She seemed about thirteen or fourteen years of age, not more; and,

after gazing upon her for a moment, endeavouring to recollect where I

had seen her, I said, "How can I befriend you, my good girl? What is

your name?"

"You recollect me not," replied the girl; "but my name is Miriam

Ahar."

"Oh, I recollect thee well," I replied, "now. Tell me what I can do

for thee, pretty one, and I will do it with pleasure." And, as I

spoke, there was a look of real pleasure, I believe, came over my

countenance, which brought a smile upon the girl's beautiful lips.

"I was sure you would be kind," she said, "and you can help us thus.

My father is here in yonder house with some rich merchandise. He is

appointed to come after the army with the rear guard, which sets out

at four this evening; but he has learned, from a good friend in this

place, that six of the many men who do evil deeds in such armies as

these have their eyes upon him. Now you know what often happens to a

Jew when he travels with the rear guard of an army."

"No, I do not," I replied: "I never heard of any injury befalling

them."

"Ay, who hears of such things befalling them but their own nation?"

she replied, sadly. "Who hears that the dead body of a Jew, murdered

and stripped, is found by the roadside? and all that are with him,

what becomes of them? They fly if they are permitted, and some are

killed to prevent them bearing witness, and the rest are silent

through fear, and the murderers go away enriched."

There was reason to believe that the girl's tale was too true, but it

was difficult to know how to serve her.

"My poor child," I said, "What can be done for you? I am a prisoner,

and wounded myself; but if you would point out what could be done, I

would gladly do it, for I remember you were kind to me long ago."

"You can do much for us," she said; "we knew you were a prisoner, for

we have been in the Protestant camp, and inquired for you. But still

you can do much for us; for they say you are loved by some of the

great among these people, and we have only the protection of those who

would devour us. Get us permission to go this very hour in the train

of the main battle with which you go, and let one of your people

accompany us; if so, we are safe; if not, we are altogether lost."

"I will do my best for you, Miriam," I replied; "here comes the Prince

d'Auvergne; I will apply to him. Stand by me; do not go back. My

lord," I said, "here is a petitioner to me. She and her father were

kind to me long ago. They are Jews, but without their help I could

never have appeared in the field at all. They are now appointed to go

with the rear guard; but you know what is likely to happen to a Jew,

in a march partly in the night, among the stragglers of the army."

"Let them follow us if they can get ready," replied the prince, in

evident haste; "one of your people can go with them, De Cerons."

"But give them some sort of safeguard, my lord," I said; "one word

under your hand."

"Here, a pen and ink, Arnon!" said the prince, in the same hasty

tone; and, tearing a leaf out of his tablets, he wrote, "Suffer to

pass--What is the name?"

"Solomon Ahar," I replied.

"Oh, Solomon Ahar, the usurious villain!" he said; "I have heard of

him. Well, nevertheless--" and he went on writing--"Suffer to pass

Solomon Ahar, his people and horses, with the baggage of Francis

d'Auvergne." "There," he said, "these vermin will do no great credit

to my baggage, De Cerons; but, if you wish it, so let it be;" and, as

he spoke, he looked upon the exquisitely beautiful form and features

of poor Miriam Ahar as if she had been a speckled toad. Such is

prejudice!

"I will be back instantly, De Cerons," he continued, "and then we will

join the regiment."

Thus saying, he turned into the court of the hotel, and I gave the

paper to the girl, saying, "There, Miriam, that is all I can do for

you. Andriot, you go with her, and take one of the grooms: I want only

one with me. See them safe, and join me after the march." Miriam took

the paper, and for her only reply kissed the hand that held it to her;

and, running away so fast that Andriot, though very willing to

accompany the pretty Jewess, it seemed, could scarcely mount his horse

and follow her, she disappeared under the doorway of a house higher up

the street.

In a moment or two after the Prince d'Auvergne made his appearance

again, and, following him to the park of the chateau, where his

regiment and several others were drawn up, I was soon plunged into all

the bustle of a march with a large army. For some time orders and

counter-orders, and arrangements of various kinds, came so thick, that

he had no time for conversation with me; but, after the lapse of about

an hour, everything fell into regular order again; and, as there was

no chance of any attack, he left the conduct of his regiment to the

inferior officers, and civilly getting rid of several noblemen and

gentlemen who seemed inclined to attach themselves to his person, he

rode on with me, at once opening the conversation with the subject on

which his father had spoken to me on the preceding night.

"My father," he said, "was so hurried yesterday that I did not clearly

understand whether he had told you, De Cerons, what he intended to do

or not."

I replied that the duke had not done so, but referred me to him: and I

went on to say, "You know well, Monsieur d'Auvergne, that protracted

imprisonment must be very painful to me, and I trust it is your

father's intention to admit me to ransom."

I was proceeding to repeat what I had said to his father the day

before, when he interrupted me with a smile, saying, "You need not

give me reasons why, De Cerons; though I look so young, I am old

enough to have felt; and though I am older than you think me, I am not

too old to have forgotten such feelings as I saw upon a certain

parting between a lady and her lover. Your secret was well kept both

by my father and myself, and your sour cousin of Blancford heard

nothing of it from us. But with regard to setting you free I have

nothing to do; and I feel very sure that one of my father's reasons

for sending you to Champigny is that you may be near your fair lady,

and not, by a lengthened imprisonment, lose the opportunity of

advancing yourself in the favour either of herself or her father."

"Good God!" I exclaimed, "I had not the slightest idea that the baron

had gone to Saumur."

"Oh! you mistake, you mistake," said the prince. "My father did not

speak of sending you to Champigné-le-sec, which, as its name implies,

would be a dry residence for you enough, but to Champigny near Paris,

where we have estates, and an old chateau of which we are all fond.

But still I must say it is not in my power to affect at all my

father's determination about your imprisonment. Indeed, I must

confess, I think it best for you that it should be as it is; and, at

all events, I have no authority in the matter. What I alluded to was

something quite different. The day before yesterday, as we were riding

down towards Cognac, my father and I were talking of you, and we

determined, in memory of the day when you and I first met, to make you

a present of a little farm that we lately bought, for the purpose of

giving it to an old friend of ours, but who was unfortunately killed

in the first skirmish of this campaign. It lies close to our own place

at Champigny, and is called by his own name, which was the cause of

our buying it for him. That name is Les Bois. It remains just as we

had it all arranged to give him. The old chateau, though but small,

is, I think you will admit, as sweet a spot as well could be chosen to

repose in after the toils of war. We have had it tapestried and

furnished afresh throughout in the very last mode; and the annual rent

amounts to about five thousand livres per annum.

"Oh, my lord, my lord, mention not such a thing to me," I cried.

"Although your rank and mine might well permit me to accept your

bounty, yet such a gift as that I am utterly undeserving of."

"Not at all, De Cerons, not at all," replied the prince. "You must

recollect the circumstances under which it is offered. If, on the

occasion you speak of, you had chosen to have killed me, you might

have done so; but you were too generous for that. You might equally

have made me your prisoner; but the truth was, you thought me a mere

boy, and let me escape. I have no objection, De Cerons, to remain

under obligations to you; and, even in offering you this little gift,

both my father and myself are still your debtors. You forget what

would have been the ransom of the Prince d'Auvergne. I know well what

it would be if Montluc had to fix it. Certainly not less than fifty

thousand gold Henris, or a hundred thousand crowns of the sun. The

estate we give, in all cost but a third of that sum; and therefore, my

good friend, I still bear a great portion of my ransom to the credit

of gratitude. The deeds of the estate my father has left with me to

make over to you, and, if we can find a notary within ten miles of our

halting-place, they shall be made your own this very night."

It may be easily conceived what were my feelings upon the present

occasion. The tone in which he spoke, his whole manner and look, left

no opportunity of refusing even with courtesy, had I been so inclined.

But when I looked upon his offer, and thought that that which was

given so generously might be but the foundation of my future fortunes,

I felt no such inclination to refuse. I thought of Louise, too, my own

bright Louise, and I felt the letter which she had sent me, and which

I had placed in my bosom to read when alone, glow warm upon my heart

when new hopes and expectations entered into it.

The eye of the prince was upon me as I thus thought, and he seemed to

read all the feelings that were passing in my bosom, for a smile came

up upon his countenance, and he said, "Come, De Cerons, you accept it.

Prithee, not a word more. At Champigny you will have the opportunity

of visiting your new estate, or even of dwelling there if you so will,

for the limits of the two properties touch, and, of course, you may

reside at which you will. It is better, perhaps, that you should go to

Champigny at first, where everything is prepared and ready for you;

and, in the mean time, as it is somewhat dangerous just now for a

Protestant to appear in the neighbourhood of Paris, you may take with

all safety the name of Des Bois, as you have made that of De Cerons

somewhat too well known."

Thus conversing, we went on our way, and in the evening arrived at the

camp under the walls of Angoulême. Persons were waiting for us at the

quarters marked out for the Prince d'Auvergne, inviting us to sup with

the Duke of Montpensier, and not a moment was allowed me to read the

letter of Louise till I retired to rest for the night.

In the mean time, however, two circumstances happened which I must

notice briefly. The first was the actual transfer of the chateau and

property of Les Bois to myself, which was executed that night in the

presence of a notary, both the Duke of Montpensier and the prince

signing the act. The next occurred as we were pausing round the table

for a moment after supper. There was no one in the chamber but the

duke, his son, and myself, and we were about to separate, when an

attendant announced that the Jew, Solomon Ahar, waited without.

Probably each of the three thought that the business of the Jew was

with himself; but the duke said, "It is only that usurious Jew, who

comes to tell me, I suppose, that the Duke of Anjou cannot have the

money that he wants. In fact, I saw it would be so last night; and I

suppose that the man is afraid of telling the duke himself, lest he

should lose his ears, so comes to put the unpleasant task on me. Send

him in, however."

In a moment after poor Solomon Ahar entered, cringing and bending down

to the ground.

"Well, Solomon," said the duke, "you have come sooner than I expected

to see you; and I suppose this promptitude shows that you have no very

good news to bring me."

"Not so, my most gracious lord," replied the Jew, bending again to the

very ground. "On the contrary, I come to say I think it can be done. I

trust it can be managed. I have good hope that we can accept the terms

of the noble prince; for, as I came along but now, I have had much

talk and conversation with some of the gentle leaders about arms, and

spoils, and ransoms, and what not, and I have done a little commerce

by the way, so that I think the matter can be done to the prince's

contentment; and I came to tell you first, monseigneur, because I

thought it would do you a pleasure to tell his highness yourself."

"On my life it does!" cried the duke; "for there is many a thing I

want the prince to do, which I dare not even ask when he is in such a

humour as at present."

"It is all owing, my very good and excellent lord," said the Jew, "it

is all owing to these two noble gentlemen, my excellent good lord your

son, and that very respectable knight who sits by him; for, had it not

been for their protection, and my lord the prince's permission to come

with the main battle, I should never have seen these worthy traders,

and done the little commerce that enables me to pleasure the prince."

"It cannot be a little commerce, good Solomon," said the duke, "Which

enables you to furnish a sum of two hundred thousand crowns, when you

declared you could not find it in all Paris."

"On my life and soul!" cried the Israelite, "it will but pay the

interest of the money in case I be a loser."

But both the duke and his son laughed, and Solomon himself grinned

silently, as if he did not in the least degree expect to be believed.

He produced from under his robe, however, two small packets, one

containing the most exquisitely beautiful pair of gloves for a lady

that I ever beheld, being formed of peach-coloured velvet, embroidered

on the back with gold and pearls, which he laid before the Prince

d'Auvergne, begging his acceptance of them as a present for any lady

that he loved. The other was a small plain dagger, about two hands'

breadths in length, the haft of which was as plain as it well could

be, being distinguished by nothing but a few lines of gold inlaid in

the steel. The blade, which he drew from the plain steel sheath, was

thick and dull in colour, as if it had been rusty and ill cleaned.

Nevertheless, this somewhat coarse-looking implement he laid upon the

table before the duke with great reverence, saying, "Let me beg your

noble acceptance of that which, though it looks but a poor gift, may

be considered as invaluable. That dagger is made of one cake of pure

Damascus steel. It will pass through the finest-tempered corslet that

can be produced in the camp, even when struck by a weak arm; and with

that dagger the Emperor Hassan, caliph of the Moors, killed no less

than ten Spanish cavaliers at the great battle of the Salado."

The Duke of Montpensier seemed to value the gift highly, and the Jew

then turned towards me, bowing lowly, and saying, "I have not

forgotten to be grateful to Monsieur de Cerons."

"The only gratitude I wish, good Solomon," I replied, "is, that you

would find for me a certain dagger that you know of, and which I fear

may be lost to me for ever by the death of the person to whom you

delivered it."

"I feared so, I feared so," said the Jew; "but it shall be found if it

be on this side of Constantinople. I have heard, good sir, that you

are going towards Paris; so Monsieur Arnon, the intendant of good

Monsieur d'Auvergne, told me; and I would fain travel in such safe

company, especially as I go on the business of his Highness of Anjou,"

he added, looking at the duke.

"Be it so, be it so," said the Duke of Montpensier; "and the sooner

you arrive in the capital the better."

"On the twenty-fifth day of the present month," said the Jew, "his

highness may draw on me bills of exchange through any of the merchants

of Poitiers. They will not refuse him the money when they see the name

of Solomon Ahar."

The duke seemed not a little pleased with this intelligence, and, a

few words more having passed, Solomon retired from the room, and the

duke hastened to communicate the news he had received as fast as

possible to the Duke of Anjou.

In the mean time, the Prince d'Auvergne and I returned to our

quarters, and bidding me kindly adieu, as I was to depart early on the

following morning, he left me, as he thought, to repose. Sleep,

however, was not destined to visit my eyes that night. It was with

difficulty, my right hand and arm being still bound up in its wooden

case, that I was able to open the letter of Louise; and oh! when I did

open it, what pain did it inflict! The letter has been since

destroyed, so that I cannot give it accurately; but it informed me

that the baroness had notified to her that her father had concluded

upon a marriage between her and the Lord of Blaye. Her consent, she

said, had never been asked and the marchioness had immediately left

her stupified and thunderstruck. The only consolations she had, the

poor girl said, were, in the first place, that the man himself was

absent with the army, and likely to be absent for long; and, in the

second, that La Tour assured her that the baron himself had fixed that

the marriage should not take place for some time. To give me some

comfort under such circumstances, she said, "You know me, Henry, and

know that I would rather die. But, oh! that I could see you, and speak

with you now, if it were but for a few hours!"

It may well be conceived that the time now seemed to lag; and, when I

at length set off upon my journey towards Champigny, every league

seemed extended to two or three, every minute was protracted into

days. I was the first in the saddle in the morning, the last to feel

fatigue at night. But still, as all the various military movements had

disturbed the posts, and we rode our own horses, our journey was in

reality slow, and seemed to me still slower.

There were but few events in that journey which I need dwell upon. The

party which went through it was divided by their particular

circumstances, by their religion and habits, and each kept much apart

from the other. I, belonging to the higher class of the land, was

separated from the rest both by my rank and by my faith; and my

servants, being Protestants, were, of course, not sought by the

attendants of the Duke of Montpensier. The intendant, indeed, of the

Prince d'Auvergne generally rode by my side, a step farther back,

endeavouring to beguile the way with different stories of the scenes

which he had seen in a long life, and the descriptions of objects

which I had never beheld. He told a tale pleasantly enough, and his

descriptions were vivid and accurate. I showed a sufficient degree of

interest in what he said to flatter his vanity a little, and induce

him to go on.

But he saw that I was deeply melancholy, and sometimes appeared to

suppose that his conversation wearied me, and ceased it for an hour or

two. Thus, however, some little conversation took place between the

Catholics and Protestants; but it was very different with the Jews,

who formed the third division of our party. They were spoken to,

indeed, by both the Catholics and Protestants from time to time, and

were treated with great kindness and with substantial courtesy, having

every protection and assistance given to them whenever they needed it;

but the servants, like their masters, looked upon them evidently as an

inferior race, and kept up as little communication with them as

possible. To ensure that they were well treated and had nothing to

complain of--for the Prince d'Auvergne had given me authority to

regulate such matters on the march--I generally made Solomon and

Miriam come and sit with me for an hour after our day's journey was

over, somewhat to the scandal, I believe, of good Master Arnon the

intendant, who thought it strange that a French nobleman should permit

a Jew to sit in his presence.

By this means an intimacy--if that can be so called which consisted

almost altogether in tokens of respect and reverence on the one side,

and protection on the other--took place between me and the Jew and his

daughter; they clung to me as the only being that treated them with

real kindness, and Miriam used to strive to amuse me with a thousand

little engaging youthful ways: she would dance to me to the sound of

her own singing, which was very sweet, though in a tongue that I did

not understand; and she would play to me at other times, either upon a

small instrument which she called a cithern, or upon a lute, with a

skill and perfection that I had never heard before. She used to watch

my looks, too, as if to see whether she amused me; but she was too

young for idle thoughts to enter into the head of any one with regard

to her; and I do not think I was of a character, even if she had been

two or three years older, to fancy that she was in love with me,

because she had a grateful regard for me.

The Jew himself, I believe, would have trusted her anywhere with me,

as by this time he would have trusted me with any jewel of his store;

and one evening, when he himself had arrived at the inn, weary and

somewhat unwell, he sent his daughter to amuse me, and to tell me that

he himself had retired to rest. Well might he do so; and yet the

conversation that we had together was as tender and as full of

thrilling interest as it is possible to conceive. I had been musing

sadly over my fate and that of Louise, and my eyes were buried in my

hands when her entrance roused me, so that it was evident enough to

her that she had just recalled me from a painful dream.

"You are sad, seigneur," she said, drawing a seat close up beside me,

and laying her small, clear, olive hand upon mine. "You are sad, and

you do not tell Miriam what you are sad about."

"Oh, you would not care to hear, Miriam," I replied, "and could do me

no good if you did hear."

"Oh, but I should care to hear," she said, "for I love you very much,

seigneur. I loved you, from the first moment I saw you, almost as

much--no, not so much as I love him."

"Were you going to say your father, Miriam?" I said.

"No," she said, "Not him. I was going to say as Martin Vern." And the

girl coloured a little as she spoke, but added immediately, "But he

loves you too, and told me how kind you had been to him when he was at

the siege of Angoulême, and how you had given him your hand to help

him up into the breach, and how you had carried him down in your arms

when he was wounded, and saved his life, and been to him like a

brother; which, for a lord and a soldier like you, he thought very

kind indeed."

"You seem to have talked very much about me, Miriam," I said. "When

was all this?"

"Oh, it was when we were last in Paris," replied the girl; "when we

were staying at the house of Levi, my father's cousin, who has become

a Christian, you know; and then I would go and see the lady that you

had written to, which he told me about, and who had written to you

again, and sent it to my fathers house at Bordeaux for the old

merchant. And when the Baron de Blancford wanted the Persian silver

brocade for his wife, I went with Martin Vern, that is, with the old

merchant, and saw the young lady too, and spoke with her in the

cabinet behind the great saloon. I told her then that if she would

write you a letter, and send it to Levi's house, it should be conveyed

to you; but I did not think then that I should carry it myself."

"And was it so the letter came to me?" I said. "I had fancied, Miriam,

that your father had got it when he was in the Protestant camp."

"Oh, no," she replied; "I carried it all the way in my bosom. And now

I wish you would tell me why you are so sad, and why she looked so sad

too. Perhaps I could do more than you know."

"Oh, no, Miriam," I answered, "You could do no thing, my good girl.

That which makes me sad would need a more skilful surgeon than you are

to cure."

She looked in my face for a moment, as if to see whether I was

speaking plainly or metaphorically, and she then cried, "Ay, now I

understand you. You love her, and she loves you, and they will not

give her to you in marriage."

"Ay, Miriam," I answered, with a sigh, as she came so near the truth;

"and they talk of giving her to another."

"Who to? who to?" cried the girl, eagerly. "I heard something once

which makes me suspect."

"Oh, no," I replied, "You know him not, Miriam. His name is the

Seigneur de Blaye."

"I hate him!" cried the girl, bounding up from her seat as if I had

pronounced some talismanic word; "I hate him! He dared to take hold of

me when my father was gone to get him the money he wanted from the

other room, and asked me if I would go and live with him; and when I

told him no, I would rather be catching-wench to a butcher's wife, he

struck me on the face with his fingers, and called me a name that I

must not speak. I never told my father, or I believe he would have

stabbed him; but I hate him, and I shall ever hate him. Oh, seigneur!"

she continued, turning towards me and clasping her hands together,

"You have been very good and kind indeed to me and mine, and to all

that I ever heard mention your name. It is such people as you that

make us know what good people there can be; and I will try to show you

that there can be gratitude in a poor little Jewish girl. I told my

father, when he knew the people intended to murder him on the march

from Jarnac, that if he would let me go and speak to you, you would be

kind to him. He would not believe me for a long while; but he said

that, if you were, you would be the first Christian that ever looked

upon a Jew as anything but a dog. My father, however, can be grateful

too, seigneur; and, though you may think that poor little Miriam has

no power, yet in this business she may have more power than you know

of."

Our conversation went on for some time; and the girl, young as she

was, spoke with a depth of feeling, a tenderness, an experience of the

world and the world's ways, which was very extraordinary, mingled as

it was with a sort of eager and imaginative wildness of manner and

language, which probably she had acquired in the somewhat wandering

and irregular life to which her father's pursuits subjected her. I

looked upon the hopes and expectations that she tried to fill me with,

of being able to do something in my behalf, as quite idle and vain;

but still the gratitude that she showed was something pleasant to meet

with, and I sent her away with thanks, and many a kindly speech in

return.

At the village of Berny, a short distance from Paris, the Jew, his

daughter, and the innumerable packhorses which followed him, were to

part with their companions of the way, he proceeding to the capital,

and we by a side road to Champigny. He now, however, considered

himself quite safe; and, when I had mounted to depart, he came up to

the side of my horse, followed by Miriam, and prayed a blessing from

God upon my onward journey.

"I have heard from Monsieur Arnon," he said, in a low voice, "that the

estate of Les Bois is yours, and that, for the time, I am only to call

you Monsieur des Bois; but, whether you be at Champigny or at Les

Bois, I hope you will not refuse to let me within your gates; for you

have shown me kindness such as I have seldom found, and such as I

shall never forget."

Thus saying, he kissed my hand after his fashion, and Miriam, coming

up, did the same. There was something in the poor people's gratitude

that made my eyes glisten though they were Jews, and, bidding them

adieu, I rode on. As I turned my horse into the road at the right, I

looked back, and saw that they were standing before the inn door,

gazing after me still.

CHAPTER V.

I was well pleased to arrive at Champigny, and certainly a very

beautiful and charming spot it was; but, of course, the sight of Les

Bois was still more agreeable to me as its proprietor. The chateau was

a small house, built in the antique fashion, but still in the most

perfect repair; certainly not so large as the duke's own mansion at

Champigny, yet large enough for my ambition. It was seated on a hill,

in the midst of fine old woods, from which it derived its name; and

there was an aspect of peace, and calm, and tranquillity, which was

pleasant to the eye and to the heart after the scenes of anguish,

care, and excitement which war had lately presented to my sight. The

interior of the chateau was, as the Prince d'Auvergne had told me,

well furnished, and newly furnished throughout. To my eyes, indeed, it

was splendid; for in those day there was perhaps, even more than now,

a marked difference in the grace, taste, and execution of everything

in the neighbourhood of the capital and in the remote provinces.

The good intendant of the Prince d'Auvergne insisted upon taking me

all over the chateau, and showing me every hole and corner, though I

was most anxious, I confess, to go into Paris itself, and take some

means for obtaining an interview with Louise. I did not know well how

to explain my inclinations to my worthy companion, and, to break the

subject to him, I made some inquiries regarding the capital; but, the

moment he heard that I had never seen Paris, nothing would serve him

but that I must go there immediately. To his imagination it was the

chief wonder of the world; and, after descanting upon its merits,

beauties, and excellences for half an hour, he said, "If it were not

presuming too far, my lord, I would propose to accompany you thither

immediately, and show you some of the beauties of the place, though

even to notice them all would require many weeks, I might say months."

I instantly caught at this proposal; and, mounting fresh horses at

Champigny, we rode on into the city, where, giving our horses to the

boys, we proceeded to walk through the streets of the capital. At any

other moment, when my mind was not so occupied by one predominant

subject, everything that I saw would have been a matter of interest to

me. The long ranges of shops, covered over with awnings to keep the

merchandises there exposed from the sun and the air; the people

reading aloud pieces of poetry and satire at the corners of the

streets; the different shows and exhibitions that attracted the sight

at every step, all would have amused, detained, and interested me; but

now my great desire and object was to discover the abode of the Baron

de Blancford, and obtain some means of communicating with her I loved.

The multitude of houses, and streets, and people that increased upon

me at every minute, confused and puzzled me, and made me fancy the

attempt almost impracticable, not knowing the address, and having no

clew in such a labyrinth as that.

Suddenly, however, I called to mind that, from Miriam's account,

Martin Vern was still in the custom of visiting the house of the Baron

de Blancford, and judging that he, as a great merchant, must be known

to everybody, I asked Arnon the intendant if he could lead me to his

dwelling.

"I do not know him," said the intendant. "Is he a Huguenot?"

"No," I replied, with a smile at the sort of horror that came over the

man's countenance at the very idea of visiting a Huguenot in Paris.

"No, Monsieur Arnon, he is a Catholic, and a great merchant who has

money of mine in his hands."

"Oh, then the case is very different," replied Arnon. "We will inquire

after him immediately." And, entering a large goldsmith's house by the

door close to the shop, he asked for Martin Vern the merchant.

We had now no difficulty in finding the dwelling, which was up a

flight of steps, and the goods were not exposed in the streets, as

among the ordinary shopkeepers, but spread out in rooms within doors.

Neither good Martin Vern, however, nor his son was to be found at

home; and I left a message, under the name of Des Bois, asking to see

one or both of them at the chateau at Champigny.

Although by this time the days had lengthened, and we were in the

height of summer, it was now time that we should turn our steps

homeward, as the distance we had to go was nearly four leagues; and

during the whole of the following day I waited in anxious expectation

for the appearance of one of the two merchants. No one came, however,

and another and another day succeeded, during which I scarcely stirred

out, and left directions for finding me whenever I did so. At the end

of the third day my patience became quite exhausted, and on the

following morning I begged Arnon to send off one of the prince's

servants, who knew the capital well, to ask why Master Martin Vern had

not been to Champigny. Arnon did as I directed immediately; and, on

bearing me the answer, which was, that neither Martin Vern nor his

nephew had yet returned from Blois, where they had gone to attend upon

the king, added, in order to put my mind at rest upon the subject

which he thought troubled me, that I might make myself quite easy

about the money; for that, having made inquiries, he found that the

house of Martin Vern was one of the most wealthy and respectable in

Paris.

I could not help exclaiming, "Pshaw! it is not the money, my good

friend." And it was evident, from that moment, that Arnon's curiosity

was not a little excited to find out what it could be that I sought

with the merchants, if it was not the money that they owed me. My

determination, however, was now taken to seek the house of the Baron

de Blancford myself; but not all my efforts could discover it, and it

was equally in vain that I attempted to discover the abode of Solomon

Ahar: that he was going to lodge at the house of his cousin Levi I

knew; but his cousin Levi was not to be discovered; and, on making

inquiries concerning him, I was always met by a demand of "Levi who?"

there being a thousand in Paris of the name of Levi, but all with some

surname attached.

In the mean time, the news that daily came in from the scene of the

war was anything but such as to give me gratification. The feeble

attack on Poitiers by the Protestants; the gallant defence of the

young Duke of Guise; the siege of St. Jean d'Angely; the death of poor

Martigue, whom I could not help regretting; the fatal battle of

Moncontour, which, although the defeat of the Protestants was as

complete, and the success of the Catholics as surprising as well need

be, was magnified in Paris in a very great degree; all these things

grieved and pained me, while week after week went by in fruitless

inquiries; and at length, with that sort of scorn of one's self, which

is a true part of misanthropy, for giving a moment's credit to the

Jew's professions of gratitude, I sat me down in bitterness of spirit,

and tried to fancy that I hated the whole human race.

The autumn of the year was now approaching; there could be little or

no doubt that, during the ensuing winter, the young Lord of Blaye

would be free to return to Paris, and pursue the project of marriage

which was held out to him; and the thoughts of poor Louise, and the

privations to which she would be subjected, tormented me like an army

of fiends, and re-enforced themselves by every power of imagination.

The news that St. Jean d'Angely had been recaptured by the

Protestants, and that the Prince d'Auvergne, who had held it out for

some time against them, had been forced to capitulate for want of

supplies, had reached us some days, when, as I was sitting one night

in the cabinet at Champigny, I heard the clattering of horses' feet in

the courtyard below; and in a moment after, to my great astonishment,

the prince himself entered the room. He embraced me kindly; and, after

a few minutes' conversation upon general things, remarked that I

neither looked well nor happy.

"Come," he said, "De Cerons, tell me what is the cause of this. I

think by this time you might fully confide in your friend."

Before I could answer, one of his officers had entered for some

directions; and, while he gave them, I made up my mind to unbosom my

whole thoughts to him. In the course of the evening I accordingly did

so; and, as was much the character, both of his father and himself, he

heard me fully out with scarcely any observation or reply.

When I had done completely, however, and he had a complete view of my

past Life and present situation, he said, "There are a good many

strange parts in your tale, De Cerons; but neither you nor I, I fancy,

know so much of the laws as to know whether these acts of your father

and your cousin were legal. However, I see it is not that which pains

you now. It is the matter of your fair cousin; and I grieve to say,

that any news I may have for you is not calculated to sooth you. No

wonder that you have not found them in Paris, for they are all still

at Blois with the court, which gladly keeps your cousin from joining

the admiral and the Prince de Bearn. I saw them all there at a grand

fête given by the king, and talked for some time with Mademoiselle de

Blancford. I talked of you, De Cerons, so you may suppose that she

heard me willingly; and, indeed, it was impossible to mistake her

looks, ay, or even her words when you were mentioned. If Monsieur de

Blaye were to marry her, he would certainly wed a woman knowing that

she loved another man. However, when the baron came up too, I

mentioned you to him also, and somewhat startled him, I believe, by

calling you my dear and most intimate friend. But he did not look

displeased, De Cerons, nor do I think that he bears any ill-will

towards you in his heart, though he be wayward and moody, and entirely

ruled by that worst of all women, his present wife."

"Was Monsieur de Blaye there?" I demanded, somewhat sharply.

"He was," replied the prince; "and giving himself out rather more

decidedly than Monsieur de Blancford seemed to like, I thought, as the

promised husband of your Louise."

I started up with an exclamation and a threat that I am now ashamed

of.

"Hush, hush," cried the prince, with a reproving smile "do not give

way so, my good friend. By this conduct he is doing more harm than

good with the baron, at least, for I heard him questioned upon the

subject; and, turning upon his heel with a sort of sneer, he replied,

'Monsieur de Blaye is somewhat sanguine in his nature.' However, I did

not forget you, De Cerons, and I told the whole story to my father,

who, of course, is more competent to act than I am. I do not very well

know what my father did; but I see the result, which is, that Monsieur

de Blaye has received a high appointment, which he solicited more than

a year ago, namely; to go with our military embassy to the court of

the sultan. This was done, I am sure, for the purpose of removing him

for a time from the scene, and of allowing you to have a fair

opportunity--"

"But how, my dear prince," I said, "can I have a fair opportunity,

when I am held a prisoner here, unable to advance myself or signalize

my name?"

"You shall hear, De Cerons, you shall hear," replied the prince. "My

father was not a man to forget any point under such circumstances. He

empowered me to offer you your liberty, freely and without ransom,

upon one condition, that you should go join the Prince of Orange or

Prince Ludovic, who are now waging war in the Low Countries, my father

undertaking to obtain for you a high command in their army. You would

thus be enabled to distinguish yourself in a Protestant cause without

bearing arms against your native country. You would not be farther

from Mademoiselle de Blancford nor even so far, as carrying on this

fatal contest in Guyenne or Poitu: you would be serving the king

rather than opposing him, for it is his wish to give some support to

the Prince of Orange; and my father only requires you to remain in the

Low Countries till a peace is established in the internal affairs of

France, which, we trust, will soon be the case; he, at the same time,

promising to you that you shall have permission to return to France,

freed from all restriction, the moment that it is ascertained that

Monsieur de Blaye is about to return from the East."

"Your father, my lord," I said, "is most noble, generous, and

considerate; and, foreseeing everything that I could desire or wish,

of course, not only prevents the possibility of my refusing such an

offer, but binds me to him by gratitude for ever."

"I told him that such would be the case," replied the prince; "but,

alas! De Cerons, an unexpected event is likely to obstruct all our

proceedings. The embassy was to set off in ten days, and everything

was arranged. Monsieur de Blaye, though looking very much mortified

when he heard his appointment, of course could not refuse it; and I

proposed to stay another week at Blois, and then come and confer with

you regarding the whole affair, when suddenly, one evening, as I was

returning home, I met with three women in the street, the principal of

whom, for the other two were evidently servants, asked to speak with

me without taking off her mask. I had a number of people about me, but

it was close to the door of the hotel; and, taking her into the

porter's chamber, I asked her to explain what it was she wanted. As

soon as we were alone, she took off the mask and showed me the face of

the Jewish girl, Solomon Ahar's daughter, whom I found talking with

you one day at Jarnac. She told me, at the same time, that she came to

speak to me about you, and seemed to know your whole history, and

every secret of your heart. But to the facts that she told me: they

were these: that Monsieur de Blaye had gone straight to the king, and

had asked and obtained leave to remain six weeks in Paris before he

set out, for the express purpose of concluding his marriage before he

went. The baron, the girl said, had not given his absolute consent,

but made it dependant upon his daughter's inclination; but the

baroness had positively promised that the baron and herself should at

least sign the contract of marriage, even if their daughter, as she

said, preferred waiting till the return of Monsieur de Blaye. Should

this event take place, however, you may consider your Louise as lost

to you for ever; for her father puts it out of his own power to

dispose of her hand or withdraw his consent. The girl was really

agitated about the whole business; and she made some wild

exclamations, declaring that she would stop it if I would get

permission for her father, and some persons who have been trading in

partnership with him, to quit the court, where they have been detained

for several weeks in regard to some negotiations now going on for

loans of money. This was easily done, as the thing was nearly

concluded; and, as soon as I had seen this arranged, I came away

hither, with my father's consent, to consult with you in regard to

what can be done."

"You are most kind, most kind," I said. "How can I ever thank you,

D'Auvergne? but, alas! I fear that I am doomed to misery and to

despair."

"Not so, not quite so," replied the prince. "As I came hither from

Blois I considered the matter maturely; and we have to recollect that

you, as a near relation of the lady, have every right to oppose the

signature of the contract, if you think fit so to do. In the first

place, you must make perfectly sure that she herself is brought to

yield by no means of persuasion or intimidation that can be used

towards her; and, at the same time, things must be suffered to take

their course till the contract is on the very eve of being signed by

the baron. You must then, by some form of law which I can inquire

into, give him formal intimation of your opposition, which will

consequently be brought before the courts. The fact is, you are

fighting for delay; for your opposition against her own father cannot,

of course, be successful, and you may perhaps be fined in some small

sum for having made it; but, long before that time, this young

libertine, for such he is, must be in Constantinople, and the matter

secure."

I mused for a moment in thought, the intensity of which approached to

agony: I saw before me the blasting of all my best hopes, and I felt

at that moment, more than I had ever yet done, not only how deeply,

how truly, how ardently I loved poor Louise, but how completely and

thoroughly, without my knowing it, her image had been mingled with all

my dreams and aspirations; how intimately the thought of winning her

had mingled with all my motives for energy, exertion, and endeavour. I

felt at that moment that to lose her was to lose my whole hold on

life--my whole inducement to struggle onward in the course I was

pursuing. There was no scheme so wild, so improbable, so daring, that

I would not have undertaken at that moment to frustrate the schemes

that could but tend to her misery and my own: there was no step so

dangerous to myself, even had it been planted on the crumbling edge of

an open grave, that I would not have taken to make her mine; yet, as I

mused, I could not help thinking--I may say I could not help being

convinced--that the scheme of the Prince d'Auvergne was likely to be

frustrated by some impetuous act of the Baron de Blancford.

"With many men," I said, "The whole might succeed admirably; but I,

who know his determined and passionate character well, feel perfectly

certain that, if there be a way of frustrating us, he will find it."

"I see none," replied the prince dauphin, "if we can by any means

ensure that the signing of the contract is put off to the last moment.

However, De Cerons, the whole party are coming to Paris immediately;

the Jew, and the merchants who are with him, will most probably arrive

to-morrow morning, and your cousin, with his train, on the morning

after. Obstacles of various kinds, I am sure, will keep this Monsieur

de Blaye for a day or two after them; and let us do the best we can in

the mean while. At all events, we shall gain some intelligence; and

what I should propose is, to ride out on the day after to-morrow on

the road to meet them, and, bringing them to your chateau of Les Bois,

give the baron a little entertainment and repose ere he goes into

Paris."

I smiled at the thought, saying, "I much fear, my excellent friend,

that you will find the baron would neither accept the invitation nor

thank the giver."

"Pshaw! De Cerons," replied the prince; "You are older than I am in

years, but younger a great deal in experience of the world. The baron

undervalued and undervalues you simply because he thought and thinks

you poor. He thought you the creature of his bounty: he will now come

here and find you the creature of your own sword, renowned in arms,

independent in fortune, and seeking no aid from him or any man. His

view will be quite different now, depend upon it. As for the

arrangements of your little regale, leave that all to me: you, on your

part, cast off the rough and somewhat negligent apparel in which your

despondency has brought you to remain, trim your beard, bring forth

your best brocade, and look as gay and gallant as if you were going

into the tiltyard."

It is needless to pause upon all the minute incidents at this time.

Martin Vern and his nephew had scarcely arrived in Paris before they

were at Champigny, bringing with them little Miriam, who seemed to

have her own will with all of them. Not knowing that the prince was

there, I found that his high rank and connexion with the royal blood

of France somewhat abashed and confounded the two merchants. He, on

his part, did not so much unbend as perhaps I had expected; but he

treated them kindly and without haughtiness, though with dignity: but

he soon left them alone with me; and a few words showed me that both

the elder and the younger Martin Vern, what between all they had

observed of the conduct of myself and Louise, and the information of

the young Jewess, were perfectly aware of how we stood towards each

other, and took a kindly interest in my fate. Miriam, for her part,

seemed to me to have gone quite mad. She said it was just what she had

wished, all that she could wish, that had happened and would happen,

and seemed quite as happy and elevated as I was bereaved and

depressed. Her conduct somewhat annoyed me; and, after some short

conversation about the money, which I still determined to leave in the

hands of Martin Vern, I saw them depart without any effort to detain

them.

On the following morning, with a splendid train, comprising at least

twenty persons, dressed, as far, at least, as the prince himself was

concerned, in the height of the then existing fashion, D'Auvergne and

myself set out upon the road towards Blois; and, after riding for some

eight miles on a fine autumnal morning, we came within sight of a

large party advancing slowly, which proved, as we expected, to be that

of the Baron de Blancford. Putting our spurs to our horses' sides, we

rode up at a quick pace, and the baron thought fit, in those dangerous

times, to halt his troop upon seeing such a body of horsemen coming

down upon him. His surprise, when he beheld me and the prince dauphin,

however, I shall not easily forget: nor need I say much more of this

interview, as far as it regarded him, than that I readily perceived

that the prince's view of the baron's character was correct, and that

I had grown wonderfully in his opinion since I had ceased to need his

assistance. The fête at Les Blois was accepted at once; but it

required some persuasion on the part of the prince dauphin to make him

believe that I was really the lord of the estate to which he was now

conducted. The baroness, on her part, gazed at me with some surprise,

and throughout the day I forced myself to show her as much civility

and attention as possible: but there were some others in that group

where there were deeper interests at work. Louise met me with eyes

full of deep and intense affection, and a manner from which the sudden

surprise seemed to have taken all confidence, but not all tenderness;

and her two brothers, whom I had not seen for more than a year, clung

round me as if their affections had found no object since we parted.

In the course of the day I had an opportunity of speaking more than

once with Louise, and in a few brief words I gave her an account of

all that was taking place in our plans and purposes. Her only reply

was by words of affection that could never pass from my heart, and by

the solemn assurance that no power on earth should ever make her

consent to become the wife of the Seigneur de Blaye. The day went

over, in short, as brightly as it was possible under such

circumstances; and, during the three weeks that followed, everything

seemed to combine to favour the plan which the prince had laid down

for me.

It fortunately occurred that I never met with the Seigneur de Blaye

during the whole of that period. Such a meeting could have been

followed but by one result, and that result must have been fatal to

myself; for it must be remembered that I was a Protestant and he a

Catholic, and the survivor in a duel, under such circumstances, could

only expect death. My visits to the hotel of Monsieur de Blancford

were generally short; for I soon saw that, if I did not find Louise

when first I went, means were taken to prevent her appearing while I

was there. The baron, however, was all condescension, and declared

that he was proud of his cousin. The baroness, on her part, seemed to

make herself somewhat more tender and amiable than was needful.

But, at length, the fatal minute, which was to dissipate such a state

of things altogether, arrived; and, just on the day preceding that

which was fixed ultimately as the last for Monsieur de Blaye's stay in

Paris, a messenger from the baron invited me, in courteous terms, to

come and witness his signature of the contract of marriage between my

cousin Louise and the Seigneur de Blaye. We had already ordered a

notary to prepare in due form my opposition to the baron's signature,

upon the plea both of relationship and never having been consulted,

and of having a prior claim to the hand of Mademoiselle de Blancford.

The note requested the honour of the prince dauphin's company on the

same occasion as my friend; and, on reading it, he exclaimed, "Oh,

certainly, certainly! I will go, De Cerons, and, not only that, but we

will take a sufficient body of retainers with as to guard against all

chances, and we will have likewise our own notary to take act of your

opposition."

All this being settled, we set out, and reached the house at the hour

appointed. I was somewhat surprised to find going up the stairs good

Martin Vern, accompanied by a boy carrying several packages, and

another man not so burdened. On entering the great saloon, we found

the baron with Monsieur de Blaye, the baroness, and some of her

kindred, both male and female; besides whom, the room contained

Louise, with the tears already in her eyes, and several notaries and

lawyers. Immediately on our entrance, Monsieur de Blaye came forward

with his hand extended towards me, as if imagining that we were the

best possible friends; but I drew myself up and bowed stiffly, and he

fell back with a heavy frown.

The baron looked somewhat surprised, but the presence of the Prince

d'Auvergne acted as a restraint upon him, and he welcomed his

distinguished guest with courtesy, if not with so free and

unrestrained a demeanour as usual. He looked two or three times

suspiciously at the notary who accompanied us, and who was one of the

most distinguished of his class, and received far more attention and

marks of reverence from his brethren than either D'Auvergne or I

wished or expected. Sweetmeats and some choice wines, however, were

handed round before the destined explosion began; but at length the

baron, prefacing the matter by a little eulogy upon Monsieur de Blaye,

which had wellnigh made some of those who knew him laugh, directed the

contract to be read.

That document began by setting forth that, "as an alliance was

intended at a future period between the Seigneur de Blaye and

Mademoiselle de Blancford, it had been judged expedient that the Baron

de Blancford should sign the contract to that effect previous to the

departure of the said seigneur for foreign lands; and therefore," &c.

It went on to express the usual agreements in such cases, but took

care to omit the express consent of the bride, and also made no

provision for the freedom of her religion. She was declared heiress of

the lands of Blancford and Cerons in the event of her two brothers'

death without children; and the baron promised with her a dowry which

to me, who knew his habits of expense, and, in some degree, the true

nature of his property, seemed enormous.

As soon as the whole was read, he took the pen in his hand to sign,

and I could see my poor Louise clasp her two hands together and raise

her eyes to me with a look of anguish and supplication.

At that moment, however, the notary we had brought, who had been

consulting with the others, stepped forward, and laid his hand upon

the spot where the baron was about to sign, saying,

"Your pardon, Monsieur le Baron de Blancford; I think that Monsieur de

Cerons has something to say on this matter, and a short paper to read,

to which I beg your attention, and of which, gentlemen, you will all

bear witness."

He then handed me the paper, saying, at the same time in a whisper,

"Neither more nor less."

I followed his directions to the letter, and read the paper of

objections through without pausing. When I came to the end, however,

and found there stated that I would sustain my right upon the grounds

therein stated, and upon several other legal grounds of objection, to

all and sundry parts and clauses of the said contract, in warranty of

which I produced as my surety the Prince Dauphin d'Auvergne, I laid, I

know not well why, considerable emphasis upon the words "several other

objections."

At the same time, I remarked the baron turn very pale; but he

recovered himself immediately, and, with an angry gesture, exclaimed

to the notary, who had continued to hold his hand on the paper,

"Remove your hand, Master Jean! I will sign it at all risks."

"It is useless, Monsieur le Baron," replied one of the lawyers; "after

this solemn protest in due and legal form, no act that you can do in

this matter is lawful until the Parliament shall have considered the

matter to render justice therein."

"But I shall take care to render justice to myself," exclaimed

Monsieur de Blaye, advancing towards me furiously: "We all know that

you lawyers love to see all things plunged into the quagmire of the

courts, round the edges of which you toads sit and croak at leisure;

but gentlemen have a shorter means of settling such transactions, and

to such, Monsieur de Cerons, do I appeal. Nor, sir, must there be

delay of any kind. Tomorrow I depart from Paris; the rest of this day

is our own."

"Oh! no, no!" cried the voice of Louise, while, with her arms extended

towards me as if for protection, she ran forward.

But, ere she reached me, she fell fainting on the ground, and the

marchioness, with other ladies present, prevented my approach. All was

now a scene of confusion; the gentlemen of the party came forward,

each talking, each offering his opinion, towards the spot where De

Blaye and myself stood face to face, and the baron seemed divided

between us and his daughter, for whom I saw that he was not without

feeling, though he struggled not to show it.

In the midst of this Babel, however, the clear, fine-toned voice of

the prince dauphin suddenly made itself heard, saying,

"Your pardon, gentlemen, your pardon! I have one word to say; but that

one word is an important one, which must settle all this matter

between my excellent good acquaintance Monsieur de Blaye and my friend

Monsieur de Cerons."

All were instantly silent except De Blaye himself, who repeated more

than once, in a tone of authority, to keep silence, and let the prince

speak. When he stopped and bowed, D'Auvergne went on: "What I have to

say, De Cerons, is, that you will be good enough to remember you are

my father's prisoner, and therefore can lie under a challenge from no

man. Monsieur de Blaye, I must call upon you to retract your

challenge, as no man of honour can offer one to a gentleman incapable

of accepting it."

De Blaye, who was both really enraged and really brave, blustered a

good deal at this notification, and said something rather offensive to

the prince about his father the duke being afraid of losing my ransom.

D'Auvergne answered coolly, however, saying, "That is not his fear or

mine, Monsieur de Blaye; but our fear might well be that the Catholic

army might lose a very tolerable soldier and brave young gentleman in

yourself; because, as we all know, Monsieur de Cerons would kill you

like a rat. Come, De Cerons, I must beg you to accompany me."

If the first part of the prince's speech had pleased Monsieur de

Blaye, and made him simper and look modest, the unpleasant simile in

the latter part caused him to swell and colour with anger. But

D'Auvergne took no farther notice; the fact of my not being at liberty

was without reply, and, after one look to my poor Louise, I quitted

the room. Martin Vern was at the door, and to him the prince whispered

a word as we passed. The merchant made a low inclination of the head,

and, mounting our horses, we rode away.

CHAPTER VI.

I had remarked particularly, in the painful interview just past, that

neither good old La Tour, nor the two dear boys who were daily growing

up more and more like their angel of a mother, had been present; but I

learned afterward that many painful efforts had been made to induce

Louise to wed a man she abhorred, and that her brothers had broken

forth with somewhat rash expressions of indignation, while La Tour had

remonstrated in milder but as forcible terms. The consequence had

been, that the baron had sent them all three to some distance, and

probably was not a little glad, when the scene terminated as it did,

that he had taken that precaution. I received from him that night a

threatening note, but it was so worded as evidently to court a

lengthened reply; and, after pondering over it for some moments, I

showed it to the prince, who came in at the time. He read it

attentively; but, wise beyond his years, he returned it, saying,

"Keep that note, De Cerons; and, if you will take my advice, reply but

vaguely, and still as shortly as possible."

I did take his advice; and to all the haughty demands of how I dared

to offer opposition to his disposal of his own child, I replied,

merely, that I had acted as I doubted not would be found just in a

court of law; but at the same time I added--as it was my first wish

not to irritate the father of her I sought to obtain--all that was

kind and deferential towards himself.

D'Auvergne approved highly of my note; but, as he gave it back to me,

he placed his hand kindly upon my arm and said, "And now, De Cerons,

remember our compact; you must, after all this business, go

immediately into the Low Countries upon the conditions I stated. For

your own safety I say you must, for your stay in Paris as a known and

marked Huguenot will be most dangerous; but you must also do so for

our sake. My father, as well as myself, wishes you every success in

your suit; but remember, we must not be found taking any undue

advantage either of De Blaye or Monsieur de Blancford; all that we

wish is to give you a fair chance; and, as soon as we have the

positive assurance that the former is fairly gone from Paris, you must

go and win honours and renown with the bright hope of obtaining her

you love."

I felt myself bound in honour to follow his injunctions to the letter,

and only required one day to prepare, and to ascertain that the

Seigneur de Blaye had actually departed. Much business, however,

remained to be done in the mean time. I had to write to the Admiral de

Coligny, giving him information of the conditions that were imposed

upon me, and begging him to transmit whatever money of mine remained

in his hands, when convenience served, to good Master Vern. I had to

write to Moric Endem, giving him, as far as it was needful, orders to

command my troop in the service of the Protestant princes; and I had

to buy all those necessary equipments for my journey and for active

service, few of which I now possessed. The attendants that I had

brought with me were all that I could expect to obtain, as few in

Paris were willing to own themselves of the poor and persecuted sect.

On the following morning early, then, I rode into Paris, and went

straight to the house of Martin Vern, when I was directed to seek him

at the dwelling of Levi Judi, the great goldsmith. I there found a

number of persons whom I knew collected together, and talking

earnestly in a small, dark room. There were the two Christian

merchants with Solomon Ahar and his daughter Miriam; and besides these

was Levi himself, the converted Jew, who was speaking when I came in,

and suddenly stopped. They were all evidently rejoicing over some

event, which proved to be the success of my opposition to the young

Lord of Blaye; and I now learned that he had been obliged to depart by

daybreak that morning, letters of reproof having been sent him from

Blois for having already lingered too long.

I thought Miriam's satisfaction would have exceeded all bounds; and a

slight degree of discomfort which I remarked in the demeanour of the

younger Martin Vern at the sight of Miriam's evident regard for me,

first gave me a suspicion of matters which were going on in their

hearts, perhaps as yet unknown to both.

After some conversation upon the chief topic of all my thoughts, I

took the good merchant aside, and telling him the destiny that awaited

me, begged him to procure, as reasonably as possible, all I stood in

need of before night. I also told him that, with the exception of what

my equipment might cost, I should leave all I had in his hands, having

plenty by me for my journey; and I then besought him, if he obtained

any speech with my sweet Louise alone, to tell her that I loved her

ever, and would never cease to seek her hand so long as I had life.

He mused for some time over what I said, committed all my orders to a

note-book, and then said, in his calm and business-like tone, "I will

do all this as far as possible, seigneur, and will be at Champigny

with you to-night; but I have a request to make, which you may think a

strange one from a poor merchant like myself. It is, that if ever you

be placed in difficulties again regarding this transaction between

your noble cousin the baron and Monsieur de Blaye, you would give some

of us instant and full intelligence; for, though we be merely

citizens, we have some say in many families; and perhaps, had not your

opposition yesterday morning been successful, Martin Vern might not

have been upon the stairs for nothing."

I pressed him much to explain what he meant, but he would not; and

promising, in return for the interest he showed in me, to place the

confidence he required in him, I left him and went back to Champigny.

I found the prince dauphin busily writing when I arrived, with several

letters before him sealed with various different seals; and when he

had ended those that he himself was employed upon, he gave them all to

me.

"These, De Cerons," he said, "are letters from my father, and from

some of the ministers of the king to different princes and nobles in

the Low Countries and on the Rhenish frontier of Germany; two among

them being to the Prince of Orange. They will, beyond all doubt,

procure you every opportunity, and you will do the rest to raise

yourself still higher than you yet have done. This which I have

written is to the Count de Bergh, to whom I once did some kindness;

and this, in case of extreme need, is to the Duke of Alva. I mean by

extreme need that you should use it in case your life is in danger

from some of Alva's proceedings. He is a nobleman of a high heart and

gallant character; but the streams of Toledo, which harden steel to

such a temper, have not altogether left his heart untouched by their

influence. At the sight of this, however, he will free you as he is

bound to do; and now, De Cerons, if I can at any future time serve,

aid, or befriend you, call upon me instantly as you would upon a

brother; and depend upon it that I will give you information, even

should you be at the other end of the earth, the moment there is even

a whisper of your rival's return."

I thanked him, as may be supposed; and the conversation that thus

commenced went on to touch upon a thousand things, in regard to all of

which, his mingled kindness of heart and soundness of judgment made me

but admire and love him more and more.

At night, nearly at ten o'clock, Martin Vern himself arrived, with

horses loaded with all that I required; but there was one small note

among the rest far more valuable to me than anything else that he

brought with him. It was from Louise, and very short; but oh, how

sweet it was to me to read!

"Dear, dear Henry! A thousand thanks, a thousand blessings on your

head for saving me from distraction. I am better now--I am well now.

They know your love for me, they now know mine for you; and they will

find neither fail, I am sure. The worst is over. They cannot shake me.

I am yours for ever!

"LOUISE."

The account given me by Martin Vern was even more cheering than the

letter of Louise herself; he had seen her, he said, and spoken with

her long in her chamber. During the whole of the preceding day she had

been so ill that the baron had become alarmed and grieved, and, in

order to make some atonement, had sent for jewels and rich clothes as

gifts to his daughter. It showed how little he knew her nature; with

Louise, one kind word would have been worth all the jewels upon earth.

After speaking long of her, the good merchant turned to other matters;

and not only gave me the long-delayed acknowledgment of the sums of

mine he had in hand, but pointed out means by which I might be enabled

to obtain money, should I need it, in any of the great towns which I

was likely to visit. My equipage was now complete, and on the

following morning at daybreak I began my journey, proposing in the

first place to seek the Prince of Orange. The kindness of the prince

dauphin showed itself to the last moment, and he was up and out to see

me depart, embracing me ere I mounted my horse as if he had been my

brother.

I found the Prince of Orange labouring hard to gather a sufficient

army on the German side of the Rhine to support the insurgent

Protestants of the Low Countries; and as he himself, and his brother

Count Ludovic, had been much with our troops in France, my name was

not unknown to him. He received me kindly and gladly; but there was

about him a sort of cold and suspicious reserve, which doubtless was

very needful, but which had a tendency to check attachment in the

outset; and, had it not been for his great wisdom, skill, courage, and

determination, which were already well known, one would have been

inclined to say that he was less calculated than almost any other man

on earth to sustain the character of a popular leader. The great

difference, however, which exists between the mere capricious outbreak

of popular discontent and the determined resistance to insufferable

oppression, is shown in nothing more strongly than in the choice of

leaders. The fiery, impetuous, loud-tongued demagogue does well enough

for the one, but the calm, cool, powerful-minded statesman must be

sought for in the other.

The Prince of Orange gave me authority and command, but it was long

ere he trusted me; and I could often see that, in conversing with me

upon any indifferent subject, he watched every word that fell from me,

every look, every gesture; but it was the same with others; and, ere

he was perfectly satisfied with his own knowledge of the man, he never

trusted, nor, even then, trusted entirely.

The first proof of the confidence that he at length placed in me was

rather diplomatic than military. His movements had been retarded by a

thousand adverse circumstances, and he sent me on to Holland to

communicate with Sounoy, and to do as much as possible to keep up the

spirits of the Dutch malcontents. From Holland I had to make a tour

through Utrecht, Guelderland, and Friesland, and was, on the whole,

far more successful than I had expected. On my return to the prince, I

found him well pleased with what I had done, and, on making a report

of some of my proceedings, I saw a quiet smile curl his lip, which

made me stop suddenly.

"You wish to know why I smile, De Cerons," he said; "it is because you

have done exactly what I expected, and what no hackneyed diplomatist

would have done. I have often remarked that, in rapid negotiations, a

man of strong natural sense, but little experience in intrigue, puts

to fault a whole host of old politicians. If they had time to discover

his true character, the result would be lost; but, as it is, they

attribute to experience that which is merely the result of good sense,

and puzzle themselves to discover motives, overstepping the true ones

that he lays before them. However, De Cerons," he continued, "I have

good news for you; news which, as a Protestant and a Frenchman, you

will be glad to hear. Peace is concluded in France; and the secret

assurances of support from King Charles which you brought me, and

which I did not trust, are thus confirmed."

He then went on to give me a full account of all the events which had

taken place in France since I left him; events which had reached me

only in rumours during my journey. We were all deceived by the fair

aspect of events. The military preparations of the Protestants of the

Low Countries went on rapidly; town after town revolted against the

tyranny of Alva; where leaders and assistance were wanted, the Prince

of Orange despatched them in all speed from his camp, and my military

life again began.

On it, however, I need not dwell; the general events of the times are

written in general histories, and my own individual career offered

nothing but the usual occurrences in the life of a soldier, who, not

naturally timid, has every motive to daring exploits. I was not less

active or less brave than others; and there was no one more fortunate

than myself. Honours, rewards, and recompenses flowed in upon me

rapidly; the news that I daily received from France was most joyful:

the Protestants were not only treated with gentleness, but with

especial favour: the admiral ruled the court of France, and a regular

French army was promised to cooperate. So far, indeed, was this

proceeding carried, that by the same courier I received news that

Count Ludovic had been sent to maintain a correspondence with the

Protestants of Flanders, tidings that he had captured Mons, and a

commission for myself, under the hand of the King of France, to raise

a regiment of Protestant soldiery for the service of the Flemish

insurgents.

It was now full spring in the year 1672, and, as soon as I showed the

commission I had received to the Prince of Orange, he exclaimed,

"If this man is deceiving us, De Cerons, he forgets no means to blind

the eyes of all, However, we must take advantage of the opportunity,

at all events, whether it be afforded for the purpose of deceiving us

or not. Are you willing, De Cerons, to take the risk of a hazardous

journey to join my brother in Mons, to tell him that the Duke of Alva

will certainly besiege him, and that I as certainly will march to his

relief without the loss of a moment? Then hasten on yourself into

France, raise a regiment, and bring it to our aid."

It may easily be supposed that I did not hesitate; and with a train

which had now been increased again to about twenty men, I set off for

Mons. I reached it some time before the siege commenced, and was

received with joy by the gallant and enterprising Prince of Nassau,

who that very day took me round the fortifications, and entertained me

at supper, perhaps making a little more of my arrival than the event

warranted, in order to raise the spirits of the garrison and

inhabitants.

After supper, torches were waiting to light me home to the quarters

prepared for me, and, accompanied by one of the count's officers, I

was proceeding through the streets, when we were met by a small party

of soldiery, who stopped to look after us. The next moment I heard my

own name pronounced aloud, and a young officer, running after us, cast

his arms affectionately round me. What was my surprise to behold my

young cousin Charles! He followed me to my quarters; and I now learned

that Albert, as well as himself, unable any longer to endure the

tyranny of their stepmother and the daily disgrace of their father,

had quitted their paternal roof, and, with the young Prince of Nassau,

had thrown themselves into the city of Mons. There they had met with a

part of my old band, commanded by Moric Endem; and when I told them

that I was about to raise a regiment to join the Prince of Orange,

they besought me eagerly to let them serve under me.

That matter was settled easily; Moric was sent for, and I thought

would have gone mad with delight at seeing me again. He was evidently

not in such good circumstances as when I left him, and he declared

that fortune had quitted my band when I was taken at Jarnac. Only six

of the men had survived Moncontour and Arnai le Duc; and on the

following morning I begged Count Louis to permit me to take these six,

with Moric and my two young cousins, to form a sort of nucleus for my

future regiment. He hesitated; for to say truth, he had no men to

spare; but the difficulty was removed by my offering to leave an equal

number of those who had accompanied me to Mons.

I was eager to proceed on my journey; but my adventures in Mons were

not yet over. It was necessary to procure money for the raising of the

force I intended to levy, as I had transmitted to Martin Vern all the

wealth I had acquired during my absence. It luckily happened, however,

that I had a letter from him to one of the wealthy Catholic bankers of

Mons, and to him I hastened as soon as I had given Moric and my two

cousins notice to prepare for departure.

I found the old man I sought in a dressing-gown of rich brocade, a

black velvet cap on his large head, and a pen in his mouth. He

listened to me, read the letter, and looked me all over in silence

somewhat offensive, and at length I told him that I was in haste, and

begged that he would attend to my demand.

"You are not like him here described," said the old man, dryly; "how

shall I know, if you be in such haste, that you are the right person?"

I answered, I believe, somewhat angrily, and he rejoined, "Ha, ha!

Frenchmen are always prompt; but it so befalls, young gentleman, that

there is in this very house, at this very time, a partner of the house

of Martin Vern and Company."

"What, his nephew?" I cried.

"Not so, young gentleman," answered the merchant; "but he shall be

called in, and you shall soon have your answer."

Thus saying, he rose, and, opening a door behind him, spoke a word to

some one in the neighbouring room. The next moment appeared in the

doorway the figure of my old acquaintance, Solomon Ahar. The good Jew

started forward, and, in his Oriental fashion, fell upon my neck,

embracing me.

"How I have longed to see thee, my son!" he said; "how delighted my

poor Miriam will be to hear that thou art here in safety! but stay not

in this town till they bring the armies round it and lay siege to it.

It is well to be here while one can come and go, for there is always

much traffic in gold, and silver, and light goods when a place is

likely to be assaulted from without; but no wise man should stay after

there be gates shut against the goers out as well as the comers in.

Stay but till I go, my son, which will now be in a few days, and then

journey with me to Paris, where a certain gold-hilted dagger, with

seven fine jewels in the haft, is laid up safely for thee; and thy

money has been put out to interest, and used in traffic, and has

brought thee, I think, wellnigh fifty for the hundred."

There was now no farther question in regard to the money; and, having

informed the Jew, who was really grateful and kindly hearted, what

were my purposes, I received some valuable information from him as to

where I was likely to procure men. I then took what money I wanted,

and, bidding Solomon Ahar adieu, was soon once more beyond the walls

of Mons, and in the high road towards France. There were parties of

the enemy about between Mons and Cambray, however, and it was with

some difficulty that we reached the French frontier. There, however, I

soon increased my force to between three and four hundred men, and was

thinking of beginning my march with that number to join the Prince of

Orange, when I received letters from the admiral and from the Prince

d'Auvergne, to both of whom I had written, advising me to join a

considerable force under the gallant but wrong-headed Genlis, who had

raised, by a commission from the king, a force of nearly six thousand

men. At the same time, the admiral informed me that the king, at his

request, had raised the estate of Les Bois into a lordship for me,

under the title of Count des Bois and Cerons.

This was indeed very joyful news; and though the credit of the admiral

seemed to me almost inconceivable, yet I obeyed his desire at once,

and prepared to join Genlis, though determined to act independently of

him if his rash vanity should render it necessary. The admiral's

letter had distinctly stated that Genlis was about to march to join

the Prince of Orange; but, when I at length met that officer at Noyon,

I found him determined to march direct upon Mons.

As by this time the siege of that place was formed, and as I had

heard, on good authority, that the Duke of Ascoe was marching to swell

the forces of Alva's army, the idea which Genlis had taken up, that he

could deliver Mons with a force of less than six thousand men, seemed

to me so absurd, that I told him at once I would not accompany him, my

intention and duty being to join the Prince of Orange. He answered at

first by a sneer, but shortly after begged me at least to accompany

him as far as St. Quentin, as he had learned that the peasantry on the

frontier had been armed by the Duke of Alva, and were in force in that

neighbourhood.

On the following day we made a short march towards Ham; but we soon

learned that Don Ferdinand de Toledo was before us, with a regular

army equal to our own, instead of a troop of ill-disciplined

peasantry.

The enemy as now within ten miles' march of us; a battle was

inevitable; and, of course, it was impossible even to think of

retiring at that moment. Yet, ere the sun went down, I had only one

desire, namely, to mount my horse and ride to Paris at full speed. At

Guiscard, where we halted for the night, a courier reached me from the

prince dauphin. The words of the letter were so few and prompt, that

they evinced how eagerly and hastily my friend had written.

"If you can with honour," so the letter went, "give up your command

and come to Paris, do so without a moment's delay. Your rival, without

warning or notice of any kind, has returned--is in Paris, and in the

house of the Baron de Blancford. You will blame me for this, but I can

endure the blame; for, on my honour, I do not deserve it. His journey

has been concealed with care; and, though I watched anxiously, have

been deceived. Come quick, then, De Cerons, for you Protestants now

carry everything at the court before you; and if you delay an hour,

Monsieur de Blancford's influence may have overborne all. Think, too,

what must be your course; for remember, that, as we both foresaw, your

late opposition to the will of the father in the marriage of his own

daughter was declared vexatious by the Parliament, and you were fined

a hundred crowns. If you resolve on letting the sword decide between

you and your rival, forget not your friend D'Auvergne."

Scarcely giving the messenger time to refresh himself, I despatched

him with two letters, one to the Dauphin d'Auvergne, informing him of

the position in which we stood with regard to the enemy, and telling

him I would but stay to fight, and then hasten back to the capital;

and the other to the good Martin Vern, whose parting words in regard

to my love of Louise gave me the only glimpse of hope that could now

visit me. To him I told all that had occurred as briefly as possible;

but besought him, at all events, to use the utmost exertions to stop

any hasty steps on the part of the baron.

It may easily be imagined that the tidings I had received did not

reconcile me greatly to the mad folly of Genlis, and I began the march

on the following morning out of spirits and out of humour; but the

march of the whole force, the negligence and vain confidence with

which Genlis conducted it, made a great addition to my discomfort. At

length we came to a small stream, over which it was necessary to

construct a bridge; and seeing, from the disarray of the whole force,

that, if attacked at that moment by an enemy of one half our strength,

we might be absolutely cut to pieces, I caused my men to seize upon

the tower of an old church, which had before been pierced for

musketry, and which, while the rest were busy at the bridge, I took

some pains to strengthen, having an impression on my mind that we

should meet with a check.

When the bridge was concluded we again began our advance, and entered

a little wood, through which we straggled rather than marched. We had

scarcely passed it, however, when a party which had been thrown

forward was driven in, with a strong body of men-at-arms at their

heels. I charged and broke the Spanish men-at-arms. But it now became

evident that a trap had been laid for us: a tremendous fire was opened

upon my men from a bed of osiers that flanked the ground; charge after

charge of the enemy's cavalry took place; and, overwhelmed by numbers,

as well as taken unaware, after maintaining a hopeless combat for near

an hour and a half, we were obliged to fly as best we could. Genlis,

it must be said, did all that courage, and skill, and coolness could

do to remedy his former faults, but in vain. He himself was taken in

endeavouring to cover the retreat of the infantry; and all I could do

was to bring off a part--a very small part--of my own men, with one

piece of artillery.

I was hotly pursued, however, and had no time to destroy the bridge.

My only resource was to throw myself into the church, and defend it as

long as possible. What I had done in the morning now proved my

salvation. The cavalry who followed kept us blockaded during the whole

of that night and a part of the next day, but they could not remain

long enough to starve us out; we kept them at a distance with our

firearms, and a small body of musketeers who joined them were driven

back with loss.

At length I offered to capitulate, as I found the men beginning sadly

to feel the want of water, and the terms granted me were certainly far

more favourable than I dared hope. We were permitted to march out with

our arms, but it was exacted from us that we should swear not to fight

against the King of Spain for two complete years; and, well satisfied

with the result, we retired from our post, and made the best of our

way back to Noyon. It was there first that my young cousin Charles

complained of a wound in the shoulder, but he represented it as

slight; and, leaving the men we had brought off under his command, I

set out for Paris with Moric Endem and one or two others, determined

to obtain, if possible, through the intervention of the admiral, some

reward for the gallant fellows who survived our defeat.

Albert de Blancford remained with his brother; but I afterward found

that the wound of my poor cousin had that very night assumed so

unfavourable an appearance that he was obliged to relinquish the

command to the other, who, terrified at the state to which he soon saw

his brother reduced, divided the greater portion of the money I had

left with him among the men, and suffered the shattered remnant of the

regiment to disperse. He then placed his brother in a litter and

returned to Paris, seeking his father's house immediately, but finding

nothing but sorrow there.

CHAPTER VII.

The distance was long, but our horses were good; we were in the month

of August, when days are long, and we accomplished the journey from

Noyon to Paris in one day. We entered the capital just as the shades

of twilight were beginning to fall, and I paused for a moment to

consider whither I should first direct my steps. I had resolved,

however, not to go to the prince dauphin, as I knew that, in case of

my rivalry with De Blaye ending in our settling the dispute with the

sword, D'Auvergne would insist on accompanying me to the field, and I

could not endure the thought of seeing the hope and strength of that

noble house run the risk of such an encounter for my sake. My

hesitation, therefore, only was, whether I should first seek the

admiral, to inform him of the fatal result of Genlis's expedition, or

go at once to good Martin Vern, to hear news of my poor Louise. Love

had wellnigh triumphed; but I did resist; and, turning my rein towards

the Rue de Bethisy, where I had been informed the admiral resided, I

found his abode, which was in a handsome inn. There, however, I

learned that he was himself at the court; and, having satisfied myself

by doing my duty, I turned my horse's head towards the dwelling of the

merchant.

Martin Vern and his house, though they had taken many risks during the

war, had been enriched in an extraordinary degree by the restoration

of peace, and the favour which all the Protestants had so speedily

acquired. Debts, which had appeared almost hopeless, had been paid,

with long arrears of interest; and, though many others remained, yet

the good merchant was one of the most wealthy men in Paris. His house

showed it, but not himself; for, on being ushered into the room where

he sat at supper with his wife, his brother, his nephew, and his

children, I could certainly discover no change of demeanour from the

good, plain merchant that I had first seen on my journey to Angoulême.

They were all delighted to see me; and, unwilling to disturb them, I

sat down to partake of their meal, while Moric Endem and the rest of

my followers obtained a lodging in an inn hard by.

During supper Martin Vern was grave and thoughtful, but not sad: his

nephew had become a fine and noble-looking young man; and there was in

his whole appearance an air of smartness and manly dignity, which

bespoke a change of thoughts and feelings since we had last met.

Ere supper was well concluded, he rose, saying to his uncle, "I will

go to Monsieur Ahar, and bring what he has got for the Seigneur de

Cerons;" and, as soon as he was gone, the merchant added, "You know, I

believe, Monsieur de Cerons, that your old acquaintance, Monsieur

Solomon Ahar, has become a partner of ours; but doubtless you know not

how his conversion was brought about."

"Converted!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that he has become a

Christian?"

"He would not otherwise have become a partner in our house. He is a

good Catholic Christian, thank God! But I was going to tell you how

this was brought about. My nephew, having got over some of the follies

of his youth, learned to love and esteem those qualities of mind and

heart which were really worth love, and he found them combined with

beauty and affection in Miriam Ahar. There was one objection--her

religion; but that Martin found means to remove; and the good Jew,

declaring that, as all things were reversed nowadays, the father might

as well follow the religion of the child, instead of the child

following the religion of her father, made his abjuration, as his

relation Levi had done, and was received into the bosom of the church.

Miriam becomes his bride in a few weeks; and, in the mean time, this

conversion has obtained for my nephew so much celebrity among the

Catholic divines, that I do believe they would make him a bishop if he

would. But that would prevent his marriage, you know, seigneur, and

therefore he remains a merchant."

As soon as supper was over, the wife and children of Martin Vern left

us, and he immediately turned to my letter and to the business that

brought me.

"I have much to tell you, seigneur," he said, "and much advice to give

you. In the first place, you are saved by one day; and you owe that to

the scheme which our little Miriam devised for you before you went.

The baron, your cousin, is indebted in a large sum to Solomon Ahar,

and in a lesser sum to me; and as he promises this Seigneur de Blaye a

large dowry with his child, Miriam proposed that the whole debt, which

comprises more than all his moveable wealth, should be claimed at

once. I was unwilling to do as she wished, except in case of absolute

need; and when, on a former occasion, you found other means to stop

the signature of the contract, I held back. Now, however, I knew there

was no time to be lost; and, even had your letter not reached me, I

would have acted as I have done, for I have been almost daily at the

baron's house, as there is every day need of money for the husband, or

jewels and rich stuff for the wife. By this means I had heard and knew

that the baron had sworn his daughter should consent to marry the

young Lord of Blaye, or that he would declare himself a Catholic, and

use those means which our religion gives to force her to obey. It is

not, however, that he loves this Lord of Blaye, for he abhors him; but

it is, my good lord, that his wife has power over him of some kind

which we know not. Some secret is in her hands, depend upon it, which

puts him wholly in her power. However that may be, the day for signing

the contract was named as yesterday, and the hour noon. The whole had

met when I presented myself. I knew that the money to pay the dowry

was prepared. I had armed myself with all legal forms, and went

accompanied by those who knew each turn of law. The money was paid me;

and the baron, with a proud air, said, 'It mattered not; that he was

ready to sign; and that, in order to pay the dowry he had promised,

and not to fail in one tittle of his word to Monsieur de Blaye, he

would sell the estate of Cerons, even by auction in the halls of the

Palais de Justice, and discharge the amount before the week was

over.'"

"Good God! has he done so?" I cried. "It was always my ambition to

recover that, land."

"He has not done so yet, seigneur," replied Martin Vern; "but this is

Friday: to-morrow will be the last day of the week: his word is

pledged, the sale proclaimed, and he will not retract; though, when

the Seigneur de Blaye declared it would be better for none to sign the

contract till the dowry was ready, I could see the blood mount into

the baron's cheek and forehead till I feared the veins would burst.

He turned towards his wife, but that fierce lady held up her finger

to him, and he cowed in a moment. Unless you, sir, can stop the

sale--unless you can prove that the estate of Cerons cannot be

sold--the estate is sold, and the contract signed; nay, more, the

young lady must become the wife of one she abhors, or be plunged into

the imprisonment of a convent, from which you can never deliver her."

"Alas! alas! my good friend," I said, "I can prove no such thing. I

know the estate can be sold, for my own father sold it. It is not

hereditary, and depends upon the baron's will. There is only one

means, and that must be tried at once. Louise must fly with me. Under

such circumstances, it is quite justifiable to do so."

"Before you adopt any determination, let us consider for a moment,

Monsieur de Cerons," replied the merchant, in his cool, calculating

tone: "What would you grant that man who would first prove to you that

the lordship of De Cerons cannot be sold in perpetuity, and, in the

second place, point out a way by which you may perhaps fly with the

lady that you love, but fly with her as your wife, and with her

father's own consent?"

"What would I give?" I exclaimed. "What would I not give, you should

say, my good friend."

"Well, then, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, somewhat more

rapidly than was his wont, "I must be quick with my conditions, for I

hear Martin's steps on the stairs. First, you shall forgive, fully and

entirely, a girl's curiosity; the next is a harder task--you shall

take a piece of advice without asking a question; the third, you shall

put yourself entirely under my guidance for the next three days."

"Willingly!" I said, "Willingly!" But, as I was speaking, and Martin

Vern was turning to his brother to witness our contract, his nephew

entered the room with Solomon Ahar himself and Miriam, now become a

lovely woman.

"Oh, false merchant!" cried the girl, addressing Martin Vern, "You

have told him! I see it in his face! You have told him!"

"No, indeed, Miriam," replied the merchant, "I have told him nothing."

Miriam was about to proceed, it seemed, when her father bustled

forward, saying, "A truce to nonsense, girl! Let us do business first.

Seigneur de Cerons, here is the dagger which is your property, on

account of which you are in my debt the sum of--" and he was taking

out his inkhorn to calculate, when Martin Vern motioned him to be

silent, saying, "Hold me responsible, my good brother, for capital and

interest, according to law and justice. We have other matters now in

hand. Examine your dagger well, Monsieur de Cerons. Do you see nothing

to attract you farther?"

"I know," I replied, "That the hilt is hollow. My poor friend Stuart

assured me that it was so, and that there were papers in it. I cannot

unfasten it, however," I added, trying to do so impatiently. "We had

better have a hammer brought."

"Less violent means will do," replied Martin Vern. "If you will give

it to that fair lady, she will open it."

Miriam took it from my hand, saying, with a look of graceful

deprecation, "Will you, my noble count, pardon me for an act which I

would be well ashamed of, did not these gentlemen tell me that my

curiosity may prove of use to you? I first discovered that the

dagger-hilt was hollow. I too have opened it, and have read that which

it contains. Forgive me--I know, I am sure you will."

And, as she spoke, she unscrewed the large massy ring of gold which

encircled the haft just where the blade was inserted. A large emerald

which was at the top also unscrewed without difficulty, and the blade

then, with a much smaller haft of solid steel, was drawn out from the

false case of gold. Round the real haft was wrapped a roll of fine

vellum, which encircled it six times; and, on opening it, I saw at the

bottom the handwriting of my cousin the baron. It was his name,

attached to an acknowledgment and covenant, duly drawn up in legal

form, whereby he deprived himself of the power of ever selling either

the lordship of De Cerons or the barony of Blancford; settled the

succession of the first-named property on me in case of his death

without male heirs, and the other also in case of his death childless.

The vellum still farther set forth, that he made this settlement in

consideration of receiving the estate of De Cerons, and another farm

belonging to my father, below their real value, my father being

unwilling that they should depart from a race to which they had

belonged, for centuries. It was witnessed by a personage of the name

of Des Chappes; and Martin Vern, pointing to that name as I stood,

thunderstruck, gazing at the vellum, said,

"He is still living, and revered by the whole Parliament, of which he

is one of the most honourable members. I have myself asked him if he

remembers the transaction, and can tell you that, having a deep regard

for your late father, he can swear to every line, though he be past

eighty years of age."

"These are, indeed, great and extraordinary tidings," I said, grasping

the good merchant's hand: "but I fear, my good friend, that, by

exercising the rights that this paper gives me, I shall but make the

separation between myself and my proud cousin the more complete. How

shall I, by any means here presented to me, gain his regard or his

affection?"

"Did you never in life observe, Monsieur de Cerons," said the

merchant, "That men often treat haughtily and harshly those they love,

while they are courteous and yielding to those they fear. The baron

loves you far better than any one except his own children: he

respects, he esteems you, and, at the same time, he hates, contemns,

and fears your rival. If you assist and support him against this Lord

of Blaye, while you maintain your own rights with kindly firmness, you

will cause him to rest upon you, and give way to his own better

feelings. Let us first stop the sale; that, depend upon it, will stop

the marriage. Then, if we had time, we could leave time to do its

work. But," he added, musing, "but I will not trust to what time may

bring forth. Everything is a matter of merchandise in this world: what

will you give for a wife you love, Monsieur de Cerons?"

"All that I have on earth!" I replied, smiling.

"Nay, nay, not so much as that," answered the merchant. "Will you give

sixty thousand livres?"

"If I had it I would," I answered; "but I have it not."

"Very nearly in my hands," replied the merchant. "Twelve thousand

crowns, at fifty-seven sols Parisis, make--But it matters not! you

shall have it. Do you consent to give it?"

"I do," I answered: "but how, my good friend, am I to--"

"Look here, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, taking out a

portfolio, and placing in my hand a note or bill of exchange, "You see

here that one Augustus, seigneur of Blaye, agrees and promises to pay

on demand to Martin Vern the sum of sixty thousand livres, being the

remainder of an account between them. If Martin Vern transfers this

bill to you, and you, in consideration of certain concessions,

transfer it to a certain Baron de Blancford--What say you?"

"That there is hope," I replied, "that there is hope; but yet, my good

friend, there is much to be thought of."

"Not much of which I have not thought, sir," replied the merchant.

"You have already agreed to put yourself entirely under my guidance

for the next three days; but you have promised also to take a piece of

advice without asking a question--are you ready so to do?"

"I am always ready to keep any promise," I replied. "What is the

advice?"

"It is a somewhat harsh one," answered Martin Vern: "Neither more nor

less than to execute a bill of sale to me this night of your chateau

and estate of Les Bois, in consideration of which I will give you

bills, money, or credit for sixty thousand crowns."

He spoke gravely, even sadly, and with a frowning brow; and when I

commenced my reply with, "But--" he stopped me, saying,

"Yon promised, Monsieur de Cerons, to ask no questions. Hear me," he

said, in a lower voice, and drawing me somewhat aside, "I know

little--indeed, I know nothing--but I suspect and I fear much,

Monsieur de Cerons; and think that if you can obtain the hand of your

fair Louise with her father's consent, and fly with her at once far

from Paris, you will do well and wisely. Follow my advice in this;

take my note for the money; let me become the apparent proprietor of

Les Bois till better times, and I will explain your conduct to these

who gave it you. If you never need the money, you shall be free to

give it back and keep the land. At all events, you shelter yourself

against the danger of confiscation."

What he said was so true that I should have been foolish to neglect

it, suspicious as I still felt of the sudden change in the feelings of

the court which had so completely taken in the admiral and the Queen

of Navarre; and, on the spot, while his nephew, his brother, and

Solomon Ahar were still present, the papers were drawn up between the

merchant and myself, leaving him the nominal, though not the real,

proprietor of the estate of Les Bois.

Not long after this, Martin Vern and myself were left alone, but the

business of the day was not nearly over. He insisted that his house

should be my home for the time; but, ere he suffered me to retire to

rest, he kept me in conversation for two or three hours more,

explaining to me all his views with mercantile brevity and accuracy;

and my conduct during the following day, which I am now about to

detail, was the result of the consultation that we then held.

At length, tired and exhausted, I went to the room prepared for me,

and no prince's palace could certainly have afforded me more

comfortable or luxurious accommodation. I was too tired, however, to

sleep for some time; and, ere I had enjoyed any real repose for more

than two hours, young Martin Vern entered my room and took his seat by

my bedside. He remained for more than half an hour, and his

conversation was not, like that of his uncle, devoted entirely to

business. He talked of the affairs of the day, and discussed some

light, some serious topics, with which my readers would be but little

edified. It seemed to me, however, that there was something labouring

on his mind all the time while we conversed; and, as he rose to

depart, he put his head close down to mine, saying, in a whisper,

"Whenever you hear the great bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois ring at

an unusual hour, set off out of Paris if it be day, and fly to me if

it be night."

Then, laying his finger on his lips as an injunction to secresy, he

left the room without waiting for farther question.

CHAPTER VIII.

I need hardly here detail my visit to the Admiral de Coligny, which

was my first act after rising the next morning, as that visit had no

results either affecting myself or the Protestant cause. I had, in the

mean time, however, written to my cousin, giving him tidings of his

sons, and beseeching to speak with him on matters of deep importance

to us both. I said all that was kind, all that was affectionate; and I

besought him to give me an interview alone, if it were but of a few

minutes, before midday.

On my return to the merchant's house I found an answer. It was not in

his handwriting, though an attempt had evidently been made to imitate

it; and the reply, though given in an affected tone of courtesy, was

tantamount to a refusal.

The Baron de Blancford, it said, would be very happy to see me, as

well as any other of his near relations, and would receive me whenever

I chose to call upon him; but, at the same time, to save me

unnecessary trouble, it might be as well to let me know that he should

not be able to entertain me till after the following Monday. The

letter went on to add some unmeaning compliments on my valour and

distinction, and some heartless thanks for the care and attention I

had shown his sons.

After I had read it I handed it to good Martin Vern, whose only

comment was, "Well, then, we must go to the halls of the Parliament,

where all is already prepared for us. Come, seigneur, I am at your

service."

It was, I confess, most painful to me to enter into open contest with

the father of Louise de Blancford, and I determined that nothing

should draw from me one angry word or rash expression. We were upon

the ground first, however; and, as I walked up and down in the hall of

last steps, Martin Vern somewhat reassured me by telling me that I

should find my cousin a completely altered being.

In about ten minutes there was a slight movement among the number of

petitioners and others at the farther end of the hall, and an old man

advanced, with an upright carriage but slow step, towards the entrance

of the great chamber. He was pale, and much shrivelled with age; but,

though small in stature, he was dignified, and his eye seemed to have

lost none of its fire. On seeing Martin Vern, he stopped; and turned

his eyes on me for a moment; but the next instant he advanced and took

me by the hand.

"I cannot be mistaken," he said. "This must be Monsieur de Cerons. My

dear young friend! I rejoice to meet you once before I go to meet your

father again in those mansions which I doubt not he has reached, and

which I humbly trust in Christ that I may be also permitted soon to

enter."

I needed no other words to tell me that this was the President des

Chappes, of whom Martin Vern had spoken; and, after a few words more

of inquiry and retrospect, the worthy magistrate turned the

conversation to the subject which had brought me thither.

"I have come myself," he said, "Though not very well, to prohibit the

sale of this property, not knowing whether you would arrive in time or

not. No one can know so well as I do the terms on which the transfer

was made to your cousin, as I drew the very paper I see now in your

hands. I was at that time a lawyer in the royal court of Bordeaux;

and, though not exactly in my line of business, I put the matter in

order for your father with my own hand. Alas! I knew not that I should

never see him more after I witnessed the signature of that deed. But

here I think come our opponents: I will not call them adversaries, for

I love not to see a breach in families. This must be either the Baron

de Blancford, or some other person who thinks himself of importance."

I turned to see, and perceived the baron, followed by several other

gentlemen, advancing rapidly up the hall, and speaking, it seemed to

me, angrily with the young Seigneur de Blaye. At all events; their

brows were frowning and their cheeks were heated; and, not knowing

whether the sight of my attendants without might not have produced all

these signs of indignation, I remained without taking any farther

notice, to let the storm burst. To my surprise, however, the baron

advanced and took my hand. "Henry," he said, in a voice that trembled

with emotion, "my poor boy has arrived, I fear dying of the wound

you mentioned in your letter. I see you feel for me," he continued;

"and no one shall prevent me expressing my thanks for the kindness

and,--and--and--"

While he spoke his eyes had rested on the pale and withered

countenance of the President des Chappes: a look of doubt and surprise

came into his face; he turned white; he hesitated, and then added

confusedly, "Charles is eager and anxious to see you. He thought you

would have come this morning. Who is that beside you--the old man?" he

asked, in a lower tone.

"That," I replied, "is an old friend of my father's: Monsieur des

Chappes, formerly of Bordeaux." The baron trembled excessively; and,

as far as possible to let him recover himself, I went on. "I would

have been at your house long ago, but you yourself refused to receive

me till after Monday."

"I!" cried the baron; "I said no such thing. I said I would receive

you whenever you chose to come--I--"

"My fair cousin, I have your note," I replied; "There it is!"

He took it and read it through, and certainly never did I behold the

cheek, even of a timid girl, change its hue so frequently. At length,

however, he tore it to atoms and trampled it under his feet, saying,

"I am fooled! It is the production of a lady, Henry de Cerons, and

therefore I must say no more."

He paused and gazed round him for a moment or two in silence, as if

uncertain how to proceed, while the Seigneur de Blaye remained playing

with his sword-knot; and maintaining a determined silence; and the

rest who had followed the baron conversed together in a low tone.

"Now speak with him alone," whispered Martin Vern, who had been

talking to Monsieur des Chappes; and I immediately followed the

suggestion, saying, "As it appears, my noble cousin, that the

interview which I asked this morning, for the purpose of communicating

to you a most important fact, was only prevented by a mistake of the

baroness in regard to your intentions, perhaps you will give me five

minutes' conversation with you alone; the proclamation of sale will

not take place for a quarter of an hour."

"Where can we speak alone?" said the baron, with a furtive look at Des

Chappes. "I fear that--"

"Oh, in one of the bureaux," said the president. "I will wait here for

you, my young friend. Huissier, lead these two gentlemen to some

cabinet where they may confer."

"And pray," said the Seigneur de Blaye, "am I to remain here idling my

time away till you return, baron?"

"You came, good sir, to see the sale, I think," replied the baron,

sharply, "Not to enjoy my conversation, which, I suppose, could not be

very entertaining to you;" and, thus saying, he followed the huissier,

who led us to a small room, where we were left alone.

The moment the door was shut, the baron seized me by both hands, and

gazed in my face with a wild and haggard eye. "Henry!" he exclaimed,

"what are you here for? What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning, sir," I answered, calmly but firmly, "the meaning is

simply that the estates of Cerons cannot be sold. Make me not say

anything painful to you, but you know, as well as I do, that they must

not and cannot be sold."

"Henry! Henry!" burst forth from the baron, "do not drive me to

despair!"

"God forbid!" I cried, earnestly; "I seek anything but that. On the

contrary, turn, my lord, to those who really love and can really serve

you, and among the most zealous count myself. I have raised myself,

unsupported and alone, from nothing. With your support, and in your

defence and aid, I can do far more; and, if you will let me, I will in

ten minutes chastise yon empty coxcomb, who seeks your sweet child's

dowry, not her hand. The estate of Cerons cannot be sold; but still I

will enable you to--"

"You cannot, you cannot," replied the baron, interrupting me

vehemently. "You do not know that I have bound myself to him in a

large sum that I cannot pay. The money I borrowed to pay the poor

child's dowry is gone. I have nothing to give with her. He will claim

the bond I gave him. If the sale be stopped, I am distrusted."

"Nay, nay," I said, "all this may be well amended."

"Impossible! impossible!" he said, in a low tone. "I am ruined,

disgraced. Why, your very opposition is enough. I cannot stop the sale

without calling his claim upon me. You cannot stop it without exposing

all."

"But hear me," I said, "but hear me. I know all: you have nothing to

explain. If you will consent to my marriage with Louise, dowerless,

portionless, I will allow you to stay the sale without one word of the

where--hear me! hear me!--and I will instantly put it in your power to

quash this man's claim with a single word, and render him your debtor.

I know he cannot pay that debt, and therefore--"