to do me sad injustice. However, it is the duty of both of us not to
close an eye till we have discovered what has become of the young Lady
whom you undertook to conduct in safety till she was under the
protection of her relations."
"I see not how it is your duty, Charles," replied his brother,
sharply. "I, as you say, undertook to conduct her, and therefore it is
my duty; but you, it seems to me, have nothing to do with it."
"It is my duty, Gaspar," replied his brother, "as a gentleman, and as
a man of honour; and it is also my duty as an attached friend of the
Duke of Guise; so that I shall seek for her this very instant. Let us
both to horse again; let us obtain guides who know the country well.
You take one circuit, I will take another; and as there is now no
farther fear of any attack from the reiters, we can suffer the greater
part of our men to repose, and meeting here in the morning, report to
each other what we have done, and concert together what steps are
farther to be taken.--And oh, Gaspar," he continued, "let us, I
beseech you, let us act together in a brotherly spirit; do justice to
my motives and intentions, for they have been all what is kind and
brotherly towards yourself."
"Doubtless," said the Marquis of Montsoreau, with one of those bitter
sneers, which the determination of persisting in wrong too often
supplies to the uncandid and ungenerous: "doubtless your motives and
intentions were good and brotherly, when the first thing that you did
after learning from the Abbe de Boisguerin my feelings, wishes, and
hopes, was instantly to seek the Duke of Guise for the purpose of
prepossessing him in your favour, and against my suit."
"In this, as in all else, you do me wrong, Gaspar," replied his
brother; "and so you will find it when you see the Duke: but I
cannot pause to explain all this. We lose time, precious and
invaluable.--Gondrin, call out ten of our freshest and best mounted
men. Let surgeons be obtained immediately to dress the wounds of the
hurt, and tell Alain and Mortier to provide for the comfort and
refreshment of the rest, according to the orders I gave them as we
came along. Take this German with us, as a sure guide to show us the
spot where the carriage was last seen. If I might advise you, Gaspar,
you will go round under Jouarre, and stretch out till you reach
Montreuil. The carriage cannot have passed the Marne except by this
bridge, so that----"
"I shall follow my own plan, Charles of Montsoreau," said the Marquis
sullenly; "I want not an instructor as well as a rival in my younger
brother." And thus saying, he turned away to give his own orders to
some of those who surrounded him.
In the mean time his brother remounted his horse in haste; and,
followed by Gondrin, and the ten men who had been selected, he set out
upon his search. That search, however, proved utterly vain. No tidings
whatsoever of Marie de Clairvaut, or those who accompanied her, were
to be obtained; the peasantry, in terror of the reiters, had kept all
their cottages closed and defended as best they could; and, with few
if any of them, Charles of Montsoreau could open a communication, as
every door that they applied to was shut, and in general nothing but
sullen silence was returned to his application for admittance or
information. In the few instances where the sound of his voice,
speaking in the French tongue, obtained for him any answer, the reply
was still the same, that they had kept all closed, from fear of the
reiters, and had neither seen nor heard of any one passing since
nightfall.
With horses and men wearied and exhausted by their fruitless search,
and with his own brow aching, and his heart sad and anxious, Charles
of Montsoreau returned towards daybreak to the town of La Ferte. His
brother, he found, had arrived some time before him, and had retired
to rest without waiting for his arrival. The young nobleman argued
from that fact, that though the Marquis had not absolutely brought
back the carriage with him to La Ferte, he must have obtained some
satisfactory intelligence concerning it; and, unbuckling his arms,
without, however, casting off the dress he wore beneath, he cast
himself down to rest in the apartment which had been prepared for him.
Though much fatigued, however, and with a mind and body both exhausted
by all the events and anxieties of the day, sleep refused to visit his
eyelids. His busy thoughts turned to every painful theme that memory
could supply from the past, or despondency call up out of the future;
and finding that it was in vain to seek repose at that moment, he
approached the deep casement, threw open the window, and gazed out
into the market-square, which lay directly beneath his apartments.
The morning was advancing brightly; the spring sunshine sparkling
down the principal street, through an opening in which the Marne was
seen flowing gaily on, with the open country rising up behind. The
little market-cross was surrounded by the carts and litters in which
he had brought in the wounded men, and some of the early townsmen
were already seen walking hither and thither, while peasants and
country-women in gay dresses came in one by one, now driving a horse
or an ass loaded with the produce of their farms, now bearing the
whole of their little store in a basket on their shoulders or their
arm. Most of them paused to consider and to comment upon the array of
vehicles round the cross, talking in a low voice, as if fearful of
breaking the stillness of the morning hour. The scene was calm, and
quiet, and soothing; and feeling tranquilised after gazing at it for
some minutes, the young Count again turned to his couch, and wooed the
blessing of slumber not now in vain. He slept profoundly, and might
have gone on for many hours, had he not been awakened about nine
o'clock by the page Ignati pulling him by the arm.
"What is the matter, Ignati?" he cried, starting up. "You seem in
haste and agitated."
"Your brother is on horseback, and setting out," cried the boy; "and
he has learned tidings of the Lady, which will fit ill with your
wishes or those of the Duke."
"What tidings, Ignati?" exclaimed the young Count eagerly. "Quick boy,
do not keep me in suspense."
"See your brother, and he will tell you," said the boy. "If he does
not, I will. But, quick, or he will be away; run down at once, even as
you are."
Charles of Montsoreau hastened towards the door, dressed as he was in
the buff coat which he wore beneath his armour; and from the stairs
heard sounds that hastened all his movements. There was the trampling
of horses, and the noise of many tongues in the court-yard, but above
all the voice of his brother, ordering his men as if for instant
departure.
When he reached the foot of the staircase, which led into the great
court of the inn, he found that those sounds had not deceived him.
Gaspar de Montsoreau was on horseback, with his men drawn up in line
ready to depart; and a cart containing two or three wounded men, and
all the baggage which had not fallen into the hands of the reiters,
was in the act of issuing forth through the archway into the
marketplace. There was an air of eager and somewhat scornful triumph
on the face of the Marquis de Montsoreau; and, at the very moment of
the young Count's appearance, he was turning to speak with a
well-dressed cavalier by his side, whom his brother had never before
beheld.
As soon as the eyes of the two brothers met, the Marquis exclaimed
aloud, in a scoffing tone, addressing his new companion, "Ha, Monsieur
de Colombel! By Heaven here comes my good young brother of Logeres!
We must put spurs to our horses and ride quick, for he has taken
service, it seems, with the Duke of Guise--commands a band of stout
men-at-arms, enough to overpower us here--and may think fit to
arrest us on the spot, if he finds that we are not of the same
party as himself. He is not one to be stopped by brotherly love or
consideration, I can assure you."
"Nay!" replied the cavalier whom he addressed, speaking with a courtly
but significant smile, "the Duke of Guise is King Henry's dear friend
and faithful cousin, and professes every sort of reverence for the
crown of France."
The whole of this was spoken, as Charles of Montsoreau advanced
towards them, with an evident intention that he should hear it; but he
took not the slightest notice, and walking up calmly to the side of
his brother's horse, he said, "This is not kind of you, Gaspar, to
quit the place thus early, without giving me an opportunity of
explaining to you things which you have misinterpreted and taken
amiss."
"As you said to me last night, Charles," replied his brother, "I have
not time for long explanations now; every minute is precious and
invaluable. You can write to me if you have any thing to explain."
"You will inform me at least then," said his brother, "whether you
have obtained any news of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, and where she
is."
"I am in haste! I am in haste, good brother!" replied the Marquis,
"and can only wait to tell you that she is in safe hands and well,
which must be enough to satisfy you."
"Not quite," answered Charles of Montsoreau. "As I am now upon my way
to meet the Duke of Guise, and shall most likely reach him before you
do, it will be but courteous of you to send him some fuller
information regarding a Lady so nearly connected with himself."
"If you do not reach him before I do," replied his brother with a grim
smile, "you and he will be long parted from each other, my good
brother; and as to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, she is in safe hands,
and will be well taken care of. Fare you well, my brother. Now march,
my men!" And without waiting for any other reply, he shook his bridle
and rode out of the court.
The patience of Charles of Montsoreau was nearly at an end, and he
paused, gazing upon the ground for a minute or two, before he could
overcome the pain and indignation that he felt. He then turned to his
own chamber again, beckoning to the boy Ignati, who was still upon the
stairs, to follow him thither.
"Now, Ignati," he said, "What is the meaning of all this? You have
probably heard all that has passed. Give me what information you can,
without loss of time."
"This is all that I know," replied the boy; "but it is enough.
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, the Lady whom you were asking about last
night, has met with a party of the King's troops which had been sent
against the reiters, and has by them been carried to Chateau Thiery,
whence she sent that cavalier whom you saw with your brother, to tell
him what had become of her. All those facts I heard the cavalier
himself relate: but from the page he brought with him, who was in the
room, or at least at the door, when his master and the Marquis were
speaking, I gathered, that this Monsieur de Colombel--by the advice of
some priest who accompanied Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, I know not
whom--has persuaded your brother to join the party of the King,
telling him that Henry would certainly hold Mademoiselle de Clairvaut
as a hostage for the Duke's good conduct, and would most likely bestow
her upon any one he thought fit."
Charles of Montsoreau pressed his hand firmly upon his brow for two or
three minutes. He had been learning for some time those dark and
painful lessons of human nature which come so bitterly to a noble
and a generous heart, when first the world, the contentions of
self-interest, and the strife of passion, teaches us how few, how very
few, there are who have any thought or motive in all their actions but
the mean ungenerous ones of self--those bitter lessons which fix upon
mature life the sad, the dark, the horrible companionship of doubt and
suspicion.
"Can I," he muttered, speaking to himself, "can I have been mistaken
in the Abbe de Boisguerin? Can I have trusted, and believed, and
reverenced, where neither trust, nor belief, nor reverence was
due?--It cannot be! No, it cannot be!" And after thinking again over
all that the page had said, he added aloud, "The King's troops at
Chateau Thiery!--The Duke at Gonesse!--We must lose no time, but get
to Montigny as speedily as possible."
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
London:
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.