The first sensation in Edward's heart was certainly that of the loss of
liberty. The next was of the loss of Lucette. But then came many
unpleasant recollections; and not amongst the least unpleasant was the
remembrance that he might very likely have incurred the loss of life. To
take a false name, to enter a country with which his own was at war,
with a false passport, to come, from a town actually in rebellion
against her king, into that king's camp, and to be the bearer of letters
to his enemies,--all gave him very much the character of a spy. Edward
did not like his position at all; he did not like the steps which had
led to it; he did not altogether like his own conduct. Yet what could he
have done, when ordered by those he was bound to obey? He would do it
again, he thought, if the same circumstances were to come over again;
and yet to be hanged in a foreign country as a spy was a matter for
which not all the orders of all the princes or potentates in the world
could offer any consolation.
He had walked some fifty times up and down the room, the simmering of
his heart and brain acting upon him like the boiler of a locomotive
steam-engine, when an ecclesiastic entered with some books, and spoke a
few words of bad Latin to him, to which Edward replied in so much better
Latinity that the good man speedily beat a retreat.
Then came the tailor; and a tailor is always a relief, except when he
makes garments too tight, or makes them too loose in one place for the
purpose of making them too close in another. But this tailor was really
a great man in his way; and he did succeed in amusing Edward's mind in a
slight degree by the importance he attached to his calling and to every
one of its accessories. He also estimated very highly his own station in
that calling. He told Edward that although he had not the honor of
clothing his Majesty,--because all the world knew he was very careless
in his dress,--yet he made for all the handsomest young noblemen of the
court. He himself, he assured his listener,--and he dropped his voice
while he spoke,--had _composed_ the dress in which the poor Count de
Chalais had been arrayed on the very day of his arrest.
"Indeed!" said Edward. "Is he arrested? What are they going to do with
him?"
"They will cut off his head, to a certainty," said the tailor. "Though
he was the king's greatest favorite, his Eminence was his greatest
enemy; and the enemies of the cardinal never escape."
This was such cold comfort to Edward Langdale that he brought the
subject back to the matter of his own clothing. "I shall want one suit
as soon to-morrow as possible," he said; "for I trust I shall have an
early audience of his Eminence; and of course I cannot present myself
before him in this garb."
"Of course, of course, seigneur," said the tailor, with a look of
horror: "that would be as good as a confession. Of what may your
lordship have been guilty to assume such a dress?--high treason?"
"I hope not," said the young man: "at least, if I have committed
_lèse-majesté_, it must have been in my sleep. But what about the
clothes, my good friend? Can I have them?"
"Assuredly, seigneur; assuredly," answered the man. "I have a beautiful
_haut-de-chausses_, and a _pourpoint_, which will fit you exactly: they
are in the best taste,--philimot velvet, opened with blue, and silver
points. They were made for poor Monsieur de Courmerin; but he never had
the opportunity of wearing them, for he put off doing so for one single
day, and that night he was arrested and his head cut off before the end
of the week. They will suit you perfectly. But the cloak I must make
myself. I will keep the workmen up all night, sooner than disappoint
you, however. You had better trust the whole arrangement to me,--the
boots, the collar, the hat; and then all will correspond."
Edward readily agreed to the proposal; and, merely stipulating for a
certain price, as his funds were running short, he dismissed the tailor,
whose conversation had a certain ominous croak about it, which was all
the more painful from the frivolities with which it was mixed.
Not ten minutes more passed ere supper was brought in,--good fare and
excellent wine; and perhaps of the latter the poor youth did take more
than he usually did, from a feeling that something was needful to raise
his spirits. He felt more compassion that night for the faults of
Pierrot la Grange than he had ever known before; but he did not follow
his good servant's example, drinking not enough even to have the effect
desired.
After supper he felt more melancholy than before; and that sensation
increased as all noises died away in the castle and in the neighborhood,
and the dull gloomy ripple of the Loire was the only sound that broke
the stillness. The air of the room seemed oppressive to him. He looked
at the door, and wondered if the last time the valet had gone out he had
locked it; and he walked toward it and opened it. All in the corridor
was as he had seen it before,--the guard at the door on the right, with
his halberd on his shoulder, and two lamps burning pendant from the
ceiling. The air seemed less oppressive there; and Edward determined to
go forth and take his walk without, as he had been permitted. He turned
to one side, and then to the other, without any notice being taken by
the soldier, till once, approaching within some five paces of the
iron-plated door, the man drew himself up, and, in a stern tone, told
him to keep off. Edward retrod his steps, and passed up and down several
times, till at length the door at the other end of the passage opened,
and a tall, fine-looking man, in a large cloak, with hat and feathers,
and a small silver candlestick in his hand, appeared, and walked
straight toward him. The stranger's eyes were bent upon the ground, and
at first he did not seem to see the youth; but, when he did, he stopped
suddenly, and gazed at him from head to foot.
Edward walked quietly on, and passed the other without taking much
notice, though he thought his stare somewhat rude. At the end of the
corridor he turned again, just in time to see the stranger opening the
iron-plated door with a key, while the guard stood in a statue-like
attitude before him, with presented arms. When the door was opened, the
light of the candle served just to show the top of a flight of stone
steps, and all the rest was darkness. The door shut to with a bang the
next moment, and the youth pursued his walk, feeling it would be
impossible for him to sleep for some hours to come. Wellnigh an hour
went by, and the young Englishman was returning to his room, to try at
least to sleep, when that heavy door opened, banged to, was locked, and
the stranger, whom he had before seen, again passed him. This time,
however, his head was borne high, and there was a strange look of
triumph on his face; but he was evidently in haste, and, though he fixed
his eyes upon Edward with a gaze that seemed to pierce through him, he
paused not an instant, but passed on.
Why he could not tell, but all this excited the youth's imagination.
There was something strange in it, he thought. Who could that man be to
whom the guard paid such respect? It could not be the king, for Louis
was not so tall, and had no such commanding carriage. It might be some
high officer of the royal prison; and that door, with the dark stone
steps beyond, might lead to the ancient dungeons, where many a
prisoner, in ancient and in modern times, had awaited, _au secret_, as
it was called, judgment or death.
"Such may soon be my fate," thought Edward; and, with that pleasant
reflection, he re-entered his chamber, and, casting off his clothes, lay
down to rest. It was long before sleep came; and then troublous dreams
took from it the character of repose. He felt himself, in fancy, in the
hands of the hangman: the gibbet was over his head, and on a scroll
fixed to his breast was written, in large letters, "A spy!"
Then, again, his dead body was lying in a chapel, and close by, at an
illuminated altar, appeared Lucette, with a bright train of fair girls,
just about to give her hand to a cavalier much older than herself, whose
face bore a strange resemblance to that of the man who had twice passed
him in the corridor, and with a start he awoke, crying, "She is mine!"
It was already day; and but a few minutes went by ere Pierrot presented
himself. "I have seen Jacques Beaupré, Master Ned," he said, "and I
trust all is safe. That fellow is shrewd; and he vows that he has not
said a word. He escaped the troopers at Mauzé, found his way to the
castle, and gave up the bags to Monsieur le Prince de Soubise. The
prince opened them without any ceremony, took out a letter to himself,
read it, and then sent him on with one of the bags, telling him to find
you out at all risks. He was stopped immediately he reached Nantes; but
he vows, even to my face, that he only knows you as Sir Peter Apsley;
though I heard good old syndic Tournon call you by your right name to
him himself. He says that the prince put several letters into the bag
with the money and the clothes; and there is the only danger."
"How did you contrive to see him?" asked Edward, abruptly; for he feared
every moment to be interrupted.
"Why, sir, there are various sorts of detention," said Pierrot: "there
is imprisonment _au plus grand secret_; there is imprisonment _au
secret_; there is simple arrest and imprisonment; there is
_surveillance_; but there is nothing more. Now, as you, Master Ned, are
simply under _surveillance_, they have left me, as your servant, to roam
about as I please; and I made the best use of my time. Jacques Beaupré,
I found----"
But, as he spoke, Monsieur de Tronson's valet entered, to tell Edward
that breakfast would be served to him in a moment, and began to set the
room in order. Edward tried to get rid of him, perhaps too apparently;
but he did not succeed. In vain the young gentleman hinted that the
tailor had not brought the clothes he had promised. The man replied,
coolly, that he would seek him as soon as the breakfast was served; and,
before there could be any further question upon the subject, two lackeys
and a page appeared. Before the breakfast was carried away, the tailor
was in the room; and before Edward was fairly dressed in his new
apparel, Monsieur de Tronson himself appeared, and sent every one from
the room,--Pierrot amongst the rest.
"I come to tell you," said the secretary, "that his Eminence will
receive you at ten o'clock;" and then, after a short pause, during which
he seemed to think deeply, he added, "If you will allow me, sir, as a
friend, to advise you, you will deal in every thing frankly and
sincerely with the cardinal. Men are often much mistaken as to his
character. Deceit and trickery upon the part of his enemies have of
course made him suspicious; but candor is soon perceived by him, and
always appreciated."
"I really do not know to what you particularly refer," replied Edward;
"but I shall certainly answer any questions his Eminence chooses to
propound to me truly."
"That is well," said the other, somewhat dryly. "But will you answer me
one question? Is not Mademoiselle de Mirepoix a near relation of the
Duchess de Chevreuse? Reply frankly, I beg of you."
"I do not know," answered Edward, at once. "I only know that she is
connected with the Prince de Soubise, and----"
"The same, the same," said his companion, interrupting him. "That is
rather unfortunate; for neither Madame de Chevreuse nor the prince are
in good odor at this court."
"The cardinal, I am sure," answered Edward, "is too generous to make a
young girl who has never offended him suffer for the faults of others
who have."
Monsieur de Tronson made no reply, but soon after left the young
Englishman, merely saying, in a warning tone, "Remember: be frank."
Edward then proceeded to finish his toilet; and it cannot be denied that
he felt more lightsome and at his ease in his new apparel. Still, he
could not help revolving the coming interview; and, with that most
foolish though common practice of us poor mortals in difficult
circumstances, considering the answers he might make to questions which
might never be asked. He would have given much for five minutes more of
private conversation with Pierrot; but that worthy appeared no more, and
for the simple reason that he was not permitted to leave the room to
which he had been taken to breakfast. An hour thus passed in anxious and
solitary thought, and then a man, in a black robe something like that of
the verger of a cathedral, opened the door and summoned him to the
presence of the cardinal prime minister. Edward answered nothing, but
merely bowed his head and followed. He was conscious that he had felt
some weakness; but, now that the all-important moment had arrived, he
nerved himself to bear all firmly, and the very effort gave a dignity to
his whole person which well accorded with the handsome and graceful
dress he had assumed.