Our hero (we surely have the right to give him that name) had not hesitated. With the instinct which illuminates the brain at critical moments, and which if it shines throughout the ordinary extent of one's life is called genius, Gabriel, on leaving the king, as if he had foreseen the secret thoughts which the Duc de Guise was fondling in his mind at that moment, betook himself at once to the apartments of the lieutenant-general.
He was perhaps the only living man who could understand and assist him.
Gabriel might well have been touched by the reception which he met with from his former commander.
The Duc de Guise went quite to the door to meet him, and folded him in his arms.
"Ah, you are here at last, my hero!" he said effusively. "Whence have you come h What has become of you since St. Quentin? Ah, how often I have thought of you and spoken of you, Gabriel!"
"Have I really kept any place in your memory, Monseigneur?"
"Pardieu! he has the assurance to ask me such a question!" cried the duke. "As if you hadn't ways of your own of making yourself remembered by people. Coligny, who is worth more alone than all the rest of the Montmorencys together, has told me (but in very ambiguous terms, for some unknown reason) a part of your exploits at St. Quentin; nevertheless, from what he did say, I should judge that he said nothing regarding the greater portion of them."
"Yet I did too little!" said Gabriel, with a sad smile.
"Ambitious boy!" said the duke.
"Indeed I am ambitious!" was Gabriel's response, with a mournful shake of the head.
"But, thank God, you have returned!" rejoined the Duc de Guise. "Once more we are together, my friend; you remember what plans we made together in Italy! Ah, poor Gabriel, France needs your valor more than ever now. To what dire extremity have they reduced our country!"
"All that I am, and all that I have," said Gabriel, "is consecrated to her support; I only await your signal, Monseigneur."
"Thanks, my friend," the duke responded; "be sure that I will avail myself of your offer, and you will not have long to wait for my signal."
"Then it will be for me to thank you, Monseigneur," cried Gabriel.
"To tell the truth, however," the duke continued, "the more I look around me, the more embarrassing and serious do I find the situation. I had to hasten at first to the point where the greatest urgency existed, to organize effective means of resistance in the neighborhood of Paris, and to present a formidable defensive front to the enemy,—to stop his progress, in short. But all that amounts to nothing. He has St. Quentin; he has the North! I ought to be at work, and I long to be. But in what direction?"
He stopped, as if to consult Gabriel. He knew the young man's breadth of view, and he had on more than one occasion found his advice worth following; but now Vicomte d'Exmès spoke not a word, carefully watching the duke, and letting him approach the subject in his own way, so to speak.
François de Lorraine thereupon continued:—
"Do not reprove me for my sloth, my dear friend. I am not one of those who hesitate, as you know; but I am of those who reflect. You will not blame me for it; for you are like me,—determined and cautious at the same time. The pensiveness of your young face," the duke added, "seems to me of a severer cast than formerly. I hardly dare to ask you about yourself. You had stern duties to perform, I remember, and formidable foes to discover. Have you other misfortunes to deplore than those of your country? I fear so; for when I last saw you, you were only serious, and now I find you sad."
"Let us not speak of myself, Monseigneur, I beg," said Gabriel. "Let us speak of France, and then we shall be speaking of my hopes."
"So be it," rejoined the duke. "I will tell you with perfect frankness my thoughts and my anxiety. It seems to me that the most essential thing at this moment is to raise the spirits of our people, and restore our former glorious reputation by some striking blow; to change our defensive attitude to an offensive one; and, finally, not to content ourselves with repairing our defeats, but to atone for them by some glorious success."
"That is precisely my opinion, Monseigneur," cried Gabriel, eagerly, surprised and delighted at a coincidence so in line with his own schemes.
"That being your opinion," resumed the Duc de Guise, "doubtless, you have thought more than once of our country's peril and of the means of extricating her from it?"
"Indeed, I have often thought of it," said Gabriel.
"Well, then," continued François de Lorraine, "have you, my friend, gone any further than I? Have you looked this serious difficulty in the face? Where, when, and how to attempt so brilliant a stroke, which we both deem so essential?"
"Monseigneur, I think I know."
"Can it be?" cried the duke. "Oh, speak, speak, my friend!"
"Mon Dieu! perhaps I have spoken too soon, after all," said Gabriel. "The proposition I have to make is one of those which will certainly require long preparation. You are very powerful, Monseigneur; but the project I have to suggest may seem impracticable even to you."
"I am not generally subject to vertigo," said the duke, smiling.
"Never mind, Monseigneur," rejoined Gabriel. "At first sight, my plan will—I fear, and I forewarn you—seem extraordinary, insensate, nay, even impossible; really, however, it is only difficult and dangerous."
"But that only makes it more attractive," said François de Lorraine.
"Well, Monseigneur, it is agreed, then, that you will not, in the first place, be horrified. I say again, there will be great risks to be run; but the means of success are in my power, and when I have unfolded them, you yourself will agree with me."
"If that be so, I beg you to speak, Gabriel," said the duke. "But who comes to interrupt us now?" he added impatiently. "Is that you knocking, Thibault?"
"Yes, Monseigneur," said the valet, entering the room. "Monseigneur ordered me to let him know when the hour for the council to assemble had arrived, and it is now striking two. Monsieur de Saint-Remy and the other gentlemen will call for Monseigneur directly."
"True, true," rejoined the duke; "there is a council-meeting to be held now, and an important one too. It is indispensable that I should be present. Very well, Thibault. Leave us; show the gentlemen in when they arrive. You see, Gabriel, that my duty calls me to the king's side. This evening you can unfold your plan to me at your leisure,—and it must be a noble one, since it comes from your brain; meanwhile I beseech you to satisfy my curiosity and my impatience in a few words. What do you mean to do, Gabriel?"
"In two words, Monseigneur,take Calais," said Gabriel, calmly.
"Take Calais!" almost shouted the Duc de Guise, falling back in surprise.
"You forget, Monseigneur," said Gabriel, with the same tranquil air, "that you promised me not to be horrified at the first impression."
"Oh, but have you considered this carefully?" said the duke. "Take Calais, defended by a strong garrison, by impregnable fortifications, and by the sea!—Calais, which has been in the power of England more than two centuries! Calais, guarded as carefully as the very key of France! I love an audacious scheme; but will this not be a rash one?"
"Yes, Monseigneur," Gabriel replied; "but it is just because it is such a rash undertaking that no one would ever dream of it or suspect it that it has a better chance of success."
"In truth, that is very possible," said the duke, thoughtfully.
"When you have listened to me, Monseigneur, you will say, 'It is certain!' The rule of conduct to be observed is clearly marked out for us in advance,—to keep it in most absolute secrecy, to throw the enemy off the scent by some false manœuvre, and to appear before the town unexpectedly. In a fortnight Calais will be ours."
"But," the duke rejoined earnestly, "these general indications are not sufficient. Your plan, Gabriel,—you have a plan?"
"Yes, Monseigneur; it is simple, but sure—"
Gabriel had not time to conclude, for at that moment the door opened and the Comte de Saint-Remy entered, attended by a number of nobles attached to the Guise party.
"His Majesty awaits the lieutenant-general of the kingdom at the council-board," said Saint-Remy.
"I am at your service, gentlemen," rejoined the duke, saluting the new-comers.
Then turning quickly to Gabriel, he said in a low voice,—
"I must leave you now, my friend, as you see; but the unspeakably magnificent scheme which you have thrown into my brain will not leave me the whole day, I promise you. If you really think such a project can be executed, I believe I am capable of understanding you. Can you return here this evening at eight? We shall have the whole night to ourselves without fear of interruption."
"I will be prompt to the hour," said Gabriel, "and I will make good use of my time meanwhile."
"I make bold to remind Monseigneur that it is now after two," said the Comte de Saint-Remy.
"I am here; I am quite ready!" the duke responded.
He took a few steps toward the door, then turned and looked at Gabriel, and approaching him once more, as if to be sure that he had understood him aright,—
"Take Calais?" he said again in a low voice, and with a sort of questioning inflection.
And Gabriel, bowing his head affirmatively, replied with his sweet, calm smile,—
"Yes, take Calais."
The Duc de Guise went to attend the council, and Gabriel followed him from the room and left the Louvre.
Aloyse was standing at the lower window of the house anxiously awaiting Gabriel's return. When she finally espied him, she raised to heaven her eyes filled with tears; but tears of happiness and gratitude they were this time.
She ran and opened the door with her own hands to her beloved master.
"God be praised that I see you once more, Monseigneur!" she cried. "Do you come from the Louvre? Have you seen the king?"
"Yes, I have seen him," Gabriel replied.
"Well?"
"Well, my good nurse, once more I have to wait."
"More waiting!" Aloyse exclaimed, wringing her hands. "Holy Virgin! it is very hard and very sad to wait."
"It would be impossible," said Gabriel, "if I had not work to do meanwhile. But I will work with a will, and thank God, I can beguile the tedium of the journey by thinking steadfastly of the goal."
He entered the parlor, and threw his mantle over the back of a couch.
He did not see Martin-Guerre, who was sitting in a corner plunged in deep reflections.
"Come, come, Martin, you sluggard, what are you about?" cried Dame Aloyse to the squire. "Can't you even help Monseigneur to take off his cloak?"
"Oh, pardon! pardon!" Martin exclaimed, rousing himself from his revery, and leaping from his seat.
"All right, Martin, don't disturb yourself," said Gabriel. "Aloyse, I wish you would not trouble poor Martin; his zeal and devotion are more necessary to me than ever at this moment, and I have some very serious matters to talk over with him."
Vicomte d'Exmès's slightest wish was sacred to Aloyse. She favored the squire with her sweetest smile, now that he was restored to grace, and discreetly left the room, to leave Gabriel more at liberty to say what was in his mind.
"Martin," said he, when they were alone, "what were you doing there? What were you thinking about so deeply?"
"Monseigneur," Martin-Guerre replied, "I was cudgelling my brain to solve in some degree the enigma of our friend this morning."
"Well, how have you succeeded?" asked Gabriel, smiling.
"Very indifferently, alas! Monseigneur. If I must confess it, I have been able to see nothing but darkness, however widely I have opened my eyes."
"But I told you, Martin, that I thought I could see something better than that."
"What is it, Monseigneur? I am almost dead trying to find out."
"The time has not come to tell you," said Gabriel.
"You are still devoted to me, Martin?"
"Does Monseigneur put that as a question?"
"No, Martin, I say it by way of commendation. Now I appeal to this devotion of which I speak. You must for a time forget yourself, forget the shadow which darkens your life, and which we will drive away hereafter. I promise you. But at present I need you, Martin."
"So much the better! so much the better! so much the better!" cried Martin-Guerre.
"But let us have no misunderstanding," said Gabriel. "I have need of your whole being, of your whole life, and all your manhood; are you willing to place yourself in my hands, to postpone your private troubles, and devote yourself solely to my fortunes?"
"Am I willing!" cried Martin; "why, Monseigneur, it is not only my duty to do so, but will be my greatest pleasure. By Saint Martin! I have been separated from you only too long, and I long to make up for lost time! Though there be a legion of Martin-Guerres inside my clothes, never fear, Monseigneur, I will laugh at them all. So long as you are standing there in front of me, I will see nobody but you in the world."
"Brave heart!" said Gabriel. "But you must consider, Martin, that the enterprise in which I ask you to engage is full of danger and pitfalls."
"Basta! I will leap over them!" said Martin, snapping his fingers carelessly.
"We shall hazard our lives a hundred times over, Martin."
"The higher the stake, the better the sport, Monseigneur."
"But this terrible game, once we engage in it, my friend, cannot be laid aside until it is finished."
"Then none but a fine player should take part in it," rejoined the squire, proudly.
"Not so fast!" said Gabriel; "despite all your resolution, you do not appreciate the formidable and extraordinary peril which may attend the almost superhuman conflict into which you and I are about to plunge; and after all, our efforts may be unrewarded,—remember that! Martin, consider all this carefully; the plan which I must carry out almost makes me afraid myself, when I examine it."
"Very good! Danger and I are old acquaintances," said Martin, with a very self-sufficient air; "and when one has had the honor of being hanged—"
"Martin," Gabriel interrupted, "we must defy the elements, exult in the tempest, laugh at the impossible!"
"Indeed we will!" said Martin-Guerre. "To tell the truth, Monseigneur, since my hanging, the days which have passed over my head have seemed to me like days of grace; and I am not inclined to find fault with the good Lord for that portion of the surplus which He has seen fit to allot to me. Whatever the merchant lets you have over and above the bargain, there is no need to account for; if you do, you are either an ingrate or a fool."
"Well, then, Martin, it's agreed, is it?" said Vicomte d'Exmès; "you will go with me and share my lot?"
"To hell itself, Monseigneur! so long as you don't ask me to set Satan at defiance, for I am a good Catholic."
"Have no fear on that score," said Gabriel. "By going with me you may perhaps endanger your welfare in this world, but not in the next."
"That is all that I care to know," rejoined Martin. "But is there nothing else than my life, Monseigneur, that you ask of me?"
"Yes," said Gabriel, smiling at the heroic ingenuousness of that question; "yes, indeed, Martin-Guerre, there is another great service that you must render me."
"What is it, Monseigneur?"
"I want you, as soon as possible,—this very day, if you can,—to find me a dozen or so companions of your mettle, daring and strong and resolute, who fear neither fire nor sword, who can endure hunger and thirst, heat and cold, who will obey like angels, and fight like devils. Can you do it?"
"That depends. Will they be well paid?" asked Martin.
"A piece of gold for every drop of their blood," said Gabriel. "My fortune causes me the least concern, alas! in the holy but perilous task which I must carry through to the end."
"At that price, Monseigneur," said the squire, "I will get together in two hours that number of dare-devils, who will not complain of their wounds, I assure you. In France, and in Paris especially, the supply of that sort of blackguard never fails. But in whose service are they to be?"
"In my own," said Vicomte d'Exmès. "I am going to make the campaign which I now have in mind as a volunteer, and not as captain of the Guards; so I need to have retainers of my own."
"Oh! if that is so, Monseigneur," said Martin, "I have right at my call, and ready at any moment, five or six of my old comrades in the Lorraine war. They are pining away, poor devils, since you dismissed them. How glad they will be to be under fire again with you for their leader! And so it is for yourself that I am to enlist recruits? Oh, well, then, I will present the full complement to you this evening."
"Very good," said Gabriel. "You must make it an essential condition of their employment that they be ready to leave Paris immediately, and to follow me wherever I go, without question or comment, and without even looking to see whether we are marching north or south."
"They will march toward glory and wealth, Monseigneur, with bandaged eyes."
"Well, then, I will reckon upon them and upon you, Martin. As for yourself, I will give you—"
"Let us not speak of that, Monseigneur," Martin interposed.
"On the contrary, we will speak of it. If we survive the fray, my brave fellow, I bind myself solemnly, here and now, to do for you what you will then have done for me, and in my turn to assist you against your enemies, never fear. Meanwhile, your hand, my faithful friend."
"Oh, Monseigneur!" Martin-Guerre exclaimed, respectfully kissing his master's extended hand.
"Come, now, Martin," continued Gabriel, "set about your quest at once. Discretion and courage! Now I must be alone for a time."
"Pardon! but will Monseigneur remain in the house?" asked Martin.
"Yes, until seven o'clock. I am not to go to the Louvre until eight."
"In that case," rejoined the squire, "I hope to be able to show you, before you leave, some specimens of the make up of your troop."
He saluted and left the room, as proud as a peacock, and already absorbed in his important commission.
Gabriel remained alone the rest of the day, studying the plan which Jean Peuquoy had handed him, making notes, and pacing thoughtfully up and down his apartment.
It was essential that he should be able to answer satisfactorily every objection that the Duc de Guise might raise.
He only broke the silence from time to time by repeating, with a firm voice and eager heart,—
"I will save you, dear father! My own Diane, I will save you!"
About six o'clock, Gabriel, yielding to the insistence of Aloyse, was just taking a little food, when Martin-Guerre entered, very serious and stately.
"Monseigneur," said he, "will it please you to receive six or seven of those who aspire to the honor of serving France and the king under your orders?"
"What! six or seven already?" cried Gabriel.
"Yes, six or seven who are strangers to you. Our old Metz companions will make up the twelve. They are all delighted to risk their necks for such a master as you, and accept any conditions that you choose to impose upon them."
"Upon my word, you have lost no time," said Vicomte d'Exmès. "Well, let me see the men; show them in."
"One at a time, shall I not?" rejoined Martin. "Monseigneur can form a better opinion of them then."
"Very well, one at a time," said Gabriel.
"One word more," added the squire. "I need not tell Monsieur le Vicomte that all these men are known to me either personally or through reliable information. Their dispositions and their peculiarities are varied; but they have one characteristic in common,—namely, a well-proved courage. I can answer to Monseigneur for that essential quality, if he will only be indulgent toward some little peccadilloes of no consequence."
After this preliminary discourse, Martin-Guerre left the room a moment, and returned almost immediately, followed by a tall fellow with a swarthy complexion, a reckless, clever face, and very quick of movement.
"Ambrosio," said Martin, introducing him.
"Ambrosio! that's a foreign name. Is he not a Frenchman?" asked Gabriel.
"Who knows?" said Ambrosio. "I was a foundling; and since I grew up, I have lived in the Pyrenees, one foot in France and the other in Spain; and, upon my word! I have, with a good heart, taken advantage of my double bar-sinister, without any ill feeling either against God or my mother."
"And how have you lived?" Gabriel asked.
"Well, it's just like this," said Ambrosio. "Being entirely impartial as between my two countries, I have always tried, to the best of my poor ability, to break down the barriers between them, and to open to each the advantages of the other, and by this free exchange of the gifts which each of them owes to Providence, to contribute, like a pious son, with all my power to their mutual prosperity."
"In a word," put in Martin-Guerre, "Ambrosio does a little smuggling."
"But," Ambrosio continued, "being a marked man by the Spanish as well as the French authorities, and unappreciated and hunted by my fellow-citizens on both sides of the Pyrenees at once, I concluded to evacuate the neighborhood, and come to Paris, the city which is overflowing with means of livelihood for brave men."
"Where Ambrosio will be happy," interjected Martin, "to place at the disposal of Vicomte d'Exmès his daring, his address, and his long experience of fatigue and danger."
"Ambrosio the smuggler, accepted!" said Gabriel. "Another!"
Ambrosio took his leave in great delight, giving place to a man of ascetic appearance and reserved manners, clad in a long dark cape, and with a rosary of great beads around his neck.
Martin-Guerre introduced him under the name of Lactance.
"Lactance," he added, "has already served under the orders of Monsieur de Coligny, who was sorry to lose him, and will give Monseigneur a very favorable account of him. But Lactance is a devout Catholic, and was very averse to serving under a commander who is tainted with heresy."
Lactance, without a word, signified his assent by motions of his head and hands to what Martin had said, who thereupon continued:—
"This pious veteran will, as his duty requires, put forth his best efforts to give satisfaction to Vicomte d'Exmès; but he asks that every facility may be granted him for the unrestricted and rigorous practice of those religious observances which his eternal welfare demands. Being compelled by the profession of arms which he has adopted and by his natural inclination to fight against his brothers in Jesus Christ, and to slay as many of them as possible, Lactance wisely considers it essential to atone for these unavoidable deeds of blood by stern self-chastisement. The more ferocious Lactance is in battle the more devout is he at Mass; and he despairs of counting the number of fasts and penances which have been imposed upon him for the dead and wounded whom he has sent before their time to the foot of the Lord's throne."
"Lactance the devotee, accepted!" said Gabriel, with a smile.
Lactance, still silent, bowed low, and went out, mumbling a grateful prayer to the Most High for having granted him the favor of being employed by so valiant a warrior.
After Lactance, Martin-Guerre brought forward, under the name of Yvonnet, a young man of medium height, of refined and distinguished features, and with small, well-cared-for hands. From his ruffles to his boots, his attire was not only scrupulously clean and neat, but even rather jaunty. He made a most courteous salutation to Gabriel, and stood before him in a position as graceful as it was elegant, lightly brushing off with his hand a few grains of dust from his right sleeve.
"This, Monseigneur, is the most determined fellow of them all," said Martin-Guerre. "Yvonnet, in a hand-to-hand contest, is like an unchained lion, whose course nothing can arrest; he will cut and thrust in a sort of frenzy. But he shines especially in an assault; he must always be the first to put his foot on the first ladder, and plant the first French banner on the enemy's walls."
"Why, he is a real hero, then!" said Gabriel.
"I do my best," rejoined Yvonnet, modestly; "and Monsieur Martin-Guerre, doubtless, rates my feeble efforts somewhat above their real worth."
"No; I only do you justice," said Martin, "and I will prove it by calling attention to your faults, now that I have praised your virtues. Yvonnet, Monseigneur, is the fearless devil that I have described only on the battlefield. To arouse his courage he must hear drums beating, arrows whistling, and cannon thundering; without those stimulants and in every-day life Yvonnet is retiring, easily moved, and nervous as a young girl. His sensitiveness demands the greatest delicacy; he doesn't like to remain alone in the darkness, he has a horror of mice and spiders, and frequently swoons for a mere scratch. His bellicose ardor, in fact, shows itself only when the smell of powder and the sight of blood intoxicate him."
"Never mind," said Gabriel; "as we propose to escort him to scenes of carnage, and not to a ball, Yvonnet the scrupulous is accepted."
Yvonnet saluted Vicomte d'Exmès according to all the rules of good-breeding, and took his leave, smiling and twirling the ends of his fine black mustache with his white hand.
Two huge blonds succeeded him, of quiet demeanor, and stiff as ramrods. One appeared to be about forty; the other could scarcely have passed his twenty-fifth year.
"Heinrich Scharfenstein, and Frantz Scharfenstein, his nephew," Martin-Guerre announced.
"The deuce! Who are these?" said Gabriel, in amazement. "Who are you, my good fellows?"
"Wir versteen nur ein wenig das franzosich" ("We only understand French a little"), said the elder of the giants.
"What?" asked Gabriel.
"We understand French poorly," the younger Colossus replied.
"They are Germanreîtres," said Martin-Guerre,—"in Italian,condottieri; in French,soldats. They sell their arms to the highest bidder, and hold their courage at a fair price. They have already served the Spaniards and the English; but the Spaniard didn't pay promptly enough, and the Briton haggled too much. Buy them, Monseigneur, and you will find you have made a great acquisition. They will never discuss an order, and will march up to the mouth of a cannon with unalterablesang-froid. Courage is with them a matter of bargain and sale; and provided that they receive their wages promptly, they will submit without a word of complaint to the dangerous, it may be fatal, chances of their kind of business."
"Well, I will retain these mechanics of glory," said Gabriel; "and for greater security I will pay them a month's wages in advance. But time presses; let me see the others."
Glimpses at Divers Men of the Sword.
Glimpses at Divers Men of the Sword.
Glimpses at Divers Men of the Sword.
The two German Goliaths, carrying their hands to their hats in soldierly style and as if mechanically, withdrew together, keeping step with perfect precision.
"The next is named Pilletrousse," said Martin; "here he is."
A sort of brigand, with a wild look about him and torn clothes, came in, swaying from side to side in an embarrassed way, eying Gabriel as if he were his judge.
"What makes you look so ashamed, Pilletrousse?" asked Martin, encouragingly. "Monseigneur here asked me to find some men of brave heart for him. You are a little more pronounced than the others; but really you have nothing to blush for."
Then he continued, addressing his master, in a serious tone:—
"Pilletrousse, Monseigneur, is what we call aroutier. In the general war against the Spaniards and English he has up to this time fought on his own account. Pilletrousse haunts the high-roads, which are crowded nowadays with foreign robbers, and, in brief, he robs the robbers. As for his fellow-countrymen, he not only respects but protects them. Then, too, Pilletrousse fights and wins; he does not steal,—he lives on prize-money, not by theft. Nevertheless he has felt the necessity of confining his roving profession within more definite limits, and of harrying the enemies of France in less arbitrary fashion. Therefore he has eagerly accepted my suggestion that he should enrol himself under the banner of Vicomte d'Exmès."
"And I," said Gabriel, "will receive him on your statement, Martin-Guerre, on condition that he will no longer make the high-roads and by-ways the scene of his exploits, but will transfer it to fortified towns and the battle-field."
"Thank Monseigneur, blackguard! you are one of us," said Martin-Guerre to theroutier, for whom, scamp though he was, he seemed to have a sort of weakness.
"Oh, yes, thank you, Monseigneur," said Pilletrousse, effusively. "I promise never again to fight single-handed against two or three, but always not less than ten."
"Very well," said Gabriel.
He who came after Pilletrousse was a pale fellow, of sad and careworn appearance, who seemed to look upon things in general with melancholy and discouragement. The finishing touch was put to the gloomy cast of his face by the seams and scars with which it was abundantly ornamented.
Martin-Guerre brought forward this the seventh and last of his recruits under the name of Malemort.
"Monseigneur le Vicomte d'Exmès," said he, "will be truly culpable if he rejects poor Malemort. He is, in truth, the victim of a sincere and profound passion for Bellona, to speak in mythological phrase. But this passion has heretofore been very unlucky. The poor fellow has a very pronounced and well-educated taste for war; he takes no pleasure except in fighting, and is only happy in the midst of great slaughter; but so far, alas! he has tasted happiness only with his lips. He has a way of plunging so blindly and madly into the thickest of the fray that he is always sure to receive some cut or slash at the first leap, which puts himhors de combat, and sends him to the hospital, where he lies during the remainder of the battle, groaning more over his enforced absence than from the pain of his wound. His body is one great scar; but he is vigorous yet, thank God!—he always gets well promptly. But he has to wait then for another opportunity. His long unsatisfied desire wears more upon him than the loss of all the blood he has so gloriously shed. Monseigneur, you must see that you ought not to deprive this melancholy warrior of a pleasure which may be productive of mutual benefit."
"Well, I accept Malemort very gladly, my dear Martin," said Gabriel.
A smile of satisfaction passed across Malemort's pale face. Hope caused his dull eyes to glisten; and he hastened to join his comrades with a much quicker step than when he entered the room.
"Are these all whom you have to present?" Gabriel asked his squire.
"Yes, Monseigneur; I have no others to offer at this moment. I hardly dared to hope that Monseigneur would accept them all."
"I should have been hard to suit indeed, had I not," said Gabriel; "your judgment is good and sure, Martin. Accept my congratulations upon your excellent selections."
"Well," said Martin-Guerre, modestly, "I do like to think that Malemort, Pilletrousse, the two Scharfensteins, Lactance, Yvonnet, and Ambrosio are not just the sort of fellows to be looked upon with contempt."
"I should think not!" said Gabriel. "What rough diamonds they are!"
"If Monseigneur," Martin continued, "should be willing to add to their number Landry, Chesnel, Aubriot, Contamine, and Balu, veterans of the war in Lorraine, I rather think that with Monseigneur at our head, and four or five of our people from here to wait upon us, we should have a pretty fine party to show to our friends, and better still, to our enemies."
"Yes, to be sure," said Gabriel; "arms and heads of iron! You must arm and equip these fine fellows with the least possible delay, Martin. But you have done enough for to-day. You have made good use of your time, my friend, and I thank you for it. My day, although it has been an active and painful one, is not yet ended."
"Where is Monseigneur going this evening?" asked Martin-Guerre.
"To the Louvre, to wait upon Monsieur de Guise, who expects me at eight o'clock," said Gabriel, rising. "But thanks to your prompt zeal, Martin, I hope that some of the difficulties which might have arisen in my interview with the duke are removed beforehand."
"Oh, I am very happy to know it, Monseigneur!"
"And so am I, Martin. You can't dream how necessary it is that I should succeed! Oh, I will succeed!"
The noble youth repeated in his heart as he walked to the door to take his way to the Louvre,—
"Yes, I will save you, dear father; my own Diane, I will save you!"
Let us in imagination pass over sixty leagues of space and two weeks of time, and return to Calais toward the close of November, 1557.
Twenty-five days had not elapsed since Vicomte d'Exmès's departure when a messenger from him presented himself at the gates of the English city.
This man asked to be taken to the governor, Lord Wentworth, that he might place in his hands the ransom of his former prisoner.
This messenger seemed to be extremely awkward, and very imprudent; for it was of no use to show him which way to go. Twenty times he passed without entering the great gate which they almost split their throats in their endeavors to point out to him, and he stupidly persisted in knocking at disused posterns and gates; so that the idiot actually made almost the complete circuit of the exterior fortifications of the place.
At last, by dint of directions, each more exact than the last, he consented to allow himself to be put upon the right course; and so great was the power, even in those far-off days, of the magic words, "I have ten thorn sand crowns for the governor," that as soon as rigorous precautions had been observed, and the man had been searched, and Lord Wentworth's orders taken, the bearer of so considerable a sum was readily allowed to enter the city.
Decidedly the Golden Age is the only one in history that was not an age of money!
This stupid envoy of Gabriel lost his way again more than once in the streets of Calais before he succeeded in finding the governor's mansion, which was pointed out to him, however, every hundred paces by some compassionate soul. He seemed to have an idea that he ought to ask every party of guards that he met where he could find Lord Wentworth, and then he would hasten in the direction indicated.
After wasting an hour in traversing a space which should have occupied ten minutes at most, he succeeded at last in reaching the governor's residence.
He was ushered almost immediately into the presence of Lord Wentworth, who received him with his air of accustomed gravity, which seemed almost to be positively gloomy on this occasion.
When he had explained the purpose of his mission and had placed a bag filled with gold upon the table, the Englishman asked,—
"Did Vicomte d'Exmès simply instruct you to hand me this money, and add no message for me?"
Pierre (so the messenger was called) looked at Lord Wentworth with an open-mouthed astonishment which did little credit to his natural talents.
"My Lord," said he at last, "I have no commission to execute with you except to hand you the ransom. At least my master gave me no further instructions; and I do not understand—"
"Oh, it's all right!" Lord Wentworth interposed with a disdainful smile. "I see that Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès has become more reasonable since I last saw him. I congratulate him that such is the case. The air of the court of France induces forgetfulness! so much the better for those who breathe it!"
He muttered beneath his breath as if speaking to himself,—
"Indeed, the power to forget is often the better half of happiness!"
"Has my Lord any message to send to my master?" rejoined the messenger, who seemed to listen with a very careless and stupid air to these melancholy asides of the Briton.
"I have nothing to say to Monsieur d'Exmès, since he sends no word to me," retorted Lord Wentworth, dryly. "You may say to him, however, if you choose, that for another month—that is, until January 1, do you understand-I shall be at his service in both my capacities, as a gentleman and as governor of Calais. He will understand."
"Until January 1?" Pierre repeated. "I will tell him, my Lord."
"Very good! here is your receipt, my friend, and a trifle besides, as a slight recompense for the tedium of your long journey. Take it, pray!"
The man, who seemed at first to have some scruples, thought better of them, and accepted the purse that Lord Wentworth offered him.
"Thanks, my Lord," said he. "Will my Lord grant me still another favor?"
"What is that?" asked the governor.
"Vicomte d'Exmès contracted another debt during his stay here, to one of the citizens of the town, named—what was his name?—Pierre Peuquoy, whose guest he was."
"Well?" said Lord Wentworth.
"Will my Lord allow me to seek out this Pierre Peuquoy presently, to repay the amount he advanced?"
"To be sure," said the governor. "I will send some one to show you his house. Here is your passport to leave Calais. I should be glad to allow you to remain here a few days; but the regulations strictly forbid our entertaining a stranger, especially a Frenchman. Adieu, then, my friend, and a pleasant journey to you!"
"Adieu, my Lord, with many thanks."
On leaving the governor's house, the messenger, not without going astray a dozen times, made his way to Rue du Martroi, where our readers may remember that Pierre Peuquoy the armorer dwelt.
Gabriel's envoy found Pierre Peuquoy in his workshop more cast down even than Lord Wentworth in his palace. He was received with marked indifference by the armorer, who mistook him at first for a mechanic.
But when the new-comer announced himself as having come on behalf of Vicomte d'Exmès, the good burgher's face suddenly brightened up.
"From Vicomte d'Exmès!" he cried.
Then turning to one of his apprentices, who was within hearing, putting things to rights in the shop, he said carelessly,—
"Quentin, leave us and tell my cousin Jean that a messenger from Vicomte d'Exmès has arrived."
The discomfited apprentice left the room to obey his master's orders.
"Now you can speak, my friend," rejoined Pierre Peuquoy, eagerly. "Oh, we were sure that the noble lord would not forget us! Speak at once, I beg! What do you bring us from him?"
"His compliments and gratitude, this purse of gold, and these words, 'Remember the 5th!' which he said you would understand."
"Is that all?" asked Pierre Peuquoy.
"Everything, Master. They are very exacting in this neighborhood," thought the messenger. "They scarcely seem to care for good golden crowns; but they have some mysterious secrets which the Devil himself could not understand."
"There are three of us in this house," continued the armorer; "my cousin Jean and my sister Babette as well as myself. You have executed your commission so far as I am concerned; but have you no other for Babette or Jean?"
Jean Peuquoy the weaver entered the shop just in time to hear Gabriel's messenger reply,—
"I have nothing to say to anybody but you, Master Pierre Peuquoy, and to you I have said all that I was commanded to say."
"Very well! You see, brother," said Pierre, turning to Jean, "Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès is grateful to us; he returns our money with all due promptitude. Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès sends this message to us, 'Remember!' but he himself does not remember!"
"Alas!" sighed a weak, piteous voice behind the curtain.
It was poor Babette, who had heard all.
"One moment," rejoined Jean, who persisted in hoping against hope. "My friend," he continued, addressing the messenger, "if you are of Monsieur d'Exmès's household, you must know one of his retainers and your fellow-servant named Martin-Guerre?"
"Martin-Guerre? Yes, to be sure, Martin-Guerre, the squire. Yes, I know him, Master."
"Is he still in Monsieur d'Exmès's service?"
"He is."
"Did he know that you were coming to Calais?"
"He did know it," the man replied. "He was present, I remember, when I left Monsieur d'Exmès's house. He accompanied me with his—with our master as far as the city-gate, and saw me well on my way."
"And did he give you no message for me, or for any one in this house?"
"Nothing at all, I tell you again."
"Now don't lose your patience, Pierre," continued Jean. "My friend, perhaps Martin-Guerre enjoined upon you to deliver your message privately? But you may as well understand that all precautions are of no avail. We know the truth now. The suffering of—the person to whom Martin-Guerre owes reparation has opened our eyes to everything; so you may speak freely before us. And yet if you still have some doubts upon this point, we will withdraw; and the person to whom I alluded, and whom Martin-Guerre indicated to you, will come and talk with you privately at once."
"By my faith!" said the messenger, "I swear to you that I don't understand one word of all your talk."
"That is enough, and you may as well be content, Jean," cried Pierre Peuquoy, whose eyes were inflamed with anger. "By the memory of my father, Jean! I cannot conceive what pleasure you can take in dwelling upon the insult which has been put upon us."
Jean sadly bowed his head without speaking, for there was only too much reason in what his cousin said.
"Will you be kind enough to count this money?" asked the messenger, who was rather ill at ease in the part he was playing.
"It is not worth the trouble," said Jean, who was more composed, though no less depressed than Pierre. "Take this for yourself, my friend. I will bring you food and drink as well."
"Thanks for the money," returned the envoy, who seemed, nevertheless, decidedly loath to take it. "As for eating and drinking, I am neither hungry nor thirsty, for I breakfasted at Nieullay. I must take my leave at once, for your governor has forbidden my making a long stay in the city."
"We will not detain you, then, my friend," said Jean. "Adieu! Say to Martin-Guerre—but no! we have nought to say to him. Say to Monsieur d'Exmès that we are grateful to him, and that we will remember the 5th. But we hope that he, as well, will remember."
"Listen to me a moment," added Pierre Peuquoy, emerging for the time from his gloomy meditation. "You may also say to your master that we will continue to await him for another month. In that space of time you will be able to return to Paris, and he to send some one hither; but if the present year comes to an end without our hearing from him, we shall believe that his heart has ceased to remember, and we shall be as sorry for him as for ourselves. An upright and honorable gentleman, who is so sure in his memory of money loaned, ought to remember still more tenaciously secrets intrusted to him. With that, my friend, adieu."
"May God keep you!" said Gabriel's messenger, as he rose to depart. "All your questions and all your messages shall be faithfully reported to my master."
Jean Peuquoy accompanied the man to the door, while Pierre remained despondently in his corner.
The lounging messenger, after making many a détour, and losing his way many more times in this perplexing city of Calais, where he had so much difficulty in finding his way about, at last reached the principal gate, showed his passport, and was allowed to pass through after being carefully searched.
He walked for three quarters of an hour at a quick pace without a halt, and did not slacken his gait until he was fully a league from the city.
Then he permitted himself a short rest, and sitting on a patch of turf, seemed to be lost in thought, while a satisfied smile shone in his eyes and lurked about his lips.
"I don't know what there is in that city of Calais," he mused, "to make each man more melancholy than his neighbor, and more mysterious. Wentworth seemed to have an account to settle with Monsieur d'Exmès, and the Peuquoys surely have some grudge against Martin-Guerre. But what have I to do with that? I am not sad, by any means! I have what I want and what I need! Not a stroke of the pen, and not a scrap of paper, it is true; but everything is impressed upon my memory, and with the aid of Monsieur d'Exmès's plan I can easily reproduce the whole place, which has such a depressing effect upon others, but the memory of which makes me equally light-hearted."
In his imagination he ran over all the streets and boulevards and fortified positions, to which his affected stupidity had led him so conveniently.
"It is all there," said he, "as plain and clear as though I had it before my eyes at this moment. The Duc de Guise will be well pleased. Thanks to this little expedition, and to the invaluable suggestions of the captain of his Majesty's Guards, we may bring our dear Vicomte d'Exmès, also his squire, and with a strong force at their back, to the rendezvous appointed by Lord Wentworth and Pierre Peuquoy for a month hence. In six weeks, with the help of God, and favorable circumstances, we shall be masters of Calais, or I will lose my name there!"
And our readers will agree that the latter alternative would indeed have been calamitous, when they learn that this name was that of Maréchal Pierre Strozzi, one of the most celebrated and skilful engineers of the sixteenth century.
After a few moments' rest, Pierre Strozzi resumed his journey, as if he were in great haste to be back at Paris. He thought much about Calais, but very little about its inhabitants.
Our readers doubtless have divined why Pierre Strozzi had found Lord Wentworth in such bitter and angry mood, and why the governor of Calais spoke so haughtily and ironically of Vicomte d'Exmès.
It was because Madame de Castro's detestation of him seemed to increase from day to day.
When he would send to ask her leave to call upon her, she would always try to find an excuse for putting him off. But if she were sometimes compelled to submit to the infliction of his presence, her cold and formal reception betrayed only too plainly her feeling toward him, and left him more despairing on each successive occasion.
However, he had not yet grown weary in his love for her. With nothing to hope for, he still did not despair. He desired, at least, to comport himself toward Diane as became the perfect gentleman who had left behind at the court of Mary of England a reputation for most exquisite refinement and courtesy. He overwhelmed his fair captive with his attentions. She was waited upon with the utmost consideration and regal luxury. He had given her a French page, and had engaged for her one of those Italian musicians who were in such high repute at the period of the Renaissance. Sometimes Diane would find in her apartments dresses and ornaments of enormous value, which Lord Wentworth had caused to be sent from London for her; but she never noticed them.
On one occasion he gave a great fête in her honor at which he assembled all the notable English there were in Calais or in France. His invitations even crossed the channel; but Madame de Castro obstinately refused to appear.
Lord Wentworth, being repulsed with such coldness and disdain, said to himself day after day that it would surely be much better for his peace of mind to accept the princely ransom which Henri II. offered, and give Diane her freedom.
But by doing so he would give her up to the welcome embraces of Gabriel d'Exmès, and the Briton could never find in his heart sufficient strength and courage to make so great a sacrifice possible.
"No! no!" he would say to himself, "if she will not be mine, at all events she shall belong to nobody else!"
While he was thus irresolute and suffering, the days and weeks rolled away.
On the 31st of December, 1557, Lord Wentworth had succeeded in making his way into Madame de Castro's apartments. We have said before that he could scarcely breathe elsewhere, although he always left her more melancholy and more in love than ever; but to see Diane, stern though her glance might be, and to hear her voice, however ironical its tones, had become the most imperious necessity for him.
He remained standing while they talked, and she sat before the high chimney-piece.
They talked upon the one harrowing subject which united them and kept them asunder at the same time.
"Suppose, Madame," said the passionate governor, "that at last, beside myself on account of your cruelty, and enraged by your contempt, I should forget that I am a gentleman and your host?"
"You would dishonor yourself, my Lord, but would cast no stain upon me," Diane replied firmly.
"We shall be dishonored together," Lord Wentworth retorted. "You are in my power! Where will you find shelter?"
"Mon Dieu! in death," she calmly replied.
Lord Wentworth turned pale and shuddered. That he should cause the death of such as Diane!
"Such obstinacy is not natural," he added, shaking his head. "In reality you would be afraid to drive me to extremities, if you did not still cling to some insane hope, Madame. You are always dwelling upon the happening of some impossible event. Come, tell me, from whom can you be expecting succor at this hour?"
"From God, from the king—" Diane replied.
There was a sort of rising inflection in her voice and in her thought as well,—a hesitation which Lord Wentworth knew only too well how to interpret.
"She is doubtless thinking of that d'Exmès," he said to himself.
But it was a dangerous memory which he did not dare to touch upon or to arouse.
He contented himself with the bitter rejoinder,—
"Yes, count upon the king and upon God! But if God had thought fit to help you, Madame. He would have come to your rescue the very first day, I should think! and here a year has passed away, ending to-day, during which you have not felt the benefit of His protection."
"Then I will rest my hopes on the year which begins to-morrow," replied Diane, raising her lovely eyes to heaven, as if imploring aid from on high.
"As for the King of France, your father," Lord Wentworth continued, "I imagine that he has on hand matters of sufficient moment to occupy all his power and engross the whole of his thoughts. France is in even greater peril than his daughter."
"Ah, it is you who say that!" Diane retorted in a tone of doubt.
"Lord Wentworth does not lie, Madame. Do you know in what condition your august father's affairs are?"
"How can I know in this prison?" Diane replied, who nevertheless could not forbear a movement which betokened interest.
"You have only to ask me," Lord Wentworth rejoined, delighted to be listened to willingly for a moment, even as the bearer of evil tidings. "Well, then, you must know that the return of the Duc de Guise to Paris has in no way ameliorated the situation of France as yet. Some troops have been recruited, and a few places reinforced,—nothing more. At the present moment there is hesitation and uncertainty everywhere. Their full military strength, concentrated on the northern frontier, has succeeded in stopping the triumphant progress of the Spaniards; but the French generals are undertaking nothing on their own account. Will they attack Luxembourg? Will they make a descent on Picardy? Nobody knows. Will they try to retake St. Quentin, or Ham—?"
"Or Calais," Diane interposed, fixing her eyes keenly upon the governor, to note the effect upon his features of this chance shot.
But Lord Wentworth did not even frown; he said with a proud smile,—
"Oh, Madame, allow me to lay that question aside without considering it. One who has any idea at all of warfare will not admit for a moment such an insane supposition; and Monsieur le Duc de Guise has had too much experience to expose himself by such an extraordinary and impracticable undertaking to the ridicule of every man in Europe who wears a sword."
At that moment there was some confusion at the door, and an archer rushed in without ceremony.
Lord Wentworth went to meet him, much irritated.
"What is the meaning of your daring to interrupt me thus?" he demanded.
"Pardon me, my Lord," the archer replied. "Lord Derby sent me to you in all haste."
"And for what pressing reason? Come, explain yourself!"
"Information has been received by Lord Derby that an advance-guard of two thousand French arquebusiers was seen yesterday two leagues from Calais, and his Lordship sent me to notify my Lord at once."
"Aha!" cried Diane, who made no attempt to conceal her satisfaction.
But Lord Wentworth coolly said to the archer,—
"And was it for this only that you have had the impudence to follow me here, villain?"
"My Lord," said the poor devil, in his stupefaction, "Lord Derby—"
"Lord Derby," the governor interposed, "is a short-sighted individual, who takes mounds of earth for mountains. Go and tell him so from me."
"How about the guards, my Lord, which Lord Derby ordered doubled as quickly as possible?"
"Let them remain as they are, and bother me no more with these ridiculous phantoms!"
The archer bowed respectfully and left the room.
"Nevertheless, my Lord," said Diane de Castro, "you see that in the opinion of one of your ablest lieutenants, my insane prevision is capable of being realized to the full."
"I feel more than ever constrained to undeceive you upon this point," Lord Wentworth responded with imperturbable coolness. "I can give you the explanation of this false alarm in two words, nor can I conceive how Lord Derby allowed himself to be deceived by it."
"Let us see," said Madame de Castro, intensely eager for light upon a subject upon which her whole life seemed to be concentrated.
"Very well, Madame," continued Lord Wentworth; "one of two things has happened: either Messieurs de Guise and de Nevers, who are, I admit, skilful and prudent commanders, mean to revictual Ardres and Boulogne, and are on their way thither with the troops whose presence has been announced, or else they are making a feint against Calais for the purpose of calming the fears of Ham and St. Quentin, and mean to try to take one of those towns by surprise, by suddenly retracing their steps."
"But how do you know, Monsieur," rejoined Madame de Castro, with more rashness than discretion,—"how do you know, pray, that their feint has not been made against Ham or St. Quentin, in order to surprise Calais more effectually?"
Fortunately she had to deal with an immovable conviction, rooted upon national and personal pride as well.
"I have already had the honor of assuring you, Madame," said Lord Wentworth, disdainfully, "that Calais is one of those places that cannot possibly be surprised or taken; before it can even be approached, Fort Ste. Agathe must be carried, and the fort of Nieullay as well. To carry all these posts would take a fortnight at least of unvarying success; and during those fifteen days England would be warned of the danger, and would have ample time—yes, fifteen times what would be necessary—to pour forth all her might to rescue her precious city. Take Calais! Ah, I cannot help laughing at the bare idea!"
Madame de Castro, wounded to the quick, bitterly retorted,—
"The source of my sorrow is to you a source of delight. How can you suppose that our souls could ever understand each other?"
"But, Madame," cried Lord Wentworth, growing pale, "I only wished to destroy those delusive imaginings of yours which keep us asunder. I wished to prove to you as clearly as the sun shines that you are feeding upon chimeras, and that the French court must have gone mad before such an attempt as you are dreaming of could ever be imagined there."
"There is such a thing as heroic madness, my Lord," said Diane, proudly; "and I am sure that there are great-souled men too, whose love of glory—nay, whose simple devotion would prevent them from drawing back from such sublime extravagance."
"Oh, yes!—Monsieur d'Exmès, for example!" cried Wentworth, carried away by jealous fury which he could no longer restrain.
"Who told you of that name?" asked Madame de Castro, in amazement.
"Confess, Madame," the governor rejoined, "that you have had that name upon your lips ever since the beginning of this interview, and that in your inmost heart when you were invoking the aid of God and your father you were also thinking of this third liberator."
"Am I obliged to render an account of my thoughts to you?" said Diane.
"You need render no account to me, for I know all," replied the governor. "I know some things of which you have no idea, Madame, and which it suits my pleasure to tell you to-day, to show you how little you can build upon the ecstatic passion of these romantic lovers. Notably, I know that Vicomte d'Exmès was made a prisoner at St. Quentin when you were, and was brought here to Calais at the same time with you."
"Can it be?" cried Diane, astounded beyond measure.
"Oh, there is more than that, Madame! Otherwise I should have told you nothing. For two months Monsieur d'Exmès has been at liberty."
"And I never knew that a friend was suffering with me, and so near me!" said Diane.
"You did not know it, but he did, Madame," said the governor. "I must confess that when he first learned the fact he exhausted himself in terrible threats against me. Not only did he challenge me to single combat, but—as you foresaw, with a charming sympathy—carrying his love to the point of madness, he declared to my face his determination to take Calais."
"My hopes are greater than ever, then," said Diane.
"Don't hope for too much, Madame," said Lord Wentworth; "for once more I tell you, since Monsieur d'Exmès addressed his appalling farewell to me six months have passed. To be sure, I have had news from my aggressor in that time. At the end of November he sent me, with scrupulous promptness, the amount of his ransom; but not a word of his haughty defiance."
"Wait, my Lord," Diane retorted. "Monsieur d'Exmès will find a way to pay his debts of every description."
"I doubt it, Madame, for the day of maturity will soon be past."
"What do you mean?" asked Madame de Castro.
"I sent word, Madame, to Vicomte d'Exmès, by the messenger who came to me from him, that I would await the fulfilment of his double challenge until the 1st of January, 1558. It is now Dec. 31, 1557."
"Well, then," Diane interrupted him, "he has twelve hours still."
"True, Madame," responded Wentworth; "but if I hear nothing from him by to-morrow at this hour—"
He did not finish his sentence. Lord Derby at this moment burst into the room in terror.
"My Lord," he cried, "I was right! It was the French, and they are marching upon Calais!"
"Nonsense!" rejoined Wentworth, changing color in spite of himself,—"nonsense! It is impossible! Who says it is so? More rumors and gossip and fanciful alarms?"
"Alas! no, but facts, unfortunately," Lord Derby replied.
"Not so loud, Derby; don't speak so loud," said the governor, approaching his lieutenant. "Come, come, be cool! What do you mean by your facts?"
Lord Derby replied in a low voice, in accordance with the request of his superior officer, who did not choose to show any signs of weakness before Diane.
"The French attacked Fort Ste. Agathe unexpectedly. Nothing was in readiness to resist their assault,—neither walls nor men; and I am much afraid that they are by this time masters of the first line of fortifications of Calais."
"They will still be a long way off from us," said Lord Wentworth, eagerly.
"Yes," rejoined Lord Derby; "but they will meet with no obstacle after that until they reach the bridge of Nieullay; and the bridge of Nieullay is two miles from this place."
"Have you sent reinforcements to our outposts, Derby?"
"Yes, my Lord, pardon me, without your orders,—nay, in spite of your orders."
"You have done well," said Lord Wentworth.
"Bub the reinforcements will have arrived too late."
"Who knows? Let us not be alarmed. You must go with me at once to Nieullay. We will make these rash rascals pay dear for their audacity; and if they already hold Ste. Agathe, why, we shall be free to drive them out of it."
"God grant it!" said Lord Derby; "but they have begun the game manfully."
"We will have our revenge!" replied Wentworth. "Who commands them, do you know?"
"It is not known,—probably Monsieur de Guise, or Monsieur de Nevers, at least. The ensign who rode here at full speed to bring the almost incredible news of their sudden appearance told me only that he recognized at a distance, in the front rank, your former prisoner, you remember, Vicomte d'Exmès—"
"Damnation!" cried the governor, clinching his fists. "Come, Derby, come quickly!"
Madame de Castro, with her senses sharpened, as they are apt to be at important crises, had heard almost all of Lord Derby's report, although made in a low voice.
When Lord Wentworth took leave of her, he said—
"You will excuse me, Madame; I must leave you, as business of importance—"
"Go, my Lord," she interrupted, not without a tinge of malice in her tone; "go, and try to re-establish your supremacy, which is cruelly threatened. But remember, meanwhile, two things: first, that the greatest delusions are just the ones that are not doubtful; and in the second place, that you can always rely upon the word of a French gentleman. It is not yet the 1st of January, my Lord."
Lord Wentworth, in a fury of rage, left the room without replying.
Lord Derby was quite right in his conjectures. This is what had happened:—
The troops of Monsieur de Nevers, having made a rapid junction during the night with those of the Duc de Guise, had arrived unexpectedly by forced marches before Fort Ste. Agathe. Three thousand arquebusiers, supported by twenty-five or thirty horsemen, had carried the fort in less than an hour.
Lord Wentworth and Lord Derby reached the fort of Nieullay only in time to see their forces fleeing across the bridge to seek shelter behind the second, stronger line of fortifications of Calais.
But when the first moment of bewilderment had passed, we must admit that Lord Wentworth bore himself valiantly and well. After all, his was a noble soul, in which the pride for which his race was noted had implanted marvellous vigor.
"These Frenchmen must indeed be mad!" he said in perfect seriousness to Lord Derby. "But we will make them pay dear for their madness. Two centuries ago Calais held out a year against the English, and in their hands maintained a siege of ten years. However, we shall have no need to put forth such endurance as that. Before the end of the week, Derby, you will see the enemy beating an inglorious retreat. He has taken everything that he can carry by surprise. Now we are on our guard. So be reassured, and laugh with me at this blunder on the part of Monsieur de Guise."
"Do you mean to send to England for reinforcements?" asked Lord Derby.
"What need is there of doing so?" was the governor's proud reply. "If our reckless foes persist in their rash undertaking, in less than three days, and while Nieullay still holds them in check, all the Spanish and English forces in France will come to our assistance of their own motion. And if these haughty invaders seem to be hopelessly obstinate, why, a message sent to Dover will bring us ten thousand men in twenty-four hours. But until then let us not do them too much honor by showing too much alarm. Our nine hundred soldiers and our strong walls will give them all the work they want. They will not penetrate beyond the bridge of Nieullay!"
Nevertheless, on the following day, January 1, 1558, the French were already masters of that bridge which Lord Wentworth had designated as the utmost limit of their advance. They had opened trenches during the night, and before noon they were battering the bridge to pieces.
It was to the terrible and regular accompaniment of the double cannonading that a solemn and gloomy family drama was being enacted in the old Peuquoy dwelling.
As the urgent questions addressed by Pierre Peuquoy to Gabriel's messenger have doubtless given the reader to understand, Babette had not been able long to hide from her brother and her cousin her tears and their moving cause.