The morning was bright and beautiful; the heavy clouds of the
preceding days had passed away, leaving behind them nothing but a
few thin fleecy remnants, that were whirled over the blue sky from
time to time by the quick wind. It was a true spring day that dawned,
genial and soft; and, in the clump of trees by which one side of the
farm-house was shaded, the early birds were singing sweetly, rejoicing
in the blessings of God and the return of the bright season to the
earth.
De Montigni had watched the greater part of the night, and had not
closed his eyes till an hour before the break of day; but he then fell
into a heavy and profound slumber, which even the various noises of
the farm, the rising of his own attendants, the coming and going of
the farmer and his family, and the arrival of several people from the
village, bringing intelligence of the movements of the army, did not
disturb. He lay so calm and still, his servants would not wake him,
till at length a messenger from the King spurred quickly down to the
farm-house, delivered a sealed packet, addressed to the young Baron,
and rode back again without a moment's pause. It was then thought fit
to rouse him; and, starting up, as one of his followers shook him by
the arm, he passed his hand across his brow, exclaiming, "Good Heaven!
it was a dream!" Then taking the packet he opened it, and found a few
brief words in the handwriting of the King.
"Monsieur de Montigni," so the letter ran, "I am informed of your
arrival, and also that your uncle, the Commander de Liancourt, will be
here before ten o'clock with a small corps. He has orders to join you
at Mainville. Wait for his arrival, then come up by the road to St.
André" as far as the first turning, which will lead you to the plain.
There, as soon as you reach the army, fall into the light horse of the
Count d'Auvergne.
"I enclose you the paper which you requested by message last night.
"Your very best friend,
"HENRY."
There was a small slip of paper enclosed in the letter; and to it De
Montigni now turned, reading, with joy and satisfaction, the following
words:--
"Henry, by the grace of God King of France and Navarre. It having been
certified to us, upon good and sufficient authority, that, by contract
existing between the late Francis d'Albret, Count de Marennes, our
well-beloved cousin, and Anthony, Count of Liancourt, the hand of the
only daughter of the said Francis d'Albret was plighted, promised, and
engaged, to Louis, Baron de Montigni, and that the said parties are
now of an age, and willing to fulfil the said contract, We do by these
presents authorize the said parties, to proceed to the celebration of
their marriage, notwithstanding any let, hindrance, or protest, on the
part of any person, or persons, whatsoever, consenting to ratifying
and sanctioning the said marriage, by the power and authority in us
being.
(Signed,) "HENRY."
(And lower down,) "REVOL."
"Is Mademoiselle d'Albret awake?" asked De Montigni, eager to show the
precious document to her he loved.
"Oh yes, Sir," replied the man to whom he spoke; "she is awake and up
an hour ago; but she bade us not disturb you."
De Montigni hastened to the door and knocked. "Come in," said the
sweet voice of Rose d'Albret; and entering, he found her sitting with
her hand clasped in that of Helen de la Tremblade, who had passed the
night with her. She rose to meet him, and was immediately pressed to
his heart, while he whispered in her ear, "You are mine, dear Rose.
Here is all that was wanting to our immediate union," and he placed
the paper in her hand.
There was not less light in the eyes of Rose d'Albret than in those of
her lover, as she read the King's sanction to their marriage; but,
when she turned to the letter that accompanied it, her cheek grew
pale, and a tear trembled upon her eyelids.
"Oh, Louis! must you leave me so soon?" she cried, "and to battle?"
"Nay, dearest Rose," answered De Montigni, "you would not have me
avoid the path to honour and renown."
"No, Louis, no," she answered; "I will not say another word.--Ten
o'clock? That is very soon; 'tis past nine now."
"Indeed!" said De Montigni. "I have slept too long."
"Oh, no!" answered Rose. "I came and looked at you as you lay, and it
would have been cruel to rouse you from so calm a slumber."
"And yet I dreamed sad dreams, dear Rose," said her lover. "But what
is to be done?" he continued; "neither arms nor horses have arrived,
and our poor beasts are jaded with yesterday's fatigue."
"But you cannot go without arms," said Rose, rejoicing in the hope
that something might detain him from the perilous field; "your uncle
will never let you go unarmed.--Perhaps they will come soon; but in
the meantime take some refreshment, Louis. Run, dear Helen, run and
tell them to bring him some food."
Helen de la Tremblade had remained sitting at the table, with her hand
covering her eyes; but now, rising, she approached the door, pausing
however, with a glowing cheek, ere she went, to whisper something to
Rose d'Albret.
"Not for the world," replied Rose; "oh, no, Helen, do not suppose it,"
and her cheek too, grew red.
The breakfast was soon brought, and Louis de Montigni ate a few hasty
mouthfuls; but he was too much excited and too anxious to find any
long repose. More than once he rose and looked out; more than once he
questioned the farmer as to whether no one had come during the morning
to furnish him with arms. He asked eagerly, too, for intelligence from
St. André, and heard, with feelings of impatience and pain, that the
King had marched at an early hour to take up his position on the
ground he had chosen for his field of battle. He then sent out two of
his men to gain farther information, and to see if any horses could be
procured; but minute after minute passed by; the hour of ten arrived;
and every moment he expected to see the old Commander and his party at
the ford before the farm-house, before anything that he required could
be obtained. The men brought back word that the village was nearly
deserted, except by a few sick and wounded; but they had seen the army
of the King, they said, extending in a long line across the plain, and
they thought they had also perceived the heads of Mayenne's columns
advancing from the side of Ivry.
"Well, we must go as we are," said De Montigni; "we fought the other
day at Marzay without a scratch; and we shall ride lighter without
armour. Have everything ready to set out the moment my uncle appears.
Two of you, however, must stay with these ladies. You are all anxious
to go, I know, so choose by lot, and make haste, that all may be
ready."
The moments that thus passed were sad and terrible to poor Rose
d'Albret. She would not say a word to stay him; and yet she would have
given worlds, had it been possible without damage to his honour, to
have withheld him from the field. Each order that he gave, each
inquiry that he made, roused fresh fears and apprehensions in her
breast; and the words of tenderness and affection with which he strove
to cheer her, but rendered her more sad, while again and again she
asked herself, if she should ever hear that voice again.
Nor were the feelings of Helen de la Tremblade less painful, though
perhaps they were less anxious, as, seated near the window, she gazed
forth in sad and motionless meditation. To those who stood beside her,
all was risked upon that battle; but to her, the bright hopes of life,
which in their case were but chequered with fears that an hour might
sweep away, were gone for ever. Their words of love, their anxiety for
each other, all awoke painful thoughts and bitter memories; and over
all her contemplations, spread the dark cloud of self-reproach,
leaving not one bright spot in the future or the past.
Still minute after minute passed away, and no one appeared. The
impatience of De Montigni became extreme. "The battle will begin," he
thought, "and I shall be absent. Disgrace and shame will fall upon me.
Who will know of the King's commands? and men will say, I was within
half a league of a stricken field, and kept aloof. I cannot bear this
much longer. Ride out upon the top of the hill, Victor, towards the
side of Annet, and see if you can perceive my uncle coming.--But hark!
what is that?"
As he spoke the loud boom of a distant cannon struck upon the ear;
another and another succeeded, and then several shots still farther
off were heard replying to the former.
"It is begun," he said; "I can wait no more. Bring round my horse!
Dearest Rose, I must go to see what is taking place. I will be back
soon, my beloved," and he once more pressed her to his heart.
"But the King's commands," said Rose; "He told you to wait here for
your uncle. You ought not to go indeed, Louis."
"There must be some mistake," he answered, "and I cannot stay here
like a coward or a fool, while my King is fighting for his crown, and
the fate of France is in the balance. I will be back speedily,--I will
but see," and tearing himself away, he sprang upon his horse's back,
followed by those, upon whom the lot to accompany him had fallen, and
spurred up the hill at full speed. On the top he paused looking
towards Annet. The whole country was open before his sight; but no
body of men was to be seen, and hesitating no longer, he rode on till
the plain of Ivry lay before his eyes, covered with squadrons and
battalions of horse and foot, and presenting the wild, confused and
busy scene of a field of battle. When he was gone, Rose d'Albret
covered her eyes and for a few moments gave way to tears; but Helen de
la Tremblade came round to where she stood, and laid her hand timidly
upon her arm. Rose dashed away the drops from her eyes, at this mute
appeal, saying, "No, Helen, no I will not doubt it! It were wicked, it
were wrong, to think that God would so abandon us."
"Besides, lady," said Helen, "Monsieur de Montigni is good and noble;
you are virtuous and wise. Can such people ever be unhappy?"
"Ah, my poor Helen," replied Rose d'Albret, "you reproach yourself too
bitterly when the fault was his. Shamefully have you been used; and
though God forbid that I should say you have not done wrong, yet I can
well believe that, with such vows and promises, you fancied yourself
his wife as much as if the priest had joined your hands. Perhaps," she
added in her ignorance of man's nature, "perhaps, now that he has lost
the hope of obtaining my estates, which was all he sought, he may make
you his wife indeed, and deliver you from self-reproach."
"That he can never do," replied Helen de la Tremblade; "I feel that I
am a degraded being, lady, unworthy even of your kindness."
"Nay, do not call me lady," answered Mademoiselle d'Albret; "you used
to call me Rose, Helen, and you must do so still. But indeed, dear
Helen," she continued, willing to pass away heavy time, with any other
thoughts but those of what was taking place so near her, "but indeed,
I will trust you may still be happy; and one thing you must do for my
sake, you must tell your uncle all. He will give you absolution for
the past, and direction for the future."
"Ere this, he has been told," answered Helen, "told by that harsh and
cruel woman. She would never spare me that."
"Ay, but you know not how she may have told it," answered Rose
d'Albret. "Oh, she is false and deceitful, Helen, and may have cast
the whole blame and shame on you, when in truth, yours is but the
lighter share. See him, dear Helen, see him, and let him know the
whole. Shrink not from his reproaches; hear them with patience and
humility; but let him know the plain truth, just as you have told it
me; and he will forgive you, I am sure. Hark! there are the cannon
again. Oh Good, protect him!--Helen, I will go and pray."
"May I pray with you?" asked Helen de la Tremblade timidly.
"Come," said Rose taking her by the hand, "come let us raise our voice
to Him from whom all need, and all are sure to receive, forgiveness
and mercy if they seek it."
An hour passed by in anxious expectation. Oh, how long an hour may be
to those who watch, to those who with the faint sickening of the
heart, know that upon its events may hang the long misery of a
hopeless, cheerless, loveless life! It seemed as if it would never go;
and every device they used to make it speed the faster, seemed like
the ticking of a clock, marking the slowness of time's progress, not
accelerating its flight. Now they spoke of things past, hoping to lose
in retrospection, the sense of things present; now they talked of the
future, the wide indefinite blank, which to all men is a chasm that
the eye searches in vain. But still to the present, the overburdened
present, their minds and their words returned whether they would or
not. To the quick imagination of Rose d'Albret, all the horrors of the
battle-field presented themselves in more than even their real
terrors. She pictured the dead, the dying, and the wounded; the fierce
contention, the sanguinary triumph, the unsparing cruelty, loss,
flight, defeat; and though she laboured zealously with her own mind to
lead it to other themes, yet it was all in vain. She might speak of
anything, of everything but the battle, yet still her thoughts
wandered back to that overwhelming image, which, like some vaster
mountain in a hilly country, was ever seen towering over all the rest,
and presenting itself to contemplation, whenever the eyes were turned
from other objects.
Sometimes she would strive to speak calmly with Helen de la Tremblade,
upon what should be the poor girl's future conduct. Sometimes she
would inquire gently and tenderly into the past. But ever her mind
would come back again to the battle, and she would give way to all the
apprehension and anxiety she felt; would ask how the time went; would
call the good farmer, and demand intelligence; would send out one of
the attendants, to bring her any news that he could gather.
Half an hour more flew slowly away, and De Montigni did not return;
but then, quick spurring down the road, as if for life, came a small
party of horse. The farmer, who was upon the watch, suddenly closed
and barred the doors, and Rose saw from the window that, over their
dusty armour, they wore scarfs of green, a sign that they belonged to
the faction of the League. The worthy countryman called her and her
companion quickly from the lower story, put up the strong oaken
shutters, and bade them, if they needs must gaze, look from the rooms
above. But the cavaliers paused not even to notice the house as they
passed, and, hurrying on, plunged their horses into the stream, and
gained the other side.
"Surely the King has won the day?" said Rose; turning to the farmer,
"the Leaguers fly. Is it not so?"
"I know not, Mademoiselle," replied the peasant. "It often happens in
strifes like these that men run away before the battle is lost or won.
Their own corps may be defeated; but there may come many more to turn
the fight."
Even while he spoke a single horseman, with a scarf of white, rode
down more slowly on a wounded horse, looked up to the window, where
they stood, and cried aloud, "the King is killed," passing on without
further pause.
The heart of Rose d'Albret sank as she caught his words; but she grew
fainter still when she beheld upon the road, a party of four, one on
foot, leading a horse, on which sat a wounded man, with two others
supporting him. For an instant she fancied--for the imagination of
fear is as vivid and as false as that of hope,--that she recognized
the figure of De Montigni. The next moment, however, she saw that it
was an older and a heavier man, clothed in armour, and with the visor
of his casque closed; but with the white signal of the Bourbon party
thrown over his shoulder.
"Oh let us go and help him," she cried.
The farmer hesitated. "Do, do!" cried his wife.
"Well, quick, then!" said the man, and hurrying down, the door was
unbarred and opened; but still he held it in his hand ready to close
it in an instant, if he saw others following.
"What news? what news?" cried the peasant as the others came near.
"Victory! victory!" shouted one of the men: "Mayenne in full flight
and total rout!"
"And the King? and the King?" demanded the farmer.
"Master of the field; and following them like a thunderbolt, to Ivry,"
was the reply of one of those who rode beside the wounded man; "but
help us, here," he added; "he is sadly hurt."
They lifted their master from his horse at the gate, and were bearing
him in, while Rose d'Albret, who had come forth with the farmer and
his wife, gazed on him with looks of sympathy, when, suddenly, at full
speed, but waving joyfully his hat and plume, De Montigni appeared
upon the road above, followed by an attendant; and, giving way to all
she felt in that moment of exceeding happiness, she ran on to meet
him, and in an instant was in his arms.
"Oh, this has been a glorious day, dear Rose," he cried; "and the
crown of France is firm upon our monarch's brow. By his own right hand
he has won it; and God grant him life to wear it long."
Tears were the only reply that Rose could make; but the good farmer
tossed up his hat, and cried "Hurrah!"
"Whom have you here?" asked De Montigni, as his eyes fell upon the
group just arrived, who were now entering the farm, with the wounded
man borne in the midst. But, ere any one could answer, coming up the
road from the other side, as if seeking a ford across the stream, were
seen a body of some thirty horse, with a young and graceful man at
their head. The farm-house hid them from the young Baron and the lady
till they had passed the angle; but then the green scarfs mingled with
black, too plainly showed to what party they belonged. They rode fast,
but not at the headlong speed of fear; and, when they saw the marks of
a ford, the leader paused, marshalled his men to pass two and two, and
then looked round him with a calm deliberate air. His eyes instantly
lighted upon De Montigni his attendant and Rose d'Albret, for the
farmer had retreated into the house; and, exclaiming "Halt!" to those
who were passing the ford, the officer of the League spoke another
word or two to a gentleman near him.
De Montigni drew Rose rapidly to the door of the farm, and pushed it
violently with his hand; for by this time it was closed, and the good
farmer, seeing the arrival of the troop, had barred and bolted it as
before. In vain De Montigni looked about for a place of refuge: they
were shut in between the bank, the wall of the garden, and the ford;
and in an instant they were surrounded by the horsemen.
"Ha, ha! we shall not go without some prisoners at least," cried the
leader of the troop, "your sword, Sir, your sword--it is vain
contending."
De Montigni hesitated; but he was seized in a moment; and while Rose
clung in agony to his breast, his sword was snatched from his side,
and a pistol levelled at his head.
"Surrender, or die!" cried a fierce-looking man, who had sprung to the
ground beside him. "We have no time to waste upon Huguenots."
"We are no Huguenots," replied De Montigni, "but faithful Catholics,
though servants of the King. I surrender, as it needs must be so; but,
of course, you will let this lady retire into the house--you do not
make war upon women, I suppose."
"That depends upon circumstances," replied the leader, who had now
come up. "Your name, Sir?"
"The Baron de Montigni," replied the young nobleman.
"We are in luck," exclaimed the leader, turning to one of his
companions; "then this fair lady is Mademoiselle d'Albret?"
Rose only replied by her tears; and the leader continued, turning to
De Montigni, "Mount your horse, Sir, and follow! You are a prisoner of
war, and shall be treated as such. The lady shall be restored to those
from whose care you took her. No words; for time is short--Have you a
litter or a horse for the lady?"
"Her jennet is in the stable," replied De Montigni; "but she is too
much fatigued and weary to ride. If you have the spirit of a gentleman
and a knight, as you seem to be, you will not force her to do so."
"Weary or not weary," said the stranger, "she must come along. Quick,
bring out the jennet! Lose not a minute, or we shall have some of the
enemy upon us. Lady, it seems your friends have kindly shut the door
in your face, so that if you have goods and chattels within, they must
even remain where they are."
"You are discourteous, Sir," said De Montigni, "and abuse your
advantage."
"How now!" cried the leader, grasping his sword; but Rose held up her
hand in entreaty, exclaiming, "Nay, nay, De Montigni, say not a
word--I am ready to go. I trust this gentleman will use no needless
harshness. Here is the jennet: I will go directly."
The horseman looked down somewhat gloomily, murmuring, "Discourteous!
such a term was never used to Nemours before."
"Monsieur de Nemours," replied De Montigni, "I am free to say I
believe it never was; and I am sure, now I know you, it never was
deserved. You have lost a great battle, Sir, and some irritation may
be forgiven: but I beseech you, if it must be shown, let it fall upon
my head, and not upon this lady's."
"Fear not," said the Duke, turning to him frankly; "I must send her to
her guardian, as I have been required; but she shall be treated with
all kindness by the way; and in the meantime," he added aloud, "she is
under the protection of my honour. Quick, quick!" he continued, "see,
there are people coming down already. Stand to your arms, there.
Mount, Sir, mount."
Before De Montigni did so, however, he lifted Rose into the saddle,
and then sprung upon his horse, saying, "I will not detain you, my
Lord Duke; but you need not fear," he added, "those are but two or
three of my own servants."
"On!" cried Nemours to his soldiers; "steady through the ford."
"Which way, my lord?" asked the guidon of the party.
"Towards Chartres," answered the Duke, and the troop took their way
across the stream.