"Wait one moment, I beg, O most impatient youth!" said Le Balafré. "In consideration of these three eminent services which I have rendered you, which Monsieur de Vaudemont has verified, I have well earned the right to demand a favor at your hands. I ask you then, as you are about to start so soon for Paris, to take with you and present to the king the keys of the city of Calais—"
"Oh, Monseigneur!" Gabriel interrupted, in an outburst of gratitude.
"You will not find that a very burdensome duty, I fancy," said the duke. "Besides, you are used to commissions of this sort, for you know I intrusted to your care the flags captured in our Italian campaign."
"Ah, how well you understand the art of doubling the force of your kind deeds by your manner of performing them!" cried the enraptured Gabriel.
"Further than that," continued the duke, "you will hand to his Majesty at the same time a copy of the capitulation, and this letter, which I wrote this morning from beginning to end with my own hand despite the orders of Master Ambroise Paré. But you see," he added significantly, "no one could possibly have done you justice, Gabriel, or asked that justice be done you by others, with so much assurance as myself. Now I trust you will be satisfied with me, and that the result of what I have done will be that you will have nothing with which to reproach the king. Here, my friend, are the keys and the letter. I have no need to charge you to take care of them."
"And I, Monseigneur, have no need to say that I am yours in life and death," said Gabriel, in a voice choked with emotion.
He took the little box of carved wood and the sealed letter which the duke handed him. They were the priceless talismans which might perhaps be the means of procuring for him his father's freedom and his own happiness.
"Now I will not detain you longer," said the Duc de Guise. "You are probably in haste to be on your way; and I, less fortunate than you, find myself, after this morning of excitement, in a state of weariness, which enjoins rest upon me even more imperiously than Master Ambroise Paré."
"Adieu, then; and once more, Monseigneur, accept my heartfelt thanks," said Vicomte d'Exmès.
At this moment Monsieur de Thermes, whom the Duc de Guise had sent to Lord Wentworth, hurried into the room in a state of great excitement.
"Ah," said the duke to Gabriel, "our ambassador to the victor need not set out without an interview with our ambassador to the vanquished. But how's this," he added, "what's the matter, De Thermes? You seem to be greatly distressed."
"So I am, indeed, Monseigneur," said Monsieur de Thermes.
"Why, what has happened?" asked Le Balafré. "Has Lord Wentworth—"
"Lord Wentworth, to whom, Monseigneur, in accordance with your commands, I announced his release and returned his sword, accepted the act of grace coldly and without a word. I was just leaving him in amazement at such discourteous behavior, when I heard a loud cry, which made me hasten back. The first use he had made of his freedom was to run himself through the body with the sword he had just received at my hands. He had killed himself instantly, and I found only his dead body."
"Ah," cried the Duc de Guise, "it must have been the despair caused by his defeat which drove him to that extremity. Do you not think so, Gabriel? It is a real misfortune!"
"No, Monseigneur," replied Gabriel, with sorrowful gravity; "no, Lord Wentworth did not die because he had been beaten."
"How's that! what was the reason, then?" asked Le Balafré.
"I beg you to allow me to say nothing as to the real reason," replied Gabriel. "I would have kept the secret if Lord Wentworth had lived, and I must guard it even more carefully now he is no more. However," continued Gabriel, lowering his voice, "in view of this proud act of his, I may confide to you, Monseigneur, that in his place I would have done just as he has. Yes, Lord Wentworth did well; for even if he had had no cause to blush before me, still the conscience of a true gentleman is a sufficiently troublesome creditor to induce one to impose silence upon it at any cost; and when one has the honor to belong to the nobility of a noble country, there are irreparable faults the effects of which can only be avoided by falling-dead as he has done."
"I understand you, Gabriel," said the Duc de Guise. "It only remains for us to pay Lord Wentworth the last honors."
"He is worthy of them," returned Gabriel; "and while I deeply deplore this necessary end of his career, I am glad, nevertheless, that I can still think with esteem and regret, as Intake leave of him on earth, of the man whose guest I was in this city."
When he said farewell to the Duc de Guise a few moments later with renewed acknowledgments, Gabriel went at once to the governor's former residence, where Madame de Castro was still living.
He had not seen Diane since the evening before; but she had quickly learned, in common with all Calais, of Ambroise Paré's fortunate intervention and the safety of the Duc de Guise; so Gabriel found her calm and reassured.
Lovers are always superstitious, and the peace of mind of his well-beloved had a cheering effect upon him.
Diane was naturally still better pleased when Gabriel told her what had taken place between the Duc de Guise and himself, and showed her the letter and the box which had been intrusted to him because of his unremitting labor and his defiance of so many dangers.
But even amid so many causes for gratulation she felt the regret of a Christian at Lord Wentworth's sad end; for though he had, to be sure, abused and insulted her for an hour or two, he had protected and treated her with all due respect for three months.
"May God pardon him as I do!" she said.
Gabriel went on to speak of Martin-Guerre and the Peuquoys, and of the escort which Monsieur de Guise had promised her, Diane, and referred to all her surroundings.
Indeed, he would have been only too glad to find a thousand other subjects of conversation to afford him an excuse for remaining; and yet the engrossing idea which called him to Paris still absorbed his thoughts to a great degree. He longed both to go and to stay; he was at once happy and anxious.
At last, as the hours passed by, Gabriel was obliged to say that he could only postpone his departure for a few moments longer.
"Are you going, Gabrieli Well, it is much better that you should for many reasons," said Diane. "I have not had the courage to speak to you of your departure; and yet by not deferring it you will give me the greatest proof of your affection that it would be possible for me to receive. Yes, my friend, go, so that I may have a shorter time to wait and suffer. Go, so that our fate may be decided as speedily as possible."
"May God bless you for your brave words, which go so far to sustain my courage!" said Gabriel.
"At this very moment," said Diane, "I feel while I am listening to you, as I know you must while speaking to me, an indefinable anxiety. We have been talking of a hundred things, and yet we have not dared to touch upon the matter which really lies nearest to our hearts and our lives. But since you are going in a very few moments, we may now revert without fear to the only subject in which we are really interested."
"Ah, you read my own heart and yours at a single glance!" said Gabriel.
"Listen a moment," said Diane. "Besides the letter you are to deliver to the king from the Duc de Guise, you will give his Majesty this other one from me which I wrote last night. In it I have told him how you saved me and set me free. Thus it will be made clear to him and to all others that you have restored his city to the king, and his daughter to the father. I speak thus; for I fervently trust that Henri II.'s affection for me is not deceptive, and that I have a right to call him my father."
"Dear Diane, God grant that you augur truly!" cried Gabriel.
"I envy you, Gabriel," continued Diane, "because you will lift the veil, and learn our destiny before I shall. However, I shall soon follow you, dear. Since Monsieur de Guise is so kindly disposed towards me, I will ask for an escort to-morrow; and although I shall be forced to travel more leisurely than you, I shall be at Paris a very few days after you."
"Oh, yes, do come soon!" said Gabriel, "for it seems to me as if your presence would bring me good fortune."
"In any event," Diane replied, "I do not want to be entirely separated from you; but I desire that there should be some one to remind you of me from time to time. Since you will be obliged to leave your faithful squire, Martin-Guerre, here, take with you the French page whom Lord Wentworth gave me. André is only a child, scarcely sixteen, and perhaps still younger in disposition than in years; but he is devoted and loyal, and will do you good service. Accept him from me. Amidst the less congenial companions of your suite, he will be a pleasanter and more agreeable attendant for you, and I shall be glad to know that he is always at your side."
"Oh, thanks for such thoughtful consideration," said Gabriel; "but you know that I must depart in a very few moments—"
"André knows my purpose," said Diane. "Oh, if you knew how proud he is to be in your service. He must be all ready now, and I have only a few last instructions to give him. If you go now and take your leave of the good Peuquoys, André will be with you before you quit Calais."
"I will take him with very great pleasure," said Gabriel; "I shall at least have some one with whom I can sometimes converse about you."
"I thought of that," said Madame de Castro, with a slight blush. "But now, adieu," she said earnestly; "we must say adieu."
"Oh, not 'adieu,'" replied Gabriel; "not that sad word which means a long separation; not 'adieu,' butau revoir!"
"Alas!" said Diane, "when and under what circumstances shall we meet again! If the riddle of our destiny be solved contrary to our wishes, will it not be better that we should never see each other more?"
"Oh, don't say so, Diane!" cried Gabriel; "don't say so! Besides, who but myself can inform you of the result, whether it be disastrous or happy?"
"Ah,Dieu!" Diane replied with a shudder, "it seems to me as if, whether it were happy or disastrous, I should die of joy or grief simply upon hearing your lips speak the words."
"But how shall I let you know?" asked Gabriel.
"Wait one moment," replied Diane.
She drew a gold ring from her huger, and took from a chest the nun's veil which she had worn at the Benedictine convent at St. Quentin.
"Listen, Gabriel," said she, in a tone of deep solemnity as she gave them to him; "as it is probable that everything will be settled before I reach Paris, send André to meet me. If God declares himself for us, he will bring back this wedding-ring to the Vicomtesse de Montgommery; but if our hopes are blighted, let him bring this nun's veil to Sister Bénie."
"Oh, let me fall at your feet and adore you as one of the angels from heaven!" cried the young man, touched to the very soul by this affecting proof of her great love.
"No, Gabriel, no, rise from your knees," Diane replied; "let us be steadfast and dignified in God's sight. Press upon my lips a pure brotherly kiss, as I will a sisterly one upon yours, thereby endowing you with faith and strength, so far as my power can go."
In silence they exchanged a sacred, sorrowful kiss.
"And now, my dear," continued Diane, "let us part, for it is time; not saying adieu, since you dread the word, butau revoir, to meet again in this world or the next!"
"Au revoir,au revoir!" murmured Gabriel.
He clasped Diane to his breast in a close embrace, and fastened a long, yearning gaze upon her, as if to draw from her lovely eyes the strength of which he was so much in need.
At last, upon a sorrowful but expressive motion which she made to him, he released her; and placing the ring on his finger and the veil in his bosom, he said once more in a stifled voice,—
"Au revoir, Diane!"
"Gabriel,au revoir!" Diane replied, with a hopeful gesture.
Gabriel fled as if he were a madman.
Half an hour later, with renewed tranquillity, he left behind him the fair city of Calais, which it had been his good fortune to restore to the kingdom of France.
He was on horseback, accompanied by the young page André, who had overtaken him, and by four of his volunteers.
One of these last was Ambrosio, who was very glad to find an opportunity of taking back to Paris with him certain English small wares, which he expected to dispose of to advantage to the habitués of the court.
Another was Pilletrousse, who, in a conquered city, where he was one of the masters and victors, was afraid that he might yield to temptation and recur to his former habits.
Yvonnet was also among them: he had not been able to find in provincial Calais a single tailor worthy his patronage; and his costume had been too seriously injured by the hard usage it had experienced to be presentable,—it could not be replaced suitably except at Paris.
Lactance was the last of the four; he had asked leave to accompany his master so that he might receive his confessor's assurance that his exploits had not exceeded his penances, and that his assets in the shape of self-inflicted austerities would suffice to meet the liabilities he had incurred by his feats of arms.
Pierre and Jean Peuquoy, with Babette, accompanied the five horsemen on foot as far as what was called the Paris gate.
There they were compelled to part. Gabriel said a last farewell to his kind friends, and gave them a warm clasp of his hand; while they, with tears in their eyes, wished him all happiness and showered benedictions upon him.
But the Peuquoys soon lost sight of the little band, who set off at a trot, and disappeared at a turn in the road. The good burghers returned with sad hearts to Martin-Guerre.
Gabriel felt grave and preoccupied, but not sorrowful.
He was hopeful!
Once before Gabriel had left Calais to seek at Paris the solution of the mystery surrounding his destiny. But on that occasion circumstances wore a much less favorable appearance. He was concerned about Martin-Guerre, Babette, and the Peuquoys, and anxious, about Diane, whom he had left behind, a prisoner in the hands of Lord Wentworth, who was in love with her. Then, too, his vague presentiments of the future were but slightly tinged with hope; for he had, after all, done nothing more than prolong the resistance of a town, which was in the end obliged to surrender. Surely, that was hardly an achievement great enough to deserve so great a reward.
But to-day he left behind him no cause for gloomy thoughts. The two wounded men, both so dear to him, his general and his squire, were both saved, and Ambroise Paré guaranteed their recovery; Babette Peuquoy was to marry a man whom she loved, and by whom she was beloved, her honor as well as her future happiness being assured; Madame de Castro was free, and treated like a queen in a French city, and no later than the next day would follow him to Paris.
Last of all, our hero had struggled so long with Fortune that he might well hope that he had at last tired her out; the undertaking which he had carried through triumphantly to its close—conceiving the idea of taking Calais, as well as furnishing the means to accomplish it—was not one of those the value of which admits of discussion or haggling. The key of France restored to the possession of the King of France! Such an exploit most certainly justified the most lofty ambition; and the Vicomte d'Exmès's ambition was no more than a just and holy one.
He was hopeful. The persuasive encouragement and soothing promises of Diane were still ringing in his ears with the last good wishes of the Peuquoys. Gabriel saw about him André—whose presence reminded him of his beloved—and the gallant and devoted soldiers of his escort; before his eyes, firmly attached to the pommel of his saddle, he saw the box which contained the keys of Calais; in his doublet he could feel the precious copy of the capitulation and the still more precious letters of the Duc de Guise and Madame de Castro; Diane's gold ring shone upon his finger,—ever present and eloquent pledges of good fortune.
The very sky, beautifully blue and cloudless, seemed to speak of hope; the pure and bracing air made the blood run warm in his veins; the thousand sounds to be heard in the country in the twilight were eloquent of peace and tranquillity; and the sun, which was setting in a glory of purple and gold on Gabriel's left hand, was a most comforting sight to his eyes and his heart.
It was impossible to set out toward a coveted goal under happier auspices.
We shall see in due time what came of it.
On the evening of Jan. 12, 1558, Queen Catherine de Médicis was holding at the Louvre one of the periodical receptions of which we have previously spoken, at which all the princes and nobles of the realm were wont to assemble.
This particular occasion was an exceptionally brilliant and lively one, although a large part of the nobility were absent at the seat of war, in the north, with the Duc de Guise's army.
Among the ladies present besides Catherine, the queende jure, were Madame Diane de Poitiers, the queende facto, the young queen-dauphine, Mary Stuart, and the melancholy Élisabeth, afterward Queen of Spain, whose very beauty, already so admired, was fated to cause her so much misery.
The distinguished assembly included the man who was at that time the head of the House of Bourbon, Antoine, the titular king of Navarre,—a weak and vacillating prince, who had been sent to the French court by his virile-hearted wife, Jeanne d'Albret, to try and obtain by the intervention of Henri II. the restitution of his kingdom of Navarre, which had been confiscated by Spain.
But Antoine de Navarre was already inclining to the Calvinistic doctrines, and was not looked upon with a very favorable eye at a court which was in the habit of burning heretics at the stake.
His brother, Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, was likewise present. His was a character to inspire more respect if not more affection. He was, however, a more pronounced Calvinist than the King of Navarre, and was generally considered to be the secret leader of the rebellious spirits. He possessed the power to make himself a great favorite with the people, being not only a bold rider but very skilful with the sword and dagger, although in stature he was quite short, and had decidedly disproportionate shoulders. Besides, he was a great gallant, very clever, and passionately devoted to the ladies. A popular chanson of the day spoke thus of him:—
"Ce petit homme tant joli,Toujours cause et toujours rit,Et toujours baise sa mignonne.Dieu gard' de mal le petit homme."[2]
"Ce petit homme tant joli,Toujours cause et toujours rit,Et toujours baise sa mignonne.Dieu gard' de mal le petit homme."[2]
The gentlemen who, openly or secretly, advocated the principles of the Reformed religion were naturally grouped around the King of Navarre and the Prince de Condé,—among them being Admiral de Coligny, La Renaudie, and the Baron de Castelnau, who, having but recently arrived from Touraine, his native province, had been presented at court that day for the first time.
The assemblage, despite the absence of many great seigneurs, was numerous and distinguished; but amid all the confusion, excitement, and enjoyment, two men remained absorbed by grave and apparently unpleasant reflections.
These two men, whose abstraction was caused by widely different reasons, were the king and the Constable de Montmorency.
Henri II. was at the Louvre corporeally, but his thoughts were all at Calais.
During the three weeks since the departure of the Duc de Guise, he had been thinking unceasingly, night and day, of that perilous expedition, the object of which was to drive the English out of the kingdom forever, but which was quite as likely to seriously endanger the welfare of France.
Henri had more than once blamed himself for having allowed Monsieur de Guise to attempt so hazardous a stroke.
If the undertaking should prove abortive, what a disgrace for France in the eyes of all Europe! what superhuman efforts must be made to repair such a failure! The disastrous day of St. Laurent would be a mere bagatelle beside that. The constable had undergone defeat, but François de Lorraine had actually gone in search of it.
The king, who had had no intelligence from the besieging army for three days, was preoccupied with gloomy forebodings, and paid but little heed to the encouraging assurances of the Cardinal de Lorraine, who, standing near the king's couch, was vainly trying to restore his courage.
Diane de Poitiers was quick to remark the gloomy humor of her royal lover; but as she observed Monsieur de Montmorency in another part of the room, apparently in quite as great dejection as the king, she directed her steps toward him.
It was the siege of Calais which was the cause of his downheartedness, but, as we have said, for a very different reason.
The king was afraid of failure, while the constable dreaded success much more.
For success in that enterprise would definitely establish the Duc de Guise in the first rank, and relegate him to the second. The salvation of France would be the ruin of the poor constable, and we must confess that his selfishness had always taken precedence of his patriotism.
So he was very uncourteous to the beautiful favorite who advanced smilingly toward him.
Our readers will remember the inexplicable and depraved passion which the mistress of the most courtly and gallant king in Christendom entertained for this brutal veteran.
"What is the trouble with my old soldier to-day?" she asked in her most winning tones.
"Ah, so you mock me too, do you, Madame?" said Montmorency, sharply.
"I mock you, my friend! You don't realize what you are saying."
"I was thinking of what you said yourself," rejoined the constable, with a muttered curse. "You called me your old soldier. Old? yes, that is true; I am no longer a beau of twenty years. Soldier? no. You can see plainly that I am no longer considered good for anything except to show myself with my parade sword in the halls of the Louvre."
"Do not speak so," said the favorite, with an affectionate smile. "Are you not still theconstable?"
"What does a constable amount to, when there is a lieutenant-general of the kingdom?"
"The latter title expires with the circumstances which called it into existence, while yours, being attached, with no power of revocation, to the highest military dignity in the kingdom, will last as long as your life."
"But I am already dead and buried," said the constable, with a bitter laugh.
"Why do you say that, my friend?" replied Madame de Poitiers. "You have not ceased to be as powerful and as formidable to the nation's enemies without as to your personal enemies within."
"Let us talk seriously, Diane, and not try to flatter or deceive each other with empty words."
"If I deceive you, it is only because I myself am deceived," Diane rejoined. "Give me proofs that I am wrong, and I will not only acknowledge my error on the spot, but I will do all I can to rectify it."
"Very well," said the constable; "in the first place, you speak of the enemies without trembling before me. Those are very comforting words; but, in reality, who is sent against these enemies?—a general who is younger and doubtless more fortunate than myself, but who may some day turn this good fortune of his to his own private advantage."
"What makes you think that the Duc de Guise will succeed?" asked Diane, with most subtle flattery.
"His failure," replied the constable, hypocritically, "would be a terrible misfortune for France, which I should bitterly deplore for my country's sake; but his success would perhaps be an even more terrible misfortune, which I should dread for the sake of my sovereign."
"Do you believe then," said Diane, "that the ambition of Monsieur de Guise—"
"I have probed it, and it is very deep," replied the jealous courtier. "If by any chance there should be a change of reign, have you considered what that ambition, assisted by the influence of Mary Stuart, might be able to effect upon the mind of a young and inexperienced king! My devotion to your interests has completely alienated Queen Catherine from me. The Guises will be more sovereign than the sovereign himself."
"Such a catastrophe is, thank God, very improbable and very far distant," returned Diane, who could not avoid the reflection that her friend of sixty years was rather free with his conjectures as to the prospects of the early demise of a king who was but forty.
"There are other chances against us much nearer at hand and almost as terrible," said Montmorency, shaking his head very gravely.
"What are they, my friend?"
"Have you lost your memory, Diane, or do you only pretend to forget who went to Calais with the Duc de Guise; who, apparently, was the one who first breathed a suggestion of this foolhardy enterprise into his ear, and who will return in triumph with him, if he does triumph, and will no doubt succeed in receiving credit for some share in the victory?"
"Are you speaking of Vicomte d'Exmès?" asked Diane.
"Of whom else, Madame? Even though you may have forgotten his extravagant undertaking, he will remember it, never fear! And more than that, fortune is so capricious that he is quite capable of having kept his promise, and of loudly calling upon the king to redeem his."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Diane.
"What is it that seems impossible to you, Madame,—that Monsieur d'Exmès should keep his word, or that the king should be true to his?"
"Either supposition is absurd and insane, and the second even more so than the first."
"If, however, the first should be realized, it may very well be that the second will follow; for the king is very weak on these questions of honor, and he would be quite capable, Madame, of priding himself upon his chivalrous loyalty, and of disclosing his secret and ours to a common foe."
"Once more I say it is a wild, impossible dream," cried Diane, turning pale, nevertheless.
"But, Diane, suppose you were to see this dream with your eyes, and touch it with your hands, what would you do!"
"Indeed I do not know, my good constable," said Madame de Valentinois; "we should have to consult and look around, and then act. Anything rather than that extremity! If the king abandons us, why, then, we must get along without him; and confidently anticipating that he will never dare to disavow what we have done after the event, we must exercise our own power and our personal influence and credit to the utmost."
"Ah, that is just what I expected you would say!" said the constable. "Our power! our personal influence! Speak of your own, Madame; but as for mine, it has sunk so low that in truth I look upon it as dead and gone. My enemies within, for whom just now you expressed so much pity, might have very pretty sport with me at this time. There is no gentleman at this court who hasn't more power than this pitiful constable. You can see yourself how I am avoided. It is very simple; for who would care to pay his court to a fallen star! It will be much safer, therefore, Madame, for you not to rely hereafter upon the support of a discredited, disgraced old servant, friendless and without influence, yes, even penniless."
"Penniless!" Diane echoed incredulously.
"Why yes, Madame,—penniless, by the Mass!" said the constable a second time, and angrily. "That is perhaps the most grievous part of it, at my age, and after all the services I have rendered. The last war ruined me; for my ransom and those of several of my people exhausted my last pecuniary resources. Those who abandon me know it very well. I shall be reduced one of these days to going about the streets asking for alms, like Belisarius, the Carthaginian general, I think it was, whom I have heard my nephew, the admiral, speak of."
"What! have your friends all left you, my constable?" asked Diane, smiling at her old lover's erudition, as well as at his covetousness.
"Yes," said the constable: "I have no friends, I tell you." He added, most pathetically,—"The unfortunate never have friends."
"I propose to prove you in the wrong," said Diane. "I can clearly see now the source of this sullen humor which has gained control of you. But why did you not tell me in the first place? Do you lack confidence in me, pray? It is sad, indeed, if you do. But no matter! I only intend to be revenged in a friendly way. Tell me, did not the king impose a new tax last week?"
"Yes, dear Diane," replied the constable, who had grown much calmer under the influence of Diane's words; "a very just tax, too, and heavy enough to defray all the expenses of the war."
"That will do very well," said Diane; "and I will show you that even a woman may be able to do more than repair fortune's cruel blows to such men as you. Henri seems to me to be in a very ill-humor to-day. But never mind! I will speak with him forthwith; and you will soon be forced to agree that I am a kind friend and faithful ally."
"Ah, Diane, you are as kind and good as you are beautiful! That I will always maintain," said Montmorency, gallantly.
"But when I have replenished the springs from which your influence and your favor flow, you will not abandon me, will you, my old lion? And you will not talk any more to your devoted friend of your powerlessness against her enemies and yours?"
"Why, my dear Diane, are not all that I am and all that I have at your service?" said the constable; "and if I sometimes grieve at the loss of my influence, is it not because I fear thereby to be less powerful to serve my beautiful sovereign mistress?"
"Very good!" said Diane, with her most seductive smile. She gave her lovely white hand to her superannuated lover, who imprinted upon it a tender kiss with his bearded lips; then, with a last encouraging glance, she moved away from him toward the king.
The Cardinal de Lorraine was still at Henri's side, watching over the interests of his absent brother, and doing his utmost to remove the king's fears as to the issue of the ill-considered expedition against Calais.
But Henri was paying more attention to his unquiet thoughts than to the cardinal's consoling words.
It was at this moment that Madame Diane approached them.
"I'll undertake to say, Messire," she began, addressing the cardinal with much warmth, "that your Eminence is saying to the king something unkind about poor Monsieur de Montmorency."
"Oh, Madame," retorted Charles de Lorraine, bewildered by this unexpected attack, "I venture to ask his Majesty to bear me witness that the name of Monsieur le Connétable has not been once uttered during our interview."
"That is true," said the king, carelessly.
"That is merely another way of doing him a disservice."
"But if I can neither speak nor keep silent about him, what am I to do, Madame, I beg?"
"You should say pleasant things about him," replied Diane.
"Very well, then," retorted the wily cardinal; "if I must do that, I will say (for the commands of beauty have never found me lacking in dutiful submission) that Monsieur de Montmorency is a great commander; that he won the battle of St. Laurent, and retrieved the fortunes of France; and that just at this time, to put the finishing touch to his work, he has assumed the offensive against our enemies, and is now engaged in attempting a memorable and glorious achievement under the walls of Calais."
"Calais! Calais!—ah, who will bring me news of Calais?" murmured the king, who had heard only that name in this war of words between the minister and the favorite.
"You have an admirable and Christian-like manner of awarding praise, Monsieur le Cardinal," Diane rejoined; "and I congratulate you upon your mastery of ironical compliment."
"Well, Madame," said Charles de Lorraine, "in truth, I do not see how else I could award praise to this poor Monsieur de Montmorency, as you called him just now."
"You are not honest in your search, Messire," replied Diane. "Might you not, for instance, do more justice to the zeal with which the constable organized means of defence at Paris, and brought the few troops who were left here to a state of efficiency, while others were jeopardizing and compromising the vital forces of the kingdom in rash and foolhardy enterprises?"
"Oh-ho!" exclaimed the cardinal.
"Alas!" sighed the king, who heard nothing except what bore directly upon the subject of his solicitude.
"Might we not say, further," added Diane, "that although chance has not been friendly to Monsieur de Montmorency's magnificent efforts, and fortune has declared against him, he is at least entirely without personal ambition; he recognizes no other interest save that of his country, in whose cause he has sacrificed everything,—his life, which he was among the first to put in jeopardy; his liberty, of which he was so long deprived; and his property, which is all gone."
"Indeed!" said Charles de Lorraine, with an air of amazement.
"Yes, your Eminence," Diane repeated; "there is no doubt about that,—Monsieur de Montmorency is ruined."
"Ruined! Do you mean it?" said the cardinal.
"He is so entirely without means," continued the unblushing favorite, "that I was just on the point of appealing to his Majesty to aid this loyal servant in his distress."
The king made no reply, so absorbed was he.
"Yes, Sire," Diane said, addressing him directly in order to attract his attention, "I most earnestly beg you to come to the assistance of your faithful constable, whose pecuniary resources have been exhausted to the last sou by the price of his ransom and the great expense of the war contracted in your Majesty's service. Sire, are you listening to me?"
"Excuse me, Madame," said Henri; "I seem hardly able this evening to fix my attention upon any subject. The thought of a possible disaster at Calais occupies my mind entirely, as you can well understand."
"That is just the reason," Diane replied, "why your Majesty, in my opinion, ought to treat gently and befriend the man who has done his best beforehand to minimize the effects of this calamity, if it must befall."
"But we are as much in need of money ourselves as the constable," said the king.
"How about this new tax which has been levied?" asked Diane.
"The funds produced by that," said the cardinal, "are to be appropriated to the payment and maintenance of the troops."
"In that event," was Diane's rejoinder, "the better part of them should go to the leader of the troops."
"Very well, the leader is at Calais?" replied the cardinal.
"No, indeed, he is here in Paris, at the Louvre," retorted Diane.
"Pray, Madame, do you desire that failure and defeat should be rewarded?"
"That would be much better, Monsieur le Cardinal, than that mad recklessness should be encouraged."
"Enough of this!" the king interposed; "do you not see that your quarrelling tires and annoys me? Do you know, Madame, and Monsieur de Lorraine, the quatrain which I came across recently in my book of Hours?"
"A quatrain?" Diane and Charles de Lorraine repeated with one breath.
"If my memory serves me," said Henri, "it was this:—"
"Sire, si vous laissez, comme Charles desire,Comme Diane fait, par trop vous gouverner,Fondre, pétrir, mollir, refondre et retourner,Sire, vous n'êtes plus, vous n'êtes plus que cire.'"[3]
"Sire, si vous laissez, comme Charles desire,Comme Diane fait, par trop vous gouverner,Fondre, pétrir, mollir, refondre et retourner,Sire, vous n'êtes plus, vous n'êtes plus que cire.'"[3]
Diane did not lose her self-possession in the least.
"A pretty piece of foolery," said she; "but it credits me with much more influence over his Majesty's mind than I possess, alas!"
"Ah, Madame," rejoined the king, "you ought not to make a bad use of that influence just because you know that you possess it."
"But do I really possess it, Sire?" said Diane, in her most winning tones. "If it be so, your Majesty will grant what I ask in behalf of the constable."
"Very well," said the king, impatiently; "now I trust you will leave me to my gloomy forebodings and my anxiety."
The cardinal, in the face of such weakness, could only raise his eyes imploringly to heaven. Diane darted a triumphant glance at him.
"Thanks, your Majesty," she said to the king. "I obey you and withdraw; but pray dismiss your anxiety and dread, Sire, for victory loves the generous-hearted, and I firmly believe that you will be victorious."
"Ah, I accept the augury, Diane," replied Henri. "With what transports of joy would I receive information to that effect! For a long time I have not slept; I have hardly existed.Mon Dieu, how slight after all is the power of kings! To think that I have at this moment no means of knowing what is transpiring at Calais! You may well say, Monsieur le Cardinal, that your brother's silence is most alarming. Ah, for news from Calais! Who will bring it to me? In God's name, who?"
An usher entered, and bowing low before the king as the last word fell from his lips, announced in a loud voice,—
"A messenger from Monsieur de Guise has arrived from Calais, and solicits the honor of an audience of his Majesty."
"A messenger from Calais!" echoed the king, rising to his feet, with gleaming eye, and almost beside himself.
"At last!" said the cardinal, trembling between joy and fear.
"Introduce Monsieur de Guise's messenger; introduce him at once," added the king, eagerly.
It need not be said that every voice was hushed, every heart beating high, and that all eyes were turned toward the door.
Gabriel entered amid a profound silence.
[2]"He's such a bewitching little man.And he's talking and laughing the livelong day,And kissing his sweetheart whene'er he can.God keep little Louis from all harm's way!"
[2]
"He's such a bewitching little man.And he's talking and laughing the livelong day,And kissing his sweetheart whene'er he can.God keep little Louis from all harm's way!"
"He's such a bewitching little man.And he's talking and laughing the livelong day,And kissing his sweetheart whene'er he can.God keep little Louis from all harm's way!"
[3]"Oh, Sire, be careful; for if you allow,As Charles ever longs to, and Diane does now,The one or the other, or both, to derange you,To shape you and work you, remodel and change you,By yielding too freely to all their demands,Soon you'll be like the softest of wax in their hands."
[3]
"Oh, Sire, be careful; for if you allow,As Charles ever longs to, and Diane does now,The one or the other, or both, to derange you,To shape you and work you, remodel and change you,By yielding too freely to all their demands,Soon you'll be like the softest of wax in their hands."
"Oh, Sire, be careful; for if you allow,As Charles ever longs to, and Diane does now,The one or the other, or both, to derange you,To shape you and work you, remodel and change you,By yielding too freely to all their demands,Soon you'll be like the softest of wax in their hands."
Gabriel was attended as he had been on his return from Italy by four of his people,—Ambroise, Lactance, Yvonnet, and Pilletrousse,—who bore the English flags; but they came no farther than the threshold.
The youth himself held in both hands a velvet cushion, upon which were two letters and the keys of the city.
At this sight Henri's countenance assumed an expression of joy and fear curiously blended.
He thought that he understood the welcome message, but the stern messenger made him anxious.
"Vicomte d'Exmès!" he muttered, as he saw Gabriel slowly approaching him.
Madame de Poitiers and the constable, exchanging looks of consternation, also faltered beneath their breath.
"Vicomte d'Exmès!"
Gabriel, meanwhile, with a grave and solemn mien, kneeled before the king, and said with a firm, clear voice,—
"Sire, here are the keys of the city of Calais, which was surrendered to Monsieur de Guise by the English, after a siege of seven days and three fierce assaults, and which Monsieur has made haste to deliver to your Majesty."
"Calais is ours?" asked the king, although he had heard and understood perfectly.
"Calais is yours, Sire," Gabriel repeated.
"Vive le roi!" with one accord cried all who were present, with the possible exception of the Constable de Montmorency.
Henri II., who could think of nothing now but his vanished fears and the glorious triumph of his arms, saluted the excited assemblage with radiant face.
"Thanks, Messieurs, thanks!" said he; "I accept your congratulations in the name of France. But they should not be addressed to me alone; it is but fair that the better part of them should be reserved for the gallant leader of the undertaking,—my noble cousin, Monsieur de Guise."
Murmurs of approbation were heard throughout the assemblage; but the time had not yet arrived when any one dared to cry, "Vive le Duc de Guise," in the king's presence.
"In our dear cousin's absence," continued Henri, "we are happy in being able to address our thanks and congratulations to you who represent him here, Monsieur le Cardinal de Lorraine, and to you, Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès, whom he has intrusted with this glorious and honorable commission."
"Sire," said Gabriel, respectfully but firmly, as he inclined his head in acknowledgment of the king's words, "Sire, your pardon, but I am no longer called Vicomte d'Exmès."
"What!" exclaimed Henri, with a frown.
"Sire," Gabriel continued, "since the day that Calais fell, I have felt justified in assuming my real name and my true title,—Vicomte de Montgommery."
At that name, which for so many years had not been pronounced at court save in whispers, there was a veritable explosion of surprise among the bystanders. This youth styled himself Vicomte de Montgommery; then the Comte de Montgommery, his father, doubtless must still be alive! What was the significance of the revival of that name, once so renowned, after so long a disappearance?
The king did not hear these comments, which were quite inaudible, but he had no difficulty in divining their import; he had become paler than his Italian strawberries, and his lips were trembling with impatience and indignation.
Madame de Poitiers was also in a tremor; and the constable in his corner had emerged from his gloomy impassiveness, and his roving look had become fixed.
"What do you mean, Monsieur?" returned the king, in a tone which he found great difficulty in keeping within bounds. "What is this name which you venture to assume, and whence do you derive so much imprudence?"
"The name is mine, Sire," said Gabriel, calmly; "and what your Majesty regards as imprudence is only confidence."
It was evident that Gabriel had determined to enter boldly upon the course he had adopted, to risk all that he might gain all, and to make all hesitation or avoidance of the issue impossible for the king as well as for himself.
Henri understood his words in that sense; but he dreaded the consequences of his own wrath, and so he replied, in order to postpone the outburst which he feared,—
"Your personal affairs may be attended to later, Monsieur; but at present be good enough to remember that you are the messenger of Monsieur de Guise. I think you have not yet fully executed your commission."
"That is true," said Gabriel, with a low bow. "I have still to present to your Majesty the flags conquered from the English. Behold them, Sire! Furthermore, Monsieur le Duc de Guise sends this letter to the king."
He presented Le Balafré's letter upon the cushion. The king took it, broke the seal, tore open the envelope, and said to the cardinal as he passed the letter to him,—
"To you, Monsieur le Cardinal, rightly belongs the pleasure of reading aloud your brother's letter. It is not addressed to the king, but to France."
"What, Sire!" said the cardinal, "does your Majesty really wish—"
"It is my desire, Monsieur le Cardinal, that you should accept the honor which is your due."
Charles de Lorraine bowed, and took the letter respectfully from the king's hands, unfolded it, and amid profound silence read what follows:—
"SIRE,—Calais is in our power; we have wrested in one week from the English a city which cost them a year's siege two centuries ago."Guines and Ham, the last two posts which are still in their possession in France, can now hold out but a short time; and I venture to promise your Majesty that within a fortnight our hereditary enemies will have been definitely expelled from the kingdom."I thought it my duty to be generous to the conquered. They gave up their artillery and their supplies; but the terms of capitulation to which I gave my assent allowed all such inhabitants of Calais as might so desire to withdraw", with their property, to England. Indeed, perhaps it would have been hazardous to leave so potent an element of discord in a newly-captured city."The number of dead and wounded is very small, thanks to the rapidity with which the place was carried."Time and leisure fail me, Sire, to furnish your Majesty with more ample details to-day. Being myself seriously wounded—"
"SIRE,—Calais is in our power; we have wrested in one week from the English a city which cost them a year's siege two centuries ago.
"Guines and Ham, the last two posts which are still in their possession in France, can now hold out but a short time; and I venture to promise your Majesty that within a fortnight our hereditary enemies will have been definitely expelled from the kingdom.
"I thought it my duty to be generous to the conquered. They gave up their artillery and their supplies; but the terms of capitulation to which I gave my assent allowed all such inhabitants of Calais as might so desire to withdraw", with their property, to England. Indeed, perhaps it would have been hazardous to leave so potent an element of discord in a newly-captured city.
"The number of dead and wounded is very small, thanks to the rapidity with which the place was carried.
"Time and leisure fail me, Sire, to furnish your Majesty with more ample details to-day. Being myself seriously wounded—"
At this point the cardinal turned pale, and ceased to read.
"What, our cousin wounded!" cried the king, feigning anxiety.
"Your Majesty and your Eminence may be reassured," said Gabriel. "Monsieur le Duc de Guise's wound will have no serious results, thank God! At present there remains of its effects nought but a noble scar upon his face and the glorious surname ofLe Balafré."
The cardinal had meanwhile read a few lines in advance, and convinced himself that what Gabriel said was true, and with renewed calmness resumed his reading as follows:—
"Being myself seriously wounded the very day of our entry into Calais, I was saved by the prompt assistance and marvellous skill of a young surgeon, Master Ambroise Paré; but I am still very weak, and consequently obliged to forego the pleasure of writing more at length to your Majesty."You will be able to learn further details from him who brings to you with this letter the keys of the city, along with the English flags, and of whom I must say a word to your Majesty before I close."For it is not to me, Sire, by any means, that all the honor of this marvellous capture of Calais belongs. I have striven to contribute to it with all my power with the aid of our gallant troops; but we owe the first conception of it, as well as the means of execution and its final success, to the bearer of this letter, Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès—"
"Being myself seriously wounded the very day of our entry into Calais, I was saved by the prompt assistance and marvellous skill of a young surgeon, Master Ambroise Paré; but I am still very weak, and consequently obliged to forego the pleasure of writing more at length to your Majesty.
"You will be able to learn further details from him who brings to you with this letter the keys of the city, along with the English flags, and of whom I must say a word to your Majesty before I close.
"For it is not to me, Sire, by any means, that all the honor of this marvellous capture of Calais belongs. I have striven to contribute to it with all my power with the aid of our gallant troops; but we owe the first conception of it, as well as the means of execution and its final success, to the bearer of this letter, Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès—"
"It would appear, Monsieur," the king interposed, addressing Gabriel, "that our cousin does not yet know you under your new name."
"Sire," replied Gabriel, "I should not have presumed to assume it for the first time except in your Majesty's presence."
At a sign from the king, the cardinal continued,—
"In fact, I must admit that I had never dreamed of this hold stroke when Monsieur d'Exmès sought me out at the Louvre, laid bare to me his sublime project, answered my objections and did away with my doubts, and finally induced me to undertake this unprecedented exploit, which would be sufficient of itself, Sire, to make a reign glorious."But that is not all. The risks of such a momentous undertaking were not to be lightly incurred; it was essential that the counsel of long experience should give its sanction to the dream of ardent courage. Monsieur d'Exmès provided the means of introducing Monsieur le Maréchal Strozzi into Calais in disguise, and thus of obtaining accurate information as to the opportunities of attack and means of defence. Beyond that, he gave us an exact detailed plan of the ramparts and fortified positions, so that we made our approaches to Calais with as much confidence as if the walls had been of glass."Before the walls of the city, and in all the assaults, at the Nieullay fort and the Old Château,—everywhere, in fact, Vicomte d'Exmès, at the head of a small band, raised at his own expense, performed prodigies of valor. But on those occasions he was only on a level with many of our gallant captains, who cannot, in my humble opinion, be surpassed. Therefore I touch but lightly upon the proofs of gallantry which he afforded on every occasion, to confine myself to those deeds in which he stands alone, and without a compeer."Thus, the Risbank fort, which at once protected from attack and afforded free entrance to Calais on the ocean side, would have made it possible for strong reinforcements from England to be thrown into the city. In that event we should have been lost,—nay, exterminated; our gigantic enterprise would have proved a failure, and made us the laughing-stock of all Europe. The question then was how, without ships, we could carry a fort which was defended by the ocean? Very well! Vicomte d'Exmès performed that miracle. In the night-time, alone with his volunteers upon a little boat, aided by a secret understanding with certain parties within the walls, he succeeded, after a hazardous voyage and an escalading feat terrible to think of, in planting the French flag upon that impregnable fort."
"In fact, I must admit that I had never dreamed of this hold stroke when Monsieur d'Exmès sought me out at the Louvre, laid bare to me his sublime project, answered my objections and did away with my doubts, and finally induced me to undertake this unprecedented exploit, which would be sufficient of itself, Sire, to make a reign glorious.
"But that is not all. The risks of such a momentous undertaking were not to be lightly incurred; it was essential that the counsel of long experience should give its sanction to the dream of ardent courage. Monsieur d'Exmès provided the means of introducing Monsieur le Maréchal Strozzi into Calais in disguise, and thus of obtaining accurate information as to the opportunities of attack and means of defence. Beyond that, he gave us an exact detailed plan of the ramparts and fortified positions, so that we made our approaches to Calais with as much confidence as if the walls had been of glass.
"Before the walls of the city, and in all the assaults, at the Nieullay fort and the Old Château,—everywhere, in fact, Vicomte d'Exmès, at the head of a small band, raised at his own expense, performed prodigies of valor. But on those occasions he was only on a level with many of our gallant captains, who cannot, in my humble opinion, be surpassed. Therefore I touch but lightly upon the proofs of gallantry which he afforded on every occasion, to confine myself to those deeds in which he stands alone, and without a compeer.
"Thus, the Risbank fort, which at once protected from attack and afforded free entrance to Calais on the ocean side, would have made it possible for strong reinforcements from England to be thrown into the city. In that event we should have been lost,—nay, exterminated; our gigantic enterprise would have proved a failure, and made us the laughing-stock of all Europe. The question then was how, without ships, we could carry a fort which was defended by the ocean? Very well! Vicomte d'Exmès performed that miracle. In the night-time, alone with his volunteers upon a little boat, aided by a secret understanding with certain parties within the walls, he succeeded, after a hazardous voyage and an escalading feat terrible to think of, in planting the French flag upon that impregnable fort."
At this point, notwithstanding the king's presence, the reading was interrupted for a moment by a murmur of admiration which nothing could restrain, and which burst from that assemblage of illustrious and valiant men as if it were the irresistible expression of the feeling of all hearts.
Gabriel's bearing, as he stood with lowered eyes, calm and dignified and modest, two or three paces from the king, added to the favorable impression caused by the narration of his exploit, and attracted the admiration of the young women and the old soldiers at once.
The king, too, was touched; and the glance which he gave the hero of this glorious adventure showed signs of a softer feeling for him. Madame de Poitiers alone bit her colorless lips, while Monsieur de Montmorency knit his thick eyebrows savagely.
The cardinal, after this brief interruption, resumed the reading of his brother's letter.
"The Risbank fort once won, the city was ours. The English men-of-war did not dare to risk a hopeless attack. Three days after, we entered Calais in triumph, sustained even then by a well-planned diversion by Monsieur d'Exmès's allies in the city, and by a vigorous sortie which he himself led."It was in this final struggle, Sire, that I received the terrible wound which almost cost me my life; and if I may be allowed to call attention to a service personal to myself amid so many public services, I will add that Monsieur d'Exmès, almost by force, brought to what nearly proved to be my death-bed Master Paré, the surgeon who saved my life."
"The Risbank fort once won, the city was ours. The English men-of-war did not dare to risk a hopeless attack. Three days after, we entered Calais in triumph, sustained even then by a well-planned diversion by Monsieur d'Exmès's allies in the city, and by a vigorous sortie which he himself led.
"It was in this final struggle, Sire, that I received the terrible wound which almost cost me my life; and if I may be allowed to call attention to a service personal to myself amid so many public services, I will add that Monsieur d'Exmès, almost by force, brought to what nearly proved to be my death-bed Master Paré, the surgeon who saved my life."
"Oh, Monsieur, let me thank you in my turn," said Charles de Lorraine, interrupting himself, with deep emotion.
Then he resumed with even more warmth and vigor of expression, as if it were his brother himself who was speaking.
"Sire, the honor and credit of such brilliant success is commonly awarded to the one under whose leadership it has been achieved. Monsieur d'Exmès, first of all, as modest as he is great, would freely consent that his name should be lost to sight in favor of mine. Nevertheless, I have deemed it proper to apprise your Majesty that the youth who hands you this letter has in fact been both the head and the arm of our enterprise, and that, except for him, Calais, where I am at this moment writing, would still be an English city. Monsieur d'Exmès has requested me to make this declaration, if I were willing, to the king's ear alone,—but to be sure to make it to him. It is that which I now do, in a voice loud with gratitude and joy."It was no more than my duty to give Monsieur d'Exmès this honorable certificate. The rest is for you, Sire. It is a right which I envy you, but which I cannot usurp, nor do I wish to do so. It seems to me that the gift of a reconquered city and the assurance of the integrity of a kingdom can hardly be paid for with presents."It would appear, however, from what Monsieur d'Exmès has told me, that your Majesty has in your hands a prize worthy of his achievement. I can well believe it, Sire; but none but a king—yea, none but a great king like your Majesty—can bestow upon such a kingly exploit any reward approximate to its value."With this, Sire, I pray God to grant you a long life and a happy reign."And I am your Majesty's"Most humble and obedient servant and subject,"FRANÇOIS DE LORRAINE."Given at Calais, this 8th January, 1558."
"Sire, the honor and credit of such brilliant success is commonly awarded to the one under whose leadership it has been achieved. Monsieur d'Exmès, first of all, as modest as he is great, would freely consent that his name should be lost to sight in favor of mine. Nevertheless, I have deemed it proper to apprise your Majesty that the youth who hands you this letter has in fact been both the head and the arm of our enterprise, and that, except for him, Calais, where I am at this moment writing, would still be an English city. Monsieur d'Exmès has requested me to make this declaration, if I were willing, to the king's ear alone,—but to be sure to make it to him. It is that which I now do, in a voice loud with gratitude and joy.
"It was no more than my duty to give Monsieur d'Exmès this honorable certificate. The rest is for you, Sire. It is a right which I envy you, but which I cannot usurp, nor do I wish to do so. It seems to me that the gift of a reconquered city and the assurance of the integrity of a kingdom can hardly be paid for with presents.
"It would appear, however, from what Monsieur d'Exmès has told me, that your Majesty has in your hands a prize worthy of his achievement. I can well believe it, Sire; but none but a king—yea, none but a great king like your Majesty—can bestow upon such a kingly exploit any reward approximate to its value.
"With this, Sire, I pray God to grant you a long life and a happy reign.
"And I am your Majesty's
"Most humble and obedient servant and subject,
"FRANÇOIS DE LORRAINE.
"Given at Calais, this 8th January, 1558."
When Charles de Lorraine had finished his reading and restored the letter to the king's hands, the movement of approbation, which expressed the restrained congratulation of the whole court, manifested itself anew, and once more made Gabriel's heart leap with joy, mightily moved as he was despite his apparent calmness. If respect for the king's presence had not imposed bounds upon their enthusiasm, the young conqueror would doubtless have been welcomed most warmly and with unstinted applause.
The king instinctively felt this general impulse; moreover, he partook of it to some extent, and he could not refrain from saying to Gabriel, as if he had been the interpreter of the unexpressed feeling of all,—
"It is well, Monsieur! You have done exceedingly well! I earnestly hope that, as Monsieur de Guise gives me to understand, it may really be in our power to recompense you in a manner worthy of yourself and of me."
"Sire," replied Gabriel, "I have but one ambition, and your Majesty well knows what that—"
But as Henri made an expressive gesture, he hastened to add,—
"Pardon me, Sire, but my commissions are not yet fully executed."
"What remains for you to do?" asked the king.
"Sire, a letter from Madame de Castro for your Majesty."
"From Madame de Castro?" repeated Henri, eagerly.
With a quick and impulsive movement, he rose from his seat, and descended the steps which led to the royal platform, took Diane's letter with his own hands, and said in a low tone to Gabriel,—
"It is true, Monsieur, you not only restore a daughter to the king, but a child to her father. I am doubly indebted to you. But let me read the letter."
As the courtiers, still motionless and mute, were respectfully awaiting the king's commands, Henri, feeling annoyed by this observant silence, added aloud,—
"Let me not restrain the expression of your gratification, Messieurs. I have no further news to give you; what remains is a private matter between myself and the messenger of our cousin De Guise. So you have only to discuss the glad intelligence, and congratulate yourselves upon it; and you are quite free now to do so, Messieurs."
The royal permission was quickly accepted; the party separated into groups and began to converse, and soon nothing was to be heard but the indistinct and confused buzzing which is always the combined result of a hundred different conversations in the same room.
Madame de Poitiers and the constable still thought of nothing but keeping watch upon the king and Gabriel.
With an interchange of speaking glances, they had communicated their mutual dread to one another; and Diane, by a slight and almost imperceptible movement, had drawn near her royal lover.
Henri did not notice the jealous couple, being entirely absorbed by his daughter's letter.
"Dear Diane! Poor dear Diane!" he was whispering, deeply moved.
When he had read the letter to the end, carried away by his kingly nature, whose first, spontaneous impulse was certainly liberal and just, he said to Gabriel, almost aloud, "Madame de Castro also commends her liberator to me, and it is just that she should. She tells me, Monsieur, that you not only rescued her from captivity, but that you have also saved her honor."
"Oh, I but did my duty, Sire!" said Gabriel.
"Then must I not fail in mine," returned Henri, warmly. "It is for you to speak now, Monsieur. Tell me what you desire at our hands,Monsieur le Vicomte de Montgommery!"
Monsieur le Vicomte de Montgommery! At that name which, when pronounced by the king, seemed to promise all that he wanted, Gabriel's heart fairly leaped for joy.
Henri clearly intended to pardon his father.
"See! he gives way," said Madame de Poitiers, beneath her breath to the constable, who had come to her side.
"Let us wait our opportunity," said Monsieur de Montmorency, without losing his self-possession.
"Sire," Gabriel was saying to the king, more easily moved as his custom was by hope than by fear, "Sire, it cannot be necessary for me to repeat to your Majesty what favor it is that I venture to ask of your kindness, your benevolence,—I may say, of your sense of justice. Having, I trust, accomplished what your Majesty asked of me, may I hope that your Majesty will condescend to grant my request! Have you forgotten your promise, or do you choose to redeem it?"
"Yes, Monsieur, I will redeem it, upon the condition that silence is to be maintained as we agreed," Henri replied, without hesitation.
"That condition, Sire, shall be exactly and rigorously observed; to that I pledge my honor anew," said Gabriel.
"Come hither, then, Monsieur," said the king.
Gabriel approached him. The Cardinal de Lorraine discreetly stepped aside; but Madame de Poitiers, who was seated by Henri's side, did not stir, and was doubtless able to hear what was said, although the king lowered his voice so that it might reach Gabriel's ear alone.
However, this watchful surveillance did not disturb the king's determination, it must be confessed; for he continued firmly,—
"Monsieur le Vicomte de Montgommery, you are a valiant subject whom I esteem and honor. Even when you are in possession of what you crave and have so nobly earned, we shall still be far from having discharged our indebtedness to you. However, take this ring, and present it to the governor of the Châtelet at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. He will be advised of your coming, and will deliver to you on the spot the object of your sublime and holy quest."
Gabriel, who felt as if his knees were tottering from excess of joy, could restrain himself no longer, but fell at the king's feet.
"Ah, Sire!" said he, his breast heaving with emotion and his eyes wet with tears of happiness, "all the force and energy of which I may claim to have given proof I hereby devote to your Majesty's service for the rest of my life, as I would have devoted them to the service of my hatred if you had said 'no.'"
"Really?" said the king, smiling good-humoredly.
"Yes, Sire, I confess it; and you ought to understand me, since you have pardoned my father. Yes, I believe I would have haunted your Majesty and your Majesty's children, as I will now defend and protect you and love you in them. Before God, who punishes all false swearing sooner or later, I will keep my oath of fidelity just as I would have kept my oath of vengeance."
"Well, we shall see! Rise, Monsieur," said the king, still smiling. "Calm yourself; and to restore your self-control, tell me some details of this unhoped-for success at Calais, of which it seems to me I shall never tire of hearing and speaking."
By this means Henri retained Gabriel by his side more than an hour, asking questions and listening, and making him repeat everything, even to the most minute details, a hundred times without seeming to grow weary.
Then he handed the young hero over to the tender mercies of the ladies, who were eager to have their turn at questioning him.
But in the first place the Cardinal de Lorraine, who was quite without information as to Gabriel's antecedents, and saw in him only his brother's friend and protégé, insisted upon presenting him to the queen.
Catherine de Médicis, in the presence of the whole court, was obliged to extend her thanks and congratulations to the man who had won so glorious a victory for the king. But she did it with noticeable coldness and reserve; and the stern and contemptuous glance of her gray eyes gave the lie in a great measure to the words which fell from her lips, but which did not express the sentiments of her heart.
Gabriel, while thanking Catherine in respectful terms, was conscious of a freezing sensation at his heart when he heard her lying compliments, beneath which he seemed to discern, as he recalled the past, an ironical and hidden threat.
As he turned to withdraw after paying his respects to Catherine de Médicis, he saw a sight which was quite sufficient to justify his presentiment of evil.
He chanced to look toward the king, and saw with terror that Diane de Poitiers was conversing in whispers with him, with her wicked, sardonic smile. The more Henri II. seemed to remonstrate, the more persistent she seemed to become.
Finally, she called the constable, who also talked with the king with much earnestness for a long time.
Gabriel saw all this from a distance. Not one of his enemies' movements escaped him, and he suffered the torments of the damned.
But just when his heart was being thus torn by conflicting emotions, the young queen-dauphine, Mary Stuart, approached him gayly, and overwhelmed him with compliments and questions.
Gabriel, despite his anxiety, exerted all his powers to reply to her.
"Why, it's magnificent!" said Mary, enthusiastically, "is it not, my dear Dauphin?" she added, addressing François, her youthful husband, who joined cordially in his wife's friendly words.
"What would one not do to deserve such kind words?" said Gabriel, whose distraught eyes never left the group composed of the king, Diane, and the constable.
"When I felt attracted to you by a strangely sympathetic feeling some time ago," continued Mary Stuart, with the charming grace that was peculiar to her, "it was doubtless because my heart foresaw that you would contribute this marvellous achievement to the glory of my dear uncle De Guise. Ah, I would that I, like the king, had the power of rewarding you! But a woman, alas! has neither titles nor honors at her disposal."
"Oh, but I really have all that I could ask for in the world!" said Gabriel. At the same time he was thinking to himself, "The king no longer replies, he listens simply."
"Well, then," rejoined Mary Stuart, "if I had the power, I would create desires in you so that I might gratify them. But at this moment, see, I have nothing but this bunch of violets which the gardener at the Tournelles just sent me as a great rarity after the late frost. With the permission of Monseigneur le Dauphin, I will give you these flowers as a memento of the day. Will you accept them?"
"Oh, Madame!" cried Gabriel, kissing respectfully the fair hand that offered them.
"Flowers," continued Mary Stuart, dreamily, "offer us their sweet odor when we are glad, and comfort us in times of sorrow. I may be very unhappy some day, but I shall never be altogether so as long as I am allowed to have flowers near me. It is understood of course, Monsieur d'Exmès, that to you, in this hour of good fortune and triumph, I offer them only for their perfume."
"Who knows," said Gabriel, shaking his head sadly,—"who knows if I, triumphant and fortunate as you say, do not need them rather to comfort and console me?"
His gaze, even while he was speaking, was still fastened upon the king, who for the moment seemed to be thinking deeply, and yielding to the arguments always more and more earnest of Madame de Poitiers and the constable.
Gabriel could but tremble at the thought that the favorite must have overheard the king's promise, and that his father and himself were undoubtedly the subject of their conversation.
The young queen-dauphine left him, with some gentle raillery upon his preoccupation.
At this moment Admiral de Coligny came up to him, and, in his turn, offered his hearty felicitations upon his success in maintaining and surpassing at Calais the renown he had won at St. Quentin.
The poor fellow had never seemed to be so petted by fate or more worthy of envy than when he was enduring such tortures as he had never before imagined.
"You are quite as successful," said the admiral, "in gaining victories as in minimizing the effects of defeat. I am more than proud to have foreseen your extraordinary merit, and my only regret is that I was not present to share with you the dangers of this noble feat of arms, so fortunate for you and so glorious for France."
"Other occasions will not be lacking, Monsieur l'Amiral," said Gabriel.
"I am much inclined to doubt it," said Coligny, with some sadness. "May God grant that if we do ever meet again upon a battle-field, it may not be on opposing sides!"
"May Heaven forefend, indeed!" exclaimed Gabriel, earnestly; "what mean you by those words, Monsieur l'Amiral?"
"Four adherents of the Religion have been burned alive during the last month," replied Coligny. "The Reformers, who are growing every day in numbers and in power, will eventually grow weary of this hateful and iniquitous persecution. Even now two armies might be formed, I fear, from the two parties into which France is divided."
"'Well?" said Gabriel, inquiringly.
"Well, Monsieur d'Exmès, despite the walk which we took together to the Rue St. Jacques, you retained your freedom of action, and only bound yourself at your own discretion. But now you seem to me to be too high in favor at court, and justly so, not to be enrolled in the king's army, as against the heresy, as it is called."
"I think that you are mistaken, Monsieur l'Amiral," said Gabriel, whose eyes never left the king. "I have every reason to think, on the other hand, that I shall very soon have the right to march in the ranks of the oppressed against the oppressors."
"What! What do you mean?" asked the admiral. "You are pale, Gabriel, and your voice falters. Pray, what is the matter?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing, Monsieur l'Amiral! But I must leave you.Au revoir! We shall soon meet again."
Gabriel had observed an acquiescent gesture made by the king; whereupon Monsieur de Montmorency had left the room at once, darting a triumphant glance at Diane as he went.
However, the reception came to an end a few moments later; and Gabriel, as he was bowing to the king on taking his leave, ventured to say,—