It was a bright, sunny morning when De Beaurepaire drew rein in the long, dirty street of Charenton, and, turning his horse's head, directed it towards the hamlet of Saint Mandé where his Lodge was. The Lodge that, enshrouded in trees, stood on the edge of the Forest of Vincennes and was one of the many which, wherever there was a royal forest, were the residences of the Grand Veneur of the time being.
Leading his animal to the stables, while observing that already the heavy curtains were drawn apart and the inmates stirring, he tethered it in a stall and fetched a feed for it from the bin near at hand. After which he locked the stable door with the key he had drawn from his pocket, retraced his steps to the garden, and, mounting to the verandah, went towards the window.
If, however, he did this with the intention of tapping on it and thus attracting the notice of whosoever might be, within that room, this intention was anticipated.
As his heavy riding-boots sounded on the crushed shell path and his gilt spurs rang at his heels, he heard thefrou-frouof a woman's long robe on the parquet of the room and saw the thick folds of the stamped leather hangings drawn aside by a slim white hand, and, next, one side of the window opened.
A moment later he was in the room, and the woman who called herself Emérance de Villiers-Bordéville stood before him.
"So," she exclaimed in a whisper, the very murmur of which told of her joy at having him with her once more; "so you are back once more. And almost to the moment, as you promised. Ah! I have so longed to see you since you quitted Paris for Fontainebleau." Then she said, "Come, see, a meal is prepared. Come, refresh yourself, eat and drink and let us be merry. We meet once more."
Yet, as she spoke and while gazing up into the handsome face of the man before her, she saw something in that face, something in the dark eyes that were looking down into hers, that startled her.
"What is it?" she asked in a low voice, a voice that was almost hoarse in its depth. "What?"
"I will tell you," De Beaurepaire answered, "but first a drink of wine. I am parched and dry with my ride, and also with a fever that consumes me within. Give me the drink."
Obeying him, the woman went over to the table which stood at one side of the room; a table set out with cold meats, a pasty and some salads and, also, with a large flask of wine, when, pouring out some into a goblet, she brought it to the man she loved. As he drank, eagerly, thirstily, she let her eyes rest on him till he had finished the draught. After which she said again, "What is it?"
"This. Humphrey West is alive. La Truaumont has either lied to me or been deceived."
"Alive!" Emérance repeated, her face blanching as she spoke, while the softness of it seemed to vanish, to leave it in a moment, and her \ eyes became dim. "Humphrey West--the man who heard--as they all thought--what was said in that room at Basle."
"Yes. Alive and--at Fontainebleau."
"Malheur!" while, as Emérance spoke, the goblet she had taken from his hand after he had finished drinking fell to the floor and shivered into a dozen pieces on the parquet. "At Fontainebleau! Where the King is. So," and she shuddered as though the room had suddenly grown cold. "You are undone. Lost. Oh!"
"You are undone. Lost," she had said. She had not said, "We are undone." And, as she said it, the man knew, if he had never known before, how strong her love was for him. There had been no thought of, no fear for, herself springing quickly to her mind in learning the danger that overhung them both, though there could have been no possibility of her failing to understand that what threatened him threatened her also; she had thought only of him. She had not said, "We are undone." Her wail, her terror had been for him alone.
"Emérance," De Beaurepaire said, taking her to his arms now and kissing her, while--whatever the man's faults were, and they were many and grievous!--indifference to the self-abnegation of this thing that, he now knew, loved him so, could not be counted among them. "Emérance, I think not of myself but you. I have staked and lost. I must stand the hazard.Les battus payent l'amende."
"No, no," Emérance wailed. "What! You think of me! Of me the schemer, the adventuress--the woman who is herself of Normandy, who hoped to see this proud, masterful ruler beaten down by the Normans he despises and treats evilly. The woman who hoped to see the man she loves, the man she worships, help in the work and, perhaps, assume that ruler's place. Who am I that you should think of me? Yet, nevertheless, this sunders our lives. Or! no--no!" she went on, a wan smile stealing on to her face. "For though we go out of each other's lives it may be that we shall set out from each other together, at the same time--though we go different dark roads at parting."
Excited, overmastered, by what her imagination conjured up, at what must be their fate if their conspiracy was known by now to the King, she went toward the table again and, filling another glass, drank it to the dregs. After which, as though inspirited by what she had drunk, she came back to where the other stood, while saying:--
"Tell me all. Have you seen him at Fontainebleau?"
"Five hours past. Ill, white, like a man who has been close to, who has knocked at, death's door, yet has been refused admittance. In the great avenue, on his road to the château."
"You could not have been mistaken?"
"I was not mistaken. Our eyes did not meet as he looked out of the crazy conveyance in which he sat. But in seeing him, I learnt all."
"Was La Truaumont deceived in what he repeated to you--or--or is that wretch, Van den Enden, a double traitor? Yet--yet--you told me ere you went to Fontainebleau that the former said La Preaux forced Humphrey West to fight with him and slew him, leaving the blame to fall on Boisfleury. That he saw the young man slain."
"La Truaumont was not deceived nor did he lie. He saw the fight: he saw the other fall. Yet, now, I have seen him alive. This very day. Alive and making his way to the King."
"And ere the Englishman was killed he had killed Boisfleury?" Emérance asked meditatively.
"Nay. La Truaumont thought not so but that he only wounded him sorely."
"They should have killed him ere they left Basle. They should have killed them both. They should have made sure of their silence for ever. Thus, too, when they were found they would have been thought to have slain each other; their lips would have been sealed--you would have been safe."
"Emérance, think not of me alone. I am but one."
"But one! You are the only one of whom I can think. What are a thousand lives, a thousand murders, to me so long as you are safe!"
Before this overmastering passion of the woman for him, this love that, like the love of the tigress for its mate or its young, would have swept the lives of all in the world away to preserve the one thing precious to it, De Beaurepaire stood speechless. In truth it startled him--startled even him who had known so much of women's love yet had never known such love as this.
"Nevertheless," Emérance went on, fearing that the violence of her passion, of her fears for her lover, might make him deem her what she was not, "I would have had no blood shed, and treacherously shed, too, had you been safe. Had I known before what I know now since La Truaumont and I have met again in Paris, had I guessed that this Englishman had overheard all, the attempt to do him cruelly to death should not have been made. At least, that ruffian, La Preaux, who masquerades under his buffoon's name of Fleur de Mai, should not have tried his treacherousbotteon him. I would have seen the eavesdropper, have sworn him to secrecy, and have saved him."
"La Truaumont would have saved him if he could. He endeavoured to swear him to silence, to make him give a promise to breathe no word. Had the other consented all would be well. But----"
"But?"--with an inward catching of her breath.
"But he refused scornfully. He boasted how, that very night, he would be on his road to Louis to divulge all. Therefore it had to be. His blood was on his own head. If he had slain Fleur de Mai, as it appears he went near to doing, La Truaumont would have slain him." And De Beaurepaire muttered, "it had to be," while adding, "and still it was not done."
Shrugging her shoulders the woman exclaimed, "Yes, and--alas!--still it was not done. He is alive and the King by now knows all. Only--will he believe upon this man's testimony alone? Will he act at once, without further proof or corroboration, ere he is sure?"
When Emérance de Villiers-Bordéville, as she called herself, asked this question, she did not know, could not know that there had already come a letter from England from Louise de Kéroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth--herself a spy of France--to Louis, telling him as much as, if not more than, Humphrey West could tell him of the Norman plot against him. Nor could she also know that, from Basle, had come another letter from the Duchesse de Castellucchio telling him in more guarded language (since she, at least, could not betray De Beaurepaire) of what she had gathered, and bidding him beware of Spain and Holland.
"I know not what he will do, nor what he will believe, nor if any name is yet divulged," the Prince replied, "though, when he spoke with me last evening ere I left him, he dwelt strangely, ay! and strongly too, on our boyhood's companionship and my command of all his guards. But, Emérance, tell me what was said of me that night in your room. Was my name spoken so that this man listening in the next one might easily catch it; was my share in all laid bare? Think, recall; and speak boldly to me. For if it was----"
"Yes; if it was, what then?"
"Then there is but one thing left. Flight----"
"Ah! From me?"
"Nay, never. But flight together. I will never part from you in life. As man and wife we fly together."
"Ah!"
"Never otherwise! Now, Emérance, speak. Tell all."
"If," Emérance said, after meditating deeply for some moments, while there was on her face the look which all have seen when those with whom they converse are thinking carefully, or endeavouring to recall some once spoken words; "if--if--this man overheard me and La Truaumont the first night, then--he--heard your name. Because La Truaumont said that you might rise to even higher flights than the proud position of a De Beaurepaire."
"Dieu des Dieux!If he did hear! Well! On the next night?"
"On the next night," Emérance continued, "ah! let me recall. Yes. On the next night your name was again uttered. By me--accursed be my tongue!--when I spoke of rejoining you here in Paris, and by La Truaumont by the sobriquet I love to hear applied to you, that of 'Le Dédaigneux.' For disdainful you are to all--except to me," her voice sinking to a murmur as she added those last two words.
"Ha!" De Beaurepaire said with a grim smile, "if Humphrey West heard no mention of my name by you, he would scarce know that I am 'Le Dédaigneux'."
"Alas," the woman almost wailed, "'twas touched upon that the King's guards had been despatched to join the main body of the army: thatLe Dédaigneuxhad taken heed for that.Le Dédaigneux--their colonel."
"Enough. With this he knows all. And by now Louis and De Louvois, too, who never leaves his master's side, know it also. It is enough, more than enough. When the Court returns from Fontainebleau four days hence La Reynie will know it as well."
"Four days! You have four days in which to escape, to hide yourself, to put some frontier between you and the King's wrath! Ah! heaven! you are saved."
"And lost also. Once I cross any frontier I shall never recross it, never return to France. Never. Never. And I am a De Beaurepaire; my blood, my life is drawn from France and I shall never see it more."
"Nay. With time the King will forgive. You have often said his heart is kindly, that he is never cruel. That he has forgiven much to both women and men who have deceived him."
"Ay, to both women and men. But the women were false to his heart alone, and there are thousands of other women in France as fair as they: a king woos and wins where he will. And the men he has forgiven have but forgotten for a moment the difference between him and them; but when it is his throne, his crown, that is in danger, he never forgives."
"Seize then upon these four days; fly to Holland or Switzerland, or Italy, and escape. Sell your charges to those whom you have oft told me would buy them, and fly."
"And you? You--my love?"
"As you bid me I will do. If you will have me by your side, or go before you or stay behind, you must but say the word and I obey. Do with me as you would with your favourite dog; leave me or take me.
"I will never leave you," her lover murmured. "Never. We escape together----"
"Or we fall together. Is it not so?"
"It is so. And, remember, our danger and our safety go hand in hand. If either of us is found in Paris when once La Reynie's blood-hounds are let loose, there will be but one end for both."
"No matter so that we share that end. Yet," she said suddenly, recalling what both had forgotten. "There is La Truaumont. Also Van den Enden and the bully, La Preaux. The former, at least, should be warned."
"La Truaumont shall be. As for the Jew and La Preaux, let them look to themselves."
"Nay! nay! That is madness. If they are taken ere we are safe they will divulge all. To save ourselves we must save them."
The following day De Beaurepaire rode into the great courtyard of Versailles, while, as he did so, the sentries of the Garde de Corps du Roi saluted him, the guard turned out, and the drummers sitting outside in the morning sun sprang to their drums and hastily beat them in honour of him who commanded all the various regiments of the King's Guards. He wore now the superbjustaucorpsof gold cloth and lace to which, by virtue of his charge and office, he was entitled; across it, under his scarlet coat, ran his white satin sash stamped with golden suns: his three-cornered hat was laced with galloon, his sword was ivory-hilted, with, surmounting its handle, a gold sun.
For a moment the man who, as he had said to Emérance had set his life upon a cast, who had murmured half-bitterly, half-sadly, after knowing that the die of Fate had gone against him, "les battus payent l'amende," looked round on those receiving him with homage and deference, and, as before, his thoughts were terribly poignant while tinged also with self-contempt.
"And I had all this," he murmured as, mechanically he acknowledged the salutes; "and have thrown it away for a shadow; a chimera. Never more will drums roll to salute me nor shall I hold high command. Instead, there is nought for me but a strange land where all who dwell therein will know why I am an exile, a fugitive; and I shall know that I am a traitor. A man false to his King, false to the master who was his friend in childhood, false to the oath of fidelity he has sworn. Fool, doubly-accursed fool and knave that I am!"
Dismounting from his horse and throwing the reins to a soldier who advanced to take them, he bade another man summon De Brissac, who commanded the Garde du Corps, to his presence, when, entering the Lodge, he sat down to await the coming of that person.
A moment later De Brissac had entered the room, and, after greetings had been exchanged, that of De Beaurepaire being cordially condescending while De Brissac's was coldly respectful, the former said:--
"De Brissac, I have ridden here specially to see you and speak with you----"
"Your Highness," De Brissac repeated, giving the other the most superior title by which he had the right to be addressed, "has ridden here specially to see and speak with me!" while, as he said this, there came a little nest of wrinkles outside each of his eyes that gave to his face a look of bewilderment. "To see me! Particularly me?"
"Particularly you? Yes. Why!" exclaimed De Beaurepaire, with an attempt at mirth, "is it so strange that I, who am Chief of all the Guards as you are Chief of the Garde du Corps, should have some matter on which I desire to speak with you?"
"No, no. Without doubt not strange. Yet--I am only De Brissac--le Sieur de Brissac--and you are Prince and Chevalier de Beaurepaire."
"Nay! We--are--both--soldiers."
"Yes, we are both soldiers," the other said, yet his tone was so strange that his Chief should have observed--perhaps did observe--it. If, however, the latter was the case he made no sign of doing so. Instead, he continued:--
"You spoke to me not long ago of one who was eager to buy some great charge under the King."
"Yes. I so spoke. Is, then, such a charge vacant now?" De Brissac's tone being still cold and distant as he spoke.
"There is, and if he who would purchase such a charge is sufficiently high in rank, if the King will permit him to buy it, he may buy mine. My charge of the guards. That of Grand Veneur cannot be sold."
"Yours!" De Brissac said, and now he took a step back from where he stood as a man steps back when utterly astonished at what he hears. "Yours!"
"Yes, mine. I--I am not well in health. And--I have other calls on me."
For a moment De Brissac said nothing but stood looking at his superior strangely. Then he said:--
"The person of whom I spoke holds so high a position that the King would not oppose him in his desires. Only----"
"Only!"
"He will not buy your charge."
"What!" De Beaurepaire exclaimed, while, with a sneer, he added, "is he so high that even it is too low for him.Cadédis!he must be high indeed." Then, rapping the table irritably, he said, "Come, Monsieur de Brissac, explain yourself. Who is this man, and why should my charge be the one he will not buy?"
Still with a strange look in his eyes and with that little nest of wrinkles on either side of his face very apparent, De Brissac glanced out through the window and saw that his men were all engaged at their various occupations; some fetching water from the spring for their horses, some attending to their animals and rubbing them down, and some cleaning and polishing their accoutrements. After having done which he came nearer to De Beaurepaire than he had been before, and said:--
"I will explain myself. The man of whom I spoke will not purchase your charge because--it is no longer saleable."
"What!" exclaimed the other, rising to his feet, while his hand instinctively sought his sword-hilt. "What? Is this insolence? Explain, I say."
"I will. Yet take your hand from off your sword or I may be forced to draw mine. Likewise, look through that window. Those men are under my command for the time being, not yours----"
"Explain," the Prince repeated, stamping his foot angrily. "If they are not under my immediate command, you are."
"No, I am not. A general warrant for your arrest is out this morning. You are no longer in command of the King's Guards nor any portion of his army. In coming here to-day you have walked into the lion's den. Prince Louis de Beaurepaire, give me your sword. I arrest you on the charge of high treason against your King."
For a moment the Prince stood gazing at the man before him with so strange a look that the other--brave soldier as he was, and one who had given his proofs in many a campaign--scarce knew what might happen next. The handsome face usually so bronzed by the open-air life De Beaurepaire had always led was bloodless now, so, too, were the lips, while the veins upon his forehead looked as though they were about to burst. Yet this transformation was not due to any of those sudden gusts of passion to which he was known to be so often subject when thwarted, or contradicted, or addressed familiarly and on terms of equality by those whom he considered beneath him--as, in truth, he considered most men to be.
Instead, his pallor proceeded from far different emotions that had now taken possession of him. It proceeded from the thought, the recollection which sprang swift as lightning to his mind that, with his arrest, all hope, all chance was gone of warning Emérance, of putting her on her guard and giving her time to escape. This first--above all things--was what almost stilled the beating of his heart; this and his fears for the safety of the bold, daring, reckless woman who loved him so, and who, herself, had thought only ofhissafety. This--to which was added in a slighter degree the thought that La Truaumont, who had served him well and faithfully while serving his own ends and those of his Norman friends, could no more be warned than she.
"You arrest me!" he said now to De Brissac who stood quietly before him, his eyes upon his face; "you arrest me, you tell me I am removed from any command. Also, you ask me for my sword and hope to obtain it--a thing never asked or hoped for by an enemy. So be it. But, first, I must see your warrant for your demand. If not, you will have----"
"My warrant! Prince Louis, do you think that I should act thus to one who was last night my superior, my commander, if I did not possess a warrant. It is here," and he went to a table covered with papers and took up one of them. After which he added, "The same thing will be in the hands of every officer commanding a garrison or fortress in France as soon as the couriers can reach them."
"I left Louis at six on the night before last," De Beaurepaire said aloud, "and--and--we parted as we have ever parted, as friends." But to himself he added, "An hour later that man might have seen Louis and told him all. An hour after that the couriers might have set out. Had I not tarried at my Lodge, had I but mounted Emérance on another horse at once, we should have been safe, or almost safe, by now."
Then he put out his hand and took the warrant from De Brissac and read it. It was brief and ran thus, after being addressed to various commanding officers, as the latter had said:--
"It is our will and pleasure that Prince Louis de Beaurepaire be removed from his charge of Colonel of our Guards, and that, wherever he may be seen, appear, or be signalised, he be arrested and detained until our further pleasure is known. The which we charge you not to fail in and to use all proper caution and expedition, subject to our displeasure if you do so. On which we pray God to have you in His holy keeping. Written at Fontainebleau this tenth day of September in the year of our Lord 1674.
"Signé.LouisR. F. et N.
"Sousigné.Louvois
(Ministre de Guerre)."
"Your highness observes?" De Brissac said; "it is the King's orders."
"I observe," De Beaurepaire answered in a low tone.
"Yet take heart," the other said. "This may be no serious thing. Louvois makes many charges now and pushes the King to many things he would not do without him at his side."
"It may be so. Ah! well. My sword! My sword! You would have that?"
"I must," De Brissac said, not without a tremor in his voice. For he remembered De Beaurepaire (then a young man of twenty and the handsomest of all the flower of thehaute noblesse) at Arras and the Siege of Laudrécies, and recalled his bravery and reckless daring. And now it had come to this!
"Take it," his prisoner said, drawing the blade from its sheath, kissing it, and then handing it to him, "take it. I pray God that ere long I may receive it back again."
"Amen," De Brissac said solemnly.
"Now, what next?" De Beaurepaire asked.
"The next is--the Bastille."
"And after?"
"I know not."
"Ere I set out, tell me one thing. And before you answer listen, De Brissac; listen as a soldier to a soldier, a friend to a friend. There is a woman whom I have learnt to love----"
"Ah!" exclaimed the other, recalling how often this handsome patrician's name had been mixed up with the names of women and knowing, as all in Paris knew, how the hearts of those women had gone out to him.
"A woman whom I love," De Beaurepaire went on, his voice sounding broken to the other's ear. "A woman who loves me and has long loved me fondly, tenderly, as I now love her. Not a woman who is one of those giddy, heartless butterflies who circle round Louis' Court, who change their lovers as they change their robes; who love one man to-day and another to-morrow; no! not one of these. But, instead, one who is poor, unknown to our world, and of, I think, for in truth I do not know, humble origin--yet whose love and devotion pass aught I have ever met. One who would rather die with me, for me, than live with others."
"Die!" De Brissac said, turning away his head as he spoke, since, rude soldier as he might be, and acquainted only with camps and battlefields and sieges, there was a heart in his bosom. "Nay, surely there is no thought of dying for you or--for--her!"
"Alas! if, as I suspect, this sudden resolve of the King to dismiss me, to arrest me, points to one thing, the end will not be far remote from death. For myself I care not, but--ah! not death for her!" he cried. "She is, as I have said, nought in the world's eyes--nought--nought! but she is a tender, loving woman, too good to be hacked to death or mangled on the wheel."
"What would you have me do?"
"Cause a letter, permit a letter, to be conveyed to her. Either where I left her this morning in my Lodge in the Bois de Vincennes, at Saint Mandé, or where'er she may be in Paris."
"It is impossible. Not even if your letter was untied, unsealed, so that all the world might read, could that be done. D'Hautefeuille is in supreme command at Versailles now; it would have to pass through his hands but it would pass no farther. It is impossible."
"Impossible," De Beaurepaire muttered. "Oh! Emérance! Emérance!"
De Brissac had spoken with his eyes turned to the floor, since he would not be witness of what, he knew, must be the other's misery when he learnt that no letter would be permitted to pass between him and this woman of whom he had spoken so fondly. But now, as the unhappy man uttered that woman's name, he looked up suddenly and stared fixedly at him.
"Who is this woman? What is she?" he asked.
"As I have told you, the woman I love."
"And her name is Emérance?" De Brissac said, endeavouring to speak as lightly as possible and as easily as the present circumstances might permit. "It is a pretty name. Of the North of France, I think. I have heard it before."
If he had not heard it before he had at least read it before. He had read it only that very morning when thecourrier du Roi, after calling on La Reynie, had continued his journey to Versailles and, besides bringing one of the warrants for the arrest of De Beaurepaire if he should appear there, also brought with him the copies of the warrants issued by La Reynie for the arrest of four other persons. Four other persons, one of whom was described as Louise de Belleau de Cortonne, styling herself Emérance, Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville, another who was known as Affinius Van den Enden, which was believed to be his proper name, and another who passed under the sobriquet of Fleur de Mai, but whose right name was La Preaux, and who termed himself Le Chevalier de la Preaux, though unregistered in any order of knighthood. The fourth was the Sieur Georges du Hamel of La Truaumont, styled the Captain la Truaumont.
De Brissac's astonishment, perhaps, also, his emotion, was not therefore singular, as not only had he seen the warrant with the woman's name in it, but the task had been deputed to him of proceeding to Rouen there to arrest the Captain la Truaumont, the Lieutenant of Police, La Reynie, having received undoubted evidence that the conspirator was now in the city preparing to levy war against both the King's throne and his person.
"The hopeless Conspiracy," as it came to be called later, was, from the moment that De Beaurepaire, the Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville and Van den Enden were arrested, one that caused more sensation in France than any other event of the period. Not even that of the Marquise de Brinvilliers for poisoning her own father and brothers at the instigation of her lover, nor that of "La" Voisin for the sale of poisons--for the purchase of which the Duchesse de Vivonne and Madame de Montespan were themselves denounced, while Olympe Mancini fled the country--were more talked of than this affair.
In this conspiracy stood, as its head and front, the handsomest representative of a house that, since the suppression of the family of De Guise, was the first in the kingdom; while others whose names were the most notable of the time were strongly suspected of being implicated in the plot. Among those names was that of the Duc de Bourbon-Condé, grandson of the Prince de Condé--a man of whom it was said that he was "an unnatural son, a cruel father, a terrible husband, a detestable master, an evil neighbour, a man without friendship or a friend, and equally fit to be his own executioner and that of others." Another, on whom suspicion rested deeply, was the brother of the Duc de Guiche; another the Cardinal de Retz. Of these latter none were ever brought to trial, while the name of Condé's grandson was, by order of the King himself, omitted from the interrogatories and trial. For the Condés were of the House of Bourbon, and the great head of that house could not see one of his own blood, however evil, receive the ordinary treatment meted out to suspected men.
In the Bastille, therefore, Louis de Beaurepaire, Emérance and Van den Enden, all in separate rooms orcachots, awaited the day when they should be put on their trial, the former inhabiting one of the principal rooms in the Tour de la Bertaudière, the woman another off the Chapel, and the Jew a dungeon in the basement. Day after day they were submitted to interrogatories, sometimes by La Reynie himself, sometimes by Bezous,Conseiller au Parliament, and sometimes by De Pomereu,Conseiller d'État, yet, though not one of them had ever the least opportunity of communicating with the other, or of knowing what either of the others had admitted or denied, from none was any admission obtained. De Beaurepaire asserted that he knew naught of the conspiracy, while advancing what was an undoubtedly strong, as well as a true, point in his favour, namely, that his family was not Norman and that, absolutely, he had never been in Normandy. Emérance stated that she was of Norman origin but that her social standing was of too humble a nature for her to be admitted into any such conspiracy as the one in question, even had she desired to be so admitted; while Van den Enden said that his various visits to Holland and other places were connected with the many commercial affairs in which he was concerned.
While these interrogatories were taking place, however, De Beaurepaire learned that one person who, perhaps above all, had had it in his power to testify against him and to include him in his own ruin should he desire to do, was harmless now.
As, escorted by the Lieutenant du Roi, second in command of the Bastille, and by four soldiers, he passed to theSalle de Justice--where the Judges would occasionally, when they had nothing else to occupy their time, attend with the view of inspecting the accounts of the prison, the list of the prisoners who were still alive or who had died since their last visit, and, also occasionally, to discover if any person had happened to be detained there under a false charge, or through a mistake, for some years--he observed De Brissac seated in the Armoury, out of which theSalle de Justiceopened. He observed also something else, namely, that the Commander of the Garde du Corps was engaged in conversation with a man, well but plainly dressed, who was standing before him; one whose heavily plumed hat drawn down over his face partially disguised, but only partially, the features of Boisfleury.
"So," De Beaurepaire thought to himself as he passed on, "De Brissac has laid his hands on that rat. Well! what can he tell? He, who was subaltern even to La Preaux! Nothing, except that La Preaux attempted to slay, and thought he slew, Humphrey West."
His progress was, however, stopped by De Brissac, who, rising suddenly from his chair, advanced towards the Lieutenant du Roi and, while requesting him to halt the escort for a moment, stated that he wished to address a few words to his prisoners.
"Monsieur le Commandeur," the Lieutenant du Roi replied, "it is against all orders that any one should hold converse with the Prince de Beaurepaire, even though it be Monsieur de Brissac, who can scarcely be suspected of----"
"Bah! Bah!" De Brissac replied in a low voice, so that the man in question could not hear his words, "what should I have to say to him that can do harm, since on me has fallen the task of arresting all these conspirators. Is De Brissac to be regarded now as one of the joyous troop! Yet, let us remember that he and you and I have all been soldiers together, and--Bon-Dieu!--good ones too; let us be as kind to him as we may. Remember, too, that he is not tried yet, therefore he is not yet pronounced guilty."
"If--if," replied the Lieutenant, "it is no communication from any of the other prisoners; no message from----"
"Peste!I have a message from, or rather an account of--since he of whom I speak can send no messages now--one who is dead. The birds you have got fast in this cage are all alive--for the present."
"Is it about----?"
"It is." After which De Brissac advanced towards De Beaurepaire while the Lieutenant du Roi gave an order to the soldiers to stand apart from their charge during the time he conferred with the Colonel of the Garde du Corps, and commenced to pace up and down the floor of the Armoury himself.
"What is it, De Brissac?" De Beaurepaire said now, on observing that the others had all withdrawn out of earshot. "What? Have you come to tell me that you have at last found moresuspectsfor this charge? I hear--for, even in this hideous place, whispers filter through the very walls and reach us--that you and your master, De Louvois, seek to ensnare half the noblesse of France within the net you throw broadcast."
"Nay," De Brissac said, understanding yet not resenting the bitterness of the other, since he recognised how justifiable such bitterness was, if--as many people thought and openly said--De Beaurepaire's name had been freely used by the Norman conspirators without his knowledge; "nay. Instead, on seeing you here I have come to inform you of that which may bring some calm to your spirit. That fellow over there--Boisfleury--can tell the whole story of how the young Englishman was first of all nearly done to death by the vagabond, La Preaux, while, to make the certainty of death more great, he was afterwards cast into the Rhine by him."
"What! Why! La Truaumont----" but he paused. If he repeated to De Brissac what La Truaumont had told him, then, at once, he divulged that he and the latter had been in communication with each other. Added to which he knew also, perhaps by those very whispers which, a moment before, he had said even filtered through the walls of the Bastille, that La Truaumont had been in some strange way denounced to De Louvois and La Reynie as one of the principal leaders of the conspiracy, and he understood that it was madness to appear to be in possession of any information furnished by him. Nevertheless, he had mentioned La Truaumont's name ere he could collect himself and De Brissac had heard him do so.
"La Truaumont!" the other exclaimed, while the strange look that was so apparent at times came into his face. "La Truaumont!" Then, as though desirous of helping De Beaurepaire out of a snare into which he had inadvertently fallen, he said, "Ah! yes. It is so. He was in your service. Did he not ride to Nancy for you?"
"To Basle in the escort of the Duchesse de Castellucchio. Afterwards he was to go forward with her to Geneva on the road to Milan. Has he--have they?" he asked, continuing his attempt to throw dust in De Brissac's eyes, or, perhaps, with the wish to prevent it appearing that he and La Truaumont had met in Paris recently, "have they arrived in Italy?"
"Madame La Duchesse may have done so," De Brissac replied, while the inscrutable look in his face became even more pronounced than before. "As for La Truaumont, he arrived at Rouen the night after you were arrested by me."
"Is he arrested, too?"
"I attempted to arrest him since it was to me that the order to do so was sent."
"You attempted to do so! And failed!"
"Listen. When I, as chief of the King's special Garde du Corps, was ordered to arrest one who had desired to do for Louis that which no Garde du Corps could prevent if the opportunity should arise, I, with four of my men, rode post-haste to Rouen. At six o'clock in the morning--it was the day after you fell into my hands--walked into them!--at Versailles, I was in La Truaumont's lodgings and found him in bed. Awaking him, I told him that I had an order to arrest him, upon which he exclaimed, 'So be it. I am here. Arrest me,' while, as he spoke, he produced two pistols from a cabinet at the head of his bed. 'If you can do so,' he added, pointing the weapon at me. 'Then you are guilty,' I cried, drawing my sword. 'Guilty!' he exclaimed. 'Be sure I am.Oui, mort Dieu, guilty. I alone.'"
"Ah!" De Beaurepaire exclaimed.
"Yes. He said it," De Brissac answered. "Hesaidit. I can testify to that."
After which the colonel continued, "He called out so loudly as he spoke and as he leapt from his bed, pistols in hand, that three of my men--the fourth kept the door below--rushed into the room and a struggle to the death ensued. La Truaumont discharged both his pistols at me, killing, instead, however, one of my guards in doing so, and was himself shot an instant afterwards by the man's comrades."
"Dead!" De Beaurepaire murmured. "Dead! La Truaumont dead. Ah! we had been friends, comrades, for years. La Truaumont dead."
"He died eighteen hours later. Before he did so he called for paper and ink and wrote that what he had said when I entered the room was mere braggadocio. That he was not guilty but would have been if he could have obtained assistance. He said also that, had the King let him serve him, His Majesty would have had no more faithful subject. They were the last words he spoke ere receiving the sacrament."
"And the only ones?" De Beaurepaire asked.
"The only ones."
The prisoner drew a long breath as De Brissac answered thus, after which he said: "I told you but now that strange things reach our ears in this place. That, from the outer world, comes news----"
"I know, I know," the other interrupted. "Like most who have lived in France, in Paris, I have been here myself. Mazarin sent me here when I was a boy, aPorte Drapeau, because I caned one of his bodyguard who was insolent to me!" After saying which De Brissac continued, "What other news has reached your ears?"
"That you have arrested all of us who are now in this fortress on this charge. All who are here on the same charge as I?"
"Yes, it is true. As Colonel of the Garde du Corps, it falls to my lot to seize upon all who aim at the King's body, at his life."
"Am I charged with that?"
"It may be. I do not know. Yet--since I arrested you----"
"I understand. De Louvois and La Reynie cut deep. Like skilful surgeons they stop not at the surface. And--and--therefore--you arrested--her?"
"It is so."
"What did she say?"
"Knowing that I had previously arrested you, she thanked me for also making her a prisoner."
"Thanked you! Heavens!" De Beaurepaire whispered to himself, "it was a heart to win. How many of those others would have thanked De Brissac for that! Rather would they have told all, have witnessed against me and invented all they did not know, so that, thereby, they might set themselves free." And again he exclaimed aloud, "she thanked you!"
"Ay, it is so. While adding, as she spoke and smiled on me, that, since she could not be at large and free to share your liberty, her next greatest joy was to be beneath the same prison roof with you."
De Beaurepaire turned away as the other told him this; turned away because, perhaps, he knew that the tears had come into his eyes and he would not have De Brissac see them there. Yet the latter--from whom the prisoner would have hidden those tears and, it may be, all other signs of emotion which he knew well enough were on his face--comprehended that they were there as easily as he comprehended all that now racked and tore at the heart of the once strong and masterful man before him. Wherefore, to ease that racked heart, De Brissac added:--
"I likewise arrested the bully who calls himself Fleur de Mai, and the Jew atheist, Van den Enden. And they too are firm, very firm. Listen, De Beaurepaire, and, as you do so, deem me no traitor since I am none such, but only one who has fought by your side and, later, taken the word of command from you. Listen, I say. De Louvois, La Reynie, will have to seek further than the walls of this prison to obtain the conviction of any of you. If you and those who are here can be as solidly, ay! and as stolidly, silent as you all are now, if you can hold your peace and acknowledge nothing and deny nothing, they will have trouble in bringing proof against you. H'st! the Lieutenant comes. My friendship, my old comradeship with you has forced me to say this. Think no evil of me for saying so much."
"God bless you," whispered De Beaurepaire huskily, while wondering as he did so how long it was since such words had fallen from his lips, and wondering, too, of how much or little good the prayer could be productive. Nevertheless, he knew that they had been wrung from his heart by De Brissac's friendly care for his safety, and recognised that, evil as his life had been, he had at that moment no power of repressing those words.
"It is the hour when the Commission will sit," the Lieutenant du Roi said to De Brissac, "the Prince de Beaurepaire must tarry no longer.En avant!" he cried now to the soldiers who had once more surrounded the prisoner as their leader came forward, "en avant!"
"Farewell!" De Beaurepaire said to De Brissac as he set out again. "Farewell!"
"Nay," De Brissac replied, "not farewell, insteadau revoir!"