Great silence pervaded the palace of the Duke of Orleans, or, at
least, that part of it in which Jean Charost's rooms were situated,
during the rest of the day. He thought he heard, indeed, about half an
hour after he had left the maître d'hôtel, some distant sounds in the
same building, and the blast of a trumpet; but whether the latter
noise proceeded from the streets or from the outer court, he could not
tell. Every thing was still, however, in the corridor hard by. No one
was heard passing toward the apartments of the duke, and the young man
was somewhat anxious in regard to the prince's long delay. What were
to be his occupations, what was expected of him, he knew not; and
although he was desirous of purchasing another horse, in accordance
with the hint given him by Signor Lomelini, the maître d'hôtel, he did
not like to venture out, lest his royal employer should arrive, and
require his presence.
The unpacking and arrangement of his baggage afforded him some
occupation, and when that was completed, he took out a book--a rare
treasure, possessed by few in those days--and continued to read till
the crooked letters of the copyist's hand began to fade upon the
vellum, as early night approached. He was just closing the page, when
there was a tap at the door, and a short, slight young man presented
himself, some four or five-and-twenty years of age, but not much
taller than a youth of fourteen or fifteen. He was dressed very
plainly, in a suit of gray cloth, and the light was not sufficient to
show much more; but every thing he had on seemed to have a gay and
jaunty air, and his cap, even when he held it in his hand, exhibited a
sort of obliquity of direction, which showed it to be impossible ever
to keep it straight upon his head.
There was no need of asking his name or business, for both were
related in the fewest possible words before he had been an instant in
the room.
"I am Martin Grille," he said, "and I have come to be hired by your
lordship."
"Then I suppose you take it for granted that I will hire you?" said
Jean Charost, with a smile.
"Signor Lomelini sent me," replied the young man, in a confident tone.
"He sent you to see if you suited me," replied Jean Charost.
"Of course," replied the young man. "Don't I?"
Jean Charost laughed. "I can not say," he answered. "You must first
tell me what you can do."
"Every thing," replied the other.
Jean Charost mused, thinking to himself that a person who could do
every thing was exactly the one to suit him, in a situation in which
he did not know what to do. He answered, however, still half
meditating, "Then I think, my good friend Martin, you are just the man
for me."
"Thank your lordship," replied Martin Grille, without waiting for any
addition to the sentence; but, before Jean Charost could put in a
single proviso, or ask another question, the door opened, and, by aid
of the light from the window in the corridor behind it, the young
gentleman saw a tall, dark figure entering the room. The features he
could not distinguish; but there was something in the air and carriage
of the newcomer which made him instantly rise from his seat, and the
moment after, the voice of the Duke of Orleans said, "What in
darkness, my young friend! My people have not taken proper care of
you. Who is that?"
The question applied to Martin Grille, who was retreating out of the
room as fast as his feet could carry him; and Jean Charost replied,
placing a chair for the duke, "Merely a servant, your highness, whom I
have been engaging--an appendage which, coming from humbler dwellings,
I had forgotten to provide myself with till I was here."
"Ah! these people--these people!" said the duke; "so they have forced
a servant upon you already, though there are varlets enough in this
house to do double the work that is provided for them. However,
perhaps it is as well. But I will see to these affairs of yours for
the future. Take no such step without consulting me, and do so freely;
for Jacques C[oe]ur has interested me in you, and I look upon it that
he has rather committed you to my charge, than placed you in my
service. Come hither with me into a place where there is more light.
Heaven knows, my thoughts are dark enough."
Thus saying, he turned to the door, and Jean Charost followed him
along the corridor till they reached what had been pointed out as his
toilet-chamber, at the entrance of which stood two of the duke's
attendants, who threw open the door at his approach. Followed by Jean
Charost, he passed silently between them into a large and well-lighted
room, and seating himself, fell into a deep fit of thought, which
lasted for several minutes. At length he raised his head, and looked
up in the young man's face for a moment or two without speaking; but
then said, "I can not to-night. I wished to give you information and
directions as to your conduct and occupations here; but my mind is
very heavy, and can only deal with weighty things. Come to me
to-morrow, after mass, and you shall have some hints that may be
serviceable to you. At present sit down at that table, and draw me up
a paper, somewhat similar to that which I dictated this morning, but
more at large. The terms of accommodation have been accepted as to
general principles, but several particulars require explanation. You
will find the notes there--in that paper lying before you. See if you
can put them in form without reference to me."
Jean Charost seated himself, and took up the pen; but, on perusing the
notes, he found his task somewhat difficult. Had it been merely a
letter on mercantile business to some citizen of Genoa or Amalfi that
he was called upon to write, the matter would have been easy; but when
it was a formal proposal, addressed to "The High and Mighty Prince
John, Duke of Burgundy," he found himself more than once greatly
puzzled. Twice he looked up toward the Duke of Orleans; but the duke
remained in profound thought, with his arms crossed upon his chest,
and his eyes bent upon a distant spot on the floor; and Jean Charost
wrote on, striving to do his best, but not certain whether he was
right or wrong.
For more than half an hour the young man continued writing, and then
said, in a low voice, "It is done, your highness."
The duke started, and held out his hand for the paper, which he read
carefully twice over. It seemed to please him, for he nodded his head
to his young companion with a smile, saying, "Very well--better than I
expected. But you must change that word--and that. Choose me something
more forcible. Say impossible, rather than difficult; and positively,
rather than probably. On these points there must be no doubts left.
Then make me a fair copy. It shall go this very night."
Jean Charost resumed his seat, and executed this task also to the full
satisfaction of the Duke of Orleans. When all was complete, and the
letter sealed and addressed, the duke rang the little _clochette_, or
silver bell upon his table, and one of the attendants immediately
entered. To him he gave the epistle, with directions for its
transmission by a proper officer, and the man departed in silence. For
a moment or two the duke remained without speaking, but gazing in the
face of Jean Charost, as if considering something he saw there
attentively; and at length he said to himself, "Ay--it is as well. Get
your cloak, M. de Brecy," he continued. "I wish you to go a few steps
with me. Bring sword and dagger with you. There, take a light, as
there is none in your chamber."
The young secretary hurried away, and in two minutes returned to the
duke's door; but the attendant would not suffer him to enter till he
had knocked and asked permission. When admitted, he found the duke
equipped for going forth, his whole person enveloped in a large, plain
mantle, and his head covered with a chaperon or hood, which concealed
the greater part of his face. "Now follow me," he said; and passing
the attendant, to whom he gave some orders in a low voice, he led the
way through that corridor and another, then descended a flight of
steps, and issued out by a small door into the gardens. Taking his way
between two rows of trees, he made direct for the opposite wall,
opened a door in it with a key which he carried with him, and, in a
moment after, Jean Charost found himself in a narrow street, along
which a number of persons were passing. "Keep close," said the Duke of
Orleans, after he had closed the door; and then advancing with a quick
pace between the wall and the houses opposite, he led the way direct
into the Rue St. Antoine. The night was clear and bright, though
exceedingly cold, and the Parisian world were all abroad in the
streets; but the duke and his young companion passed unnoticed in the
crowd.
At length they reached the gate of that large building at which the
young secretary had seen the man apply for admission on the preceding
night, and there the duke stopped, and rang the same bell. A wicket
door was immediately opened by a man in the habit of a monk, with a
lantern in his hand, and the duke, slightly lifting his _cornette_, or
chaperon, passed in without speaking, followed by his young secretary.
Taking his way across a long, stone-paved court to the main building,
he entered a large vestibule where a light was burning, and in which
was found an old man busily engaged in painting, with rich hues of
blue, and pink, and gold, the capital letters in a large vellum book.
To him the duke spoke for a moment or two in a low tone, and the monk
immediately took a lantern, and led the way into the interior of the
monastery, which was much more silent and quiet than such abodes were
usually supposed to be. At the end of the second passage, the little
party issued forth upon a long cloister forming one side of a
quadrangle, and separated from the central court by an open screen of
elaborately carved stone work. Here the old monk turned, and gave a
sidelong glance at Jean Charost, lifting his lantern a little, as if
to see him more distinctly, and the Duke of Orleans, seeming to take
this as a hint, paused for an instant, saying, "Wait for me here, M.
De Brecy; I will not be long." He then walked on, and Jean Charost was
left to perambulate the cloister in solitude, and nearly in darkness.
The stars, indeed, were out, and the rising moon was pouring her
silvery rays upon the upper story on the opposite side of the
quadrangle, peeping in at the quaint old windows, and illuminating the
rich tracery of stone. There seemed something solemn, and yet
fanciful, in the picture she displayed. The cold shadows of the tall,
fine pillars, and their infinitely varied capitals; the spouts
sticking out in strange forms of beasts and dragons; the heads of
angels and devils in various angles, and at the ends of corbels, with
the fine fret-work of some tall arches at one corner of the court,
gave ample materials for the imagination to work with at her will;
while the general aspect of the whole was gloomy, if not actually sad.
The mass of buildings around, and the distance of that remote
quadrangle from the street, deadened the noises of the great city, so
that nothing was heard for some time but an indistinct murmur, like
the softened roar of the sea.
In the building itself all was still as death, till the slow footfall
of a sandal was heard approaching from the side at which the Duke of
Orleans had disappeared. A moment or two after, the old monk came back
with a lantern, and paused to speak a few words with the young man
from the world without. "It is a bitter cold night, my son," he said,
"and the duke tells me he has come hither with you alone. He risks too
much in these evil times, methinks."
"I trust not," replied Jean Charost. "A good prince should have
nothing to fear in the streets of his brother's capital."
"All men have enemies, either within or without," replied the monk;
"and no man can be called good till he is in heaven. Have you been
long with the duke, my son? He says you are his secretary."
"I have been in his highness's service but a few hours," replied Jean
Charost.
"He trusts you mightily," answered his ancient companion. "You should
be grateful for his great confidence."
"I am so, indeed, father," replied Jean Charost; "but I owe his
confidence to the kind recommendations of another, rather than to any
merits of my own."
"Modestly answered, for one so young," replied the monk. "Methinks you
have not been long in courts, my son. They tell me that modesty is
soon lost there, as well as truth."
"I trust that I shall lose neither there," replied Jean Charost, "or I
would soon betake myself afar from such bad influence. I do not hold
that any thing a court could give would repay a man for loss of
honesty."
"Well, I know little of courts," answered the old man, "and perhaps
there is scandal in the tales they tell; but one thing is certain--it
is very cold, and I will betake me to my books again. Good-night, my
son;" and he walked on.
Jean Charost began again to pace and repace the cloister, fancying,
but not quite sure, that he heard the murmur of voices down the
passage through which the monk had taken his way. Shortly after, he
saw a tall, gray figure flit across the moonlight, which had now
reached to the grass in the centre of the quadrangle. It was lost
almost as soon as seen, and no sound of steps met the young man's ear.
He saw it distinctly, however, and yet there was a sort of
superstitious awe came over him, as if the being he beheld were not of
the same nature with himself. He walked on in the same direction which
it seemed to have taken, but, ere he reached the corner of the
quadrangle, he saw another figure come forth from one of the passages
which branched off from the cloister, and easily recognized the walk
and bearing of the Duke of Orleans. But suddenly that gray figure came
between him and the duke, and a deep-toned, hollow voice was heard to
say, "Bad man, repent while you have yet time! Your days are numbered!
The last grains of sand shake in the hour-glass; the moon will not
change thrice, and find you among the living!"
The duke seemed to stagger back, and Jean Charost darted onward; but
before he reached the spot, the stranger was gone.
"Follow him not--follow him not!" cried the Duke of Orleans, catching
the arm of his young secretary, who was impulsively hurrying in
pursuit of the man who had put forth what seemed to his ears a daring
threat against the brother of his king; "follow him not, but come
hither;" and, taking Jean Charost's arm, he pursued his way through
the long passages of the monastery to the vestibule, where sat the old
monk busily illuminating his manuscript.
Till they reached that room the duke uttered not a word, except his
brief injunction not to follow. But there he seated himself upon a
bench, with a face very pale, and beckoning up the old man, spoke to
him for several moments in a low tone of voice.
"I really can not tell," said the monk, aloud. "We have no such
brother as you describe; no one has passed here."
"He must have passed you, methinks," replied Jean Charost, unable to
resist. "He came from the passage down which you went the moment after
you had left me, and I fancied I heard him speak with you."
"Not so, my son, not so," replied the monk, eagerly; "I saw no one but
yourself, and spoke with no one."
The Duke of Orleans sat and mused for a few moments; but then raised
himself to his full height, and threw back his shoulders, as if
casting off a weight; and, taking the arm of Jean Charost, quitted the
convent, merely saying, "This is very strange!"
They soon reached the small postern gate in the garden wall, and
entered the precincts of the palace; but as they were approaching the
building itself, the duke paused for a moment, saying to his young
companion, "Not a word of this strange occurrence to any one. Sup in
your own room, and be with me to-morrow at the hour I named."
His tone was somewhat stern, and Jean Charost made no reply, thinking,
however, that he was very likely to go without his supper, as he had
no one to send for it. But when he entered his room he found matters
considerably changed, probably in consequence of some orders which the
duke had given as they were going out. A sconce was lighted on the
wall, and a cresset, lamp hung from the ceiling by an iron chain
directly over the table. A large fire of logs was blazing on the
hearth; and, a moment or two after, an inferior servant entered to ask
if he had any commands.
"Your own varlet, sir, will be here to-morrow," he said; "and in the
mean time, I have his highness's commands to attend upon you."
Jean Charost contented himself with ordering some supper to be brought
to him, and asking some questions in regard to the hours and customs
of the household; and, after all his wants had been attended to, he
retired to rest, without quitting his own room again, judging that the
duke's command to sup there had been given as a sort of precaution
against any indiscretion upon his part, and implied a desire that he
should not mingle with the general household that night. He knew not
what the hour was, and it could not have been very late. But there was
nothing to keep him awake, except a memory of the strange events of
the day, and the light heart of youth soon shakes off such
impressions, so that he slept readily and well.