A little after ten o'clock at night, a party of some five-and-twenty
persons, escorting one of the large horse-litters of the day, stopped
in the court-yard of the old Castle of St. Florent. One or two
servants came forth to meet them, and instantly recognized De Brecy's
right to admission. Lights were procured; and the young nobleman
himself, handing Agnes Sorel from the litter, led her into the great
hall, while Jacques C[oe]ur followed with Jeanne de Vendôme.
"My indignation at that woman's duplicity," whispered Agnes Sorel, as
they advanced, "has made me very thirsty. Let them bring me some
water, my friend."
Jean Charost gave the order she desired to the servant who went before
them with the lights, and the whole party of four paused for an
instant in the hall, Agnes Sorel bending her eyes upon the ground, as
if lost in thought. Suddenly, however, she raised her head, saying,
"Come, De Brecy, I will not keep you from your love. I will lead you
to her. I know where she is to be found."
"Ha!" said Jeanne de Vendôme, with a very marked emphasis, as Jean
Charost and his fair companion left the room.
"Will you not go with them, madam?" asked Jacques C[oe]ur, who had no
great love for the lady left behind.
"I think not," replied Jeanne de Vendôme, in a quiet, easy tone.
"Lovers' meetings should have as few witnesses as possible;" and she
and Jacques C[oe]ur remained in the hall, the good merchant going to
the window, and gazing out upon the night.
A minute or two after, the servant returned with a flagon of water
from the castle well, and a silver drinking-cup. These he set upon the
table, and retired. Jeanne de Vendôme gazed at them for a moment, and
then said, aloud, "I am thirsty too."
Quietly approaching the table, she placed herself in such a position
as to stand between the flagon and Jacques C[oe]ur, poured herself out
some water, drank, set down the cup again, and after remaining a short
time in that position, turned to the window, and took her place beside
the merchant.
In the mean time, Jean Charost, with a light in his hand, accompanied
Agnes Sorel up the stairs, and through a long passage at the top.
"You seem to know the castle even better than I do," he said, as she
guided him on.
"I have been this road in secret once before," she answered, gayly.
"Mine is a happier errand now, De Brecy. But we must thread out the
labyrinth. I have hid your little gem where best it might lie
concealed."
A few moments more, however, brought them to a door which Agnes Sorel
opened, and there, with an elderly waiting-maid of Madame De Brecy's,
stood his own Agnes, gazing with anxious terror toward the door. She
was somewhat pale, somewhat thinner than she had been, and the noise
of horses' feet in the court below had made her heart beat fearfully.
The moment she saw De Brecy, however, she sprang forward and cast
herself into his arms. He pressed her closely to his heart; but all he
could say was, "My Agnes--my own Agnes--all is well, and you are
mine."
Agnes Sorel put a fair hand upon the arm of each. "May you love ever
as you love now," she said, "and may God bless you in your love. Oh,
De Brecy, just a year ago you gave me the most painful moment I have
ever felt. When I told you I would guard and protect her, there came
such a look--oh, such a look into your face--a look of doubt and fear,
more reproachful, more monitory, more condemnatory than any thing but
my own heart has ever spoken. I give her back to you now, pure, and
bright, and true as you left her with me, with the bloom and
brightness of her mind as fresh and unsoiled as ever. Love her, and be
beloved, and may God bless you ever."
De Brecy took her hand and kissed it. "For how much have I to thank
you," he answered; "for all--for every thing; for I am certain that
but for your influence this happy meeting would have never been."
"It might not," answered Agnes, with a cheek glowing with many
emotions. "But I call Heaven to witness, De Brecy, the influence I
unrightly possess has never been, and never shall be exercised but to
do justice, to prompt aright, and to lead to honor. Now let us go.
Agnes, you must back with us to the court as the bride of him you
love. Make no long preparation nor delay. You will find us waiting for
you in the hall. Come, De Brecy, come. More lovers' words another
time."
When they reached the hall, Agnes advanced at once to the table,
filled the cup, and drank; then, turning gayly to Jacques C[oe]ur, she
said, "We have not been long, my friend. I went on purpose to cut
caresses short. Our fair companion will be here anon. How brightly the
stars are shining. Methinks it would be very pleasant if one could
wing one's way there up aloft, and look into the brilliant eyes of
heaven."
A minute or two after, she turned somewhat pale, and seated herself in
a large arm-chair which stood near. She said nothing; but an
expression of pain passed across her countenance. Shortly after, De
Brecy's Agnes entered, prepared to go; and Agnes Sorel rose,
supporting herself by the arm of the chair, and saying, "Let us be
quick; I feel far from well."
She was soon placed in the litter, and they went on quickly toward
Bourges; but once or twice, during the short journey, Jacques C[oe]ur
put forth his head, urging the drivers of the litter to make more
haste. When they entered the court-yard of his house, and the litter
stopped before the great door, the good merchant sprang out at once,
saying, "Help me to carry her in, Jean. She is very ill."
They lifted her out in their arms, and bore her into the house, pale
and writhing. Confusion and dismay spread through the court.
Physicians were called, and gave some relief. She became somewhat
better--well enough to travel to a distant castle; but, ere six weeks
were over, the kind, the beautiful, the frail was in her grave, and
none knew how she died.
From that moment a fear of poison seized upon the mind of Charles the
Seventh, and affected the happiness of all his after days.
The king did not keep his promise of being present at the marriage of
De Brecy and Agnes de St. Florent, and their own joy was baptized in
sorrow.
FOOTNOTES
[Footnote 1: Jacques C[oe]ur, it would seem, alluded to a fact not
generally stated by English historians, which I may as well mention
here as a curious illustration of the habits of those times. After the
death of the unhappy Richard the Second, when it was currently
reported throughout Europe that the successful usurper had put him to
death in prison, the Duke of Orleans sent a cartel to Henry of
Lancaster, by the hands of Champagne, king-at-arms, and Orleans his
herald, demanding a combat of one hundred noblemen of France against
one hundred of the Lancastrian party of England, the one party to be
headed by the duke, the other by the new King of England. He gave the
choice of any place between Angoulême and Bordeaux, and endeavored
earnestly to bring about the meeting. Henry, in his reply, evading the
demand, takes exception to the titles which the Duke had given him,
stands upon his dignity as a king, and expresses great surprise that
the duke should call him to the field without having previously
solemnly abjured an alliance contracted between them in the year 1396.
To this the Duke of Orleans tartly replied, in a letter full of
pungent and bitter satire. Among other galling passages is the
following: "And as to what you say, that no lord or knight, let his
condition be what it will, ought to demand a combat without renouncing
his alliance (with his adversary), I am not aware that you renounced
to your lord the King Richard your oath of fealty to him before you
proceeded against his person in the manner which you have done." And
again: "As to what you write, that whatever a prince and king does
ought to be done for the honor of God, and for the common benefit of
all Christendom and his own kingdom, and not for vain-glory, nor for
any temporal cupidity, I reply that you say well; but if you had so
acted in your own country in times past, many things which you have
done would not have been perpetrated in the land in which you live."
By such expressions he galled Henry the Fourth into an indefinite sort
of acceptance of his challenge, though the English king would not
condescend to name time or place. The letters are still extant, and
are very curious.]
[Footnote 2: His exact words.]
[Footnote 3: He afterward nobly proved his devotion to Charles the
Seventh, by an act which distinguished him more than all the military
services he rendered to that prince. His dismissal from the court was
demanded, as the price of even a partial reconciliation between the
king and the young Duke of Burgundy. Charles resisted firmly; but Du
Châtel voluntarily resigned all his prospects and retired, to free his
master from embarrassment.]
[Footnote 4: A large piece of artillery, which threw immense balls of
stone, evidently by the force of gunpowder. It was by the discharge of
one of these that the famous Earl of Salisbury was killed under the
walls of Orleans the following year.]