It was daybreak ere the last of them had left me, for a dozen or so had
lingered to play lansquenet after the others had departed. With those
that remained my wager had soon faded into insignificance, as their
minds became engrossed in the fluctuations of their own fortunes.
I did not play myself; I was not in the mood, and for one night, at
least, of sufficient weight already I thought the game upon which I was
launched.
I was out on the balcony as the first lines of dawn were scoring the
east, and in a moody, thoughtful condition I had riveted my eyes upon
the palace of the Luxembourg, which loomed a black pile against the
lightening sky, when Mironsac came out to join me. A gentle, lovable lad
was Mironsac, not twenty years of age, and with the face and manners of
a woman. That he was attached to me I knew.
“Monsieur le Marquis,” said he softly, “I am desolated at this wager
into which they have forced you.”
“Forced me?” I echoed. “No, no; they did not force me. And yet,” I
reflected, with a sigh, “perhaps they did.”
“I have been thinking, monsieur, that if the King were to hear of it the
evil might be mended.”
“But the King must not hear of it, Armand,” I answered quickly. “Even if
he did, matters would be no better--much worse, possibly.”
“But, monsieur, this thing done in the heat of wine--”
“Is none the less done, Armand,” I concluded. “And I for one do not wish
it undone.”
“But have you no thought for the lady?” he cried.
I laughed at him. “Were I still eighteen, boy, the thought might trouble
me. Had I my illusions, I might imagine that my wife must be some woman
of whom I should be enamoured. As it is, I have grown to the age of
twenty-eight unwed. Marriage becomes desirable. I must think of an heir
to all the wealth of Bardelys. And so I go to Languedoc. If the lady be
but half the saint that fool Chatellerault has painted her, so much the
better for my children; if not, so much the worse. There is the dawn,
Mironsac, and it is time we were abed. Let us drive these plaguy
gamesters home.”
When the last of them had staggered down my steps, and I had bidden a
drowsy lacquey extinguish the candles, I called Ganymede to light me to
bed and aid me to undress. His true name was Rodenard; but my friend
La Fosse, of mythological fancy, had named him Ganymede, after the
cup-bearer of the gods, and the name had clung to him. He was a man of
some forty years of age, born into my father's service, and since become
my intendant, factotum, majordomo, and generalissimo of my regiment of
servants and my establishments both in Paris and at Bardelys.
We had been to the wars together ere I had cut my wisdom teeth, and thus
had he come to love me. There was nothing this invaluable servant could
not do. At baiting or shoeing a horse, at healing a wound, at roasting
a capon, or at mending a doublet, he was alike a master, besides
possessing a score of other accomplishments that do not now occur to me,
which in his campaigning he had acquired. Of late the easy life in
Paris had made him incline to corpulency, and his face was of a pale,
unhealthy fullness.
To-night, as he assisted me to undress, it wore an expression of supreme
woe.
“Monseigneur is going into Languedoc?” he inquired sorrowfully. He
always called me his “seigneur,” as did the other of my servants born at
Bardelys.
“Knave, you have been listening,” said I.
“But, monseigneur,” he explained, “when Monsieur le Comte de
Chatellerault laid his wager--”
“And have I not told you, Ganymede, that when you chance to be among
my friends you should hear nothing but the words addressed to you, see
nothing but the glasses that need replenishing? But, there! We are going
into Languedoc. What of it?”
“They say that war may break out at any moment,” he groaned; “that
Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency is receiving reenforcements from Spain,
and that he intends to uphold the standard of Monsieur and the rights of
the province against the encroachments of His Eminence the Cardinal.”
“So! We are becoming politicians, eh, Ganymede? And how shall all this
concern us? Had you listened more attentively, you had learnt that we go
to Languedoc to seek a wife, and not to concern ourselves with Cardinals
and Dukes. Now let me sleep ere the sun rises.”
On the morrow I attended the levee, and I applied to His Majesty for
leave to absent myself. But upon hearing that it was into Languedoc I
went, he frowned inquiry. Trouble enough was his brother already making
in that province. I explained that I went to seek a wife, and deeming
all subterfuge dangerous, since it might only serve to provoke him when
later he came to learn the lady's name, I told him--withholding yet all
mention of the wager--that I fostered the hope of making Mademoiselle de
Lavedan my marquise.
Deeper came the line between his brows at that, and blacker grew the
scowl. He was not wont to bestow on me such looks as I now met in his
weary eyes, for Louis XIII had much affection for me.
“You know this lady?” he demanded sharply.
“Only by name, Your Majesty.”
At that his brows went up in astonishment.
“Only by name? And you would wed her? But, Marcel, my friend, you are a
rich man one of the richest in France. You cannot be a fortune hunter.”
“Sire,” I answered, “Fame sings loudly the praises of this lady, her
beauty and her virtue--praises that lead me to opine she would make me
an excellent chatelaine. I am come to an age when it is well to wed;
indeed, Your Majesty has often told me so. And it seems to me that all
France does not hold a lady more desirable. Heaven send she will agree
to my suit!”
In that tired way of his that was so pathetic: “Do you love me a little,
Marcel?” he asked.
“Sire,” I exclaimed, wondering whither all this was leading us, “need I
protest it?”
“No,” he answered dryly; “you can prove it. Prove it by abandoning this
Languedoc quest. I have motives--sound motives, motives of political
import. I desire another wedding for Mademoiselle de Lavedan. I wish it
so, Bardelys, and I look to be obeyed.”
For a moment temptation had me by the throat. Here was an unlooked-for
chance to shake from me a business which reflection was already
rendering odious. I had but to call together my friends of yesternight,
and with them the Comte de Chatellerault, and inform them that by the
King was I forbidden to go awooing Roxalanne de Lavedan. So should my
wager be dissolved. And then in a flash I saw how they would sneer
one and all, and how they would think that I had caught avidly at this
opportunity of freeing myself from an undertaking into which a boastful
mood had lured me. The fear of that swept aside my momentary hesitation.
“Sire,” I answered, bending my head contritely, “I am desolated that
my inclinations should run counter to your wishes, but to your wonted
kindness and clemency I must look for forgiveness if these same
inclinations drive me so relentlessly that I may not now turn back.”
He caught me viciously by the arm and looked sharply into my face.
“You defy me, Bardelys?” he asked, in a voice of anger.
“God forbid, Sire!” I answered quickly. “I do but pursue my destiny.”
He took a turn in silence, like a man who is mastering himself before
he will speak. Many an eye, I knew, was upon us, and not a few may have
been marvelling whether already Bardelys were about to share the fate
that yesterday had overtaken his rival Chatellerault. At last he halted
at my side again.
“Marcel,” said he, but though he used that name his voice was harsh, “go
home and ponder what I have said. If you value my favour, if you desire
my love, you will abandon this journey and the suit you contemplate. If,
on the other hand, you persist in going--you need not return. The Court
of France has no room for gentlemen who are but lip-servers, no place
for courtiers who disobey their King.”
That was his last word. He waited for no reply, but swung round on his
heel, and an instant later I beheld him deep in conversation with the
Duke of Saint-Simon. Of such a quality is the love of princes--vain,
capricious, and wilful. Indulge it ever and at any cost, else you
forfeit it.
I turned away with a sigh, for in spite of all his weaknesses and
meannesses I loved this cardinal-ridden king, and would have died for
him had the need occurred, as well he knew. But in this matter--well, I
accounted my honour involved, and there was now no turning back save by
the payment of my wager and the acknowledgment of defeat.