"Sister," said Gabriel, in his deep, solemn tones, "I ask this promise of you that I may go forward in peace of mind and resolution upon my perilous and perhaps fatal path, and that I may be sure of finding you free and waiting for me at the rendezvous which I have appointed for you."
"Very well, my brother; and I will obey you," said Diane.
"Oh, thanks, thanks!" cried Gabriel. "Now the future belongs to me. Will you place your hand in mine as a pledge of your promise, my sister?"
"Here it is, my brother."
"Ah, now I am sure of being victorious!" cried the impetuous youth. "Henceforth it seems to me as if nothing could contravene my wishes and my plans."
At this moment, as if to give the lie twice over to this hopeful dream, voices were heard from the direction of the town calling Sister Bénie; and at the same time Gabriel thought that he heard a slight noise in the moat behind him. But at first he concerned himself only with Diane's terror.
"They are looking for me and calling me. Holy Virgin! if they should find us together! Adieu, my brother! Adieu, Gabriel!"
"Au revoir, my sister;au revoir, Diane! And now go! I will stay here. You wandered out by yourself to take the air. We shall meet soon again; and once more I thank you."
Diane hastily descended the steps and ran to meet the people, who with torches in their hands were calling her name everywhere with all their might, Mother Monique at their head.
Who, by seemingly foolish hints, had aroused the superior? Who, if not Master Arnauld, who with the most grief-stricken air was among those who were hunting for Sister Bénie? No one had such an ingenuous air as this rascal could assume, wherein he resembled the true Martin-Guerre so much the more.
Gabriel, reassured as to Diane's safety when he saw her join Mother Monique and her search-party unharmed, was making ready to leave the fortifications himself, when suddenly a dark form rose from the ground behind him.
A man, an enemy, armed from head to foot, was just bestriding the wall.
To rush at this man and prostrate him with one blow of his sword, crying in a sonorous voice, "Alarm! alarm!" to spring to the top of the ladder, covered with Spaniards, which was placed against the wall,—was the work of but an instant for Gabriel.
It was an attempted night surprise, and Gabriel had not erred: the enemy had made the two day assaults in quick succession to enable them to make this bold attempt at night with better chance of success.
But Providence or, to speak more accurately, if perhaps with less religious feeling, love had led Gabriel to the spot. Before another man had time to follow upon the platform the one he had already killed, he seized with his strong hands the two uprights of the ladder and overturned it, with the ten men who were upon it.
Their cries as they struck the ground were confused with Gabriel's unceasing shouts, "To arms!" But at a distance of twenty paces another ladder was already against the wall; and at that point there was no footing for Gabriel. Luckily he spied in the shadow a large rock; and the imminent peril increasing his strength, he succeeded in raising it upon the parapet, whence he had only to push it over upon the second ladder. The great weight broke it in two at a blow; and the poor wretches who were swarming up fell into the moat, bruised or dying, their agonizing shrieks causing their companions to hesitate.
Meanwhile Gabriel's shouts had given the alarm; the sentinels had taken it up; the drums were beating to arms; the alarm-bell on La Collégiale was ringing lustily. Five minutes had not elapsed ere more than a hundred men had joined Vicomte d'Exmès, and were ready to assist him in repulsing any assailants who might still dare to show their heads, and likewise firing upon those who were in the moat, and unable to respond to the volleys from their arquebuses.
Thus this boldcoup de mainof the Spaniards failed. Its only chance of success, in truth, was to find that the point of attack was undefended, as they supposed that it was; but Gabriel, happening to be on the spot, had baffled their scheme. The assaulting party had no choice but to withdraw, which they did as quickly as possible, leaving, however, a number of dead behind them, and carrying away a number of injured men.
Again the town had been saved, and again by Gabriel's hand.
But it was necessary that it should still hold out for four long and weary days, before the promise he had made to the king would be fulfilled.
The first effect of the unexpected check they had received was to discourage the besiegers; and they seemed to realize that they could never gain possession of the town except by dealing with the remaining resources of resistance one by one, and thus making each of them unavailable. For three days they made no fresh assault; but all their batteries were kept in play, and all their mines were working without rest or intermission. The men who defended the place, seemingly endowed with more than human energy and courage, appeared to be invincible; the Spaniards assailed the walls, and found them less solid than the breasts of those who manned them. The towers crumbled; the trenches were filled with the debris; and the fortifications were levelled, bit by bit.
At last, four days after the abortive night attack, the Spaniards once more hazarded an assault. It was the eighth and last day of the allotted time. If the attack of the enemy was unsuccessful once more, Gabriel would have saved his father as well as the town; if not, all his trouble and all his labor had been thrown away, and the old man, Diane, and himself would be all lost.
Therefore it can well be imagined that it would be more than impossible to describe the superhuman, god-like valor and courage displayed by him on that day of days. One would hardly have believed that so much strength and untiring vigor could exist in the soul and body of one man. He saw not danger or death, but thought only of his father and his betrothed; and he hurled himself against the pikes, and moved hither and thither amid the thickly flying cannon-balls and bullets as if he were invulnerable. A piece of stone struck him in the side, and a lance-head in the face; but he felt not the wounds. He seemed intoxicated with daring; he ran to and fro, waving his sword, and encouraging his men not only with his words, but by his example. He was to be seen wherever the peril was most imminent. As the soul gives life to the whole body, so did he to the whole town. He was in himself ten men, twenty,—yes, a hundred; and yet in his superb exaltation his coolness and clear-headedness never failed him. With a glance swifter than light he saw where danger threatened, and was on the spot in the twinkling of an eye; and when the assailants fell back, and our brave fellows, electrified by his contagious gallantry, had clearly regained the advantage, like a flash Gabriel was off to some other threatened point, and began again his heroic work, an utter stranger to weariness or weakness.
This lasted six hours, from one o'clock to seven.
At seven it grew dark; and the Spaniards fell back on all sides. Behind a few crumbling pieces of stone-work, with a few fragments of towers and a handful of exhausted and wounded soldiers, St. Quentin had again added one day more, several days, it might be, to the record of her glorious resistance.
When the last man of the enemy had left the last of the points of assault, Gabriel fell back into the arms of those who were near him, utterly worn out with fatigue and with joy.
They bore him in triumph to the town-hall.
His wounds were but slight, and his swoon could not be of long duration. When he regained his senses, Admiral de Coligny was at his side, his face radiant with pleasure.
"Monsieur l'Amiral," were Gabriel's first words, "it's not a dream, is it? There has been a fierce assault to-day, which we succeeded in repelling?"
"Yes, my friend, and thanks to you in great measure," replied Gaspard.
"And the week that the king allotted me has passed!" cried Gabriel. "Oh, thank God! thank God!"
"And to complete your satisfaction, my dear fellow," rejoined the admiral, "I bring you some glorious news. Under cover of our obstinate defence of St. Quentin, the preparations for the defence of the whole kingdom have apparently been perfected; one of my spies, who succeeded in seeing the constable and entering the town again during the confusion to-day, has given me every reason to hope for the best in that regard. Monsieur de Guise has arrived at Paris with the Italian army, and in concert with the Cardinal de Lorraine, is engaged in raising men, and putting towns in a posture of defence. St. Quentin, in her dismantled and depopulated condition, could not beat back another assault; but her work and ours is done, and France is saved, my friend. Yes, behind our faithful ramparts every one is under arms: the nobility and all the orders of the State have arisen; recruits abound; the free gifts from the clergy are pouring in; and two troops of German auxiliaries have been retained. When the enemy shall have made an end of us, and that cannot now be long delayed unfortunately, he will at least find others ready to challenge him. France is saved, Gabriel!"
"Ah, Monsieur l'Amiral, you cannot imagine how much good you have done me," Gabriel responded. "But allow me to ask one question; it is from no vain feeling of conceit that I ask it; you know me too well now to believe that. No, there is beneath my question a very serious and very deep meaning, believe me. Monsieur l'Amiral, in two words, do you think that my presence here during the last week has counted for anything in the fortunate result of the siege of St. Quentin?"
"For everything, my friend, for everything!" the admiral replied with generous frankness. "The day of your arrival you saw yourself that except for your unexpected intervention I should have yielded; that my courage was giving way under the terrible weight of responsibility with which my conscience was burdened; and that I should then have delivered to the Spaniard the keys of this city with which the king had intrusted me. The next day did you not succeed in carrying out your undertaking of throwing reinforcements into the town,—weak reinforcements, to be sure, but sufficient nevertheless to rekindle the courage of the besieged? I say nothing of the sagacious advice which you gave to our miners and engineers. I say nothing of the superb gallantry which you have displayed all the time and at all points during every assault. But who almost miraculously saved the town from being surprised by a night attack four days since? And this very day, who, with unheard-of temerity and success, succeeded in prolonging still farther a resistance which I confess I believed to be impossible? You, always you, my friend, who, being everywhere present and unfailingly ready at every corner of the fortifications, seemed in very truth to have acquired the angels' gift of ubiquity; so that our soldiers know no other name for you than CaptainFive-Hundred, Gabriel, I say to you with sincere delight and profound gratitude that you are the first and sole deliverer of this town, and consequently of France."
"Oh, many, many thanks, Monsieur l'Amiral, for your too kind and flattering words! But pardon me! are you willing to repeat them in his Majesty's presence?"
"It is not my wish simply, my friend," the admiral replied; "it is my duty; and you know that Gaspard de Coligny never proves recreant to his duty."
"What good fortune!" said Gabriel; "and what do I not owe you for it, Monsieur l'Amiral? But are you willing to make my obligation still greater? Say nothing to any one, I beseech you, not even to Monsieur le Connétable, in fact, to any one rather than to him, of what I have been able to do to assist you in your glorious task. Let the king alone know it. His Majesty will see from that I was influenced by no thirst for glory or for reputation, but only by my wish to keep a promise I made to him; and it lies in his power to give me, if he chooses, a reward a thousand times more precious in my sight than all the honors and dignities of his realm. Yes, Monsieur l'Amiral, let this reward but be bestowed upon me, and Henri's debt to me, if debt there be, will be paid a hundred times over."
"It should be a magnificent recompense, then," rejoined the admiral. "God grant that the king's gratitude may not disappoint you! However, I will do as you wish, Gabriel; and although it costs me a pang to keep silent as to your deserts, since you ask me, I will say nothing."
"Ah!" cried Gabriel, "what a long and weary time it has been since I have felt such peace as reigns in my heart at this moment! How pleasant it is to be able to hope and believe, even though it be but a little, in the future! Now I will go upon the walls and fight with a light heart, and it seems as if I should be unconquerable. Can it be that iron or lead will dare to wound a man in whose heart hope is born?"
"Do not rely too much upon that, my friend, I pray you!" said Coligny, smiling. "For I can already say to you without hesitation that you are deceived by your conviction of victory. The town is almost entirely open on all sides; a few cannon-balls will soon level the last fragments of her walls and her towers. More than that, we have scarcely one able-bodied man left; and the troops who have so gallantly supplied the place of fortifications hitherto are now in their turn lacking. The next assault will make the enemy masters of the place; and we must cherish no delusions in that direction."
"But may it not be that Monsieur de Guise will send us reinforcements from Paris?" asked Gabriel.
"Monsieur de Guise," Gaspard answered, "will not expose his precious forces for the sake of a town three quarters taken; and he will be quite right. Let him keep his men in the heart of France, for there they are most needed. St. Quentin is sacrificed. The expiatory victim has struggled long enough, thank God! and it only remains for her to fall nobly; and in that we will try still to help her, will we not, Gabriel? We must make the triumph of the Spaniard before St. Quentin cost him more than a defeat. We will fight no longer for our own salvation, but for the sake of fighting."
"Yes, yes, for pleasure, for sport!" said Gabriel, joyfully,—"a hero's pleasure, Monsieur l'Amiral, and sport worthy of you! Well, then, so be it! let us amuse ourselves by holding the town two or three or four days more, if we can. Let us hold Philip II., Philibert Emmanuel, Spain, England, and Flanders all in check before a few pieces of crumbling stone. It will be a little more time gained for Monsieur de Guise, and an entertaining spectacle for us. What do you say?"
"I say, my friend, that your pleasantry is sublime, and that there is glory hidden in your jokes."
The event justified the hope of Gabriel and Coligny. In fact, Philip II. and his general, Philibert Emmanuel, being furiously indignant at being delayed so long before one town, and at having already made ten fruitless assaults, determined not to hazard an eleventh without being assured of success. As they had done before, they allowed three days to pass without an assault, and made use of their batteries instead of their soldiers, since it had been abundantly proved that in that heroic town the walls were not so enduring and steadfast as the hearts of its defenders. The admiral and Vicomte d'Exmès spent the three days in having the damage inflicted by the batteries and mines repaired as fast as possible by their workmen; but unfortunately arms were wanting. On the 26th of August, at noon, not a single section of the walls remained standing. The houses were left without protection, as in an open town, and the soldiers were so few that they could not even form a single line at the principal posts.
Gabriel himself had to admit this; and before the signal for the assault was given,—the town was apparently at the besiegers' mercy.
At all events it was not taken at the breach defended by Gabriel. With him there were Monsieur du Breuil and Jean Peuquoy; and all three fought so well, and showed such marvellous prowess, that they drove back the assailants three times. Gabriel, above all, gave himself up to the work with a joyous heart; and Jean Peuquoy was so astounded at the mighty blows of the sword which he saw him dealing to right and left that he came very near being killed himself in his openmouthed admiration, and Gabriel was compelled on two different occasions to save his admirer's life.
So the worthy bourgeois swore upon the spot an everlasting worship and devotion for the viscount. He even exclaimed in his enthusiasm that he regretted his native town a little less because he should have another attachment to cherish; and that although it was true that St. Quentin had given him his life, Vicomte d'Exmès had preserved it for him!
Nevertheless, despite his noble efforts, the town absolutely could hold out no longer; the ramparts were no more than one unbroken breach; and Gabriel, Du Breuil, and Jean Peuquoy were still fighting away, while the streets behind them were filled with the enemy, who had gained possession of the town.
But the gallant little city had nobly held out for seventeen days, and had successfully resisted eleven assaults.
Twelve days had passed since Gabriel's arrival; and he had surpassed the terms of his promise to the king by twice forty-eight hours!
At first, pillage and slaughter were the order of the day; but Philibert issued a very strict prohibition, and put a speedy end to the confusion; and Admiral de Coligny having been taken before him, Philibert complimented him in the highest terms.
"I cannot punish gallantry; and the town of St. Quentin will be treated no more harshly than if she had capitulated the day that we sat down before the walls."
And the victor, as high-minded as the vanquished, allowed the admiral to discuss with him the conditions which should be imposed.
St. Quentin was naturally declared a Spanish town; but those of the people who preferred not to accept the domination of the stranger were at liberty to withdraw, giving, up all claim to their houses, however. Moreover, everybody, soldiers and citizens, were free from that moment; and Philibert retained only fifty prisoners of all ages and conditions and both sexes, selected by him or his captains, for the purpose of holding them to ransom, and thus procuring means wherewith to pay the arrears due to the troops. The property and persons of all others were to be respected; and Philibert gave his personal attention to the prevention of disorder. However, as Coligny had exhausted all his personal fortune in maintaining the siege, he was courteous enough to ask no ransom for him. The admiral would be free the next day to join his uncle, the Constable de Montmorency, at Paris, who had not found his conquerors so disinterested after the battle of St. Laurent, but had furnished ransom in a round sum, which France would eventually pay in one way or another, no doubt; but Philibert Emmanuel considered it an honor to become the friend of Gaspard, and did not choose to put a price upon his freedom. His principal officers and the wealthiest citizens would suffice to pay the expenses of the siege.
These terms, which were certainly more favorable than he had any right to expect, were accepted submissively by Coligny, and by the citizens with mingled sentiments of joy and fear. The important question to be solved was, upon whom would the dreaded choice of Philibert Emmanuel and his officers fall? That was what the next day would bring forth; and when that day came, the proudest became very lowly, and the wealthiest made a great deal of talk about their poverty.
Arnauld du Thill, who was a very expert and ingenious haggler, passed the night thinking over matters, and finally hit upon a combination which might, he thought, turn out very profitably for him. He arrayed himself as handsomely as possible, and from an early hour in the morning walked proudly up and down the streets, which were filled to overflowing with the victorious besiegers of all nations,—German, English, Spaniards, etc.
"What a Tower of Babel!" said Arnauld, anxiously, hearing nothing but foreign jargon. "With the few English words that I know I shall never be able to enter into negotiations with any of these jabberers. Some say, 'Carajo'!' others, 'Goddam!' and others still, 'Tausend saperment!' and not one —"
"Tripes et boyaux! Will you halt, you villain?" shouted a harsh voice behind Arnauld at this moment.
Arnauld turned hurriedly about toward the man, who, despite his very marked English accent, seemed thus familiar with the niceties of the French tongue.
He was a great fellow, with a pale face and sandy hair, who had the appearance of being a sharp trader and a stupid man. Arnauld du Thill recognized an Englishman at the first glance.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"I make you my prisoner; that's what you can do for me," replied the man, who embellished his discourse with English slang, which Arnauld tried hard to imitate, so as to make himself more intelligible to his interlocutor.
"Why do you make me your prisoner rather than another?" he continued?—"rather than that weaver over there, for instance?"
"Because you are fitted out better than the weaver," was the Englishman's reply.
"Oh, yes!" Arnauld retorted. "And by what right, please, do you arrest me?—you who are only a simple archer, I think."
"Oh, I am not acting on my own account, but in the name of my master, Lord Grey, who commands the English archers, and to whom Duke Philibert Emmanuel has allotted, as his share in the prize, three prisoners,—two noblemen and one bourgeois,—with whatever ransom he may be able to get for them. Now, my master, who knows that I have two hands and a pair of eyes, instructed me to follow the chase and ferret out three prisoners of value for him. You are the best game I have fallen in with yet; so I take you by the collar, Messire Bourgeois."
"It is a great honor for a poor squire," retorted Arnauld, modestly. "Will your master feed me well, do you think?"
"Blackguard! Do you suppose he proposes to feed you for long?" said the archer.
"Until it pleases him to set me at liberty, I imagine that he surely will not let me die of hunger."
"Hm!" said the archer. "Can it be that I have taken a poor old naked wolf for a fox with a magnificent pelt?"
"I am afraid so, my lord archer," said Arnauld; "and if Lord Grey, your master, has promised you a commission according to the value of the prizes you obtain for him, I fear that twenty or thirty blows with a club will be the only benefit you will derive from me. What I say is not for the purpose of deceiving you, and I advise you to try it."
"You rascal! It may well be that you are right!" rejoined the Englishman, examining the sly fellow more closely; "and I may lose with you what Lord Grey promised to give me,—one livre in every hundred that he realizes from his prisoners."
"This is the man for me," thought Arnauld. "Hallo, then," said he, aloud, "my hostile friend, if I put you in a way to lay your hand on a very rich prize,—on a prisoner worth ten thousand Tours livres, for instance,—would you be the man to show some little gratitude to me?"
"Ten thousand Tours livres!" cried the Englishman. "Prisoners of that sort are pretty scarce. Why, I should get a hundred livres then,—not a bad nest-egg."
"Yes; but you would have to give fifty to the friend who put it in your way. That's fair, is it not?"
"Oh, well, I'll do it," said Lord Grey's archer, after a momentary hesitation. "But take me to the man at once, and give me his name."
"We need not go far to find him," Arnauld responded. "Just a few steps this way! See, I don't wish to show myself with you on the square; let me hide behind the corner of this house. There; now you go on. Do you see on the balcony of that house a gentleman talking with a citizen?"
"I do," said the Briton. "Is that my man?"
"That is our man."
"His name?"
"Vicomte d'Exmès."
"Oh, indeed!" rejoined the archer. "So that is Vicomte d'Exmès. He is very handsomely spoken of at the camp. Is he as wealthy as he is gallant?"
"I will answer to you for that."
"Do you know him very well, then, Master?"
"Pardieu! I am his squire."
"Ah, Judas!" The archer could not restrain the exclamation.
"No," was Arnauld's unmoved comment; "for Judas was hanged, and I shall not be."
"It may be that you will find it difficult to escape," said the archer, who had his jocose moments.
"Well, we shall see," retorted Arnauld; "but no more talk. Do you hold to our bargain,—yes or no?"
"It's done!" the Englishman replied; "and I will escort your master to my lord. Afterward you shall point out to me another nobleman and some substantial citizen, if you know any such."
"I know the right ones at the same price,—half of your commission."
"You shall have it, you emissary of the devil!"
"I am yours rather," said Arnauld. "But, come, no trickery! Between two rascals each must be careful of his footing. Besides, I should find you again sure. Will your master pay cash?"
"Cash in advance; you shall come with us to my lord upon the pretext of accompanying your viscount; I shall get my pay, and will give you your share at once. But you in return, being very grateful, as you should be, will help me to find my second and third prizes, won't you?"
"We'll see about that," said Arnauld. "Let us attend to the first one now."
"That's a very short matter," said the archer. "Your master is too rough in time of war not to be mild and gentle in time of peace; we know that. Take two minutes' start of me, and take up your station behind him; you will see that I know my business."
Arnauld left his worthy pupil, entered the town-hall, and with a smile on his false face went into the room where Gabriel was talking with Jean Peuquoy, and asked him if he had need of him. He was still speaking when the archer came in with an apologetic air. He went straight up to the viscount, who looked at him with much amazement, and bowing low,—
"Have I the honor of speaking to Monseigneur le Vicomte d'Exmès?" he asked with such a look as every merchant has for his merchandise.
"I am Vicomte d'Exmès," Gabriel replied with increasing wonder; "what do you want with me?"
"Your sword, Monseigneur," said the archer, bowing almost to the floor.
"You!" exclaimed Gabriel, recoiling from him with a motion of inexpressible contempt.
"In the name of my master, Lord Grey, Monseigneur," replied the modest archer, "you are named as one of the fifty prisoners whom Monseigneur l'Amiral is to put in the hands of the victors. Don't blame poor me for being forced to be the bearer of this unpleasant information."
"Blame you for it!" said Gabriel, "no! But Lord Grey, a gentleman, forsooth! might have taken the trouble to ask me for my sword himself. It is to him that I desire to hand it; do you understand?"
"As Monseigneur pleases."
"And I am glad to believe that he will accept a ransom for me?"
"Oh, never fear, never fear, Monseigneur!" said the archer, eagerly.
"I am at your service, then," said Gabriel.
"But this is an indignity," cried Jean Peuquoy. "You do wrong to submit thus, Monseigneur. Refuse to go; for you are not of St. Quentin,—you are not of the town!"
"Master Jean Peuquoy is right," Arnauld du Thill earnestly interposed, stealthily making a sign to the archer to denounce the citizen to him. "Yes, Master Jean Peuquoy has put his finger upon the truth: Monseigneur is not of St. Quentin; and Master Jean Peuquoy knows it. Yes, indeed, he knows the whole town! He has been burgher for forty years, and syndic of his guild, and captain of the bowmen! What have you to say to that, Englishman?"
"I have just this to say," replied the Briton, who had taken his cue,—"that if this is Master Jean Peuquoy, I have an order to arrest him too, for his name is on my list."
"Me!" ejaculated the worthy burgher.
"Even you, Master," was the response.
Peuquoy looked inquiringly at Gabriel.
"Alas, Messire Jean," said Vicomte d'Exmès, sighing in spite of himself, "I think that our best plan, after having done our duty as soldiers during the battle, will be to bow to the rights of the victors, now that the battle is done. Let us submit, Master Jean Peuquoy."
"And go with this fellow?" asked Peuquoy.
"To be sure, my good friend; and glad am I in this latest trial not to be separated from you."
"That is very true, Monseigneur," said Peuquoy, with emotion; "and you are very kind to say it. Besides, when such a noble and gallant captain as yourself accepts his lot with equanimity, ought an unfortunate burgher like myself to complain? Let us go. Varlet," he went on, addressing the archer, "it is done; and I am your prisoner or your master's."
"Remember that you are going with me to Lord Grey's quarters," rejoined the archer, "where you will remain, if you please, until you have furnished a handsome ransom."
"Where I will remain forever, son of the evil one!" cried Jean Peuquoy. "Your English master shall never know the color of my crowns; I will die first. If he is a Christian, he will have to support me until my last hour; and I forewarn you that I am a very hearty eater."
The archer cast a terrified glance in the direction of Arnauld du Thill; but the latter reassured him with a nod, and pointed to Gabriel, who was laughing at his friend's outburst. The Englishman knew how to take a joke, and began to laugh heartily.
"As to that, Monseigneur," said he, "and you, Messire, I am going to take—"
"You are going to precede us to Lord Grey's quarters," Gabriel interrupted haughtily; "and we will arrange details with your master."
"As Monseigneur pleases," said the archer, with humility.
Walking in front of them, but taking good care to keep an eye on them, he escorted the gentleman and the burgher to Lord Grey's quarters, while Arnauld du Thill followed at some distance.
Lord Grey was a dull-witted, phlegmatic soldier, bored to death, and himself a bore, for whom war was mere trafficking, and who was in a very bad humor at receiving no pay for himself and his troops except such as he might get from the ransom of three unfortunate prisoners. He received Gabriel and Jean Peuquoy with cold dignity.
"So it is Vicomte d'Exmès whom I have the honor to have for my prisoner," said he, looking at Gabriel with curiosity. "You have given us a good deal of trouble, Monsieur; and if I were to demand for your ransom all that you have cost King Philip II., I fancy that King Henri's France could hardly pay it."
"I did my best," said Gabriel, simply.
"Your best is very good; and I congratulate you!" retorted Lord Grey. "But that is not the question now. The chances of war, although you did wonders to prevent it, have put you in my power, you and your mighty sword. Oh, keep it, Monsieur, keep it," he added, as he saw that Gabriel made a movement as if to hand it to him. "But what can you offer to redeem my right to your service? Let us arrange that matter. I am well aware that gallantry and wealth do not always go together, unluckily. However, I cannot afford to forego my right entirely. Would five thousand crowns seem a fitting price for you to pay for your liberty?"
"No, my Lord," said Gabriel.
"No? You think it too much?" rejoined Lord Grey. "Ah, but this accursed war! And such a poor country! Come, four thousand crowns is not too much, by Heaven!"
"It is not enough, my Lord," replied Gabriel, coolly.
"What, Monsieur! what did you say?" cried the Englishman.
"I say," Gabriel replied, "that you misunderstood my words, my Lord. You asked me if five thousand crowns seemed to me a reasonable ransom, and I said no; for in my own opinion I am worth twice that, my Lord."
"Very well!" rejoined Lord Grey; "and in truth, your king may very well spare that amount to retain such a gallant soldier as you."
"I trust I shall not be obliged to call upon the king," said Gabriel; "for my private fortune, I am sure, will enable me to meet this unforeseen expenditure, and to deal directly with you in this matter."
"So much the better!" said Lord Grey, somewhat surprised. "That makes ten thousand crowns that you are to account to me for, then; and I beg your pardon, but when may I expect the payment?"
"You will readily understand," said Gabriel, "that I brought no such sum with me to a besieged town; on the other hand, the resources of Monsieur de Coligny and his friends, I believe, like my own, have run pretty low, therefore I do not wish to trouble them by requesting a loan. But if you will allow me a little time, I can send for it from Paris—"
"Very well!" said Lord Grey; "meanwhile I will content myself with your word, which is as good as gold. But as business is business, and as a certain misunderstanding that exists between my soldiers and the Spaniards may oblige me to return to England, you will not take it ill if I keep you in custody until the full quittance of the sum agreed upon,—not in this Spanish town of St. Quentin, which I am on the point of leaving, but at Calais, which is in English hands, and of which my brother-in-law, Lord Wentworth, is governor. Does that arrangement meet your views?"
"To admiration!" said Gabriel, on whose pale lips a bitter smile appeared. "I only ask your leave to send my squire to Paris to procure the gold, so that neither my captivity nor your confidence may be protracted any further than is necessary."
"Nothing could be more reasonable," Lord Grey replied; "and pending the return of your emissary, be assured that you will be treated by my brother-in-law with all the consideration that is due you. You will have all possible freedom at Calais, the more so because it is a strong fortified town; and Lord Wentworth will take good care of you, for he is more addicted to feasting and debauchery than he ought to be. But that is his own affair; fortunately his wife, who was my sister, is dead. I only wished to tell you that you would not be likely to be bored."
Gabriel bowed without replying.
"And now, Master," resumed Lord Grey, turning to Jean Peuquoy, who had shrugged his shoulders in wonder more than once during the foregoing scene,—"now for you. You are, I see, the burgher who has been allotted to me with two gentlemen."
"I am Jean Peuquoy, my Lord."
"Well, Jean Peuquoy, what ransom may we ask for you?"
"Oh, I am going to dicker with you, Monseigneur! Trader against trader, as they say. Oh, you may knit your brows! I am not proud, my Lord, and in my own opinion I am not worth ten livres."
"Nonsense!" said Lord Grey, scornfully. "You shall pay a hundred livres; that is hardly as much as I promised the archer who brought you here."
"A hundred livres! So be it, my Lord, if you value me so high," retorted the shrewd captain of the bowmen. "But you don't want a hundred livres cash, do you?"
"What! Haven't you that petty sum, even?"
"I had it, my Lord," said Peuquoy, "but I gave it all to the poor and the wounded during the siege."
"But you have friends, surely, or kinsmen?"
"Friends? Ah, we mustn't rely too much upon friends, my Lord. And kinsmen? No, I have none: my wife died childless, and I have no brother; only a cousin—"
"Well, and this cousin?" asked Lord Grey, with some signs of losing patience.
"This cousin, my Lord, who will undoubtedly pay the sum you ask of me, happens to live at Calais."
"Ah, indeed!" said Lord Grey, suspiciously.
"Mon Dieu! yes, my Lord," added Jean Peuquoy, with every appearance of absolute sincerity; "my cousin's name is Pierre Peuquoy, and he has been for more than thirty years a gunsmith at the sign of the God Mars, Rue du Martroi."
"And he is devoted to you, is he?" asked Lord Grey.
"I believe him to be, my Lord! I am the last of the Peuquoys of my branch; so that it goes without saying that his feeling for me amounts to veneration. More than two centuries ago, one of our ancestral Peuquoys had two sons, one of whom became a weaver and settled at St. Quentin, while the other adopted the armorer's trade, and took up his abode at Calais. Ever since that time the St. Quentin Peuquoys have been weavers, and the Calais Peuquoys have continued to forge arms and armor. But although separated, distance has never cooled their mutual affection; and they have always assisted each other, as occasion arose, and as befits those bound together by ties of blood, and descendants of the same ancestor. I am sure that Pierre will loan me the sum necessary to redeem my freedom; nevertheless, I have not seen this good cousin of mine for ten years,—for you English are by no means free with your permission to us Frenchmen to enter your strong towns."
"Yes, yes," said Lord Grey, pleasantly, "for more than two hundred and ten years the Calais Peuquoys have been Englishmen."
"Oh!" cried Jean, warmly, "the Peuquoys—"
Then he suddenly interrupted himself.
"Well, well," Lord Grey rejoined in surprise, "the Peuquoys—"
"The Peuquoys, my Lord," said Jean, twirling his cap about in an embarrassed way,—"the Peuquoys do not concern themselves with politics, that is what I was about to say. Whether they are English or French, so long as they possess an anvil with which to earn their daily bread at Calais, and a shuttle here in St. Quentin, the Peuquoys have no fault to find."
"Well, who knows?" said Lord Grey, jocosely; "perhaps you will set up for yourself as a weaver in Calais, and thus become a subject of Queen Mary. Then the Peuquoys will be united at last after so many years."
"Upon my word! that may very well be," said Jean, artlessly.
Gabriel could not conceal his surprise at hearing the gallant burgher, who had taken such an heroic part in the defence of his town, talk as calmly about becoming an Englishman as of changing his helmet; but a wink which Jean Peuquoy bestowed upon him while Lord Grey was looking the other way reassured Gabriel as to his friend's loyalty, and convinced him that some mystery lay hidden under his joking.
Lord Grey soon dismissed them both.
"To-morrow we will leave St. Quentin for Calais together," he said. "Meanwhile you are at liberty to make such preparations as you choose, and to take your leave of your friends. I allow you to go on your parole so much the more readily," said he, with his peculiar delicacy, "because you will be challenged at the gates, and no one is allowed to leave the town without a permit from the governor."
Gabriel saluted Lord Grey without a word, and left the house with Jean Peuquoy, without noticing that his squire, Martin-Guerre, remained behind instead of following him.
"What is your intention, my friend?" he said to Peuquoy, when they were in the street. "Is it possible that you haven't a hundred crowns to pay your ransom with at once? Why do you persist in making this journey to Calais? Does this armorer cousin really exist? What strange object have you in all this?"
"Hush!" replied Jean Peuquoy, mysteriously. "In this Spanish atmosphere I hardly dare to risk a word. You can rely upon your squire, Martin-Guerre, can you not?"
"I will answer for him," Gabriel answered; "notwithstanding some lapses of memory and occasional backsliding, his is the most faithful heart in the world."
"Good!" said Peuquoy. "We must not send him at once from here, to obtain the money for your ransom at Paris, but take him to Calais with us, and let him start from there. We cannot have too many pairs of eyes."
"But what do these precautions mean, pray?" asked Gabriel. "I see: you have no relative at all in Calais?"
"Indeed I have," replied Peuquoy, eagerly. "Pierre Peuquoy really exists, and just as really has he been brought up to love and sigh for his former country, France; and like me, he stands ready to strike a blow in case of need, if you should chance to conceive while in that city some such heroic plan as you have put in execution here so many times."
"My noble friend," Gabriel responded, pressing the burgher's hand, "I divine your meaning; but you estimate my abilities too high, and judge me by your own measure. You know not how much selfishness there is in what you call my heroism; nor do you know that in the future, a sacred duty—even more sacred, if that can be, than my country's glory—has the first and only claim upon me."
"Well, then," said Jean Peuquoy, "you will fulfil that duty as you have all your other duties! And among the others," he added, lowering his voice, "there may be an opportunity afforded which will call upon you to take your revenge at Calais for St. Quentin."
Let us now leave the young captain and the old burgher to their dreams of conquest, and return to the squire and the archer settling their accounts in Lord Grey's house.
The archer, after the two prisoners had taken their leave, asked for his promised commission from his master, who gave it to him without much demur, being well-satisfied with the skilful selection his emissary had made.
Arnauld du Thill, in turn, waited for his share, which, we must do the Englishman the justice to say, he brought him in good faith. He found Arnauld in a corner scrawling some fresh lines on the Constable de Montmorency's endless account, and muttering to himself,—
"For having cleverly arranged to have Vicomte d'Exmès included among the prisoners of war, and having thus relieved Monseigneur le Connétable from said viscount for a time—"
"What are you doing there, my friend?" said the archer, seizing him by the shoulder.
"What am I doing? Making out an account," replied the false Martin-Guerre. "How does ours stand?"
"Here is what I owe you," said the archer, putting the crowns in Arnauld's hands, which he proceeded to count very carefully. "You see that I have kept my promise, and don't regret parting with the money. You have put me on the track of two unexceptionable prisoners.—especially your master, who never chaffered or haggled, but did just the opposite. Old Graybeard made some trouble, to be sure; but he was not very bad for a citizen, and without your help I have no doubt I should have fared worse."
"I believe you," said Arnauld, pocketing the coins.
"But come now," said the archer, "our work isn't all done yet. You see that I am good pay; and you must stir yourself to point out my third prize now,—the second noble prisoner to whom we are entitled."
"By the mass!" Arnauld replied, "I have nothing more to say, and you have only to choose."
"I know that very well; and what I want you to do is to help me choose among all the men and women, old men and children of noble birth, whom we may lay our hands upon in this good town."
"What!" asked Arnauld, "do women count too?"
"Indeed they do," said the Englishman, "and better than all; and if you know one who is young and beautiful as well as noble and rich, we shall have a pretty plum to divide, for Lord Grey will dispose of her at a large advance to his brother-in-law, Lord Wentworth, who likes female prisoners much better than male, so far as one can judge."
"Unfortunately I know of none," said Arnauld du Thill. "And yet! but no, no, it isn't possible."
"Why so, comrade? Are we not masters and victors here! And besides, nobody but the admiral was exempted by the terms of the capitulation."
"Very true," said Arnauld; "but the fair damsel whom I have in mind must not come near my master or even see him again; and to keep them in captivity in the same town would be but a poor way to keep them apart."
"Bah! do you suppose that my Lord Wentworth won't know enough to keep his pretty bird out of sight, and for himself alone?" asked the archer.
"Yes, at Calais," said Arnauld, meditating; "but on the way? My master will have ample opportunity to see her and speak with her."
"Not if I order otherwise," was the response. "We shall travel in two sections, one of which will be in advance of the other at least two hours, consequently there will be ample distance between the knight and his lady, if that will please you."
"Yes, but what will the old constable say?" asked Arnauld, aloud. "If he knows that I have had a hand in this transaction, he will hang me up at short notice!"
"Why should he know? Why need any one know?" was the suggestion of the tempter. "You surely will not be the one to talk about it; and as surely your money will not tell whence it came—"
"And the money would be forthcoming, eh?" asked Arnauld.
"There will be half of it for you."
"What a pity!" rejoined the squire; "for it would be a handsome sum, I fancy, and I don't imagine the father would haggle about it."
"Is he a duke or a prince?" asked the archer.
"He is a king, comrade, and is called Henri, the second of that name."
"A daughter of the king here!" cried the Englishman. "Upon my soul, if you don't tell me at once where I can find the gentle dove, I shall feel obliged to strangle you, my good fellow! A daughter of the king!"
"And a pearl of beauty too," said Arnauld.
"Oho! My Lord Wentworth will lose his head over her," the archer replied. "Comrade," he added in a solemn tone, drawing forth his purse, and opening it before Arnauld's fascinated eyes, "this and its contents are yours in exchange for the name and abode of the fair one."
"Done!" said Arnauld, unable to resist, and seizing the purse.
"Her name?" asked the archer.
"Diane de Castro, called Sister Bénie."
"And her abode?"
"The Benedictine convent."
"I fly," cried the Englishman, disappearing.
"That's all right," said Arnauld to himself, turning about to seek his master,—"that's all right; I shall not put this down on the constable's account."
Three days later, on the 1st of September, Lord Wentworth, governor of Calais, having received final instructions from his brother-in-law, Lord Grey, and having seen him off for England, mounted his horse and rode back to his hotel, where Gabriel and Jean Peuquoy were then quartered, as well as Diane, who was in another part of the house.
Madame de Castro had no idea that her lover was so near; and in conformity with the promise given to Arnauld by Lord Grey's minion, she had not had the least opportunity of communicating with him after leaving St. Quentin.
Lord Wentworth offered a most striking contrast to his brother-in-law; for the former was as affable and approachable and open-handed as the latter was arrogant and cold and covetous. He was a tall, fine-looking man, with most refined manners. He was apparently about forty; a few white hairs were already scattered here and there among his profuse black locks, which were naturally curly. But his youthful air and the eager fire in his gray eyes showed that the impetuous passion of a young man was still dominant within him; and he led as joyous and active a life as if he were still only twenty.
He went first into the hall where Vicomte d'Exmès and Jean Peuquoy were awaiting him, and saluted them affably and smilingly as his guests and not his prisoners.
"Welcome to my house, Monsieur, and you too, Master," said he. "I am very much indebted to my dear brother-in-law for having brought you here, Monsieur le Vicomte; and I have double cause to rejoice in the taking of St. Quentin. Pardon me; but in this gloomy abode of war, where I am confined, agreeable distractions are of such rare occurrence, and society is so limited, that I am very happy to find some one from time to time whom it is a pleasure to converse with; and I fear that my own selfishness will lead me to wish that your ransom may be delayed as long as possible."
"It is likely to be delayed longer than I supposed, my Lord," Gabriel replied. "Lord Grey may have told you that my squire, whom I intended to send to Paris to bring the money, fell into a disputeen route, being drunk at the time, with one of the escort, and received a wound in the head, slight, it is true, but which I fear will detain him at Calais longer than I hoped."
"So much the worse for the poor fellow, and so much the better for me," said Lord Wentworth.
"You are too kind, my Lord," said Gabriel, with a sad smile.
"No, indeed; upon my word, there's no kindness about it. True kindness, no doubt, would move me to allow you to start for Paris yourself at once, on parole. But I tell you again, I am too selfish and too bored to think of that; and I have no difficulty, although from different motives, in entering into the suspicious intentions of my brother-in-law, who made me solemnly promise not to give you your liberty except in exchange for a bag of crowns. What do you say? Shall we be prisoners together, and do our best to sweeten the tedium of captivity for each other?"
Gabriel bowed without saying a word. He would have liked much better that Lord Wentworth should have accepted his parole and left him free to go about his task. But could he, a perfect stranger, expect such confidence?
He comforted himself a little with the thought that Coligny was probably with Henri II. at that moment. He had enjoined upon him to report to the king what he had been able to do toward prolonging the resistance of St. Quentin. Surely his noble friend could not have failed him! And Henri, true to his royal word, was perhaps waiting but-for the son's return to fulfil his promise with regard to the father.
It was not surprising that Gabriel was not altogether able to master his uneasiness, because of its twofold character; he had not even succeeded in catching a glimpse of another person equally dear to him before leaving St. Quentin. So he heartily cursed the mishap that had befallen that incorrigible drunkard, Martin-Guerre, and was far from sharing Jean Peuquoy's satisfaction on that point; for the worthy burgher was secretly delighted to find his mysterious schemes forwarded by this very delay which caused Gabriel so much sorrow.
Meanwhile Lord Wentworth, not choosing to notice his prisoner's gloomy distraction, continued,—
"Moreover, Monsieur d'Exmès, I shall do my best not to be too harsh a jailer; and to prove to you at once that my actions are directed by no insulting suspicion, I will cheerfully give you permission to go in and out at your will, and to go wherever you please in the town, if you will give me your parole that you will not attempt to escape."
At this, Jean Peuquoy could not restrain a movement of unequivocal satisfaction; and to communicate it to Gabriel, he gave a sharp twitch at the young man's coat-tail, and thereby considerably surprised him.
"I accept gratefully, my Lord," Gabriel replied to the governor's courteous offer; "and you have my word of honor that I will not think of any such attempt."
"That is quite satisfactory, Monsieur," said Lord Wentworth; "and if the hospitality which it is in my power, and which duty and pleasure prompt me, to offer you (although my temporary quarters are but ill adapted to your proper entertainment) seems burdensome and perchance tiresome, why, you must not feel at all constrained to accept it; rest assured I shall not take it ill of you in the least if you prefer more free and more convenient quarters, such as you can easily find in Calais, to the poor accommodations which I can place at your disposal."
"Oh, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Jean Peuquoy, in a tone of entreaty, "if you would only condescend to accept the best chamber in the house of my cousin, Pierre Peuquoy the armorer, you would make him very proud, and you would fill my cup of happiness, I swear to you!"
And the worthy man accompanied these words with a meaning gesture; for good Peuquoy was all mystery and reticence now, and had become so obscure as almost to inspire fear.
"Thanks, my friend," said Gabriel; "but really, to take advantage of such permission would be perhaps to abuse it."
"No, I assure you," said Lord Wentworth, warmly, "you are entirely at liberty to accept this lodging at Pierre Peuquoy's. He is a rich bourgeois, energetic and skilful at his trade, and the honestest fellow imaginable. I know him well, for I have often bought arms of him; and he has a very pretty creature at his house too,—his daughter or his wife, I am not very clear which."
"His sister, my Lord," said Jean Peuquoy,—"my cousin Babette. Oh, yes, she is very comely; and if only I were not so old! But the Peuquoys won't die out after all; Pierre has lost his wife, but she left him two sturdy boys, who will amuse you, Monsieur le Vicomte, if you choose to accept my cousin's very cordial hospitality."
"I not only authorize you to accept it, but engage that you will do so," added Lord Wentworth.
Indeed, Gabriel began to think, and not unreasonably, that the handsome and courtly governor of Calais was very willing to disencumber himself, for private reasons, of a companion who would be always in his house, and who, by virtue of the very freedom that he allowed him, might interfere with his own. In fact, Lord Wentworth did reason thus; for as Lord Grey had expressed it elegantly to Arnauld, he preferred female prisoners to male.
Gabriel no longer had any scruples, and said, turning to Jean Peuquoy with a smile,—
"Since Lord Wentworth permits me, my friend, I will stay at your cousin's."
Jean Peuquoy almost leaped for joy.
"Upon my word, I really think that you do very wisely," said Lord Wentworth. "Not that I should not have been delighted to entertain you as best I could; but in a house guarded night and day by soldiers, and where my tedious authority requires me to maintain strict rules, you might not have found yourself always at your ease, as you will with the brave armorer. And a young man has need to be at his ease, we all know."
"You seem to know it, at all events," said Gabriel, laughing; "and I can see that you know the full value of independence."
"Yes, indeed I do!" rejoined Lord Wentworth, in the same playful tone; "I am not yet old enough to despise liberty."
Then, turning to Jean Peuquoy,—
"Do you rely upon your cousin's purse, Master Peuquoy," said he, "in your own behalf, as you rely upon his house when Monsieur d'Exmès's welfare is in question? Lord Grey told me that you expected to borrow the hundred crowns agreed upon for your ransom."
"Whatever Pierre owns belongs to Jean," was the burgher's sententious reply; "it is always so with the Peuquoys. I was so sure beforehand that my cousin's house was mine that I have already sent Monsieur d'Exmès's wounded squire there; and I am so sure too that his purse is as open to me as his door that I beg you to send one of your people with me to bring back the sum agreed upon."
"Useless, Master Peuquoy," said Lord Wentworth; "and you also are free to go on parole. I will come and call upon Vicomte d'Exmès at Pierre Peuquoy's to-morrow or the next day; and I will select, as an equivalent of the sum due my brother-in-law, one of the beautiful suits of armor which your cousin makes so well."
"As you please, my Lord," said Jean.
"Meanwhile, Monsieur d'Exmès," said the governor, "need I say to you that as often as you choose to knock at my door you will be as welcome as you are at liberty not to do it at all? I repeat, life is rather dull at Calais, as you will soon discover, no doubt; and you will enter into an alliance with me, I trust, against our common enemy, ennui. Your presence is a very great boon, by which I desire to profit as much as possible. If you keep away from me, I shall importune you, I give you fair warning; and remember too, that I only give you a sort of half liberty, and that the friend ought to bring the prisoner here with him often."
"Thanks, my Lord," said Gabriel; "I accept with gratitude all your kindness. By way of revenge," he added, smiling; "for war has its sudden changes, and the friend of to-day may become the enemy of to-morrow."
"Oh," said Lord Wentworth, "I am safe, too safe, alas! behind these impregnable walls. If the French were fated to recapture Calais, they would not have waited two hundred years for it. I am quite tranquil about it; and if it ever falls to your lot to do the honors of Paris to me, it will be in time of peace, I fancy."
"Let us leave it in God's hands, my Lord," said Gabriel. "Monsieur de Coligny, whom I have just left, used to say that man's wisest course was to wait."
"Very true; and meanwhile to live as happily as possible. Apropos, Monsieur, it has occurred to me that you must be badly off for funds; you know that my purse is at your disposal."
"Thanks again, my Lord; my own, though not sufficiently well lined to allow me to pay my ransom on the spot, is at least amply furnished to defray the cost of my stay here. My only real anxiety, I confess, is lest your cousin's house, Master Peuquoy, cannot open its doors thus unexpectedly to three new guests without inconvenience; and in that case I should much prefer to go in search of another lodging, where for a few crowns—"
"You are joking," interrupted Jean, eagerly; "for Pierre's house is large enough, thank God, to hold three whole families, if necessary. In the provinces they don't build so stingily and in such narrow places as in Paris."
"Very true," said Lord Wentworth; "and I promise you, Monsieur d'Exmès, that the armorer's dwelling is not unworthy of a captain. A more numerous suite than yours could easily be accommodated there; and two trades might be carried oil under its roof without inconvenience. Was it not your intention, Master Peuquoy, to settle there and carry on your occupation of weaving? Lord Grey said something of such a plan, which I shall be very glad to see carried out."
"And which very possibly will be carried out," said Jean. "If Calais and St. Quentin are to belong to the same masters, I should prefer to be near my family."
"Yes," rejoined Lord Wentworth, who misunderstood the meaning of the cunning burgher's words; "yes, it may be that St. Quentin will be an English town before long. But I am keeping you," he added; "and after the fatigues of the journey, you must be in need of rest, Monsieur d'Exmès. Once more I tell you both you are free.Au revoir; we shall soon meet again, shall we not?"
He escorted the captain and the burgher to the door, shaking the hand of one and nodding amicably to the other, and left them to make the best of their way to the Rue du Martroi. On that street, if our readers remember, Pierre Peuquoy lived, at the sign of the God Mars, and there we shall soon find Gabriel and Jean again, if God so wills it.
"Upon my word!" said Lord Wentworth, when he had seen the last of them, "I believe that I was very shrewd in thus getting rid of having to entertain Vicomte d'Exmès in my house. He is a gentleman, and has lived at court; and if he has ever seen the fair prisoner who is in my grasp, he surely would never cease to remember her. Yes, indeed; for even I, who have not yet talked with her, was dazzled by her when she merely passed before me two hours since. How fair she is! I love her! I love her! Poor heart, so long dumb in this gloomy solitude, how you are beating now! But this youth, who seems to me so gallant and brave, might well have interfered unpleasantly, on recognizing his king's daughter, in the relations which I calculate upon establishing with Madame Diane. The presence of a fellow-countryman, perhaps a friend, would no doubt have delayed Madame de Castro's avowals, or encouraged her in her refusal. Let us have no third party in our affairs. Even if I have no disposition to have recourse in all this to means unworthy of myself, it is unnecessary for me to create obstacles."
He struck a peculiar stroke upon a bell. In a moment a lady's maid appeared.
"Jane," said Lord Wentworth, in English, "have you offered your services to this lady, as I told you?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"How is she now, Jane?"
"She appears sad, my Lord, but not overwhelmed. She has a proud look, and speaks firmly, and gives her orders mildly, but as if she were used to being obeyed."
"Very well," said the governor. "Has she partaken of the refreshment which you put before her?"
"She has scarcely touched a piece of fruit, my Lord; under the confident air that she affects, it is not difficult to detect a good deal of anxiety and suffering."
"That will do, Jane," said Lord Wentworth. "Go you back to the lady, and ask her in my name—in the name of Lord Wentworth, governor of Calais, on whom Lord Grey's rights have devolved—if she is willing to receive me. Go, and come back at once."
In a few minutes, which seemed ages to Lord Wentworth, the maid reappeared.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well, my Lord," Jane replied, "the lady not only consents, but desires to see you at once."
"Indeed! everything goes as well as possible," said Lord Wentworth to himself.
"But she has kept old Mary with her," added Jane, "and told me to come right back again."
"Very well, Jane, go. She must be obeyed in everything, you understand. Go, and say that I am but a moment behind you."
Jane went out; and Lord Wentworth, with his heart beating like a lover of twenty, began to mount the stairs which led to Diane de Castro's apartments.
"Oh, what bliss!" he said. "I love her! And she whom I love, a king's daughter too, is in my power!"
Diane de Castro received Lord Wentworth with the calm and modest dignity which lent an irresistible potency and charm to her angelic expression and her lovely features. Beneath her apparent calmness there was, however, much anguish of mind; and the poor girl trembled inwardly as she acknowledged the governor's salutation, and with a queenly gesture motioned him to take his seat on a couch a few paces away from her.
Then she signed to the two maids, who were apparently preparing to withdraw, to remain in the room; and as Lord Wentworth, lost in admiration, said nothing, she determined to break the silence herself.
"It is to Lord Wentworth, governor of Calais, that I am speaking, I believe?" said she.
"Lord Wentworth, Madame, your obedient servant, awaits your commands."
"My commands!" She repeated his words bitterly. "Oh, my Lord, do not say so, or I must think that you mock me! If my prayers and my supplications, in no sense commands, had been listened to, I should not be here. You know who I am, my Lord, and of what family?"
"I know, Madame, that you are Madame de Castro, the beloved daughter of King Henri II."
"Why, then, have I been made a prisoner?" asked Diane, whose voice faltered rather than became stronger as she put the question.
"For the very reason that you were a king's daughter, Madame," Wentworth replied; "because by the terms of the capitulation agreed to by Admiral de Coligny, it was stipulated that fifty prisoners should be placed in the hands of the victors, to be selected by them from all ranks, and of any age or either sex, and because they very naturally chose the most illustrious, the most dangerous, and if you will permit me to say so, those who could afford to pay the heaviest ransom."
"But how was it known," Diane rejoined, "that I was in hiding at St. Quentin under the name and in the garb of a Benedictine nun? Besides the superior of the convent, only one person in the whole town knew my secret."
"Very well! then it must have been that person who betrayed you,—that's all," said Lord Wentworth.
"Oh, no, indeed; I am sure it was not!" cried Diane, with such earnest conviction that Lord Wentworth felt stung to the heart by jealousy, and could find nothing to say in reply.
"It was the day after the capitulation of St. Quentin," continued Diane, with renewed animation. "I had fled for refuge, trembling and afraid, to the inmost corner of my cell. Some one in the parlor asked for Sister Bénie, which was my name as a novice, my Lord. It was an English soldier who inquired for me. I dreaded some misfortune, some terrible news. Nevertheless, I went down to the parlor, a prey to that dreadful curiosity which makes us even in our suffering so anxious to ascertain what causes our tears to flow. The archer, whom I had never seen before, announced that I was his prisoner. I was indignant and resisted; but what could I do against force? There were three of them; yes, my Lord, three soldiers to arrest one poor woman. I ask your pardon if this hurts you; but I am simply telling you what happened. These men seized me, and called upon me to confess that I was Diane de Castro, daughter of the King of France. I denied it at first; but as they were dragging me away, despite my denials, I asked to be taken to Monsieur l'Amiral de Coligny; and as the admiral did not know Sister Bénie, I avowed that I was she whom they named. Perhaps you believe, my Lord, that upon my avowal they yielded to my prayer and granted me the very simple favor of being taken to Monsieur l'Amiral, who would have recognized me and demanded my freedom! By no means! They simply exulted over their capture, pushed and dragged me along more quickly, and put me, or rather threw me, weeping and in despair, into a closed litter; and when, almost suffocated with sobs, and utterly overcome with grief, I nevertheless made an effort to learn whither I was being taken, I had already left St. Quentin and was on the road to Calais. Then Lord Grey, who, I was told, was in command of the escort, refused to listen to me; and I learned from a common soldier that I was his master's prisoner, and was being taken to Calais pending the payment of my ransom. Without any further information than that, I was brought here, my Lord."
"Unfortunately I can add nothing more, Madame," responded Lord Wentworth, thoughtfully.
"Nothing, my Lord!" continued Diane. "You cannot tell me why I was not allowed to speak to the superior of the Benedictines, nor to Monsieur l'Amiral! You cannot tell me for what purpose I am wanted, pray, when I was not allowed to go near those who might have announced my captivity to the king, and have sent the amount of the ransom you demand from Paris! Why this sort of secret abduction! Why was I not allowed even to see Lord Grey, who gave orders for all this, as I was informed?"
"You did see Lord Grey, Madame, a short time ago, when you passed us. It was he with whom I was talking, and who saluted you when I did."
"Pardon me, my Lord; I knew not in whose presence I was," said Diane. "But since you have talked with Lord Grey, who is your kinsman, so this maid informs me, he must have informed you of his intentions toward me."
"In fact, Madame, before taking ship for England, he did explain them to me,—indeed, he was just doing so when you were being escorted to this house. He informed me that you had been mentioned to him at St. Quentin as being the king's daughter; and that having three prisoners allotted to him for his share, he had eagerly seized upon so valuable a prize without notifying a soul, thus avoiding all dispute. His simple object was to get the largest possible ransom for you, Madame; and I was jokingly applauding my covetous brother-in-law when you passed through the room where we were talking. I saw you, Madame; and I at once realized that if you were the king's daughter by right of birth, you were a very queen by right of loveliness. From that moment, to my shame be it said, I entirely changed my opinion as to Lord Grey's plans for the future at least, if not as to what he had already done. Yes; and I no longer approved his design of holding you to ransom. I urged upon him that we might hope for much greater things,—that England and France being at war, you might be very useful as an exchange for some important prisoner, and that you might even be worth a town. In short, I at last persuaded him not to abandon so rich a prize for a few paltry crowns. You are at Calais,—a town that belongs to us, and is impregnable; we must therefore keep you in our hands and wait."