FONTAINEBLEAU
"Where are we? Will this road never end?"
The voice of La Valentinois cut sharply into the warm, moonlit night;
and De Lorgnac, who was standing near the window of the coach, answered:
"We are at the end of the plain of La Brie, madame, and have stopped to
change your horses and breathe ours."
From over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of a beautiful, sullen face,
and La Valentinois sank back again amongst her cushions, where we left
her to her thoughts--such thoughts they must have been!
It was the first time she had spoken since we left the Louvre, whilst
all the bells of Paris were chiming vespers. She had uttered never a
word of protest, even when her Syrian was prevented from accompanying
her, with the meaning order: "By the Queen's command!" and through the
hours, as the coach, drawn by four horses at a gallop, jolted and swung
over the weary road, she lay back, still as a stone, her eyes closed as
if she slept.
Now and again as I rode by her window I had glanced into the coach; but
never was there any change in her position, and it was only when we
halted at the post-house that her pent-up fury broke out into an angry
question, to relapse at once into an air of frozen indifference.
The escort had dismounted, and stood with their horses in two dark
groups in the front and in the rear of the coach. There was hurry and
stir in the post-house at the unexpected coming of the great Duchess;
and De Lorgnac and I, having given our horses to a trooper to hold,
paced slowly together to and fro, now and again exchanging a word.
Suddenly, almost in answer to the thoughts that moved me, he stopped,
and putting a hand to my shoulder, said:
"Look you, Orrain! The game is not yet won. She has a last card."
"I feel that. It is what I think."
"If she plays on the King's madness for her she may win all,
unless----" And he put down his hand, and hesitated.
"Unless what?"
"The gossip is true that the King bitterly regrets the infamous grant
he made to her, and would give his right hand to escape from his word."
"Le Brusquet is certain of it. He was there when the grant was made,
if you remember."
"In that case there is but one course open to her, and she will take
it. She will, as if of her own accord, surrender the grant, after
getting the pardon of Mademoiselle de Paradis. Thus, though balked at
present, she will retain her hold on the King, and wait for another
day."
"I care not what she does so long as mademoiselle is saved."
"The horses are ready, messieurs." It was Pierrebon, whom I had
ordered to accompany me, who broke in upon our talk, and five minutes
later we were once more upon our way, the still figure within the coach
immovable and silent as ever.
All through the night we rode, and at last, when the moon sank and the
darkness that precedes the dawn came, we clattered through the narrow
streets of Bois-le-Roi, and entered the forest of Fontainebleau.
In a moment the clear, cloudless sky, in which a stray star or so yet
lingered, as if awaiting the day, vanished from our view, and we
plunged into an endless avenue of mighty trees, the overarching
branches forming an arcade above us. As we swept into the shadow the
lamps of the coach threw the gnarled trunks into fantastic shapes, that
seemed to live and move. It was as if we raced between two rows of
grisly phantoms, things of air, that vainly reached forth long,
writhing arms to stay us, only to sink back and dissolve into the gloom
as we sped past.
After a while we came upon more open ground, now and again passing the
fires of a beater's camp, and then, on rounding a turn, we saw rising
before us the vast irregular outlines of the Chateau. Ten minutes
later the coach swung through the gates, and, white with foam and dust,
the horses were pulled up before the Horseshoe Stair. It was not yet
dawn; but lights were glittering everywhere, and the Chateau was
already astir, for the King never spared himself, or others, at the
chase. Indeed, that and a tourney were the only two things which ever
moved his dull spirit to action. Our coming was a complete surprise;
but the broad steps of the stairway were already crowded, and soon a
murmuring, curious throng had gathered about the coach.
I myself opened the door, and as I offered La Valentinois my arm to
assist her to alight I said in a low voice:
"We cannot give you much time, madame. It must be before the King
starts."
Her eyes flashed defiantly, but she made no answer, and, declining my
proffered aid, stepped out lightly. She stood for a moment on the
lowest step of the stair, a tall, hooded figure, the lights of the
torches playing on her, and all bowing respectfully; and then De
Lorgnac called out in a loud voice:
"Madame would see his Majesty the King!"
Almost on his words a lean shadow came running down the steps towards
us. By the lights of the torches flickering through the grey of the
morning I saw it was Simon of Orrain himself. La Valentinois saw him
too, and stood motionless until he came up to her. Simon's eyes blazed
with a hundred unasked questions, but he merely said:
"His Majesty has just heard of your return, madame, and is overjoyed.
It will be a great hunt to-day. Permit me!" And then he caught sight
of me, and started back, his half-outstretched arm falling to his side,
his lips curled back in a snarl.
"You keep madame waiting, Monsieur le Vidame," I said, "and her
business is of vital import."
He was about to answer when La Valentinois placed her hand on his arm,
and muttering something under his breath, Simon turned and led her up
the stairway, all bowing as though she were the Queen. Whilst the two
went up, they began to talk in low, hurried tones, and twice Simon
looked back at me, the hate of a devil in his glance. Most of those
present followed them; but there still remained many who crowded around
us buzzing with questions; but we put them aside, saying we were weary,
and needed rest.
As the red dawn came I found myself seated on a wooden bench near my
horse's stable wondering, fearing, and hoping. The escort had been
dismissed by De Lorgnac, with orders to return to Paris under M. de
Tolendal, as soon as the horses were rested, and De Lorgnac himself had
gone off somewhere. So two hours must have passed, and it seemed to me
that the movement in the courtyards and in the Chateau grew less and
less. Presently half a dozen huntsmen, leading their hounds, passed
close to me, talking in loud and aggrieved tones.
"_Mille diables_!" exclaimed one. "To think it is all off!"
"Never have I known the like!" said another.
"What has happened, my friends?" I asked; and the first speaker replied:
"The hunt is put off, monsieur. Put off, after we had marked down the
largest and fiercest boar in France! As high as that!" And he held
his palm out almost on a level with his breast.
"Ay; and as grey as my beard," put in another, a little, shrivelled old
man. "He has the devil on his side, that boar. Five times has he
escaped. Three of my best hounds has he slain. For a whole week have
I tracked him through the Dormoir, and now that we have him safe in his
lair in the Gorges d'Apremont--the King does not hunt! He has the
devil on his side, I say!"
"Way! Way for Monsieur le Vidame's horse!" called out a strident
voice, and a groom came up, leading a big white horse ready saddled.
The huntsmen moved aside, and the groom led the horse towards the
Chateau; but ere he had gone ten steps Simon himself appeared hastening
towards him.
Simon was still in his hunting suit of close-fitting dark green, a
short cloak thrown over his shoulder, and long boots that reached to
his thighs. His sword was slung scabbardless to his side, and he wore
a baret on his head, with a single cock's feather in it, underneath
which his pale face looked like that of a corpse.
As he came forward hastily towards his horse, his shoulders bent, and
his wolf's eyes fixed before him, there was that in his air which was
ominous of danger, and, springing to my feet, I drew my sword and
stepped towards him. He saw me too, and came up like a truculent dog.
We both reached the horse almost at the same time, and I fully expected
him to draw on me at once; but stopping, he said:
"You seem to forget, brother, that the edict applies to Fontainebleau
as well as the Louvre."
"Not in the least; but one is allowed to kill vermin in the forest."
He glanced at me in speechless, blue-lipped rage. Twice his hand
sought the hilt of his sword, and twice he drew it back. But that I
knew him utterly fearless I might have thought his heart had failed him
as he stood before me, the veins swollen on his forehead, and his
fingers twitching convulsively. At last he found voice, and, laughing
harshly, said:
"Not now; give me twenty-four hours, brother, and then as you wish, or,
rather, whether you wish or not."
"So be it," I answered, and he laughed again, bitter, mirthless
laughter, and reached out for the reins of his horse; but ere he
mounted he turned once more on me, another gust of anger shaking his
frame.
"Look you! You think you have beaten me because you have beaten that
black-eyed strumpet who bewitches the King. I tell you I hold her in
the hollow of my hand, and she cannot buy from me what she has bought
from you. As for you, you have stood in my way long enough; never
again shall it be. Fool! think you I cannot read your soul? Think you
I will let you win the prize I should have won? I promise you that, in
these twenty-four hours, which will make you long for death--I, Simon
of Orrain, swear it!"
With this he swung round, and, springing into the saddle, went off at a
gallop, leaving me staring after him, wondering what devilry lay behind
his words. I watched him till he rounded the elbow of the wood that
lay without the gates, and then, sheathing my sword, went slowly
towards the Horseshoe Stair.
Under other circumstances I should have looked with wonder and
admiration on the magnificent pile that the splendour of the late King
had erected on the old-time fortress of Louis VII, but, as it was, I
paced up and down the Cour du Cheval Blanc, gazing at the wide stairway
and the silent walls, every minute that passed seeming an hour to me in
my impatience. At last I saw a figure at the head of the Horseshoe.
It was De Lorgnac, and he beckoned to me. In a moment I was by his
side.
"Have you heard anything?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"She has had three hours." And I pointed to the sun.
"You must give her time. It will be sufficient if we hear by noon."
Then I told him of Simon and his strange departure, and whilst we spoke
together Carnavalet, one of the chamberlains, appeared, and walked
leisurely up to us.
"Messieurs," he said, "you are wanted. Have the goodness to follow me."
The Galerie de Cerfs, into which Carnavalet took us, was all that
remained in the modern Chateau of the old hunting-lodge and fortress of
the Kings of France, and, despite the trophies of the chase and
tapestries that hung to its walls, it still retained the grim and
forbidding aspect of the past.
It was used as an ante-room, not only to the King's apartments but to
the council chamber, and was crowded when we entered. Placing us near
a pillar Carnavalet bade us wait until he returned, and threading his
way through the press passed through a door at the extreme end of the
gallery that led to the private apartments of the King.
Many and curious were the glances cast at us as we stood there,
dust-begrimed and travel-stained; and a number of those whom we had put
off in the early morning swarmed round us again with their endless
questions, which we were hard pressed to parry.
Almost beside us was another door, opening into the council chamber,
and interest seemed to be divided between us and what was passing
there. It was clear that something of importance was in the air, for
secretaries came out and went in with quick, rapid steps, and bundles
of documents under their arms, and every now and again a messenger
would hurry forth, and we could hear the clattering of his horse's
hoofs as he galloped away.
De Lorges, the captain of the Archer Guard, joined us just as one of
the express riders hurried past.
"I wager a hundred pistoles against a flask of Joué that means an end
of the Spanish peace," he said, with a laugh, and rubbing his hands
together. "I am sick of these rusting times. They say that Coligny
has attacked Douai already. Ah! here he comes!"
He turned as he spoke towards the entrance of the gallery, and at once
the subdued hum of voices stilled to silence, and the crowd of gaily
clad courtiers parted, making way with low bows for someone who had
just entered. For a second I thought it was the King himself; but a
look showed me not the King but the stern figure of the Constable of
France.
Montmorenci walked up the gallery, glancing to the right and left of
him from under his bushy white brows, now and then returning a
salutation. He was in complete mail, all except his helmet, which was
borne by a page behind him, and his sinister appearance accorded well
with his terrible fame. He was of middle height, with broad and
prominent shoulders, and hair as white as snow. His face, tanned to a
dark brown by constant exposure, was stern, and yet sad, with fierce,
bloodshot eyes set far back in his head, and the grimness of his
countenance was enhanced by the two projecting teeth which stuck out
from his lower jaw like a boar's tusks.
He came forward slowly, bearing himself with princely dignity, and when
he got near to us he stopped, and addressing Lorgnac, whom he knew,
inquired:
"From Douai?"
"No, monseigneur; from Paris."
"I must ask the Queen to spare me her hard riders," replied
Montmorenci, with a grim smile, as he pointed at our dust-soiled
apparel, and passed on into the council room.
"It is war, as sure as I stand here," exclaimed De Lorges; and at once
a hubbub of voices arose, in the midst of which Carnavalet appeared,
and beckoned to us. It took us a little time to reach him, but on our
doing so he passed us through the door at once, entering with us, and
closing it after him. Then pointing to the curtains before him, he
said:
"The King awaits you there, messieurs. Enter!"
So tremendous was the issue for me that now that the crisis had come I
felt for the moment almost unable to move. But De Lorgnac gripped me
by the arm.
"Come," he said; "we either win or lose all in the next five minutes.
Come!"
With this he set aside the curtains, and we passed through.
There were but three persons in the room we entered. The King was
standing, a hand resting on the back of the chair in which La
Valentinois sat, as radiantly lovely as though all the fatigues of the
night had never been. A little behind them was Bertrandi, the keeper
of the seals, a lean, ascetic figure, holding a paper in his hands, and
eyeing us with a vulpine curiosity. Somewhat to my surprise the King
received us graciously, saying:
"_Eh bien_, messieurs, you have served madame here well, and in doing
so have served me. Have they not, Diane?" And he began toying with
the black curls of her hair. La Valentinois looked up at him, a world
of tenderness in her glance, but made no reply, and we remained silent,
struck dumb by the infinite resource of her audacity. Evil as she was
it was impossible not to admire her courage; and, as De Lorgnac had
rightly foreseen, she had played a great game, but even we were far
from guessing the extent to which her duplicity would carry her.
"Messieurs," the King went on, "madame has joined her entreaty to that
of the Queen for the life of Mademoiselle de Paradis, and very
willingly and from my heart have I signed this pardon." With this he
took the paper Bertrandi held and placed it in Diane's hands.
"I give this to you, _mignonne_," he said, "for from you comes the
mercy of France. Give it to these gentlemen to bear to the Queen; and
for the present I must leave you for an hour, for the council awaits
me. Come, Bertrandi." With these bald words, delivered in a stilted
fashion, his voice only warming as he bade _au revoir_ to La
Valentinois, the King left us, followed by Bertrandi.