Each of the young men placed himself at a window to watch for the return of the king. Ernanton, however, soon forgot his present situation, and became abstracted in thinking who the woman could be who had entered Paris as his page, and whom he had since seen in such a splendid litter; and with a heart more disposed to love adventure than to make ambitious calculations, he forgot why he was sitting there, till, suddenly raising his head, he saw that St. Maline was no longer there. He understood at once that he had seen the king arrive, and had gone to him. He rose quickly, traversed the gallery, and arrived at the king's room just as St. Maline was coming out.
"Look!" cried he joyfully, "what the king has given me," and he showed a gold chain.
"I congratulate you, monsieur," said Ernanton, quietly, and he entered in his turn.
St. Maline waited impatiently until he came out again, which he did in about ten minutes, although it appeared an hour to St. Maline.
When Ernanton came out, he looked all over him, and seeing nothing, he cried joyfully, "And you, monsieur, what has he given to you?"
"His hand to kiss," replied Ernanton.
St. Maline crushed his chain impatiently in his hands, and they both returned in silence. As they entered the hall, the trumpet sounded, and at this signal all the Forty-five came out of their rooms, wondering what was the matter; while they profited by this reunion to examine each other. Most of them were richly dressed, though generally in bad taste. They all had a military tournour, and long swords, boots and gloves of buckskin or buffalo, all well gilded or well greased, were almost universal.
The most discreet might be known by their quiet colors, the most economical by the substantial character of their equipments, and the most gay by their white or rose-colored satins. Perducas de Pincornay had bought from some Jew a gold chain as thick as a cable; Pertinax de Montcrabeau was all bows and embroidery: he had bought his costume from a merchant who had purchased it of a gentleman who had been wounded by robbers. It was rather stained with blood and dirt, it was true, but he had managed to clean it tolerably. There remained two holes made by the daggers of the robbers, but Pertinax had had them embroidered in gold.
Eustache de Miradoux did not shine; he had had to clothe Lardille, Militor, and the two children. All the gentlemen were there admiring each other, when M. de Loignac entered frowning, and placed himself in front of them, with a countenance anything but agreeable.
"Gentlemen," said he, "are you all here?"
"All!" they replied.
"Gentlemen, you have been summoned to Paris as a special guard to the king; it is an honorable title, but it engages you to much. Some of you seem not to have understood your duties; I will, therefore, recall them to you. If you do not assist at the deliberations of the council, you will constantly be called upon to execute the resolutions passed there; therefore, the responsibility of those secrets rests upon you. Suppose now that one of the officers on whom the safety of the state and the tranquillity of the crown reposes, betray the secrets of the council, or a soldier charged with a commission does not execute it, his life is the forfeit; you know that?"
"Doubtless," replied many voices.
"Well, gentlemen, this very day a measure of his majesty's has been betrayed, and a step which he wished to take rendered, perhaps, impossible."
Terror began to replace pride in the minds of the Forty-five, and they looked at each other with suspicion and disquietude.
"Two of you, gentlemen," continued De Loignac, "have been heard in the open street chattering like a couple of old women, and that about grave things."
St. Maline advanced. "Monsieur," said he, "pray explain at once, that suspicion may not rest on us all."
"That is easy. The king heard to-day that one of his enemies—precisely one of those whom we have been enrolled to guard him against—had arrived in Paris to conspire against him. This name was pronounced quietly, but was overheard by a soldier on guard, that is to say, by a man who should be regarded as a wall—deaf, dumb, and immovable. However, that man repeated this name in the street with a noise and boasting which attracted the attention of the passers-by and raised quite an emotion; I know it, for I was there, and heard and saw all, and had I not placed my hand on his shoulder to stop him, he would have compromised such grave interests, that, had he not been quiet at my touch, I should have been compelled to poniard him on the spot."
Pertinax de Montcrabeau and Perducas de Pincornay turned deadly pale, and Montcrabeau tried to stammer out some excuses. All eyes were turned toward them.
"Nothing can excuse you," said De Loignac; "even if you were drunk you should be punished for that; and you shall be punished."
A terrible silence ensued. Then Pertinax said, "Pardon, monsieur! we are provincials, new to the court, and unaccustomed to politics."
"You should not have accepted your posts without weighing their duties."
"For the future we will be as mute as sepulchers, we swear to you."
"Good; but can you repair the evil you have done to-day?"
"We will try."
"It is impossible, I tell you."
"Then, for this time, pardon us."
"You live," continued De Loignac, "with a sort of license which I must repress. Those who find the terms too hard will return; I can easily replace them; but I warn you that justice will be done among us, secretly and expeditiously. Traitors will be punished with death on the spot."
Montcrabeau nearly fainted, and Pertinax grew paler than ever.
"I shall have," De Loignac continued, "for smaller offenses lighter punishments, as imprisonment, for instance. For this time, I spare the lives of M. de Montcrabeau and M. de Pincornay, because they probably acted in ignorance, and shall only enforce against them my third method of punishment—a fine. You have received one thousand livres apiece, gentlemen; you will each return one hundred."
"One hundred!" cried Pincornay; "Cap de Bious! I have not got them; I have spent them on my equipment."
"Sell your chain, then. But I have something else to add; I have remarked many signs of irritation between different members of your body, and each time a difference arises I wish the matter referred to me, and I alone shall have the power of allowing a duel to take place. Dueling is much in fashion now, but I do not wish, that, to follow the fashion, my company be constantly left imperfect. The first duel, therefore, that takes place without my permission will be punished with a rigorous imprisonment and a heavy fine. Now fifteen of you will place yourselves this evening at the foot of the staircase when his majesty receives, fifteen will keep without, and fifteen remain at home. Also, as you should have some chief, and I cannot be everywhere, I will each day name a chief for the fifteen, so that all shall learn to obey and command. At present I do not know the capacities of any one, but I shall watch and learn. Now, go, gentlemen; and M. de Montcrabeau and M. de Pincornay, you will remember that I expect your fines to be paid to-morrow."
They all retired except Ernanton, who lingered behind.
"Do you wish anything?" asked De Loignac.
"Yes, monsieur," said Ernanton, bowing; "it seems to me that you have forgotten to point out to us our duties. To be in the king's service has a glorious sound, doubtless, but I should wish to know in what this service consists?"
"That, monsieur, is a question to which I cannot reply."
"May I ask why, monsieur?"
"Because I, myself, am often ignorant in the morning of what I shall have to do in the evening."
"Monsieur, you are placed in such a high position that you must know much of which we are ignorant."
"You love the king, I suppose?"
"I do; and I ought to do so, as a subject and a gentleman."
"Well! that is the cardinal point by which to regulate your conduct."
"Very well, monsieur; but there is one point which disquiets me."
"What is it?"
"Passive obedience."
"It is an essential condition."
"So I understand; but it is sometimes difficult for persons who are delicate on points of honor."
"That does not concern me, M. de Carmainges."
"But, monsieur, when an order displeases you—"
"I read the signature of M. d'Epernon, and that consoles me."
"And M. d'Epernon?"
"He reads the signature of his majesty, and consoles himself as I do."
"You are right, monsieur, and I am your humble servant;" and Ernanton was about to retire, when De Loignac stopped him.
"I will say to you," said he, "what I have not said to the others, for no one else has had the courage to speak to me thus."
Ernanton bowed.
"Perhaps," continued De Loignac, "a great personage will come to the Louvre this evening; if so, do not lose sight of him, and follow him when he leaves."
"Pardon me, monsieur; but that seems the work of a spy."
"Do you think so? It is possible; but look here"—and he drew out a paper which he presented to Ernanton, who read—
"'Have M. de Mayenne followed this evening, if he presents himself at the Louvre.—D'EPERNON.'"
"'Have M. de Mayenne followed this evening, if he presents himself at the Louvre.—D'EPERNON.'"
"Well, monsieur?"
"I will follow M. de Mayenne," said Ernanton, bowing.
M. de Mayenne, with whom they were so much occupied at the Louvre, set out from the Hotel Guise, booted and on horseback, as though he had just arrived. He was received by the king affectionately.
"Well, cousin," said he, "you have, then, come to visit Paris?"
"Yes, sire; I come in my brother's name and my own, to recall to your majesty that you have no more faithful subjects than ourselves."
"Mordieu!" said the king, "that is so well known that you might have spared yourself this trouble. You must have had some other motive."
"Sire, I feared that your regard for us might be shaken by the reports which our enemies circulate about us."
"What reports?" asked Henri.
"What!" cried Mayenne, rather disconcerted; "has not your majesty heard any reports unfavorable to us?"
"My cousin, know once for all that I allow no one to speak ill in my presence of the Guises."
"Well, sire, I do not regret my visit, since I have had the pleasure of finding my king so well disposed toward us; but I will allow that it was needless."
"Oh! there is always something to do in Paris."
"Yes, sire; but we have our business at Soissons."
"What business, duke?"
"Your majesty's, sire."
"Ah! true; continue, Mayenne, to do as you have done; I know how to appreciate the conduct of my subjects."
The duke retired, smiling. The king rubbed his hands, and De Loignac made a sign to Ernanton, who spoke to his valet, and then followed M. de Mayenne. There was no fear of missing him, for the news of his arrival had spread, and some hundred leaguers had assembled to greet him.
As the duke reached his hotel, Ernanton saw a litter pierce through the crowd. De Mayenne approached it, and the curtains were opened, and Ernanton thought he recognized his former page. The litter disappeared under the gateway, and Mayenne followed; an instant after, M. de Mayneville appeared on the balcony, and thanked the Parisians in the duke's name, but begged them to disperse and go home.
All went away accordingly, except ten men, who had entered after the duke. These were the deputies of the League, who were sent to thank M. de Mayenne for his visit, and to beg that his brothers would come also. They had a number of plans, which only wanted the sanction and support of the chiefs. Bussy Leclerc came to announce that he had instructed the monks of three monasteries in the use of arms, and had enrolled 500 bourgeois in a regiment.
Lachapelle-Marteau had worked on the magistrates and had 200 black robes ready for councilors. Brigard had gained the merchants of the Rue Lombards and the Rue St. Denis. Cruce could answer for the University of Paris, and Delbar promised for all the sailors in the port, a dangerous body of 500 men. Each of the others had something to offer, even Nicholas Poulain, the friend of Chicot.
When Mayenne had heard them all, he said, "I admire your strength, but I do not see the end you propose to yourselves."
Bussy Leclerc answered, "We want a change, and as we are the strongest—"
"But how will you arrive at this change?"
"It seems to me," replied Bussy, boldly, "that as the idea of the Union came from our chiefs, it is for them to point out its aim."
"You are perfectly right," said Mayenne, "but it is also for them to judge of the proper time for action. The troops of M. de Guise may be ready, but he does not give the signal until he thinks fit."
"But, monseigneur, we are impatient."
"For what?"
"To arrive at our end. We also have our plan."
"Ah! that is different; if you have your own plan, I say no more."
"Yes, monseigneur; but may we count on your aid?"
"Doubtless, if this plan be approved by my brother and myself."
"We believe it will."
"Let me hear it, then."
The leaguers looked at each other, then Marteau advanced.
"Monseigneur," said he, "we think the success of our plan certain. There are particular points where all the strength of the city lies—the great and the little Chatelet, the Hotel de Ville, the arsenal and the Louvre."
"It is true."
"All these are guarded, but could easily be surprised."
"I admit this also."
"The town itself, however, is defended outside, firstly, by the chevalier of the watch with his archers. We thought of seizing him in his house, which could be easily done, as it is a lonely place."
Mayenne shook his head. "However lonely," said he, "you cannot force a door and fire twenty shots without attracting attention."
"We have foreseen this objection, but one of the archers of the watch is on our side. In the middle of the night, two or three of us will go and knock at the door; the archer will open, and tell his chief that the king wishes to speak to him, which would not appear strange, as he is often sent for in this manner. Once the door is open, we will introduce ten men—sailors who lodge near—who will soon finish him."
"Murder him?"
"Yes, monseigneur. At the same time we will force the doors of the other functionaries who might take his place, such as M. d'O, M. de Chiverny, and M. le Procureur Laguesle. St. Bartholomew has taught us how to manage."
"This is all well, gentlemen; but you have not told me if you mean, at the same time, to force the doors of the Louvre—that strong and well-guarded fortress. Believe me, the king is not so easily taken as the chevalier of the watch."
"We have chosen four thousand men, who hate the king, for this undertaking."
"And you think that enough?"
"Doubtless; we shall be ten to one."
"Why, the Swiss are four thousand strong."
"Yes, but they are at Lagny, and that is eight leagues from Paris, and supposing they were to send for them, it would take two hours for the messenger to go on horseback, and eight for them to return on foot, so that they would just arrive in time to be stopped at the gates, and in a few hours we should be masters of Paris."
"Very good; but supposing all this accomplished, the watch disarmed, the authorities disappeared, and all obstacles removed, what do you mean to do?"
"Form a new government of honest people. As for ourselves, so long as our commerce is successful, and we have enough for our wives and children, we care for little else. Some among us might desire a command, and they should have it. We are not difficult to satisfy."
"I know you are all honest, and would not suffer a mixture in your ranks."
"No, no!" cried several voices.
"Now, M. Poulain," said the duke, "are there many idlers and bad people in the Ile de France?"
Nicholas Poulain, who had hitherto kept in the background, was now forced to advance. "Certainly, monseigneur, there are a great many," he replied.
"Could you guess at their number?"
"About four thousand thieves, three thousand or more beggars, and four or five hundred assassins."
"Well, there are at least eight thousand good-for-nothings; of what religion are they?"
Poulain laughed. "Of all, monseigneur; or, rather, of none; gold is their god, and blood their prophet."
"Yes; but their politics? Are they Valois, Leaguers, Navarrais, or what?"
"Robbers only."
"Monseigneur," said Cruce, "do not suppose that we mean to take these people for allies!"
"No, I do not suppose so; and that is what disturbs me."
"And why so, monseigneur?" they asked with surprise.
"Because as soon as there are no longer magistrates in Paris, as soon as there is no longer royalty, or public force, or anything to restrain them, they will begin to pillage your shops while you fight, and your houses while you occupy the Louvre. Sometimes they will join the Swiss against you, and sometimes you against the Swiss, so that they will always be the strongest."
"Diable!" cried the deputies, looking at each other.
"I think this is a question for grave consideration, gentlemen," said the duke. "I will think it over, and endeavor to find the means of overcoming the difficulty; your interests, before our own, has ever been our maxim."
The deputies gave a murmur of approbation.
"Now, gentlemen, permit a man who has traveled twenty-four leagues on horseback in forty-eight hours to seek a little sleep."
"We humbly take our leave, monseigneur," said Brigard; "what day shall you fix for our next meeting?"
"As soon as possible, gentlemen; to-morrow, or the day after. Au revoir."
No sooner had he disappeared than a door opened, and a woman rushed in.
"The duchesse!" they cried.
"Yes, gentlemen; who comes to save you from your embarrassments. What the Hebrews could not do, Judith did; hope, then, gentlemen, for I also have my plan;" and she disappeared through the same door as her brother.
"Tudieu!" cried Bussy Leclerc; "I believe that is the man of the family."
"Oh!" murmured Nicholas Poulain, "I wish I were out of all this."
It was about ten o'clock in the evening when the deputies returned home. Nicholas Poulain remained behind the others, reflecting on the perplexing situation in which he found himself, and considering whether he should report all that he had heard to M. d'Epernon, when, in the middle of the Rue de la Pierre-au-Réal, he ran right against a Jacobin monk. They both began to swear, but, looking up, recognized each other.
"Brother Borromée!" cried Poulain.
"Nicholas Poulain!" exclaimed the monk.
"How are you?" asked Nicholas cautiously. "Where in the world were you running to in such a hurry at this time of night? Is the priory on fire?"
"No; I was going to the Duchesse de Montpensier's hotel, to speak to M. de Mayneville."
"And what for?"
"Oh! it is very simple," said Borromée, seeking for a specious answer; "the reverend prior was solicited by the duchesse to become her confessor; he accepted at the time, but since then he has had scruples, and has sent me to tell her not to rely upon him."
"Very good; but you are going away from the Hotel Guise."
"Exactly so; for I hear she is at the Hotel St. Denis, with her brother."
"Quite true; but why do you deceive me? It is not the treasurer who is sent with these sort of messages."
"But to a princess! Now do not detain me, or I shall miss her."
"She will return, you might have waited for her."
"True; but I shall not be sorry to see M. le Duc also."
"Oh! that is more like the truth, so go on. There is something new going on," thought Nicholas; "but why should I try to discover what it is?"
Meanwhile the brother and sister had been conversing together, and had settled that the king had no suspicions, and was therefore easy to attack. They also agreed that the first thing to be done was to organize the League more generally in the provinces, while the king abandoned his brother, who was the only enemy they had to fear, so long as Henri of Navarre occupied himself only with love affairs.
"Paris is all ready, but must wait," said Mayenne.
At this moment M. de Mayneville entered, and announced Borromée.
"Borromée! who is he?" cried the duke.
"The man whom you sent me from Nancy, when I asked for a man of action and mind."
"I remember; I told you he was both. But he was called Borroville."
"Yes, monseigneur; but now he is a monk, and Borromée."
"Borroville a monk! and why so?"
"That is our secret, monseigneur; you shall know hereafter, but now let us see him, for his visit disquiets me."
"Why, Borroville," cried the duke, laughing, as he entered; "what a disguise!"
"Yes, monseigneur, I am not much at my ease in this devil of a dress, I confess; but, as it is worn in the service of her highness, I do not complain."
"And what do you want so late?"
"I could not come sooner; I have all the priory on my hands."
"Well! now speak."
"M. le Duc, the king is sending succors to the Duc d'Anjou."
"Bah! we have heard that the last three years."
"Yes; but this time it is certain. At two o'clock this morning, M. de Joyeuse set out for Rouen; he is to take ship to Dieppe, and convey three thousand men to Antwerp."
"Oh! who told you that, Borroville?"
"I heard it from a man who is going to Navarre."
"To Navarre! to Henri?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And who sends him?"
"The king, with a letter."
"What is his name?"
"Robert Briquet; he is a great friend of Gorenflot's."
"And an ambassador of the king's?"
"Yes; I am sure of it; for he sent one of our monks to the Louvre to fetch the letter."
"And he did not show you the letter?"
"The king did not give it to him; he sent it by his own messenger."
"We must have this letter."
"Certainly," said the duchess.
"How was it that this did not occur to you?" said Mayneville.
"I did think of it, and wished to send one of my men, who is a perfect Hercules, with M. Briquet, but he suspected, and dismissed him."
"You must go yourself."
"Impossible!"
"And why?"
"Because he knows me."
"As a monk, but not as captain, I hope."
"Ma foi! I do not know; he seems to know everything."
"What is he like?"
"He is tall—all nerves, muscles and bones; silent, but mocking."
"Ah! ah! and clever with his sword?"
"Marvelously."
"A long face?"
"Yes."
"And an old friend of the prior's?"
"Yes."
"Oh! I have a suspicion which I must have cleared up. Borroville, you must go to Soissons, to my brother—"
"But the priory?"
"Oh! you can invent some excuse to Gorenflot; he believes all you say," said Mayneville.
"You will tell my brother all you know about the mission of M. de Joyeuse."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And Navarre—" said the duchess.
"Oh! I charge myself with that," said Mayenne. "Let them saddle me a fresh horse, Mayneville." Then he murmured to himself, "Can he be still alive?"
After the departure of the young men, Chicot went on quietly; but as soon as they had disappeared in the valley, he stopped at the top of a hill and looked all round him; then, seeing no one, he seated himself, and commenced an examination. He had now two purses, for he perceived that the packet he had received contained money, besides the letter. It was quite a royal purse, embroidered with an "H" at each end.
"It is pretty," said Chicot, "no one could be more generous or more stupid. Decidedly I shall never make anything of the king. All that astonishes me is that he did not have the letter embroidered outside also. Now let me see how much money he has sent. One hundred crowns; just the sum I borrowed from Gorenflot. Ah! pardon, Henri, this is good. But the purse annoys me; if I were to keep it I should feel as if the very birds, as they flew over my head, would denounce me as a royal messenger."
So saying, he drew from his pocket Gorenflot's bag, emptied the king's money into it, then placed a stone in the purse, and threw it into the Orge, which flowed under the bridge at his feet.
"So much for myself—now for Henri," said Chicot; and he took up the letter, broke the seal with the utmost tranquillity, and sent the envelope into the river after the purse. "Now," said he, "let us read.
"'Dear brother, the deep love which you felt for our late dear brother and king, Charles IX., still clings to the Louvre and to my heart; it grieves me, therefore, to have to write to you about vexatious things. You are strong, however, against ill fortune, so that I do not hesitate to communicate these things to you—things which can only be told to a tried friend. Besides, I have an interest in warning you—the honor of my name and of your own, my brother. We resemble each other in one thing, that we are each surrounded with enemies. Chicot will explain to you."'M. de Turenne, your servant, causes daily scandal at your court; God forbid that I should interfere in your affairs, except where your honor is concerned; but your wife, whom to my regret I call my sister, should be more careful than she is of your honor. I advise you, therefore, to watch the communications of Margot with Turenne, that she does not bring shame on the house of Bourbon. Act as soon as you shall be sure of the fact, into which I pray you to inquire as soon as Chicot shall have explained to you my letter."'Those whom as brother and king I denounce to you, generally meet at a little chateau called Loignac, the pretext being generally the chase. This chateau is, besides, the focus for intrigues to which the Guises are not strangers, and you know the strange love with which my sister pursued Henri de Guise. I embrace you, and am ever ready to aid you in all, and for all; meanwhile aid yourself by the advice of Chicot, whom I send to you. Your affectionate,' etc.
"'Dear brother, the deep love which you felt for our late dear brother and king, Charles IX., still clings to the Louvre and to my heart; it grieves me, therefore, to have to write to you about vexatious things. You are strong, however, against ill fortune, so that I do not hesitate to communicate these things to you—things which can only be told to a tried friend. Besides, I have an interest in warning you—the honor of my name and of your own, my brother. We resemble each other in one thing, that we are each surrounded with enemies. Chicot will explain to you.
"'M. de Turenne, your servant, causes daily scandal at your court; God forbid that I should interfere in your affairs, except where your honor is concerned; but your wife, whom to my regret I call my sister, should be more careful than she is of your honor. I advise you, therefore, to watch the communications of Margot with Turenne, that she does not bring shame on the house of Bourbon. Act as soon as you shall be sure of the fact, into which I pray you to inquire as soon as Chicot shall have explained to you my letter.
"'Those whom as brother and king I denounce to you, generally meet at a little chateau called Loignac, the pretext being generally the chase. This chateau is, besides, the focus for intrigues to which the Guises are not strangers, and you know the strange love with which my sister pursued Henri de Guise. I embrace you, and am ever ready to aid you in all, and for all; meanwhile aid yourself by the advice of Chicot, whom I send to you. Your affectionate,' etc.
"Age auctore Chicot," said Chicot, "here am I, installed counselor of the king of Navarre! This seems to me a bad commission, and in flying one ill, I have fallen into a worse one. Really, I should almost prefer Mayenne. But the letter is clever, and if Henriot be like other husbands, it will embroil him at once with his wife, Turenne, the Guises, and even with Spain. But if Henri de Valois is so well informed of all that passes in Navarre, he must have some spy there.
"Then, again," continued he, "this letter will lead me into mischief if I meet a Spaniard, a Lorraine, a Béarnais, or a Fleming curious enough to wish to know what brings me here, and I should be very foolish not to remember that there is a chance of that. M. Borromée, above all, I suspect may play me some trick. Besides, what did I seek in asking the king for this mission? Tranquillity. And now I am going to embroil the king of Navarre with his wife. However, that is not my affair, except that I shall make mortal enemies, who will prevent me from ever reaching the happy age of eighty.
"Ma foi! but that is not much, for it is only worth living when you are young. But then I might as well have waited for the knife of M. de Mayenne. However, I will take precautions, and will translate this fine letter into Latin, and engrave it on my memory; then I will buy a horse, because from Juvisy to Pau I should have too often to put the right foot before the left if I walked—but first I will destroy this letter."
This he proceeded to do; tearing it into an infinite number of little pieces, sending some into the river, others into the air, and burying the rest in holes in the ground.
"Now let me think of my Latin theme," said he; and this study occupied him until he arrived at Corbeil, where he bestowed a glance at the cathedral, but fixed an earnest look at a traiteur's, whence came an appetizing smell of dinner. We will not describe either the dinner he made or the horse he bought; suffice it to say that the dinner was long and the horse was bad.
Chicot, with his little horse, which ought to have been a big one to have carried him, after having slept at Fontainebleau, made a detour to the right, and proceeded toward the little village of Orgeval. He would have gone further that day, but his horse failed him. He put up, therefore, at a good hotel, and went through the rooms to select one where the doors closed well, and chose an apartment which had just been repaired, and the door of which was furnished with a formidable lock.
Before going to bed, although the hotel had appeared almost empty, he locked the door and placed a heavy table and a chest of drawers against it. He then put his purse under his pillow, and repeated to himself three times over the translation of the king's letter. There was an extremely high wind blowing, and as it howled in the neighboring trees, it was with a feeling of great satisfaction that Chicot plunged into a very comfortable bed.
He had a lamp by his bedside, and he occupied himself for some time in reading a book which he had brought with him; but, although he liked the book, in reading the third chapter he fell asleep. The wind moaned about the house, sometimes like a child crying, and sometimes like a husband scolding his wife; and as Chicot slept, it seemed to him, in his dreams, that the tempest came nearer and nearer. All at once a sudden squall of invincible force broke locks and bolts—pushed the chest of drawers, which fell on the lamp, which it extinguished, and on the table, which it smashed.
Chicot had the faculty of waking quickly, and with all his senses about him, so he jumped out of bed and got hold in an instant of his purse and his sword. It was quite dark, but it seemed to him that the whole room was being torn to pieces by the four winds of heaven; for the chairs were falling, and the table breaking more and more under the weight of the drawers. As he could do nothing against the gods of Olympus, he contented himself with standing in one corner, with his sword held out before him, so that if any of these mythological personages approached, they would spit themselves upon it.
At last he profited by a momentary cessation in the uproar to cry loudly, "Help! help!"
He made so much noise that it seemed to quiet the elements, as if Neptune had pronounced the famousQuos ego, and, after six or seven minutes, during which Eurus, Notus, Boreas and Aquilo seemed to beat a retreat, the host appeared with a lantern and enlightened the scene, which looked deplorably like a field of battle. The great chest of drawers was overturned on the broken table; the door was held only by one of its hinges, and the bolts were broken; three or four chairs were on the floor with their legs in the air, and, to crown all, the crockery, which had been on the table, lay in bits on the floor.
"This is a regular pandemonium," cried Chicot, recognizing his host.
"Oh! monsieur," cried the host, clasping his hands, "what has happened?"
"Are there demons lodging here?" asked Chicot.
"Oh! what weather," replied the host pathetically.
"But the bolts do not hold; this house must be made of card-board. I would rather go away;—I prefer the road."
"Oh! my poor furniture," sighed the host.
"But my clothes! where are they? They were on this chair."
"If they were there, they ought to be there still," replied the host.
"What! 'if they were there.' Do you think I came here yesterday in this costume?"
"Mon Dieu! monsieur," answered the host, with embarrassment, "I know you were clothed."
"It is lucky you confess it."
"But—"
"But what?"
"The wind has dispersed everything."
"Ah! that is a reason."
"You see."
"But, my friend, when the wind comes in it comes from outside, and it must have come in here if it made this destruction."
"Certainly, monsieur."
"Well, the wind in coming in here should have brought with it the clothes of others, instead of carrying mine out."
"So it should, and yet the contrary seems to have happened."
"But what is this? The wind must have walked in the mud, for here are footmarks on the floor." And Chicot pointed out the traces left by a muddy boot, on seeing which the host turned pale.
"Now, my friend," said Chicot, "I advise you to keep a watch over these winds which enter hotels, penetrate rooms by breaking doors, and retire, carrying away the clothes of the guests."
The host drew back toward the door. "You call me thief!" said he.
"You are responsible for my clothes, and they are gone—you will not deny that?"
"You insult me."
Chicot made a menacing gesture.
"Hola!" cried the host; "hola! help!"
Four men armed with sticks immediately appeared.
"Ah! here are the four winds," cried Chicot, making a thrust with his sword at one of them; but they all rapidly disappeared, not, however, before one of them had whispered something to the host.
"Your clothes shall be found," growled he.
"Well! that is all I ask."
They soon made their appearance, but visibly deteriorated.
"Ah! there are nails in your staircase; what a devil of a wind it was," said Chicot.
"Now you will go to bed again?" said the host.
"No, I thank you, I have slept enough; leave me your lantern and I will read."
Chicot replaced the chest of drawers against the door, dressed himself, got into bed again, and read till daybreak, when he asked for his horse, paid his bill, and went away, saying to himself—
"We shall see, to-night."
Chicot passed his morning in congratulating himself on the sang-froid and patience he had displayed through his night of trials.
"But," thought he, "they never take an old wolf twice in the same snare; therefore, it is nearly certain that they will invent some new devilry to practice on me to-day, so I must be on my guard."
The result of this reasoning was, that Chicot made a march that day worthy of being immortalized by Xenophon. Every tree, rising ground, or wall, served him for a point of observation. He also concluded on the road alliances, if not offensive, at least defensive. Four grocers from Paris, who were going to Orleans to order preserves, and to Limoges for dried fruits, allowed Chicot, who called himself a hosier from Bordeaux, returning home, to join their company, which was rendered more formidable by four clerks, who were following their masters. It was quite a little army, and scarcely less formidable in mind than in number, so warlike a spirit had the League introduced among the Parisian shopkeepers. At all events, three cowards together have less fear than one brave man alone. At last they reached Etampes, the town fixed on for supper and sleeping. They supped, and then each went to his room.
Chicot, who had not been sparing during the repast, either of his fun, which amused his companions, or of the Muscat and Burgundy, went to bed, after having settled to travel again with the grocers on the morrow. Chicot, therefore, thought himself guarded like a prince by the four travelers, whose rooms were in the same corridor and close to his own. Indeed, at this epoch, the roads being far from safe, travelers were in the habit of promising each other mutual aid in case of need. Chicot then, after bolting his door and striking the walls, which returned everywhere a satisfactory sound, went to bed and to sleep.
But there arrived, during his first sleep, an event which the Sphynx himself, the diviner par excellence, could not have foreseen; but the devil was mixing himself up with Chicot's affairs, and he is more cunning than all the Sphynxes in the world.
About half-past nine a blow was struck on the door of the room where the clerks all slept. One of them opened in a very bad humor, and found himself face to face with the host.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I see with pleasure that you are sleeping all ready dressed, for I wish to render you a great service. Your masters grew very warm over politics at supper-time, and it seems that a sheriff of the town heard them and reported it. Now, as we are very loyal here, the mayor sent down the watch, and they have arrested your masters and carried them off. The prison is near the Hotel de Ville; go, my lads, your mules are ready for you, your masters will join you on the road."
The four clerks shook like hares, ran downstairs, jumped on their mules, and took the road back to Paris, telling the host to let their masters know, if they should return to the hotel.
Having seen them disappear, the host went to knock very gently at one of the doors in the corridor.
One of the merchants cried out in a loud voice, "Who is there?"
"Silence!" replied the host, "and come quietly to the door."
The merchant obeyed, but before opening, he said again—"Who are you?"
"Your host; do you not recognize my voice?"
"Mon Dieu! what is the matter?"
"Why, it seems you talked rather too freely at table, and the mayor has been informed by some spy, and has sent to arrest you. Luckily, I thought of showing them your clerks' room instead of yours, so that they are busy upstairs arresting them."
"Can this be true?"
"Pure and simple truth. Make haste, and escape while you can."
"But my companions?"
"Oh! I will tell them."
And while the merchant dressed, the host awakened the others, and very soon they all disappeared, walking on the points of their toes, that they might not be heard.
"That poor hosier!" said they; "it will all fall on him; but it is true he said the most."
Of course Chicot had received no warning. While the merchants were flying, he was sleeping peacefully.
The host now descended into the hall, where stood six armed men, one of whom seemed to command the others.
"Well?" said this one.
"I have obeyed your orders, monsieur."
"Your inn is deserted?"
"Absolutely."
"The person is not awakened?"
"No."
"You know in whose name we act, and what cause we serve: for you serve the same."
"Yes, certainly; therefore, I have sacrificed, to keep my oath, the money that these men would have spent at my house; for it is said in the oath, 'I will sacrifice my goods to the defense of the Catholic religion.'"
"'And my life,' you forget that," replied the officer.
"Oh! I have a wife and children."
"You must obey blindly what is ordered you."
"Oh! I will obey."
"Then go to bed, shut the doors, and whatever you see or hear, do not come out, even if your house is burning."
"Oh! I am ruined!"
"I am instructed to indemnify you; here are thirty crowns."
"My house estimated at thirty crowns!" cried the inn-keeper, piteously.
"We shall not break even a window; complainer that you are."
"Oh! what a champion of the Holy League."
The host went away and did as he was told. Then the officer ordered two men to place themselves under Chicot's window, while he himself, with the three others, mounted to his room.
"You know the order," said the officer. "If he opens and lets us search, and we find what we seek, we will not do him the least harm; but if the contrary happens, a good blow with a dagger; no pistol, you understand—besides, it is useless, being four against one."
The officer knocked.
"Who is there?" cried Chicot.
"Your friends the grocers, who have something important to tell you."
"Oh!" cried Chicot; "how last night's wine has strengthened your voice."
The officer lowered his voice, and said in an insinuating tone, "Open quickly, dear companion."
"Ventre de biche! I do not smell the grocery."
"Ah! you will not open?" cried the officer, impatiently. "Break open the door."
Chicot ran to the window, but saw below two naked swords shining.
"I am caught," said he.
"Ah! ah!" cried the officer, who had heard the noise of the window opening; "you fear the perilous leap, and you are right. Come, open!"
"Ma foi! no; the door is solid, and I shall get help when you make a noise." And he began to call for the merchants.
The officer laughed. "Fool!" cried he. "Do you think we have left you their help? Undeceive yourself; you are alone, so make up your mind to it. Go on, soldiers."
Chicot heard three blows struck on the door.
"They have three muskets," said he; "and below there are only two swords, and only fifteen feet to jump; I prefer the swords to the muskets."
And tying his bag to his belt, he got on the window-sill with his drawn sword. The two men below stood ready with their drawn swords, but, as Chicot guessed, on seeing him jump sword in hand, they drew back, intending to strike him as he came to the ground. Chicot alighted on his feet, and one of the men gave him a thrust immediately. Thanks, however, to Gorenflot's coat of mail, the blade broke like glass.
"He has armor!" cried the soldier.
"Pardieu!" said Chicot, cutting open his head with a blow of his sword.
The other began to cry out, thinking now only of defending himself, but, at the second pass, Chicot laid him by his comrade; so that when the door was burst open, the officer saw through the window his two sentinels lying in their blood, and Chicot running quietly away.
"He is a demon; he is steel proof!" cried he.
"Yes; but not ball-proof!" cried the soldiers.
"No firing; no noise; you will wake the city. We shall catch him to-morrow."