M. DE RAMBOUILLET.
For a while we were but a melancholy party. The incident I have last
related--which seemed to admit of more explanations than one--left me
in a state of the greatest perplexity; and this prevailed with me for
a time, and was only dissipated at length by my seeing my own face, as
it were, in a glass. For, chancing presently to look behind me, I
observed that Simon Fleix was riding, notwithstanding his fine hat
and feather and his new sword, in a posture and with an air of
dejection difficult to exaggerate; whereon the reflection that master
and man had the same object in their minds--nay, the thought that
possibly he bore in his bosom a like token to that which lay warm in
mine--occurring to me, I roused myself as from some degrading dream,
and, shaking up the Cid, cantered forward to join Rosny, who, in no
cheerful mood himself, was riding steadily forward, wrapped to his
eyes in his cloak.
The news of the King of Navarre's illness had fallen on him, indeed,
in the midst of his sanguine scheming with the force of a thunderbolt.
He saw himself in danger of losing at once the master he loved and the
brilliant future to which he looked forward; and amid the imminent
crash of his hopes and the destruction of the system in which he
lived, he had scarcely time to regret the wife he was leaving at Rosny
or the quiet from which he was so suddenly called. His heart was in
the South, at La Ganache, by Henry's couch. His main idea was to get
there quickly at all risks. The name of the King of Navarre's
physician was constantly on his lips. 'Dortoman is a good man. If
anyone can save him, Dortoman will,' was his perpetual cry. And
whenever he met anyone who had the least appearance of bearing news,
he would have me stop and interrogate him, and by no means let the
traveller go until he had given us the last rumour from Blois--the
channel through which all the news from the South reached us.
An incident which occurred at the inn that evening cheered him
somewhat; the most powerful minds being prone, I have observed, to
snatch at omens in times of uncertainty. An elderly man, of strange
appearance, and dressed in an affected and bizarre fashion, was seated
at table when we arrived. Though I entered first in my assumed
capacity of leader of the party, he let me pass before him without
comment, but rose and solemnly saluted M. de Rosny, albeit the latter
walked behind me and was much more plainly dressed. Rosny returned his
greeting and would have passed on; but the stranger, interposing with
a still lower bow, invited him to take his seat, which was near the
fire and sheltered from the draught, at the same time making as if he
would himself remove to another place.
'Nay,' said my companion, surprised by such an excess of courtesy, 'I
do not see why I should take your place, sir.'
'Not mine only,' the old man rejoined, looking at him with a
particularity and speaking with an emphasis which attracted our
attention, 'but those of many others, who I can assure you will very
shortly yield them up to you, whether they will or not.'
M. de Rosny shrugged his shoulders and passed on, affecting to suppose
the old man wandered. But privately he thought much of his words, and
more when he learned that he was an astrologer from Paris, who had the
name, at any rate in this country, of having studied under
Nostradamus. And whether he drew fresh hopes from this, or turned his
attention more particularly as we approached Blois to present matters,
certainly he grew more cheerful, and began again to discuss the
future, as though assured of his master's recovery.
'You have never been to the King's Court?' he said presently,
following up, as I judged, a train of thought in his own mind. 'At
Blois, I mean.'
'No; nor do I feel anxious to visit it,' I answered. 'To tell you the
truth, M. le Baron,' I continued with some warmth, 'the sooner we are
beyond Blois, the better I shall be pleased. I think we run some risk
there, and, besides, I do not fancy a shambles. I do not think I could
see the king without thinking of the Bartholomew, nor his chamber
without thinking of Guise.'
'Tut, tut!' he said, 'you have killed a man before now.'
'Many,' I answered.
'Do they trouble you?'
'No, but they were killed in fair fight,' I replied. 'That makes a
difference.'
'To you,' he said drily. 'But you are not the King of France, you see.
Should you ever come across him, he continued, flicking his horse's
ears, a faint smile on his lips, 'I will give you a hint. Talk to him
of the battles at Jarnac and Moncontour, and praise your Conde's
father! As Conde lost the fight and he won it, the compliment comes
home to him. The more hopelessly a man has lost his powers, my friend,
the more fondly he regards them, and the more highly he prizes the
victories he can no longer gain.'
'Ugh!' I muttered.
'Of the two parties at Court,' Rosny continued, calmly overlooking my
ill-humour, 'trust D'Aumont and Biron and the French clique. They are
true to France at any rate. But whomsoever you see consort with the
two Retzs--the King of Spain's jackals as men name them--avoid him for
a Spaniard and a traitor.'
'But the Retzs are Italians,' I objected peevishly.
'The same thing,' he answered curtly. 'They cry, "Vive le Roi!" but
privately they are for the League, or for Spain, or for whatever may
most hurt us; who are better Frenchmen than themselves, and whose
leader will some day, if God spare his life, be King of France.'
'Well, the less I have to do with the one or the other of them, save
at the sword's point, the better I shall be pleased,' I rejoined.
On that he looked at me with a queer smile; as was his way when he had
more in his mind than appeared. And this, and something special in the
tone of his conversation, as well, perhaps, as my own doubts about my
future and his intentions regarding me, gave me an uneasy feeling;
which lasted through the day, and left me only when more immediate
peril presently rose to threaten us.
It happened in this way. We had reached the outskirts of Blois, and
were just approaching the gate, hoping to pass through it without
attracting attention, when two travellers rode slowly out of a lane,
the mouth of which we were passing. They eyed us closely as they
reined in to let us go by; and M. de Rosny, who was riding with his
horse's head at my stirrup, whispered me to press on. Before I could
comply, however, the strangers cantered by us, and turning in the
saddle when abreast of us looked us in the face. A moment later one of
them cried loudly, 'It is he! and both pulled their horses across the
road, and waited for us to come up.
Aware that if M. de Rosny were discovered he would be happy if he
escaped with imprisonment, the king being too jealous of his Catholic
reputation to venture to protect a Huguenot, however illustrious, I
saw that the situation was desperate; for, though we were five to
two, the neighbourhood of the city--the gate being scarcely a bow-shot
off--rendered flight or resistance equally hopeless. I could think of
nothing for it save to put a bold face on the matter, and, M. de Rosny
doing the same, we advanced in the most innocent way possible.
'Halt, there!' cried one of the strangers sharply. 'And let me tell
you, sir, you are known.'
'What if I am?' I answered impatiently, still pressing on. 'Are you
highwaymen, that you stop the way?'
The speaker on the other side looked at me keenly, but in a moment
retorted, 'Enough trifling, sir! Who you are I do not know. But the
person riding at your rein is M. de Rosny. Him I do know, and I warn
him to stop.'
I thought the game was lost, but to my surprise my companion answered
at once and almost in the same words I had used. 'Well, sir, and what
of that?' he said.
'What of that?' the stranger exclaimed, spurring his horse so as still
to bar the way. 'Why, only this, that you must be a madman to show
yourself on this side of the Loire.'
'It is long since I have seen the other,' was my companion's unmoved
answer.
'You are M. de Rosny? You do not deny it?' the man cried in
astonishment.
'Certainly I do not deny it,' M. de Rosny answered bluntly. 'And more,
the day has been, sir,' he continued with sudden fire, 'when few at
his Majesty's Court would have dared to chop words with Solomon de
Bethune, much less to stop him on the highway within a mile of the
palace. But times are changed with me, sir, and it would seem with
others also, if true men rallying to his Majesty in his need are to be
challenged by every passer on the road.'
'What! Are you Solomon de Bethune?' the man cried incredulously.
Incredulously, but his countenance fell, and his voice was full of
chagrin and disappointment.
'Who else, sir?' M. de Rosny replied haughtily. 'I am, and, as far as
I know, I have as much right on this side of the Loire as any other
man.'
'A thousand pardons.'
'If you are not satisfied----'
'Nay, M. de Rosny, I am perfectly satisfied.'
The stranger repeated this with a very crestfallen air, adding, 'A
thousand pardons'; and fell to making other apologies, doffing his hat
with great respect. 'I took you, if you will pardon me saying so, for
your Huguenot brother, M. Maximilian,' he explained. 'The saying goes
that he is at Rosny.'
'I can answer for that being false,' M. de Rosny answered
peremptorily, 'for I have just come from there, and I will answer for
it he is not within ten leagues of the place. And now, sir, as we
desire to enter before the gates shut, perhaps you will excuse us.'
With which he bowed, and I bowed, and they bowed, and we separated.
They gave us the road, which M. de Rosny took with a great air, and we
trotted to the gate, and passed through it without misadventure.
The first street we entered was a wide one, and my companion took
advantage of this to ride up abreast of me. 'That is the kind of
adventure our little prince is fond of,' he muttered. 'But for my
part, M. de Marsac, the sweat is running down my forehead. I have
played the trick more than once before, for my brother and I are as
like as two peas. And yet it would have gone ill with us if the fool
had been one of his friends.'
'All's well that ends well,' I answered in a low voice, thinking it an
ill time for compliments. As it was, the remark was unfortunate, for
M. de Rosny was still in the act of reining back when Maignan called
out to us to say we were being followed.
I looked behind, but could see nothing except gloom and rain and
overhanging eaves and a few figures cowering in doorways. The
servants, however, continued to maintain that it was so, and we held,
without actually stopping, a council of war. If detected, we were
caught in a trap, without hope of escape; and for the moment I am sure
M. de Rosny regretted that he had chosen this route by Blois--that he
had thrust himself, in his haste and his desire to take with him the
latest news, into a snare so patent. The castle--huge, dark, and
grim--loomed before us at the end of the street in which we were, and,
chilled as I was myself by the sight, I could imagine how much more
appalling it must appear to him, the chosen counsellor of his master,
and the steadfast opponent of all which it represented.
Our consultation came to nothing, for no better course suggested
itself than to go as we had intended to the lodging commonly used by
my companion. We did so, looking behind us often, and saying more than
once that Maignan must be mistaken. As soon as we had dismounted,
however, and gone in, he showed us from the window a man loitering
near; and this confirmation of our alarm sending as to our expedients
again, while Maignan remained watching in a room without a light, I
suggested that I might pass myself off, though ten years older, for,
my companion.
'Alas!' he said, drumming with his fingers on the table, 'there are
too many here who know me to make that possible. I thank you all the
same.'
'Could you escape on foot? Or pass the wall anywhere, or slip through
the gates early?' I suggested.
'They might tell us at the Bleeding Heart,' he answered. 'But I doubt
it. I was a fool, sir, to put my neck into Mendoza's halter, and that
is a fact. But here is Maignan. What is it, man?' he continued
eagerly.
'The watcher is gone, my lord,' the equerry answered.
'And has left no one?'
'No one that I can see.'
We both went into the next room and looked from the windows. The man
was certainly not where we had seen him before. But the rain was
falling heavily, the eaves were dripping, the street was a dark cavern
with only here and there a spark of light, and the fellow might be
lurking elsewhere. Maignan, being questioned, however, believed he had
gone off of set purpose.
'Which may be read half a dozen ways,' I remarked.
'At any rate, we are fasting,' M. de Rosny answered. 'Give me a full
man in a fight. Let us sit down and eat. It is no good jumping in the
dark, or meeting troubles half way.'
We were not through our meal, however, Simon Fleix waiting on us with
a pale face, when Maignan came in again from the dark room. 'My lord,'
he said quietly, 'three men have appeared. Two of them remain twenty
paces away. The third has come to the door.'
As he spoke we heard a cautious summons below. Maignan was for going
down, but his master bade him stand. 'Let the woman of the house go,'
he said.
I remarked and long remembered M. de Rosny's _sangfroid_ on this
occasion. His pistols he had already laid on a chair beside him,
throwing his cloak over them; and now, while we waited, listening in
breathless silence, I saw him hand a large slice of bread-and-meat to
his equerry, who, standing behind his chair, began eating it with the
same coolness. Simon Fleix, on the other hand, stood gazing at the
door, trembling in every limb, and with so much of excitement and
surprise in his attitude that I took the precaution of bidding him, in
a low voice, do nothing without orders. At the same moment it occurred
to me to extinguish two of the four candles which had been lighted;
and I did so, M. de Rosny nodding assent, just as the muttered
conversation which was being carried on below ceased, and a man's
tread sounded on the stairs.
It was followed immediately by a knock on the outside of our door.
Obeying my companion's look, I cried, 'Enter!'
A slender man of middle height, booted and wrapped up, with his face
almost entirely hidden by a fold of his cloak, came in quickly, and,
closing the door behind him, advanced towards the table. 'Which is M.
de Rosny?' he said.
Rosny had carefully turned his face from the light, but at the sound
of the other's voice he sprang up with a cry of relief. He was about
to speak, when the new-comer, raising his hand peremptorily,
continued, 'No names, I beg. Yours, I suppose, is known here. Mine is
not, nor do I desire it should be. I want speech of you, that is all.'
'I am greatly honoured,' M. de Rosny replied, gazing at him eagerly.
'Yet, who told you I was here?'
'I saw you pass under a lamp in the street,' the stranger answered. 'I
knew your horse first, and you afterwards, and bade a groom follow
you. Believe me,' he added, with a gesture of the hand, 'you have
nothing to fear from me.'
'I accept the assurance in the spirit in which it is offered,' my
companion answered with a graceful bow, 'and think myself fortunate in
being recognised'--he paused a moment and then continued--'by a
Frenchman and a man of honour.'
The stranger shrugged his shoulders. 'Your pardon, then,' he said, 'if
I seem abrupt. My time is short. I want to do the best with it I can.
Will you favour me?'
I was for withdrawing, but M. de Rosny ordered Maignan to place lights
in the next room, and, apologising to me very graciously, retired
thither with the stranger; leaving me relieved indeed by these
peaceful appearances, but full of wonder and conjectures who this
might be, and what the visit portended. At one moment I was inclined
to identify the stranger with M. de Rosny's brother; at another with
the English ambassador; and then, again, a wild idea that he might be
M. de Bruhl occurred to me. The two remained together about a quarter
of an hour and then came out, the stranger leading the way, and
saluting me politely as he passed through the room. At the door he
turned to say, 'At nine o'clock, then?'
'At nine o'clock,' M. de Rosny replied, holding the door open. 'You
will excuse me if I do not descend, Marquis?'
'Yes, go back, my friend,' the stranger answered. And, lighted by
Maignan, whose face on such occasions could assume the most stolid air
in the world, he disappeared down the stairs, and I heard him go out.
M. de Rosny turned to me, his eyes sparkling with joy, his face and
mien full of animation. 'The King of Navarre is better,' he said. 'He
is said to be out of danger. What do you think of that, my friend?'
'That is the best news I have heard for many a day,' I answered. And I
hastened to add, that France and the Religion had reason to thank God
for His mercy.
'Amen to that,' my patron replied reverently. 'But that is not
all--that is not all.' And he began to walk up and down the room
humming the 118th Psalm a little above his breath--
La voici l'heureuse journee
Que Dieu a faite a plein desir;
Par nous soit joie demenee,
Et prenons en elle plaisir.
He continued, indeed, to walk up and down the floor so long, and with
so joyful a countenance and demeanour, that I ventured at last to
remind him of my presence, which he had clearly forgotten. 'Ha! to
be sure,' he said, stopping short and looking at me with the utmost
good-humour. 'What time is it? Seven. Then until nine o'clock, my
friend, I crave your indulgence. In fine, until that time I must keep
counsel. Come, I am hungry still. Let us sit down, and this time I
hope we may not be interrupted. Simon, set us on a fresh bottle. Ha!
ha! _Vivent le Roi et le Roi de Navarre!_' And again he fell to
humming the same psalm--
O Dieu eternel, je te prie,
Je te prie, ton roi maintiens:
O Dieu, je te prie et reprie,
Sauve ton roi et l'entretiens!
doing so with a light in his eyes and a joyous emphasis, which
impressed me the more in a man ordinarily so calm and self-contained.
I saw that something had occurred to gratify him beyond measure, and,
believing his statement that this was not the good news from La
Ganache only, I waited with the utmost interest and anxiety for the
hour of nine, which had no sooner struck than our former visitor
appeared with the same air of mystery and disguise which had attended
him before.
M. de Rosny, who had risen on hearing his step and had taken up his
cloak, paused with it half on and half off, to cry anxiously, 'All is
well, is it not?'
'Perfectly,' the stranger replied, with a nod.
'And my friend?'
'Yes, on condition that you answer for his discretion and fidelity.'
And the stranger glanced involuntarily at me, who stood uncertain,
whether to hold my ground or retire.
'Good,' M. de Rosny cried. Then he turned to me with a mingled air of
dignity and kindness, and continued: 'This is the gentleman. M. de
Marsac, I am honoured with permission to present you to the Marquis de
Rambouillet, whose interest and protection I beg you to deserve, for
he is a true Frenchman and a patriot whom I respect.'
M. de Rambouillet saluted me politely. 'Of a Brittany family, I
think?' he said.
I assented; and he replied with something complimentary. But
afterwards he continued to look at me in silence with a keenness and
curiosity I did not understand. At last, when M. de Rosny's impatience
had reached a high pitch, the marquis seemed impelled to add
something. 'You quite understand, M. de Rosny?' he said. 'Without
saying anything disparaging of M. de Marsac, who is, no doubt, a man
of honour'--and he bowed to me very low--'this is a delicate matter,
and you will introduce no one into it, I am sure, whom you cannot
trust as yourself.'
'Precisely,' M. de Rosny replied, speaking drily, yet with a grand air
which fully matched his companion's. 'I am prepared to trust this
gentleman not only with my life but with my honour.'
'Nothing more remains to be said then,' the marquis rejoined, bowing
to me again. 'I am glad to have been the occasion of a declaration so
flattering to you, sir.'
I returned his salute in silence, and obeying M. de Rosny's muttered
direction put on my cloak and sword. M. de Rosny took up his pistols.
'You will have no need of those,' the marquis said with a high glance.
'Where we are going, no,' my companion answered, calmly continuing to
dispose them about him. 'But the streets are dark and not too safe.'
M. de Rambouillet laughed. 'That is the worst of you Huguenots,' he
said. 'You never know when to lay suspicion aside.'
A hundred retorts sprang to my lips. I thought of the Bartholomew, of
the French fury of Antwerp, of half a dozen things which make my blood
boil to this day. But M. de Rosny's answer was the finest of all.
'That is true, I am afraid,' he said quietly. 'On the other hand, you
Catholics--take the late M. de Guise for instance--have the habit of
erring on the other side, I think, and sometimes trust too far.'
The marquis, without making any answer to this home-thrust, led the
way out, and we followed, being joined at the door of the house by a
couple of armed lackeys, who fell in behind us. We went on foot. The
night was dark, and the prospect out of doors was not cheering. The
streets were wet and dirty, and notwithstanding all our care we fell
continually into pitfalls or over unseen obstacles. Crossing the
_parvis_ of the cathedral, which I remembered, we plunged in silence
into an obscure street near the river, and so narrow that the decrepit
houses shut out almost all view of the sky. The gloom of our
surroundings, no less than my ignorance of the errand on which we were
bound, filled me with anxiety and foreboding. My companions keeping
strict silence, however, and taking every precaution to avoid being
recognised, I had no choice but to do likewise.
I could think, and no more. I felt myself borne along by an
irresistible current, whither and for what purpose I could not tell;
an experience to an extent strange at my age the influence of the
night and the weather. Twice we stood aside to let a party of
roisterers go by, and the excessive care M. de Rambouillet evinced on
these occasions to avoid recognition did not tend to reassure me or
make me think more lightly of the unknown business on which I was
bound.
Reaching at last an open space, our leader bade us in a low voice be
careful and follow him closely. We did so, and crossed in this way and
in single file a narrow plank or wooden bridge; but whether water ran
below or a dry ditch only, I could not determine. My mind was taken up
at the moment with the discovery which I had just made, that the dark
building, looming huge and black before us with a single light
twinkling here and there at great heights, was the Castle of Blois.