With this curious epistle was a brief note from the admiral, acknowledging the receipt of the money, and telling me that though, of course, it was necessary to arrange the liberation of the elder and more experienced officers in the first instance, he would not forget me when it came to my turn. The words were words of course, and I certainly did not expect that the admiral would think of the matter much more, as in fact he did not do.
Towards night the Duke of Montpensier himself came back to Jarnac, and I saw that he was a good deal mortified, annoyed, and thoughtful. After supper he somewhat recovered himself, and I then found, from what he said, that the efforts of the Catholics upon Cognac had been repelled successfully at every point, and the army obliged to withdraw. Shortly after this, the duke entered my chamber one morning early, saying, "Monsieur de Cerons, I come to take leave of you for a time. The army is about to march, the surgeon thinks it not fit that you should advance as rapidly as we do, and it is therefore my wish that you should proceed by slow stages to my house at Champigny, where a part of my attendants are about to go. You will there find every convenience; I have written to prepare my people for your reception, and I consider you still, you must remember, upon parole."
"It must be, my lord," I replied, "of course, as you think fit: but I trust it will not be long before you kindly name my ransom, and set me at liberty."
The duke turned to me with a kindly expression of countenance, and replied, "Believe me, Monsieur de Cerons, I have your interests nearly at heart. Neither I nor my son are persons whose affections are given by halves. I have consulted with him and with one or two other gentlemen, for whose opinion I have a respect, and they all think with me, that I had better act as I have undoubtedly a right to do, and detain you as a prisoner; though assuredly a prisoner in no very strict sense of the word, than, by permitting you to go on in the course with which you have begun--glorious in a military point of view, as it may be--see you make yourself remarkable by determined rebellion and opposition to the royal authority, and thus exclude yourself for ever from the royal protection. There is my hand. Monsieur de Cerons. Believe me, I wish you well."
I took his hand respectfully, I may say affectionately, and replied, "Your good opinion is, indeed, most deeply valuable to me, my lord; but yet, pardon me for detaining you to hear one word more. In your calculations for my benefit, there are things that you do not know. Are you aware, my lord, that the whole fortune I possess on earth is my sword; that it is an absolute necessity for me to distinguish myself, and make myself a high name by military exertion? It is, of course, impossible for me to fight against those who maintain the same religious opinions as myself, and, consequently, the only field that is open to me is in arms in the Protestant cause."
"But the estate of Cerons?" said the duke, inquiringly. "I remember it a very fair property in the hands of, I think, your father?"
"Alas! sir," I replied, "The estate of Cerons has never been mine. My father, by the necessities of the times in which he lived, was obliged to part with the whole estate, except one rood of land, to preserve the name to his son. It was bought by his more fortunate cousin, the Baron de Blancford, with whom it still remains. Thus, therefore, my lord, if you keep me still a prisoner, though your motives may be most kind ones, you cut me off from every opportunity of advancing my own fortunes and renown; and, let me add in one word, that I have the strongest of all possible motives for seeking to urge my way forward as fast as possible."
"What, love?" said the Duke of Montpensier, laying his hand upon my shoulder, and gazing in my face with a smile. "Nay, never conceal it. I can feel for you well, Monsieur de Cerons. But let me consider for a moment." And he fell into a fit of musing which lasted for several minutes.
"I had thought your circumstances were different," he continued; "but, however, it will only make this difference, that it will induce us to do at once what we intended always to do ultimately."
"To set me at liberty, I trust, my lord?" I replied.
"No," he said, with a smile, "no; the very reason you give is a stronger motive for keeping you. But Francis shall speak to you upon it all. You will make your first day's march with him to-morrow, and remember, I only exact one thing on my part. When you are at Champigny, you are to make yourself as little known by name as possible, and to keep yourself as much concealed as you can. However, I will talk to D'Auvergne about it, and he shall tell you all. He sees me ten miles upon my way to-day, and then returns. Trust to what he tells you from me as if they were my own words." And, thus saying, he left me, grateful indeed for having made such a friend, but still not a little grieved and melancholy at the prospect of remaining a prisoner, confined to the dull neighbourhood of Saumur.
From the windows of the house where the Duke of Montpensier had taken up his quarters, I saw a large division of the army march out of Jarnac, and certainly a very different scene, indeed, was the gay and glittering procession of the royal host from the bands of the poor Huguenots even in their freshest guise. Of the young Prince D'Auvergne I saw nothing during that day till supper-time, when, surrounded by his officers, he had only an opportunity of speaking to me a few words to prepare me for taking my departure from Jarnac an hour after sunrise on the following day. Though there were one or two persons of higher rank sat nearer the prince at supper than I did, and many with whom he was in old habits of intimacy, yet the little incident which had occurred during the retreat from Loudun, my condition as a prisoner, and the anxiety he had felt at different times on my account when my life was in danger, seemed to have established a deeper kind of interest between me and him than there existed between himself and any of his own party; and he always spoke to me with that tone of kindness, attention, and feeling which made any strangers who might happen to be at the table turn their eyes to see who it was that the prince addressed in such a manner.
Somewhat before the time appointed on the following morning I descended from my chamber, prepared to set out. I found that the prince[4]had gone to the quarters of the Duke of Anjou, and the attendants, who were about to be sent from the army to Champigny, were waiting round the door with their horses and mine, ready to take their places as the troops passed along. Determined to follow their example, I waited by the side of my horse, while the attendants of the Duke of Montpensier and my own kept respectfully at a little distance, when I felt some one suddenly pull my mantle, and, turning round, I saw one of the most beautiful girls I had ever beheld, whose features were not unfamiliar to me. The handwriting of the letter that she slipped into my hand, however, was far better known, for it was that of Louise de Blancford; and, with a hand all eagerness, I was tearing it open, when the girl again plucked me by the cloak, and, gazing up in my face with her large, dark eyes, cried, "Hist! seigneur, hist! Will you befriend us!"
She seemed about thirteen or fourteen years of age, not more; and, after gazing upon her for a moment, endeavouring to recollect where I had seen her, I said, "How can I befriend you, my good girl? What is your name?"
"You recollect me not," replied the girl; "but my name is Miriam Ahar."
"Oh, I recollect thee well," I replied, "now. Tell me what I can do for thee, pretty one, and I will do it with pleasure." And, as I spoke, there was a look of real pleasure, I believe, came over my countenance, which brought a smile upon the girl's beautiful lips.
"I was sure you would be kind," she said, "and you can help us thus. My father is here in yonder house with some rich merchandise. He is appointed to come after the army with the rear guard, which sets out at four this evening; but he has learned, from a good friend in this place, that six of the many men who do evil deeds in such armies as these have their eyes upon him. Now you know what often happens to a Jew when he travels with the rear guard of an army."
"No, I do not," I replied: "I never heard of any injury befalling them."
"Ay, who hears of such things befalling them but their own nation?" she replied, sadly. "Who hears that the dead body of a Jew, murdered and stripped, is found by the roadside? and all that are with him, what becomes of them? They fly if they are permitted, and some are killed to prevent them bearing witness, and the rest are silent through fear, and the murderers go away enriched."
There was reason to believe that the girl's tale was too true, but it was difficult to know how to serve her.
"My poor child," I said, "What can be done for you? I am a prisoner, and wounded myself; but if you would point out what could be done, I would gladly do it, for I remember you were kind to me long ago."
"You can do much for us," she said; "we knew you were a prisoner, for we have been in the Protestant camp, and inquired for you. But still you can do much for us; for they say you are loved by some of the great among these people, and we have only the protection of those who would devour us. Get us permission to go this very hour in the train of the main battle with which you go, and let one of your people accompany us; if so, we are safe; if not, we are altogether lost."
"I will do my best for you, Miriam," I replied; "here comes the Prince d'Auvergne; I will apply to him. Stand by me; do not go back. My lord," I said, "here is a petitioner to me. She and her father were kind to me long ago. They are Jews, but without their help I could never have appeared in the field at all. They are now appointed to go with the rear guard; but you know what is likely to happen to a Jew, in a march partly in the night, among the stragglers of the army."
"Let them follow us if they can get ready," replied the prince, in evident haste; "one of your people can go with them, De Cerons."
"But give them some sort of safeguard, my lord," I said; "one word under your hand."
"Here, a pen and ink, Arnon!" said the prince, in the same hasty tone; and, tearing a leaf out of his tablets, he wrote, "Suffer to pass--What is the name?"
"Solomon Ahar," I replied.
"Oh, Solomon Ahar, the usurious villain!" he said; "I have heard of him. Well, nevertheless--" and he went on writing--"Suffer to pass Solomon Ahar, his people and horses, with the baggage of Francis d'Auvergne." "There," he said, "these vermin will do no great credit to my baggage, De Cerons; but, if you wish it, so let it be;" and, as he spoke, he looked upon the exquisitely beautiful form and features of poor Miriam Ahar as if she had been a speckled toad. Such is prejudice!
"I will be back instantly, De Cerons," he continued, "and then we will join the regiment."
Thus saying, he turned into the court of the hotel, and I gave the paper to the girl, saying, "There, Miriam, that is all I can do for you. Andriot, you go with her, and take one of the grooms: I want only one with me. See them safe, and join me after the march." Miriam took the paper, and for her only reply kissed the hand that held it to her; and, running away so fast that Andriot, though very willing to accompany the pretty Jewess, it seemed, could scarcely mount his horse and follow her, she disappeared under the doorway of a house higher up the street.
In a moment or two after the Prince d'Auvergne made his appearance again, and, following him to the park of the chateau, where his regiment and several others were drawn up, I was soon plunged into all the bustle of a march with a large army. For some time orders and counter-orders, and arrangements of various kinds, came so thick, that he had no time for conversation with me; but, after the lapse of about an hour, everything fell into regular order again; and, as there was no chance of any attack, he left the conduct of his regiment to the inferior officers, and civilly getting rid of several noblemen and gentlemen who seemed inclined to attach themselves to his person, he rode on with me, at once opening the conversation with the subject on which his father had spoken to me on the preceding night.
"My father," he said, "was so hurried yesterday that I did not clearly understand whether he had told you, De Cerons, what he intended to do or not."
I replied that the duke had not done so, but referred me to him: and I went on to say, "You know well, Monsieur d'Auvergne, that protracted imprisonment must be very painful to me, and I trust it is your father's intention to admit me to ransom."
I was proceeding to repeat what I had said to his father the day before, when he interrupted me with a smile, saying, "You need not give me reasons why, De Cerons; though I look so young, I am old enough to have felt; and though I am older than you think me, I am not too old to have forgotten such feelings as I saw upon a certain parting between a lady and her lover. Your secret was well kept both by my father and myself, and your sour cousin of Blancford heard nothing of it from us. But with regard to setting you free I have nothing to do; and I feel very sure that one of my father's reasons for sending you to Champigny is that you may be near your fair lady, and not, by a lengthened imprisonment, lose the opportunity of advancing yourself in the favour either of herself or her father."
"Good God!" I exclaimed, "I had not the slightest idea that the baron had gone to Saumur."
"Oh! you mistake, you mistake," said the prince. "My father did not speak of sending you to Champigné-le-sec, which, as its name implies, would be a dry residence for you enough, but to Champigny near Paris, where we have estates, and an old chateau of which we are all fond. But still I must say it is not in my power to affect at all my father's determination about your imprisonment. Indeed, I must confess, I think it best for you that it should be as it is; and, at all events, I have no authority in the matter. What I alluded to was something quite different. The day before yesterday, as we were riding down towards Cognac, my father and I were talking of you, and we determined, in memory of the day when you and I first met, to make you a present of a little farm that we lately bought, for the purpose of giving it to an old friend of ours, but who was unfortunately killed in the first skirmish of this campaign. It lies close to our own place at Champigny, and is called by his own name, which was the cause of our buying it for him. That name is Les Bois. It remains just as we had it all arranged to give him. The old chateau, though but small, is, I think you will admit, as sweet a spot as well could be chosen to repose in after the toils of war. We have had it tapestried and furnished afresh throughout in the very last mode; and the annual rent amounts to about five thousand livres per annum.
"Oh, my lord, my lord, mention not such a thing to me," I cried. "Although your rank and mine might well permit me to accept your bounty, yet such a gift as that I am utterly undeserving of."
"Not at all, De Cerons, not at all," replied the prince. "You must recollect the circumstances under which it is offered. If, on the occasion you speak of, you had chosen to have killed me, you might have done so; but you were too generous for that. You might equally have made me your prisoner; but the truth was, you thought me a mere boy, and let me escape. I have no objection, De Cerons, to remain under obligations to you; and, even in offering you this little gift, both my father and myself are still your debtors. You forget what would have been the ransom of the Prince d'Auvergne. I know well what it would be if Montluc had to fix it. Certainly not less than fifty thousand gold Henris, or a hundred thousand crowns of the sun. The estate we give, in all cost but a third of that sum; and therefore, my good friend, I still bear a great portion of my ransom to the credit of gratitude. The deeds of the estate my father has left with me to make over to you, and, if we can find a notary within ten miles of our halting-place, they shall be made your own this very night."
It may be easily conceived what were my feelings upon the present occasion. The tone in which he spoke, his whole manner and look, left no opportunity of refusing even with courtesy, had I been so inclined. But when I looked upon his offer, and thought that that which was given so generously might be but the foundation of my future fortunes, I felt no such inclination to refuse. I thought of Louise, too, my own bright Louise, and I felt the letter which she had sent me, and which I had placed in my bosom to read when alone, glow warm upon my heart when new hopes and expectations entered into it.
The eye of the prince was upon me as I thus thought, and he seemed to read all the feelings that were passing in my bosom, for a smile came up upon his countenance, and he said, "Come, De Cerons, you accept it. Prithee, not a word more. At Champigny you will have the opportunity of visiting your new estate, or even of dwelling there if you so will, for the limits of the two properties touch, and, of course, you may reside at which you will. It is better, perhaps, that you should go to Champigny at first, where everything is prepared and ready for you; and, in the mean time, as it is somewhat dangerous just now for a Protestant to appear in the neighbourhood of Paris, you may take with all safety the name of Des Bois, as you have made that of De Cerons somewhat too well known."
Thus conversing, we went on our way, and in the evening arrived at the camp under the walls of Angoulême. Persons were waiting for us at the quarters marked out for the Prince d'Auvergne, inviting us to sup with the Duke of Montpensier, and not a moment was allowed me to read the letter of Louise till I retired to rest for the night.
In the mean time, however, two circumstances happened which I must notice briefly. The first was the actual transfer of the chateau and property of Les Bois to myself, which was executed that night in the presence of a notary, both the Duke of Montpensier and the prince signing the act. The next occurred as we were pausing round the table for a moment after supper. There was no one in the chamber but the duke, his son, and myself, and we were about to separate, when an attendant announced that the Jew, Solomon Ahar, waited without. Probably each of the three thought that the business of the Jew was with himself; but the duke said, "It is only that usurious Jew, who comes to tell me, I suppose, that the Duke of Anjou cannot have the money that he wants. In fact, I saw it would be so last night; and I suppose that the man is afraid of telling the duke himself, lest he should lose his ears, so comes to put the unpleasant task on me. Send him in, however."
In a moment after poor Solomon Ahar entered, cringing and bending down to the ground.
"Well, Solomon," said the duke, "you have come sooner than I expected to see you; and I suppose this promptitude shows that you have no very good news to bring me."
"Not so, my most gracious lord," replied the Jew, bending again to the very ground. "On the contrary, I come to say I think it can be done. I trust it can be managed. I have good hope that we can accept the terms of the noble prince; for, as I came along but now, I have had much talk and conversation with some of the gentle leaders about arms, and spoils, and ransoms, and what not, and I have done a little commerce by the way, so that I think the matter can be done to the prince's contentment; and I came to tell you first, monseigneur, because I thought it would do you a pleasure to tell his highness yourself."
"On my life it does!" cried the duke; "for there is many a thing I want the prince to do, which I dare not even ask when he is in such a humour as at present."
"It is all owing, my very good and excellent lord," said the Jew, "it is all owing to these two noble gentlemen, my excellent good lord your son, and that very respectable knight who sits by him; for, had it not been for their protection, and my lord the prince's permission to come with the main battle, I should never have seen these worthy traders, and done the little commerce that enables me to pleasure the prince."
"It cannot be a little commerce, good Solomon," said the duke, "Which enables you to furnish a sum of two hundred thousand crowns, when you declared you could not find it in all Paris."
"On my life and soul!" cried the Israelite, "it will but pay the interest of the money in case I be a loser."
But both the duke and his son laughed, and Solomon himself grinned silently, as if he did not in the least degree expect to be believed. He produced from under his robe, however, two small packets, one containing the most exquisitely beautiful pair of gloves for a lady that I ever beheld, being formed of peach-coloured velvet, embroidered on the back with gold and pearls, which he laid before the Prince d'Auvergne, begging his acceptance of them as a present for any lady that he loved. The other was a small plain dagger, about two hands' breadths in length, the haft of which was as plain as it well could be, being distinguished by nothing but a few lines of gold inlaid in the steel. The blade, which he drew from the plain steel sheath, was thick and dull in colour, as if it had been rusty and ill cleaned. Nevertheless, this somewhat coarse-looking implement he laid upon the table before the duke with great reverence, saying, "Let me beg your noble acceptance of that which, though it looks but a poor gift, may be considered as invaluable. That dagger is made of one cake of pure Damascus steel. It will pass through the finest-tempered corslet that can be produced in the camp, even when struck by a weak arm; and with that dagger the Emperor Hassan, caliph of the Moors, killed no less than ten Spanish cavaliers at the great battle of the Salado."
The Duke of Montpensier seemed to value the gift highly, and the Jew then turned towards me, bowing lowly, and saying, "I have not forgotten to be grateful to Monsieur de Cerons."
"The only gratitude I wish, good Solomon," I replied, "is, that you would find for me a certain dagger that you know of, and which I fear may be lost to me for ever by the death of the person to whom you delivered it."
"I feared so, I feared so," said the Jew; "but it shall be found if it be on this side of Constantinople. I have heard, good sir, that you are going towards Paris; so Monsieur Arnon, the intendant of good Monsieur d'Auvergne, told me; and I would fain travel in such safe company, especially as I go on the business of his Highness of Anjou," he added, looking at the duke.
"Be it so, be it so," said the Duke of Montpensier; "and the sooner you arrive in the capital the better."
"On the twenty-fifth day of the present month," said the Jew, "his highness may draw on me bills of exchange through any of the merchants of Poitiers. They will not refuse him the money when they see the name of Solomon Ahar."
The duke seemed not a little pleased with this intelligence, and, a few words more having passed, Solomon retired from the room, and the duke hastened to communicate the news he had received as fast as possible to the Duke of Anjou.
In the mean time, the Prince d'Auvergne and I returned to our quarters, and bidding me kindly adieu, as I was to depart early on the following morning, he left me, as he thought, to repose. Sleep, however, was not destined to visit my eyes that night. It was with difficulty, my right hand and arm being still bound up in its wooden case, that I was able to open the letter of Louise; and oh! when I did open it, what pain did it inflict! The letter has been since destroyed, so that I cannot give it accurately; but it informed me that the baroness had notified to her that her father had concluded upon a marriage between her and the Lord of Blaye. Her consent, she said, had never been asked and the marchioness had immediately left her stupified and thunderstruck. The only consolations she had, the poor girl said, were, in the first place, that the man himself was absent with the army, and likely to be absent for long; and, in the second, that La Tour assured her that the baron himself had fixed that the marriage should not take place for some time. To give me some comfort under such circumstances, she said, "You know me, Henry, and know that I would rather die. But, oh! that I could see you, and speak with you now, if it were but for a few hours!"
It may well be conceived that the time now seemed to lag; and, when I at length set off upon my journey towards Champigny, every league seemed extended to two or three, every minute was protracted into days. I was the first in the saddle in the morning, the last to feel fatigue at night. But still, as all the various military movements had disturbed the posts, and we rode our own horses, our journey was in reality slow, and seemed to me still slower.
There were but few events in that journey which I need dwell upon. The party which went through it was divided by their particular circumstances, by their religion and habits, and each kept much apart from the other. I, belonging to the higher class of the land, was separated from the rest both by my rank and by my faith; and my servants, being Protestants, were, of course, not sought by the attendants of the Duke of Montpensier. The intendant, indeed, of the Prince d'Auvergne generally rode by my side, a step farther back, endeavouring to beguile the way with different stories of the scenes which he had seen in a long life, and the descriptions of objects which I had never beheld. He told a tale pleasantly enough, and his descriptions were vivid and accurate. I showed a sufficient degree of interest in what he said to flatter his vanity a little, and induce him to go on.
But he saw that I was deeply melancholy, and sometimes appeared to suppose that his conversation wearied me, and ceased it for an hour or two. Thus, however, some little conversation took place between the Catholics and Protestants; but it was very different with the Jews, who formed the third division of our party. They were spoken to, indeed, by both the Catholics and Protestants from time to time, and were treated with great kindness and with substantial courtesy, having every protection and assistance given to them whenever they needed it; but the servants, like their masters, looked upon them evidently as an inferior race, and kept up as little communication with them as possible. To ensure that they were well treated and had nothing to complain of--for the Prince d'Auvergne had given me authority to regulate such matters on the march--I generally made Solomon and Miriam come and sit with me for an hour after our day's journey was over, somewhat to the scandal, I believe, of good Master Arnon the intendant, who thought it strange that a French nobleman should permit a Jew to sit in his presence.
By this means an intimacy--if that can be so called which consisted almost altogether in tokens of respect and reverence on the one side, and protection on the other--took place between me and the Jew and his daughter; they clung to me as the only being that treated them with real kindness, and Miriam used to strive to amuse me with a thousand little engaging youthful ways: she would dance to me to the sound of her own singing, which was very sweet, though in a tongue that I did not understand; and she would play to me at other times, either upon a small instrument which she called a cithern, or upon a lute, with a skill and perfection that I had never heard before. She used to watch my looks, too, as if to see whether she amused me; but she was too young for idle thoughts to enter into the head of any one with regard to her; and I do not think I was of a character, even if she had been two or three years older, to fancy that she was in love with me, because she had a grateful regard for me.
The Jew himself, I believe, would have trusted her anywhere with me, as by this time he would have trusted me with any jewel of his store; and one evening, when he himself had arrived at the inn, weary and somewhat unwell, he sent his daughter to amuse me, and to tell me that he himself had retired to rest. Well might he do so; and yet the conversation that we had together was as tender and as full of thrilling interest as it is possible to conceive. I had been musing sadly over my fate and that of Louise, and my eyes were buried in my hands when her entrance roused me, so that it was evident enough to her that she had just recalled me from a painful dream.
"You are sad, seigneur," she said, drawing a seat close up beside me, and laying her small, clear, olive hand upon mine. "You are sad, and you do not tell Miriam what you are sad about."
"Oh, you would not care to hear, Miriam," I replied, "and could do me no good if you did hear."
"Oh, but I should care to hear," she said, "for I love you very much, seigneur. I loved you, from the first moment I saw you, almost as much--no, not so much as I love him."
"Were you going to say your father, Miriam?" I said.
"No," she said, "Not him. I was going to say as Martin Vern." And the girl coloured a little as she spoke, but added immediately, "But he loves you too, and told me how kind you had been to him when he was at the siege of Angoulême, and how you had given him your hand to help him up into the breach, and how you had carried him down in your arms when he was wounded, and saved his life, and been to him like a brother; which, for a lord and a soldier like you, he thought very kind indeed."
"You seem to have talked very much about me, Miriam," I said. "When was all this?"
"Oh, it was when we were last in Paris," replied the girl; "when we were staying at the house of Levi, my father's cousin, who has become a Christian, you know; and then I would go and see the lady that you had written to, which he told me about, and who had written to you again, and sent it to my fathers house at Bordeaux for the old merchant. And when the Baron de Blancford wanted the Persian silver brocade for his wife, I went with Martin Vern, that is, with the old merchant, and saw the young lady too, and spoke with her in the cabinet behind the great saloon. I told her then that if she would write you a letter, and send it to Levi's house, it should be conveyed to you; but I did not think then that I should carry it myself."
"And was it so the letter came to me?" I said. "I had fancied, Miriam, that your father had got it when he was in the Protestant camp."
"Oh, no," she replied; "I carried it all the way in my bosom. And now I wish you would tell me why you are so sad, and why she looked so sad too. Perhaps I could do more than you know."
"Oh, no, Miriam," I answered, "You could do no thing, my good girl. That which makes me sad would need a more skilful surgeon than you are to cure."
She looked in my face for a moment, as if to see whether I was speaking plainly or metaphorically, and she then cried, "Ay, now I understand you. You love her, and she loves you, and they will not give her to you in marriage."
"Ay, Miriam," I answered, with a sigh, as she came so near the truth; "and they talk of giving her to another."
"Who to? who to?" cried the girl, eagerly. "I heard something once which makes me suspect."
"Oh, no," I replied, "You know him not, Miriam. His name is the Seigneur de Blaye."
"I hate him!" cried the girl, bounding up from her seat as if I had pronounced some talismanic word; "I hate him! He dared to take hold of me when my father was gone to get him the money he wanted from the other room, and asked me if I would go and live with him; and when I told him no, I would rather be catching-wench to a butcher's wife, he struck me on the face with his fingers, and called me a name that I must not speak. I never told my father, or I believe he would have stabbed him; but I hate him, and I shall ever hate him. Oh, seigneur!" she continued, turning towards me and clasping her hands together, "You have been very good and kind indeed to me and mine, and to all that I ever heard mention your name. It is such people as you that make us know what good people there can be; and I will try to show you that there can be gratitude in a poor little Jewish girl. I told my father, when he knew the people intended to murder him on the march from Jarnac, that if he would let me go and speak to you, you would be kind to him. He would not believe me for a long while; but he said that, if you were, you would be the first Christian that ever looked upon a Jew as anything but a dog. My father, however, can be grateful too, seigneur; and, though you may think that poor little Miriam has no power, yet in this business she may have more power than you know of."
Our conversation went on for some time; and the girl, young as she was, spoke with a depth of feeling, a tenderness, an experience of the world and the world's ways, which was very extraordinary, mingled as it was with a sort of eager and imaginative wildness of manner and language, which probably she had acquired in the somewhat wandering and irregular life to which her father's pursuits subjected her. I looked upon the hopes and expectations that she tried to fill me with, of being able to do something in my behalf, as quite idle and vain; but still the gratitude that she showed was something pleasant to meet with, and I sent her away with thanks, and many a kindly speech in return.
At the village of Berny, a short distance from Paris, the Jew, his daughter, and the innumerable packhorses which followed him, were to part with their companions of the way, he proceeding to the capital, and we by a side road to Champigny. He now, however, considered himself quite safe; and, when I had mounted to depart, he came up to the side of my horse, followed by Miriam, and prayed a blessing from God upon my onward journey.
"I have heard from Monsieur Arnon," he said, in a low voice, "that the estate of Les Bois is yours, and that, for the time, I am only to call you Monsieur des Bois; but, whether you be at Champigny or at Les Bois, I hope you will not refuse to let me within your gates; for you have shown me kindness such as I have seldom found, and such as I shall never forget."
Thus saying, he kissed my hand after his fashion, and Miriam, coming up, did the same. There was something in the poor people's gratitude that made my eyes glisten though they were Jews, and, bidding them adieu, I rode on. As I turned my horse into the road at the right, I looked back, and saw that they were standing before the inn door, gazing after me still.
I was well pleased to arrive at Champigny, and certainly a very beautiful and charming spot it was; but, of course, the sight of Les Bois was still more agreeable to me as its proprietor. The chateau was a small house, built in the antique fashion, but still in the most perfect repair; certainly not so large as the duke's own mansion at Champigny, yet large enough for my ambition. It was seated on a hill, in the midst of fine old woods, from which it derived its name; and there was an aspect of peace, and calm, and tranquillity, which was pleasant to the eye and to the heart after the scenes of anguish, care, and excitement which war had lately presented to my sight. The interior of the chateau was, as the Prince d'Auvergne had told me, well furnished, and newly furnished throughout. To my eyes, indeed, it was splendid; for in those day there was perhaps, even more than now, a marked difference in the grace, taste, and execution of everything in the neighbourhood of the capital and in the remote provinces.
The good intendant of the Prince d'Auvergne insisted upon taking me all over the chateau, and showing me every hole and corner, though I was most anxious, I confess, to go into Paris itself, and take some means for obtaining an interview with Louise. I did not know well how to explain my inclinations to my worthy companion, and, to break the subject to him, I made some inquiries regarding the capital; but, the moment he heard that I had never seen Paris, nothing would serve him but that I must go there immediately. To his imagination it was the chief wonder of the world; and, after descanting upon its merits, beauties, and excellences for half an hour, he said, "If it were not presuming too far, my lord, I would propose to accompany you thither immediately, and show you some of the beauties of the place, though even to notice them all would require many weeks, I might say months."
I instantly caught at this proposal; and, mounting fresh horses at Champigny, we rode on into the city, where, giving our horses to the boys, we proceeded to walk through the streets of the capital. At any other moment, when my mind was not so occupied by one predominant subject, everything that I saw would have been a matter of interest to me. The long ranges of shops, covered over with awnings to keep the merchandises there exposed from the sun and the air; the people reading aloud pieces of poetry and satire at the corners of the streets; the different shows and exhibitions that attracted the sight at every step, all would have amused, detained, and interested me; but now my great desire and object was to discover the abode of the Baron de Blancford, and obtain some means of communicating with her I loved. The multitude of houses, and streets, and people that increased upon me at every minute, confused and puzzled me, and made me fancy the attempt almost impracticable, not knowing the address, and having no clew in such a labyrinth as that.
Suddenly, however, I called to mind that, from Miriam's account, Martin Vern was still in the custom of visiting the house of the Baron de Blancford, and judging that he, as a great merchant, must be known to everybody, I asked Arnon the intendant if he could lead me to his dwelling.
"I do not know him," said the intendant. "Is he a Huguenot?"
"No," I replied, with a smile at the sort of horror that came over the man's countenance at the very idea of visiting a Huguenot in Paris. "No, Monsieur Arnon, he is a Catholic, and a great merchant who has money of mine in his hands."
"Oh, then the case is very different," replied Arnon. "We will inquire after him immediately." And, entering a large goldsmith's house by the door close to the shop, he asked for Martin Vern the merchant.
We had now no difficulty in finding the dwelling, which was up a flight of steps, and the goods were not exposed in the streets, as among the ordinary shopkeepers, but spread out in rooms within doors. Neither good Martin Vern, however, nor his son was to be found at home; and I left a message, under the name of Des Bois, asking to see one or both of them at the chateau at Champigny.
Although by this time the days had lengthened, and we were in the height of summer, it was now time that we should turn our steps homeward, as the distance we had to go was nearly four leagues; and during the whole of the following day I waited in anxious expectation for the appearance of one of the two merchants. No one came, however, and another and another day succeeded, during which I scarcely stirred out, and left directions for finding me whenever I did so. At the end of the third day my patience became quite exhausted, and on the following morning I begged Arnon to send off one of the prince's servants, who knew the capital well, to ask why Master Martin Vern had not been to Champigny. Arnon did as I directed immediately; and, on bearing me the answer, which was, that neither Martin Vern nor his nephew had yet returned from Blois, where they had gone to attend upon the king, added, in order to put my mind at rest upon the subject which he thought troubled me, that I might make myself quite easy about the money; for that, having made inquiries, he found that the house of Martin Vern was one of the most wealthy and respectable in Paris.
I could not help exclaiming, "Pshaw! it is not the money, my good friend." And it was evident, from that moment, that Arnon's curiosity was not a little excited to find out what it could be that I sought with the merchants, if it was not the money that they owed me. My determination, however, was now taken to seek the house of the Baron de Blancford myself; but not all my efforts could discover it, and it was equally in vain that I attempted to discover the abode of Solomon Ahar: that he was going to lodge at the house of his cousin Levi I knew; but his cousin Levi was not to be discovered; and, on making inquiries concerning him, I was always met by a demand of "Levi who?" there being a thousand in Paris of the name of Levi, but all with some surname attached.
In the mean time, the news that daily came in from the scene of the war was anything but such as to give me gratification. The feeble attack on Poitiers by the Protestants; the gallant defence of the young Duke of Guise; the siege of St. Jean d'Angely; the death of poor Martigue, whom I could not help regretting; the fatal battle of Moncontour, which, although the defeat of the Protestants was as complete, and the success of the Catholics as surprising as well need be, was magnified in Paris in a very great degree; all these things grieved and pained me, while week after week went by in fruitless inquiries; and at length, with that sort of scorn of one's self, which is a true part of misanthropy, for giving a moment's credit to the Jew's professions of gratitude, I sat me down in bitterness of spirit, and tried to fancy that I hated the whole human race.
The autumn of the year was now approaching; there could be little or no doubt that, during the ensuing winter, the young Lord of Blaye would be free to return to Paris, and pursue the project of marriage which was held out to him; and the thoughts of poor Louise, and the privations to which she would be subjected, tormented me like an army of fiends, and re-enforced themselves by every power of imagination.
The news that St. Jean d'Angely had been recaptured by the Protestants, and that the Prince d'Auvergne, who had held it out for some time against them, had been forced to capitulate for want of supplies, had reached us some days, when, as I was sitting one night in the cabinet at Champigny, I heard the clattering of horses' feet in the courtyard below; and in a moment after, to my great astonishment, the prince himself entered the room. He embraced me kindly; and, after a few minutes' conversation upon general things, remarked that I neither looked well nor happy.
"Come," he said, "De Cerons, tell me what is the cause of this. I think by this time you might fully confide in your friend."
Before I could answer, one of his officers had entered for some directions; and, while he gave them, I made up my mind to unbosom my whole thoughts to him. In the course of the evening I accordingly did so; and, as was much the character, both of his father and himself, he heard me fully out with scarcely any observation or reply.
When I had done completely, however, and he had a complete view of my past Life and present situation, he said, "There are a good many strange parts in your tale, De Cerons; but neither you nor I, I fancy, know so much of the laws as to know whether these acts of your father and your cousin were legal. However, I see it is not that which pains you now. It is the matter of your fair cousin; and I grieve to say, that any news I may have for you is not calculated to sooth you. No wonder that you have not found them in Paris, for they are all still at Blois with the court, which gladly keeps your cousin from joining the admiral and the Prince de Bearn. I saw them all there at a grand fête given by the king, and talked for some time with Mademoiselle de Blancford. I talked of you, De Cerons, so you may suppose that she heard me willingly; and, indeed, it was impossible to mistake her looks, ay, or even her words when you were mentioned. If Monsieur de Blaye were to marry her, he would certainly wed a woman knowing that she loved another man. However, when the baron came up too, I mentioned you to him also, and somewhat startled him, I believe, by calling you my dear and most intimate friend. But he did not look displeased, De Cerons, nor do I think that he bears any ill-will towards you in his heart, though he be wayward and moody, and entirely ruled by that worst of all women, his present wife."
"Was Monsieur de Blaye there?" I demanded, somewhat sharply.
"He was," replied the prince; "and giving himself out rather more decidedly than Monsieur de Blancford seemed to like, I thought, as the promised husband of your Louise."
I started up with an exclamation and a threat that I am now ashamed of.
"Hush, hush," cried the prince, with a reproving smile "do not give way so, my good friend. By this conduct he is doing more harm than good with the baron, at least, for I heard him questioned upon the subject; and, turning upon his heel with a sort of sneer, he replied, 'Monsieur de Blaye is somewhat sanguine in his nature.' However, I did not forget you, De Cerons, and I told the whole story to my father, who, of course, is more competent to act than I am. I do not very well know what my father did; but I see the result, which is, that Monsieur de Blaye has received a high appointment, which he solicited more than a year ago, namely; to go with our military embassy to the court of the sultan. This was done, I am sure, for the purpose of removing him for a time from the scene, and of allowing you to have a fair opportunity--"
"But how, my dear prince," I said, "can I have a fair opportunity, when I am held a prisoner here, unable to advance myself or signalize my name?"
"You shall hear, De Cerons, you shall hear," replied the prince. "My father was not a man to forget any point under such circumstances. He empowered me to offer you your liberty, freely and without ransom, upon one condition, that you should go join the Prince of Orange or Prince Ludovic, who are now waging war in the Low Countries, my father undertaking to obtain for you a high command in their army. You would thus be enabled to distinguish yourself in a Protestant cause without bearing arms against your native country. You would not be farther from Mademoiselle de Blancford nor even so far, as carrying on this fatal contest in Guyenne or Poitu: you would be serving the king rather than opposing him, for it is his wish to give some support to the Prince of Orange; and my father only requires you to remain in the Low Countries till a peace is established in the internal affairs of France, which, we trust, will soon be the case; he, at the same time, promising to you that you shall have permission to return to France, freed from all restriction, the moment that it is ascertained that Monsieur de Blaye is about to return from the East."
"Your father, my lord," I said, "is most noble, generous, and considerate; and, foreseeing everything that I could desire or wish, of course, not only prevents the possibility of my refusing such an offer, but binds me to him by gratitude for ever."
"I told him that such would be the case," replied the prince; "but, alas! De Cerons, an unexpected event is likely to obstruct all our proceedings. The embassy was to set off in ten days, and everything was arranged. Monsieur de Blaye, though looking very much mortified when he heard his appointment, of course could not refuse it; and I proposed to stay another week at Blois, and then come and confer with you regarding the whole affair, when suddenly, one evening, as I was returning home, I met with three women in the street, the principal of whom, for the other two were evidently servants, asked to speak with me without taking off her mask. I had a number of people about me, but it was close to the door of the hotel; and, taking her into the porter's chamber, I asked her to explain what it was she wanted. As soon as we were alone, she took off the mask and showed me the face of the Jewish girl, Solomon Ahar's daughter, whom I found talking with you one day at Jarnac. She told me, at the same time, that she came to speak to me about you, and seemed to know your whole history, and every secret of your heart. But to the facts that she told me: they were these: that Monsieur de Blaye had gone straight to the king, and had asked and obtained leave to remain six weeks in Paris before he set out, for the express purpose of concluding his marriage before he went. The baron, the girl said, had not given his absolute consent, but made it dependant upon his daughter's inclination; but the baroness had positively promised that the baron and herself should at least sign the contract of marriage, even if their daughter, as she said, preferred waiting till the return of Monsieur de Blaye. Should this event take place, however, you may consider your Louise as lost to you for ever; for her father puts it out of his own power to dispose of her hand or withdraw his consent. The girl was really agitated about the whole business; and she made some wild exclamations, declaring that she would stop it if I would get permission for her father, and some persons who have been trading in partnership with him, to quit the court, where they have been detained for several weeks in regard to some negotiations now going on for loans of money. This was easily done, as the thing was nearly concluded; and, as soon as I had seen this arranged, I came away hither, with my father's consent, to consult with you in regard to what can be done."
"You are most kind, most kind," I said. "How can I ever thank you, D'Auvergne? but, alas! I fear that I am doomed to misery and to despair."
"Not so, not quite so," replied the prince. "As I came hither from Blois I considered the matter maturely; and we have to recollect that you, as a near relation of the lady, have every right to oppose the signature of the contract, if you think fit so to do. In the first place, you must make perfectly sure that she herself is brought to yield by no means of persuasion or intimidation that can be used towards her; and, at the same time, things must be suffered to take their course till the contract is on the very eve of being signed by the baron. You must then, by some form of law which I can inquire into, give him formal intimation of your opposition, which will consequently be brought before the courts. The fact is, you are fighting for delay; for your opposition against her own father cannot, of course, be successful, and you may perhaps be fined in some small sum for having made it; but, long before that time, this young libertine, for such he is, must be in Constantinople, and the matter secure."
I mused for a moment in thought, the intensity of which approached to agony: I saw before me the blasting of all my best hopes, and I felt at that moment, more than I had ever yet done, not only how deeply, how truly, how ardently I loved poor Louise, but how completely and thoroughly, without my knowing it, her image had been mingled with all my dreams and aspirations; how intimately the thought of winning her had mingled with all my motives for energy, exertion, and endeavour. I felt at that moment that to lose her was to lose my whole hold on life--my whole inducement to struggle onward in the course I was pursuing. There was no scheme so wild, so improbable, so daring, that I would not have undertaken at that moment to frustrate the schemes that could but tend to her misery and my own: there was no step so dangerous to myself, even had it been planted on the crumbling edge of an open grave, that I would not have taken to make her mine; yet, as I mused, I could not help thinking--I may say I could not help being convinced--that the scheme of the Prince d'Auvergne was likely to be frustrated by some impetuous act of the Baron de Blancford.
"With many men," I said, "The whole might succeed admirably; but I, who know his determined and passionate character well, feel perfectly certain that, if there be a way of frustrating us, he will find it."
"I see none," replied the prince dauphin, "if we can by any means ensure that the signing of the contract is put off to the last moment. However, De Cerons, the whole party are coming to Paris immediately; the Jew, and the merchants who are with him, will most probably arrive to-morrow morning, and your cousin, with his train, on the morning after. Obstacles of various kinds, I am sure, will keep this Monsieur de Blaye for a day or two after them; and let us do the best we can in the mean while. At all events, we shall gain some intelligence; and what I should propose is, to ride out on the day after to-morrow on the road to meet them, and, bringing them to your chateau of Les Bois, give the baron a little entertainment and repose ere he goes into Paris."
I smiled at the thought, saying, "I much fear, my excellent friend, that you will find the baron would neither accept the invitation nor thank the giver."
"Pshaw! De Cerons," replied the prince; "You are older than I am in years, but younger a great deal in experience of the world. The baron undervalued and undervalues you simply because he thought and thinks you poor. He thought you the creature of his bounty: he will now come here and find you the creature of your own sword, renowned in arms, independent in fortune, and seeking no aid from him or any man. His view will be quite different now, depend upon it. As for the arrangements of your little regale, leave that all to me: you, on your part, cast off the rough and somewhat negligent apparel in which your despondency has brought you to remain, trim your beard, bring forth your best brocade, and look as gay and gallant as if you were going into the tiltyard."
It is needless to pause upon all the minute incidents at this time. Martin Vern and his nephew had scarcely arrived in Paris before they were at Champigny, bringing with them little Miriam, who seemed to have her own will with all of them. Not knowing that the prince was there, I found that his high rank and connexion with the royal blood of France somewhat abashed and confounded the two merchants. He, on his part, did not so much unbend as perhaps I had expected; but he treated them kindly and without haughtiness, though with dignity: but he soon left them alone with me; and a few words showed me that both the elder and the younger Martin Vern, what between all they had observed of the conduct of myself and Louise, and the information of the young Jewess, were perfectly aware of how we stood towards each other, and took a kindly interest in my fate. Miriam, for her part, seemed to me to have gone quite mad. She said it was just what she had wished, all that she could wish, that had happened and would happen, and seemed quite as happy and elevated as I was bereaved and depressed. Her conduct somewhat annoyed me; and, after some short conversation about the money, which I still determined to leave in the hands of Martin Vern, I saw them depart without any effort to detain them.
On the following morning, with a splendid train, comprising at least twenty persons, dressed, as far, at least, as the prince himself was concerned, in the height of the then existing fashion, D'Auvergne and myself set out upon the road towards Blois; and, after riding for some eight miles on a fine autumnal morning, we came within sight of a large party advancing slowly, which proved, as we expected, to be that of the Baron de Blancford. Putting our spurs to our horses' sides, we rode up at a quick pace, and the baron thought fit, in those dangerous times, to halt his troop upon seeing such a body of horsemen coming down upon him. His surprise, when he beheld me and the prince dauphin, however, I shall not easily forget: nor need I say much more of this interview, as far as it regarded him, than that I readily perceived that the prince's view of the baron's character was correct, and that I had grown wonderfully in his opinion since I had ceased to need his assistance. The fête at Les Blois was accepted at once; but it required some persuasion on the part of the prince dauphin to make him believe that I was really the lord of the estate to which he was now conducted. The baroness, on her part, gazed at me with some surprise, and throughout the day I forced myself to show her as much civility and attention as possible: but there were some others in that group where there were deeper interests at work. Louise met me with eyes full of deep and intense affection, and a manner from which the sudden surprise seemed to have taken all confidence, but not all tenderness; and her two brothers, whom I had not seen for more than a year, clung round me as if their affections had found no object since we parted.
In the course of the day I had an opportunity of speaking more than once with Louise, and in a few brief words I gave her an account of all that was taking place in our plans and purposes. Her only reply was by words of affection that could never pass from my heart, and by the solemn assurance that no power on earth should ever make her consent to become the wife of the Seigneur de Blaye. The day went over, in short, as brightly as it was possible under such circumstances; and, during the three weeks that followed, everything seemed to combine to favour the plan which the prince had laid down for me.
It fortunately occurred that I never met with the Seigneur de Blaye during the whole of that period. Such a meeting could have been followed but by one result, and that result must have been fatal to myself; for it must be remembered that I was a Protestant and he a Catholic, and the survivor in a duel, under such circumstances, could only expect death. My visits to the hotel of Monsieur de Blancford were generally short; for I soon saw that, if I did not find Louise when first I went, means were taken to prevent her appearing while I was there. The baron, however, was all condescension, and declared that he was proud of his cousin. The baroness, on her part, seemed to make herself somewhat more tender and amiable than was needful.
But, at length, the fatal minute, which was to dissipate such a state of things altogether, arrived; and, just on the day preceding that which was fixed ultimately as the last for Monsieur de Blaye's stay in Paris, a messenger from the baron invited me, in courteous terms, to come and witness his signature of the contract of marriage between my cousin Louise and the Seigneur de Blaye. We had already ordered a notary to prepare in due form my opposition to the baron's signature, upon the plea both of relationship and never having been consulted, and of having a prior claim to the hand of Mademoiselle de Blancford. The note requested the honour of the prince dauphin's company on the same occasion as my friend; and, on reading it, he exclaimed, "Oh, certainly, certainly! I will go, De Cerons, and, not only that, but we will take a sufficient body of retainers with as to guard against all chances, and we will have likewise our own notary to take act of your opposition."
All this being settled, we set out, and reached the house at the hour appointed. I was somewhat surprised to find going up the stairs good Martin Vern, accompanied by a boy carrying several packages, and another man not so burdened. On entering the great saloon, we found the baron with Monsieur de Blaye, the baroness, and some of her kindred, both male and female; besides whom, the room contained Louise, with the tears already in her eyes, and several notaries and lawyers. Immediately on our entrance, Monsieur de Blaye came forward with his hand extended towards me, as if imagining that we were the best possible friends; but I drew myself up and bowed stiffly, and he fell back with a heavy frown.
The baron looked somewhat surprised, but the presence of the Prince d'Auvergne acted as a restraint upon him, and he welcomed his distinguished guest with courtesy, if not with so free and unrestrained a demeanour as usual. He looked two or three times suspiciously at the notary who accompanied us, and who was one of the most distinguished of his class, and received far more attention and marks of reverence from his brethren than either D'Auvergne or I wished or expected. Sweetmeats and some choice wines, however, were handed round before the destined explosion began; but at length the baron, prefacing the matter by a little eulogy upon Monsieur de Blaye, which had wellnigh made some of those who knew him laugh, directed the contract to be read.
That document began by setting forth that, "as an alliance was intended at a future period between the Seigneur de Blaye and Mademoiselle de Blancford, it had been judged expedient that the Baron de Blancford should sign the contract to that effect previous to the departure of the said seigneur for foreign lands; and therefore," &c. It went on to express the usual agreements in such cases, but took care to omit the express consent of the bride, and also made no provision for the freedom of her religion. She was declared heiress of the lands of Blancford and Cerons in the event of her two brothers' death without children; and the baron promised with her a dowry which to me, who knew his habits of expense, and, in some degree, the true nature of his property, seemed enormous.
As soon as the whole was read, he took the pen in his hand to sign, and I could see my poor Louise clasp her two hands together and raise her eyes to me with a look of anguish and supplication.
At that moment, however, the notary we had brought, who had been consulting with the others, stepped forward, and laid his hand upon the spot where the baron was about to sign, saying,
"Your pardon, Monsieur le Baron de Blancford; I think that Monsieur de Cerons has something to say on this matter, and a short paper to read, to which I beg your attention, and of which, gentlemen, you will all bear witness."
He then handed me the paper, saying, at the same time in a whisper, "Neither more nor less."
I followed his directions to the letter, and read the paper of objections through without pausing. When I came to the end, however, and found there stated that I would sustain my right upon the grounds therein stated, and upon several other legal grounds of objection, to all and sundry parts and clauses of the said contract, in warranty of which I produced as my surety the Prince Dauphin d'Auvergne, I laid, I know not well why, considerable emphasis upon the words "several other objections."
At the same time, I remarked the baron turn very pale; but he recovered himself immediately, and, with an angry gesture, exclaimed to the notary, who had continued to hold his hand on the paper, "Remove your hand, Master Jean! I will sign it at all risks."
"It is useless, Monsieur le Baron," replied one of the lawyers; "after this solemn protest in due and legal form, no act that you can do in this matter is lawful until the Parliament shall have considered the matter to render justice therein."
"But I shall take care to render justice to myself," exclaimed Monsieur de Blaye, advancing towards me furiously: "We all know that you lawyers love to see all things plunged into the quagmire of the courts, round the edges of which you toads sit and croak at leisure; but gentlemen have a shorter means of settling such transactions, and to such, Monsieur de Cerons, do I appeal. Nor, sir, must there be delay of any kind. Tomorrow I depart from Paris; the rest of this day is our own."
"Oh! no, no!" cried the voice of Louise, while, with her arms extended towards me as if for protection, she ran forward.
But, ere she reached me, she fell fainting on the ground, and the marchioness, with other ladies present, prevented my approach. All was now a scene of confusion; the gentlemen of the party came forward, each talking, each offering his opinion, towards the spot where De Blaye and myself stood face to face, and the baron seemed divided between us and his daughter, for whom I saw that he was not without feeling, though he struggled not to show it.
In the midst of this Babel, however, the clear, fine-toned voice of the prince dauphin suddenly made itself heard, saying,
"Your pardon, gentlemen, your pardon! I have one word to say; but that one word is an important one, which must settle all this matter between my excellent good acquaintance Monsieur de Blaye and my friend Monsieur de Cerons."
All were instantly silent except De Blaye himself, who repeated more than once, in a tone of authority, to keep silence, and let the prince speak. When he stopped and bowed, D'Auvergne went on: "What I have to say, De Cerons, is, that you will be good enough to remember you are my father's prisoner, and therefore can lie under a challenge from no man. Monsieur de Blaye, I must call upon you to retract your challenge, as no man of honour can offer one to a gentleman incapable of accepting it."
De Blaye, who was both really enraged and really brave, blustered a good deal at this notification, and said something rather offensive to the prince about his father the duke being afraid of losing my ransom. D'Auvergne answered coolly, however, saying, "That is not his fear or mine, Monsieur de Blaye; but our fear might well be that the Catholic army might lose a very tolerable soldier and brave young gentleman in yourself; because, as we all know, Monsieur de Cerons would kill you like a rat. Come, De Cerons, I must beg you to accompany me."
If the first part of the prince's speech had pleased Monsieur de Blaye, and made him simper and look modest, the unpleasant simile in the latter part caused him to swell and colour with anger. But D'Auvergne took no farther notice; the fact of my not being at liberty was without reply, and, after one look to my poor Louise, I quitted the room. Martin Vern was at the door, and to him the prince whispered a word as we passed. The merchant made a low inclination of the head, and, mounting our horses, we rode away.