting of the snows and the heavy rains that had lately fallen, rushing on with a hoarse murmur through its hollow banks. No hedge-rows, as in England, diversified the scene by daylight, or gave, even in the obscurity of night, that appearance of care and culture which always brings with it the idea of comfort. On the contrary, all was bleak, wide, and desolate. The sight lost itself in the dark expanse, except where part of a distant village might be faintly seen by a sort of lurid glare that hung over it, rising in black masses against the sky upon the right, with its tall yet heavy spire towering above the rest, and where, towards the left, an indefinite something, confused and vague, rested upon the horizon, as if the rounded tops of trees bounded the plain in that direction. Such was the scene through which Louis de Montigni travelled slowly with Rose d'Albret on the night of the 15th. She was weary, exhausted, anxious; and he, with his heart sinking on her account, looked forward into the deep and sombre scene before him, seeking some object to give hope of repose and shelter, but finding little to encourage or console.
Suddenly a light flitted along by the side of the village, feeble and small as a glow-worm's lamp: but still it raised expectation; and De Montigni said in a low voice, "Surely, that must be St. André."
"Perhaps the King may not be there either, Louis," replied Rose in a faint tone: "all these reports may be as false as that he was at Annet. But, whatever be the case, De Montigni, I fear I must stop at the first houses; for, to say truth, I can go no farther."
"I wish we had not quitted Annet, my beloved," exclaimed the young nobleman; "but see, there are more lights. 'Tis this orchard that hid them. Yes, yes! dear Rose, we are at length coming near the camp."
"Thank God!" replied Rose d'Albret: but she said no more; for with the sense of relief which she experienced at the thought of finding repose even for a night, were mingled manifold doubts and apprehensions regarding the future, as well as all the complicated emotions which might well thrill through a woman's heart, at the idea of presenting herself before the many eyes of a strange court, under such circumstances, and at such a moment.
As they advanced, and turned the low wall of a small farm, a new scene broke upon their sight. The village, which was extensive, stretched away to the right; and, amongst the gardens and orchards, a thousand lights were to be seen, either passing along from one place to another as officers and messengers sped from regiment to regiment, or fixed though flickering in one place, where the soldiery had lighted fires to keep themselves warm during the night and to dry their clothing, wetted by the frequent showers which had diversified the day.
Sounds innumerable too met the ear as they came nearer,--first a faint noise, then a mingled roar like the rushing of a torrent; and then various noises began to detach themselves from the rest,--loud laughter--the merry song--the solemn hymn--the hoarse shout--the word of command--the call of one companion to another--the hammering of the blacksmith's anvil--the groaning of the forge--the clash of steel, as the armourers and farriers plied the busy stroke, repairing arms and shoeing horses, and once or twice the shrill blast of the trumpet.
No challenge was given as they rode on, for the position of the enemy was now exactly ascertained, and surprise was not expected; but one or two of the officers advanced to the side of the road from the neighbouring gardens, and gazed for an instant upon the passing troop, to see if they recognised any friends amongst the new comers, as the light of the watch-fire flashed upon their faces.
Notwithstanding fatigue, anxiety, and fear, Rose d'Albret could not but feel the excitement of the scene. Sometimes guarded by palisades, sometimes sheltered by the low walls, sometimes in the open field, they passed innumerable groups of soldiers seated round their fires, and just concluding their evening meal. Marks of toil and strife were on the faces of all, whether of the gay Catholic or the stern and rigid Huguenot; and no glittering coats of arms, no jewels and embroidery were there, nothing but cold grey steel, and buff coats, and caps rusty with long exposure to the rain, and scarred and weather-beaten countenances, on which, however, sat an expression of confidence and fearless preparation, which is often an omen of success.
Round some of the fires the veterans were telling tales of former wars, and victories long since achieved. At others, one selected for his voice or skill, was singing; and, whether Papist or Protestant, whether his song was the gay ballad of the day, or one of the canticles of the Reformers, it still spoke the fearless expectation of triumph.
At a slow pace, for the weary horses could hardly drag their limbs along, De Montigni and the lady advanced till they reached the entrance of the village; but here a guarded barricade opposed their further progress; and, as they could not give the word, the soldiers refused them admission.
"I am seeking the King," said the young nobleman; "send hither the officer of the watch as fast as you can; for we are very weary and must have repose."
Even as he spoke, a plain old man, whose dress betokened some rank in the army, approached the barrier, and replied to the last words he had uttered by saying, "Good faith, young gentleman! you will find no lodging in St. André. Two thirds of us are obliged to sleep in the streets. There is not a dog-kennel untenanted."
"It is not for myself, Sir, that I care," answered De Montigni, "but for this lady, who in truth can go no further. At all events, I must see the King, if you will kindly cause him to be informed that the Baron de Montigni is here."
The old officer gazed in the face of Rose d'Albret with a look of inquiry, not rude but compassionate; and after a moment's pause he answered, "I think, Monsieur de Montigni, the King expected you. There was a messenger arrived an hour ago from the Commander de Liancourt, and your name was mentioned, I know; but I am sorry to say his Majesty is not now in the village, and may not return for some hours. You will find him about a league hence, placing the artillery.--But stay! I will make inquiries: there may be some orders left for you. Here, Jacques, run up to the King's quarters, and tell them that Monsieur de Montigni is here. Ask what his Majesty said about him.--Ah, my poor young lady, you look tired enough," he continued, as the soldier sped away; "and yet I cannot ask you to alight and repose yourself, for every cottage is filled to the door with soldiery--a rude scene for such as you. I can give you some refreshment, however," he added suddenly, as if the thought had only just struck him. "Here, D'Avesne, D'Avesne! run in and get out some wine. In the pannier behind the door, you will find a bottle of good old burgundy and a horn cup: bring them hither, quick. There, stand back, good fellows! Did you never see a tired party come in? They do not want your company."
The last words were addressed to three or four idlers who had sauntered up, and, leaning their folded arms upon the barricade, were staring rudely at Rose d'Albret and her companions. They now, however, walked away with a laugh, which made the warm colour come back into poor Rose's cheek, as she felt herself the object of scorn rather than pity. The moment after, the man who had been sent for the wine returned, and after much persuasion from De Montigni she took some, though it tasted hot and burning to her parched lips rather than refreshing. It seemed to revive her a little, however, when she had swallowed it; and she saw that there would be need of all her remaining strength: for the picture which imagination had painted of a royal camp, and of immediate admission to the King's pavilion, and of a brilliant circle of nobles forming his court, had by this time all faded away; and she found sterner realities and more homely, but not less painful annoyances in place.
It was nearly ten minutes before the man sent to the King's quarters returned; and they seemed hours to Rose d'Albret; but when he did come, he turned to his officer, saying, "They are to go to the farm at Mainville; and the King will see Monsieur de Montigni to-morrow morning. He is to wait there without stirring till he hears more."
"But where is Mainville?" asked De Montigni, almost in despair at the idea of poor Rose having to travel further that night: "if it be distant, we shall never reach it. The lady now, as you see, can hardly sit her horse."
"'Tis half a league, down by the river," answered the old officer: "but stay--we can help the lady. Have out the hand litter on which they brought Jules de Sourdis from Dreux. Get out a party of bearers, Jacques. We will soon manage that for you, young gentleman; and a crown-piece will make the men go willingly. They will serve for guides, too; for in this dark night you would never find it. But, in the meantime, she had better dismount, and rest upon this bench. You seem sadly weary, lady: have you come far?"
"Many leagues," replied Rose, as De Montigni sprang to the ground by her side to lift her from her horse. "I thank you much for your kindness, Sir," she continued, still addressing the old officer. "I do not think I could ride another hour to save life itself."
Seated upon a bench by the side of the barricade, which had been opened to give her admission, with the light of a large watch-fire, and two resin torches casting a flickering glare over the figures of the soldiery as they came and went, wearied, exhausted, faint, and sick at heart, Rose d'Albret remained for several minutes with her fair head bent down, and her hand dropping as if powerless by her side. At length, however, a light seemed to come in her dark eyes, a warm and well-pleased smile crossed her lip, and she raised her fair face towards De Montigni, who stood beside her, with a look of renewed hope and satisfaction which he did not comprehend.
The reader too may ask what it was that seemed so suddenly to revive her? what it was that called up that expression of pleasure and relief? It was not that she saw any friendly form. It was not that she heard any well-known voice. The cause was in no external things, but in her own mind. As she sat there, she had felt deeply and bitterly all that was painful in her situation, with lassitude of limb and sickening heart, fears, anxieties, and gloomy anticipations, which every sight, and sound, and circumstance, tended but to increase. Her thoughts and her sensations had been full of all that is sad and depressing, when suddenly, she had asked herself, if she could recall the last eight-and-forty hours, return to the mansion of her guardian, lay her head on the pillow of luxury and ease, remove afar peril, and difficulty, and terror, and weariness, become the promised wife of Nicholas de Chazeul, and give up Louis de Montigni for ever, would she do it? Her heart answered the question in a moment--no! Whatever she might suffer, was light in comparison. All that she had undergone, all that she endured, lost half its weight when she remembered that she was free--that she was with him she loved; and looking up, as I have said, in his face with a heart lightened and grateful, she felt that to share poverty, sorrow, flight, exile, care, with him, would still have joy enough to compensate for all.
De Montigni could not, of course, see what was passing in her mind; but still there was a look of affection in her eyes which was not to be mistaken, which told him that she was thinking of him, and that she did not regret what she suffered on his account; and, bending down his head, he spoke those words of tenderness and love which well repaid her for her endurance and her sacrifices.
Shortly after the litter was brought forward, with four stout men to bear it. It was apparently a rude and hastily contrived machine, in which some wounded man had been brought from the siege of Dreux, with a little sort of tilt over it to shelter him from the wet; but the lower part, or couch, was thickly covered with dry hay, over which the old officer cast his cloak; and De Montigni, placing Rose in it, thanked their new friend warmly for his assistance; and, walking by the lady's side, issued forth from the village of St. André, and was soon once more wandering on in the darkness of the night.
The lights were speedily left behind, the glare of the watch-fires faded, or were hidden one after the other by the windings of the road; nothing but a faint reddish streak in the sky showed the position of the village and the camp. The busy sounds of the army too died away into an indistinct hum, like that of a swarm of bees, and then was lost to the ear altogether; while the voice of the swollen Eure, murmuring as it rushed along, was the only noise that broke upon the ear of night.
The way grew narrower and narrower as they went along, so that it was sometimes with difficulty that De Montigni kept by the litter. But yet he would not leave the side of Rose d'Albret, cheering her from time to time by words of affection and of hope, till at length he saw the glistening of the water before him, as they descended the steep hill, on the table land of which, the fields of Dreuy and Ivry are situated; and in a moment after, a single light, apparently streaming from the window of some house, showed him that they were approaching a human habitation.
"That is Mainville, Sir," said one of the bearers. "Ah, you are well off! for there are comfortable quarters there by the side of the ford: but the King would suffer none of our people to lodge more than a quarter of a league from the field, for fear the enemy should get possession of his ground early in the morning. You late comers sometimes get the best accommodation."
"Is the enemy so near, then?" asked De Montigni.
"Near!" cried the man, "why, we were two hours in presence this afternoon; and everyone thought they would have begun the battle; but none were engaged but the light horse, who had a short fight for the bottom of the valley."
De Montigni mused for the rest of the way; for he loved not to be so near a field of battle without taking part in it; and yet he had no arms but the sword he wore, nor horses in a fit state to bear him through a long day's fight.
A few minutes, however, brought them to the door of the farmhouse, where they had to knock for some time before any one appeared to answer them. The first sight of life within, was the head of a man, protruded from a window above, with the faces of two women looking over his shoulder.
"Who's there?" he cried; "is that the King?"
"No, no, Gros Jean!" replied one of the men, who had come with them from St. André. "The King has something else to do than visit you at this hour, even to see your pretty wife," and he added a loud laugh, in which the farmer good-humouredly joined. "Come down, come down, Gros Jean!" he continued; "these are the people his Majesty told you he would quarter upon you--two regiments of horse and three companies of infantry."
"Go along, buffoon," said the farmer; "the King never said he would quarter anybody on me, but two or three ladies and gentlemen."
"Well, these are they," replied the soldier; "so come down and open the door, or, on my life, we will break it down. We have got to fight to-morrow, and cannot stand here talking all night. It's the Baron de Montigni, I tell you, and his lady."
"Well, wait a minute," said the farmer, withdrawing his head; and in a few moments they heard bolts and bars removed, and the door was opened. There was still a little doubt and apprehension in the good round countenance of the jolly farmer; but the sight of the litter, with De Montigni standing beside it, clothed in the common riding costume of the day, speedily took away his fears; and, calling forward his wife and sister to welcome the lady, he showed every sort of alacrity that could be desired in providing for the comfort of his guests.
"Here is a room to sit in," he said, as De Montigni assisted Rose from the litter, and drew her arm through his own, to give her support. "Dear heart, lady, you seem tired enough, and as if you had been wet through too. Take the light, wife, and show the gentlefolks the way." Thus saying, he led them on into a good wide room, where he and his farming men were wont to take their meals; and then, opening a door which gave admission to another chamber, he said, "And here's your bed-room, with as comfortable a bed as any in all Normandy."
"I shall keep watch in the hall, my good friend," replied De Montigni; "but Mademoiselle d'Albret will go to repose, I dare say, directly; for that is what she needs more than anything else, if these two ladies will kindly give her their attendance. A bundle or two of straw, thrown down in the corner there, will do for me and my men; but, as there are seven of them, and hungry enough too, I doubt not, by this time, you had better give them some wine and some provision. Whatever I take," he added, in a significant tone, seeing that the farmer was somewhat confounded at the number of his undesired guests, "I will pay for on the spot."
Gros Jean, as the Royalist soldier had called him, scratched his round head for a moment, and then replied, "I thought that you had been man and wife, from the King's message; but, however, as he said ladies, and there seems but one, there is another little room up stairs, and a good bed too, which you had better have, Sir."
"No, no," replied De Montigni, "I will stay in the hall, if you will give me some straw.--We will be your guard during the darkness, dearest Rose," he added, pressing her hand in his, "so take a cup of warm milk, if it can be procured, and lie down to rest for this night, at least, in peace and security. I must go now to speak to these good fellows without."
"Let me see you again for a moment, Louis, before I sleep," said Rose, gazing in his face with an anxious look; "you will not be long absent?"
"Not five minutes, my beloved," replied De Montigni; and, leaving her with the farmer's wife and sister, he went out to speak with the men who had carried the litter from St. André.
Let not the reader think, with the cold spirit of censure which is so ready at all times to blame everything that is not customary in our own times and in our own country, that there was aught unusual or improper in the invitation which Rose d'Albret had given her lover to visit her in her bed-chamber. In those days, though certainly not purer than the present--and bad enough are both--the common reception-room of a lady, especially in Paris, was that in which she slept. Often before she quitted her chamber, too, in England, as well as in France, the beauty of the hour received her train of admirers, in her bed; and, every art of coquetry was displayed, to win or increase admiration, as she lay in what was supposed to be the toilette of the night, but which had often cost her and her maids more than one hour of labour to arrange and render becoming. Such was not, indeed, the custom of Rose d'Albret, but still the habits of the country and the period would not have suffered her to feel that she was committing the slightest impropriety in admitting her lover to her room, even after she had retired to rest, nor would she have doubted the safety of her honour in the hands of De Montigni, under any circumstances of opportunity, or, of temptation. She knew him well, with that knowledge of the heart which perhaps can only be acquired by the intimacy of early youth, and she was certain that nothing on earth would induce him to blemish the being he loved, were there no eye but that of God to witness his actions.
The first task of De Montigni, when he had found the men who accompanied him thither, was to reward them fully for the trouble that they had taken. They had already removed the litter into the road; and, after having given his own attendants orders to carry in the little baggage they had brought, he drew the chief of the litter-bearers aside, and questioned him eagerly as to the hour at which the battle was expected to take place on the following day.
"Not before noon," replied the man, "for the Duke and his people have retreated beyond Ivry, we hear; and that's a two leagues' march."
"Then I may have time to get horses and arms," said De Montigni joyfully. "I must not be so near, my friend, without having some share in this matter. Here is another crown for you, and if you can send me down an armourer, and some of those men who generally follow camps with horses for sale, they may find a good market."
"What arms do you want, Monsieur le Baron?" asked the soldier; "you will not find them easily. One might get a casque and a cuirass for yourself, with pistols, and such things, but I doubt your obtaining much more."
"I must take what can be found," answered De Montigni. "I would fain, indeed, arm my men, likewise; but, at all events, I will be present myself, if I go in my pourpoint."
"A dangerous trick that, Monsieur de Montigni," said a voice near, which the young nobleman thought he recognised; "but you must not try that experiment. His Majesty monopolizes all such follies as that, and suffers no one to fight in their pourpoints but himself."
"Ha! Monsieur de Chasseron," said De Montigni, "is that you?"
"It is, indeed," replied Chasseron. "I am here before you, you see; and I will get you arms, if you want them; but in the meantime you must do me a service.--Take up the litter, good fellow, and away," he continued, turning abruptly to the man who had been speaking with De Montigni; "I will see to what this young gentleman wants. No answer, but away. Now, Monsieur le Baron--So you have arrived safe; you have brought the lady with you, I suppose, by seeing the litter."
"I have," answered De Montigni; "but she is well nigh dead from fatigue."
"'Tis a long way," said Chasseron; "but when I gave the advice, the King was at Dreux, some seven leagues nearer."
"Even now," answered De Montigni, "I have not been able to see His Majesty."
"What, he is absent?" said Chasseron; "ay, he is always running about. Parbleu! I fear the enemy will catch him some day, if he does not get wiser with years. However, you remain quiet where you are to-night; the King shall have notice of your being here, for I have a few friends at the court, and you shall hear from him to-morrow; in the meantime, I will procure you what arms you need, though, good faith, you must pay for them yourself, for I have spent all my money in his Majesty's service, and have scarcely a cross left in my purse."
"That I am quite prepared to do," replied De Montigni; "but I could have much wished to have seen the King to-night."
"That is impossible," cried Chasseron, in his usual rapid manner. "But what do you want with him? I will get Monsieur de Biron to ask it for you; he will see none but his generals after his return."
"I much wished," replied the young nobleman, in a lower tone, "to obtain his Majesty's written sanction to my marriage with Mademoiselle d'Albret; but, of course, he will need long explanations and proof of the contract between her father and my uncle."
"Oh, I know not that," replied Chasseron; "he will be glad enough to give her to a Royalist, rather than a Leaguer. At all events, we will try for you. It's as well that, while you are thus wandering about together, you should have the holy bond of matrimony round your necks, if you must needs poke your heads into it; and who can tell what to-morrow may bring forth? God's purposes are dark and wonderful," he continued, in a more solemn tone. "We none of us know what is good for ourselves or others. It may please Him, Most High, still further to chastise this poor land of France, and even the King himself, for aught we know, if raised by a great victory, might forget his former character, and prove a scourge, instead of a blessing."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed De Montigni, vehemently, "never believe it. More than forty years of noble and upright dealing with all men, of love for his people, of generous forbearance, and high-hearted kindness, may well be warrant to the most suspicious for his conduct in time to come. Do not suspect him, Monsieur de Chasseron."
"I do not," replied the other, laying his hand emphatically on the young man's arm; "but I say still, God only knows what is good and what is evil for the land of France; and He it is who must decide the fate of all to-morrow. However," he continued, "it is well you should be prepared, and we will make the trial for you, whether it succeeds or not. Good night; I must hasten back, for I have much to do."
He turned away as he spoke; but De Montigni stopped him, saying, "There was some service you said I could render you."
"Ay, parbleu! I had forgot," replied Chasseron. "There is a young lady, Monsieur de Montigni, who has been ill treated and injured by those who ought to have protected her. She is here, in the midst of the camp; and though, to say truth, I know little of her, yet I am sure, she deserves not all that has fallen upon her. She has applied to me for protection and assistance, but I am in no condition to give her what she seeks, effectually. Were I to send her to the village, ill tongues might fall upon us both unreasonably. There is no woman in camp but your fair lady here, and love makes a man kind-hearted towards others of the sex that has enthralled him. If then you would give this girl protection, and aid, in case of need, I should feel grateful, and you would do a good act towards one who, God help her, has few to take her part. From injury I could protect her; from insult and grief, it would need much time and attention, to defend her, were she to take up her dwelling in the camp; and though woman may cling to man as her support and stay, she has no true companionship but with woman. Will you then beseech your sweet lady love to befriend her, and let her pass the night in the farm?"
"Willingly," replied De Montigni; "but where is she?"
"Oh, at a cottage hard by, above," answered Chasseron; "she has been there since last night; when we had a rougher journey than even you have had. I will send her down immediately by some of my men, who are there at the top of the hill. So once more, good night, and God speed us all to-morrow."
Thus saying he turned away, and De Montigni trod back his steps to the farm, musing over the request that had been made, and the promise he had given. It was not that he doubted, it was not that he entertained suspicions; his mind was too clear and free from that fatal experience, which mingles the dark drop with the brightest cup of life, to entertain one injurious thought; but the responsibility, the care that already rested upon him, was enough to weigh him down. His anxiety for her he loved, his longing desire to remain with her, never to leave her, till she was placed in security, contending with his strong and overpowering desire to be present at the struggle which was approaching, surrounded him with difficulties enough; and now they were to be increased by the presence of a third, placed under his protection for the time, and demanding from any one of kindly and courteous feeling equal care and attention. He could have wished it otherwise: but still he felt that he could not have refused, and he hastened back into the house to tell Rose d'Albret of what had occurred, and to ask her countenance and sympathy for the stranger.
De Montigni found his men already in possession of the hall, with the good farmer busily employed in placing food and drink before them, encouraged to produce the best of his store by his young guest's liberality towards the bearers of the litter; for nothing flies so fast as the report of a generous spirit. He passed through them, without notice, however, and knocking at the door of Mademoiselle d'Albret's chamber, was at once admitted by the farmer's sister. De Montigni's tale was soon told; and notwithstanding her weariness, Rose listened with all that tender interest, which the heart of a kind and gentle woman, unhardened by either the vicissitudes, or the vices of the great world, is sure to feel in the misfortunes of a sister.
"Oh bring her hither whenever she comes," exclaimed the lady, as soon as he had done. "Poor thing, she has suffered as well as we have, and perhaps far more severely, Louis. I will keep my eyes open till I see her, though they are heavy; but if I should be asleep, you must wake me, De Montigni. Promise me that you will."
"If you wish it, dear one," replied her lover; "but these good people will, I am sure, show her every kindness."
"No, no," answered Rose d'Albret, "I would not have her find a cold reception for the world. Oh, De Montigni, what would I have given, as we stood before the barrier at St. André, to have met a woman to speak kindly to me, and tell me to take comfort?"
"Well, then, I will wake you, sweet, kind girl," said De Montigni; "but I do not think she will be long; for he said she was hard by."
Perhaps the lover would fain have lingered beside his fair promised bride; but after a few more words Chasseron withdrew into the hall, and conversed for a short time with the people who had accompanied him from Marzay. Scarcely five minutes passed ere the farmer, who had remained with them, was summoned to the door, and returned the moment after, with a fair and beautiful girl, in her first youth, who gazed wildly round upon the strange faces as she entered. De Montigni, however, instantly advanced towards her, and took her by the hand, saying, "Do not be alarmed. We are all friends."
"Friends?" said the poor girl, "friends?"
"Yes, indeed," replied the young nobleman; "but come with me, there is a lady in the next room, waiting anxiously to see you;" and he led her on to the door. The good farmer's sister was still in the room of Mademoiselle d'Albret; but Rose had by this time sought her couch, though she had not yet fallen asleep; and when De Montigni and his fair companion were admitted, she raised herself upon her arm and gazed at the stranger for an instant, shading her eyes with her hand. The next moment, with a look of utter astonishment, she exclaimed, "Helen!--Helen de la Tremblade! Good heaven, dear Helen, can it be you?"
The poor girl paused, trembled, wavered for a moment, as if she would fain have retreated from the room; but then, running forward, she cast herself upon her knees by the side of Rose's bed, and burying her face in the clothes seemed to sob convulsively. Rose d'Albret cast her arm round her tenderly; and De Montigni, seeing that there were deeper sorrows in their fair visitor's bosom than he had imagined, withdrew from the room, and closed the door. The farmer's sister followed in a few minutes, and Helen de la Tremblade was left alone with Rose d'Albret.
The morning was bright and beautiful; the heavy clouds of the preceding days had passed away, leaving behind them nothing but a few thin fleecy remnants, that were whirled over the blue sky from time to time by the quick wind. It was a true spring day that dawned, genial and soft; and, in the clump of trees by which one side of the farm-house was shaded, the early birds were singing sweetly, rejoicing in the blessings of God and the return of the bright season to the earth.
De Montigni had watched the greater part of the night, and had not closed his eyes till an hour before the break of day; but he then fell into a heavy and profound slumber, which even the various noises of the farm, the rising of his own attendants, the coming and going of the farmer and his family, and the arrival of several people from the village, bringing intelligence of the movements of the army, did not disturb. He lay so calm and still, his servants would not wake him, till at length a messenger from the King spurred quickly down to the farm-house, delivered a sealed packet, addressed to the young Baron, and rode back again without a moment's pause. It was then thought fit to rouse him; and, starting up, as one of his followers shook him by the arm, he passed his hand across his brow, exclaiming, "Good Heaven! it was a dream!" Then taking the packet he opened it, and found a few brief words in the handwriting of the King.
"Monsieur de Montigni," so the letter ran, "I am informed of your arrival, and also that your uncle, the Commander de Liancourt, will be here before ten o'clock with a small corps. He has orders to join you at Mainville. Wait for his arrival, then come up by the road to St. André" as far as the first turning, which will lead you to the plain. There, as soon as you reach the army, fall into the light horse of the Count d'Auvergne.
"I enclose you the paper which you requested by message last night.
"Your very best friend,
"Henry."
There was a small slip of paper enclosed in the letter; and to it De Montigni now turned, reading, with joy and satisfaction, the following words:--
"Henry, by the grace of God King of France and Navarre. It having been certified to us, upon good and sufficient authority, that, by contract existing between the late Francis d'Albret, Count de Marennes, our well-beloved cousin, and Anthony, Count of Liancourt, the hand of the only daughter of the said Francis d'Albret was plighted, promised, and engaged, to Louis, Baron de Montigni, and that the said parties are now of an age, and willing to fulfil the said contract, We do by these presents authorize the said parties, to proceed to the celebration of their marriage, notwithstanding any let, hindrance, or protest, on the part of any person, or persons, whatsoever, consenting to ratifying and sanctioning the said marriage, by the power and authority in us being.
(Signed,) "Henry."
(And lower down,) "REVOL."
"Is Mademoiselle d'Albret awake?" asked De Montigni, eager to show the precious document to her he loved.
"Oh yes, Sir," replied the man to whom he spoke; "she is awake and up an hour ago; but she bade us not disturb you."
De Montigni hastened to the door and knocked. "Come in," said the sweet voice of Rose d'Albret; and entering, he found her sitting with her hand clasped in that of Helen de la Tremblade, who had passed the night with her. She rose to meet him, and was immediately pressed to his heart, while he whispered in her ear, "You are mine, dear Rose. Here is all that was wanting to our immediate union," and he placed the paper in her hand.
There was not less light in the eyes of Rose d'Albret than in those of her lover, as she read the King's sanction to their marriage; but, when she turned to the letter that accompanied it, her cheek grew pale, and a tear trembled upon her eyelids.
"Oh, Louis! must you leave me so soon?" she cried, "and to battle?"
"Nay, dearest Rose," answered De Montigni, "you would not have me avoid the path to honour and renown."
"No, Louis, no," she answered; "I will not say another word.--Ten o'clock? That is very soon; 'tis past nine now."
"Indeed!" said De Montigni. "I have slept too long."
"Oh, no!" answered Rose. "I came and looked at you as you lay, and it would have been cruel to rouse you from so calm a slumber."
"And yet I dreamed sad dreams, dear Rose," said her lover. "But what is to be done?" he continued; "neither arms nor horses have arrived, and our poor beasts are jaded with yesterday's fatigue."
"But you cannot go without arms," said Rose, rejoicing in the hope that something might detain him from the perilous field; "your uncle will never let you go unarmed.--Perhaps they will come soon; but in the meantime take some refreshment, Louis. Run, dear Helen, run and tell them to bring him some food."
Helen de la Tremblade had remained sitting at the table, with her hand covering her eyes; but now, rising, she approached the door, pausing however, with a glowing cheek, ere she went, to whisper something to Rose d'Albret.
"Not for the world," replied Rose; "oh, no, Helen, do not suppose it," and her cheek too, grew red.
The breakfast was soon brought, and Louis de Montigni ate a few hasty mouthfuls; but he was too much excited and too anxious to find any long repose. More than once he rose and looked out; more than once he questioned the farmer as to whether no one had come during the morning to furnish him with arms. He asked eagerly, too, for intelligence from St. André, and heard, with feelings of impatience and pain, that the King had marched at an early hour to take up his position on the ground he had chosen for his field of battle. He then sent out two of his men to gain farther information, and to see if any horses could be procured; but minute after minute passed by; the hour of ten arrived; and every moment he expected to see the old Commander and his party at the ford before the farm-house, before anything that he required could be obtained. The men brought back word that the village was nearly deserted, except by a few sick and wounded; but they had seen the army of the King, they said, extending in a long line across the plain, and they thought they had also perceived the heads of Mayenne's columns advancing from the side of Ivry.
"Well, we must go as we are," said De Montigni; "we fought the other day at Marzay without a scratch; and we shall ride lighter without armour. Have everything ready to set out the moment my uncle appears. Two of you, however, must stay with these ladies. You are all anxious to go, I know, so choose by lot, and make haste, that all may be ready."
The moments that thus passed were sad and terrible to poor Rose d'Albret. She would not say a word to stay him; and yet she would have given worlds, had it been possible without damage to his honour, to have withheld him from the field. Each order that he gave, each inquiry that he made, roused fresh fears and apprehensions in her breast; and the words of tenderness and affection with which he strove to cheer her, but rendered her more sad, while again and again she asked herself, if she should ever hear that voice again.
Nor were the feelings of Helen de la Tremblade less painful, though perhaps they were less anxious, as, seated near the window, she gazed forth in sad and motionless meditation. To those who stood beside her, all was risked upon that battle; but to her, the bright hopes of life, which in their case were but chequered with fears that an hour might sweep away, were gone for ever. Their words of love, their anxiety for each other, all awoke painful thoughts and bitter memories; and over all her contemplations, spread the dark cloud of self-reproach, leaving not one bright spot in the future or the past.
Still minute after minute passed away, and no one appeared. The impatience of De Montigni became extreme. "The battle will begin," he thought, "and I shall be absent. Disgrace and shame will fall upon me. Who will know of the King's commands? and men will say, I was within half a league of a stricken field, and kept aloof. I cannot bear this much longer. Ride out upon the top of the hill, Victor, towards the side of Annet, and see if you can perceive my uncle coming.--But hark! what is that?"
As he spoke the loud boom of a distant cannon struck upon the ear; another and another succeeded, and then several shots still farther off were heard replying to the former.
"It is begun," he said; "I can wait no more. Bring round my horse! Dearest Rose, I must go to see what is taking place. I will be back soon, my beloved," and he once more pressed her to his heart.
"But the King's commands," said Rose; "He told you to wait here for your uncle. You ought not to go indeed, Louis."
"There must be some mistake," he answered, "and I cannot stay here like a coward or a fool, while my King is fighting for his crown, and the fate of France is in the balance. I will be back speedily,--I will but see," and tearing himself away, he sprang upon his horse's back, followed by those, upon whom the lot to accompany him had fallen, and spurred up the hill at full speed. On the top he paused looking towards Annet. The whole country was open before his sight; but no body of men was to be seen, and hesitating no longer, he rode on till the plain of Ivry lay before his eyes, covered with squadrons and battalions of horse and foot, and presenting the wild, confused and busy scene of a field of battle. When he was gone, Rose d'Albret covered her eyes and for a few moments gave way to tears; but Helen de la Tremblade came round to where she stood, and laid her hand timidly upon her arm. Rose dashed away the drops from her eyes, at this mute appeal, saying, "No, Helen, no I will not doubt it! It were wicked, it were wrong, to think that God would so abandon us."
"Besides, lady," said Helen, "Monsieur de Montigni is good and noble; you are virtuous and wise. Can such people ever be unhappy?"
"Ah, my poor Helen," replied Rose d'Albret, "you reproach yourself too bitterly when the fault was his. Shamefully have you been used; and though God forbid that I should say you have not done wrong, yet I can well believe that, with such vows and promises, you fancied yourself his wife as much as if the priest had joined your hands. Perhaps," she added in her ignorance of man's nature, "perhaps, now that he has lost the hope of obtaining my estates, which was all he sought, he may make you his wife indeed, and deliver you from self-reproach."
"That he can never do," replied Helen de la Tremblade; "I feel that I am a degraded being, lady, unworthy even of your kindness."
"Nay, do not call me lady," answered Mademoiselle d'Albret; "you used to call me Rose, Helen, and you must do so still. But indeed, dear Helen," she continued, willing to pass away heavy time, with any other thoughts but those of what was taking place so near her, "but indeed, I will trust you may still be happy; and one thing you must do for my sake, you must tell your uncle all. He will give you absolution for the past, and direction for the future."
"Ere this, he has been told," answered Helen, "told by that harsh and cruel woman. She would never spare me that."
"Ay, but you know not how she may have told it," answered Rose d'Albret. "Oh, she is false and deceitful, Helen, and may have cast the whole blame and shame on you, when in truth, yours is but the lighter share. See him, dear Helen, see him, and let him know the whole. Shrink not from his reproaches; hear them with patience and humility; but let him know the plain truth, just as you have told it me; and he will forgive you, I am sure. Hark! there are the cannon again. Oh Good, protect him!--Helen, I will go and pray."
"May I pray with you?" asked Helen de la Tremblade timidly.
"Come," said Rose taking her by the hand, "come let us raise our voice to Him from whom all need, and all are sure to receive, forgiveness and mercy if they seek it."
An hour passed by in anxious expectation. Oh, how long an hour may be to those who watch, to those who with the faint sickening of the heart, know that upon its events may hang the long misery of a hopeless, cheerless, loveless life! It seemed as if it would never go; and every device they used to make it speed the faster, seemed like the ticking of a clock, marking the slowness of time's progress, not accelerating its flight. Now they spoke of things past, hoping to lose in retrospection, the sense of things present; now they talked of the future, the wide indefinite blank, which to all men is a chasm that the eye searches in vain. But still to the present, the overburdened present, their minds and their words returned whether they would or not. To the quick imagination of Rose d'Albret, all the horrors of the battle-field presented themselves in more than even their real terrors. She pictured the dead, the dying, and the wounded; the fierce contention, the sanguinary triumph, the unsparing cruelty, loss, flight, defeat; and though she laboured zealously with her own mind to lead it to other themes, yet it was all in vain. She might speak of anything, of everything but the battle, yet still her thoughts wandered back to that overwhelming image, which, like some vaster mountain in a hilly country, was ever seen towering over all the rest, and presenting itself to contemplation, whenever the eyes were turned from other objects.
Sometimes she would strive to speak calmly with Helen de la Tremblade, upon what should be the poor girl's future conduct. Sometimes she would inquire gently and tenderly into the past. But ever her mind would come back again to the battle, and she would give way to all the apprehension and anxiety she felt; would ask how the time went; would call the good farmer, and demand intelligence; would send out one of the attendants, to bring her any news that he could gather.
Half an hour more flew slowly away, and De Montigni did not return; but then, quick spurring down the road, as if for life, came a small party of horse. The farmer, who was upon the watch, suddenly closed and barred the doors, and Rose saw from the window that, over their dusty armour, they wore scarfs of green, a sign that they belonged to the faction of the League. The worthy countryman called her and her companion quickly from the lower story, put up the strong oaken shutters, and bade them, if they needs must gaze, look from the rooms above. But the cavaliers paused not even to notice the house as they passed, and, hurrying on, plunged their horses into the stream, and gained the other side.
"Surely the King has won the day?" said Rose; turning to the farmer, "the Leaguers fly. Is it not so?"
"I know not, Mademoiselle," replied the peasant. "It often happens in strifes like these that men run away before the battle is lost or won. Their own corps may be defeated; but there may come many more to turn the fight."
Even while he spoke a single horseman, with a scarf of white, rode down more slowly on a wounded horse, looked up to the window, where they stood, and cried aloud, "the King is killed," passing on without further pause.
The heart of Rose d'Albret sank as she caught his words; but she grew fainter still when she beheld upon the road, a party of four, one on foot, leading a horse, on which sat a wounded man, with two others supporting him. For an instant she fancied--for the imagination of fear is as vivid and as false as that of hope,--that she recognized the figure of De Montigni. The next moment, however, she saw that it was an older and a heavier man, clothed in armour, and with the visor of his casque closed; but with the white signal of the Bourbon party thrown over his shoulder.
"Oh let us go and help him," she cried.
The farmer hesitated. "Do, do!" cried his wife.
"Well, quick, then!" said the man, and hurrying down, the door was unbarred and opened; but still he held it in his hand ready to close it in an instant, if he saw others following.
"What news? what news?" cried the peasant as the others came near.
"Victory! victory!" shouted one of the men: "Mayenne in full flight and total rout!"
"And the King? and the King?" demanded the farmer.
"Master of the field; and following them like a thunderbolt, to Ivry," was the reply of one of those who rode beside the wounded man; "but help us, here," he added; "he is sadly hurt."
They lifted their master from his horse at the gate, and were bearing him in, while Rose d'Albret, who had come forth with the farmer and his wife, gazed on him with looks of sympathy, when, suddenly, at full speed, but waving joyfully his hat and plume, De Montigni appeared upon the road above, followed by an attendant; and, giving way to all she felt in that moment of exceeding happiness, she ran on to meet him, and in an instant was in his arms.
"Oh, this has been a glorious day, dear Rose," he cried; "and the crown of France is firm upon our monarch's brow. By his own right hand he has won it; and God grant him life to wear it long."
Tears were the only reply that Rose could make; but the good farmer tossed up his hat, and cried "Hurrah!"
"Whom have you here?" asked De Montigni, as his eyes fell upon the group just arrived, who were now entering the farm, with the wounded man borne in the midst. But, ere any one could answer, coming up the road from the other side, as if seeking a ford across the stream, were seen a body of some thirty horse, with a young and graceful man at their head. The farm-house hid them from the young Baron and the lady till they had passed the angle; but then the green scarfs mingled with black, too plainly showed to what party they belonged. They rode fast, but not at the headlong speed of fear; and, when they saw the marks of a ford, the leader paused, marshalled his men to pass two and two, and then looked round him with a calm deliberate air. His eyes instantly lighted upon De Montigni his attendant and Rose d'Albret, for the farmer had retreated into the house; and, exclaiming "Halt!" to those who were passing the ford, the officer of the League spoke another word or two to a gentleman near him.
De Montigni drew Rose rapidly to the door of the farm, and pushed it violently with his hand; for by this time it was closed, and the good farmer, seeing the arrival of the troop, had barred and bolted it as before. In vain De Montigni looked about for a place of refuge: they were shut in between the bank, the wall of the garden, and the ford; and in an instant they were surrounded by the horsemen.
"Ha, ha! we shall not go without some prisoners at least," cried the leader of the troop, "your sword, Sir, your sword--it is vain contending."
De Montigni hesitated; but he was seized in a moment; and while Rose clung in agony to his breast, his sword was snatched from his side, and a pistol levelled at his head.
"Surrender, or die!" cried a fierce-looking man, who had sprung to the ground beside him. "We have no time to waste upon Huguenots."
"We are no Huguenots," replied De Montigni, "but faithful Catholics, though servants of the King. I surrender, as it needs must be so; but, of course, you will let this lady retire into the house--you do not make war upon women, I suppose."
"That depends upon circumstances," replied the leader, who had now come up. "Your name, Sir?"
"The Baron de Montigni," replied the young nobleman.
"We are in luck," exclaimed the leader, turning to one of his companions; "then this fair lady is Mademoiselle d'Albret?"
Rose only replied by her tears; and the leader continued, turning to De Montigni, "Mount your horse, Sir, and follow! You are a prisoner of war, and shall be treated as such. The lady shall be restored to those from whose care you took her. No words; for time is short--Have you a litter or a horse for the lady?"
"Her jennet is in the stable," replied De Montigni; "but she is too much fatigued and weary to ride. If you have the spirit of a gentleman and a knight, as you seem to be, you will not force her to do so."
"Weary or not weary," said the stranger, "she must come along. Quick, bring out the jennet! Lose not a minute, or we shall have some of the enemy upon us. Lady, it seems your friends have kindly shut the door in your face, so that if you have goods and chattels within, they must even remain where they are."
"You are discourteous, Sir," said De Montigni, "and abuse your advantage."
"How now!" cried the leader, grasping his sword; but Rose held up her hand in entreaty, exclaiming, "Nay, nay, De Montigni, say not a word--I am ready to go. I trust this gentleman will use no needless harshness. Here is the jennet: I will go directly."
The horseman looked down somewhat gloomily, murmuring, "Discourteous! such a term was never used to Nemours before."
"Monsieur de Nemours," replied De Montigni, "I am free to say I believe it never was; and I am sure, now I know you, it never was deserved. You have lost a great battle, Sir, and some irritation may be forgiven: but I beseech you, if it must be shown, let it fall upon my head, and not upon this lady's."
"Fear not," said the Duke, turning to him frankly; "I must send her to her guardian, as I have been required; but she shall be treated with all kindness by the way; and in the meantime," he added aloud, "she is under the protection of my honour. Quick, quick!" he continued, "see, there are people coming down already. Stand to your arms, there. Mount, Sir, mount."
Before De Montigni did so, however, he lifted Rose into the saddle, and then sprung upon his horse, saying, "I will not detain you, my Lord Duke; but you need not fear," he added, "those are but two or three of my own servants."
"On!" cried Nemours to his soldiers; "steady through the ford."
"Which way, my lord?" asked the guidon of the party.
"Towards Chartres," answered the Duke, and the troop took their way across the stream.