that she felt no pain from her wound.
After it was dressed, Lucilio turned his attention to the wounded men,
even among the prisoners, whom they were making preparations to send,
under a strong escort, to the prison at La Châtre.
The _reitres_ were sitting in the _basse-cour_, around the dying embers
of the fire, in dire discomfiture; Captain Macabre, who was drunk during
the battle and was severely wounded, did nothing but beg for brandy to
enable him to forget his misery; Bellinde was so terribly frightened
while the battle was in progress, that she was fairly dazed; which fact
saved her from feeling the humiliation of being exposed to the contempt
and reproaches of the servants and vassals whom she had so long despised
and disciplined.
She was the object of some consideration on the part of the village
women because of her gorgeous costume, by which they were involuntarily
dazzled.
But when Adamas learned of the preposterous attempt she had made to
force the marquis to marry her, and her manifest purpose to torture
Mario, he was so vehement in commending her to general execration, that
the marquis had to hasten her departure for the prison. He even had the
generosity, in spite of Adamas's remonstrances, to allow her to retain
her jewels, her purse and a horse to carry her.
All the other horses belonging to the _reitres_, excellent beasts and
well equipped, as well as the weapons and the officers' money, were
distributed among the brave fellows who had taken them; nor would the
marquis keep any part of the booty for himself. He turned his attention
at once to the needs of his unfortunate vassals, who had been robbed and
maltreated by the gypsies.
LIX
They separated as soon as the prisoners had departed, in charge of
Monsieur Robin and a large escort of men of the neighborhood, who had
been attracted by the uproar of the battle, a little tardily perhaps,
but in time at all events to allow the combatants to procure the rest
which they sadly needed.
Jean le Clope, who arrived among the last and was already half tipsy,
was overjoyed and highly honored to join the escort. He had an old
grudge against Captain Macabre, and had lost his leg in an engagement
with _reitres_.
So he entered the town of La Châtre, with his nose in the air, assuming
the airs of Captain Fracasse, and telling everybody who chose to listen
that, _with his bright sword, he slew fourteen of them_.
He pointed out the most important prisoners, saying of each one:
"I captured that fellow."
When the _basse-cour_ was restored to order, there was still much
confusion in the courtyard of the château.
The ground-floor apartments were transformed into a hospital for men and
animals. The kitchen and dining-room were open to all who wished to warm
themselves, and the marquis refused to sit down until he had attended to
everybody's needs. Lucilio and Lauriane devoted themselves to the care
of the wounded.
There were many varied incidents in this animated scene.
Here, lay a man shrieking and groaning while a bullet was being
extracted; there, men were laughing and drinking together as they
recalled the exploits of the night; and farther on, were others weeping
for the dead.
Ugly, withered old hags made a terrible outcry about goats that could
not be found; others had lost their children, and rushed hither and
thither, wild-eyed, so choked with grief that they could not call them.
Mario, active and sympathetic, would go in search of them, while Adamas,
always provident, caused a large trench to be dug, in a neighboring
field, for the interment of those of the enemy who were killed. Their
own dead were treated with more honor, and they went in search of
Monsieur Poulain to recite prayers for them pending their burial.
They made much of the bravest. Almost everybody had been brave at the
last moment; and yet, throughout the day they constantly found poor
dazed creatures, still cowering behind wood-piles or in the dark corners
of sheds, where they would have allowed themselves to be burned or
suffocated without a word, they were so completely paralyzed by fear.
Amid all these scenes, tragic and grotesque, Bois-Doré and Guillaume
were untiring inf their activity. Although ghastly and heart-rending
sights met their eyes at every step, they were urged on by that somewhat
feverish enthusiasm which always follows the happy ending of a great
crisis.
What they had to deplore and regret was a mere trifle compared with what
might have happened.
The marquis had remounted his horse in order to perform his charitable
duties more quickly; his costume was incomprehensible to most of those
who saw him pass. He still wore his cook's apron, now a mere rag, it is
true, and stained with blood; so that many of his vassals thought that
he had tied a strip of a banner about his waist as a symbol of victory.
His long moustaches had been scorched in the fire, and Master Pignoux's
oilskin cap, crushed under the hat that Bois-Doré had hurriedly donned,
came down to his eyes; they thought that he was wounded in the head, and
he was constantly met with anxious inquiries whether he was in much
pain.
As the first spadefuls of earth were thrown on the dead bodies, one of
them remonstrated. It was La Flèche, who declared that he was not quite
dead.
The amateur grave-diggers were not much inclined to listen to him; but
Mario happened to pass not far off and overheard the discussion. He ran
to the spot and ordered them to disinter, the poor wretch. The order was
obeyed with reluctance, but, despite all his seignioral authority, he
could not induce anyone to take him to the hospital.
They all disappeared on various pretexts, and Mario was obliged to go in
search of Aristandre, who obeyed without a murmur, and returned with him
to the place where the dying gypsy lay on the moist, blood-stained
ground.
But it was too late. La Flèche was lost beyond recall. He was hardly
breathing; his haggard, staring eye indicated that his last moment was
at hand.
"It is too late, monsieur," said Aristandre to his young master. "What
would you have! It was I who crushed him, and I was not gentle about it;
but it wasn't I who stuffed his mouth with dirt and stones to stifle
him. I should never have thought of that."
"Dirt and stones?" repeated Mario, looking with horror and amazement at
the gypsy, who was actually suffocating. "He spoke just now! he must
have gnawed at the ground in his struggle against death!"
As he leaned over the wretched creature to try to relieve him, La
Flèche, whose face already wore the pallor of a corpse, moved his arms
as if to say: "It is useless; let me die in peace."
Then his arm fell with the forefinger extended, as if he were pointing
to his murderer, and so remained, stiffened by death, which had already
quenched the light of his eyes.
Mario's eyes instinctively turned in the direction indicated by that
horrible gesture, and saw no one. Doubtless the gypsy, as he breathed
his last, had seen a vision bearing some relation to his melancholy and
evil life.
But Aristandre's attention was attracted by the fresh prints of tiny
feet on the clayey soil. Those footprints were on all sides of the body,
and seemed to indicate a trampling or stamping around the head; then
they led away from the spot in the direction in which the gypsy's finger
still pointed.
"There are some terrible children, eh?" said the honest coachman,
calling Mario's attention to the marks. "I know that these gypsies are
viler than dogs, and perhaps it was poor Charasson's boy, who, seeing
that you were trying to save this beast, determined to finish him this
way in order to avenge his father! It's a devilish invention all the
same, and it is quite right to say that evil leads to evil."
"Yes, yes, my good friend," said the horrified Mario; "you understand
that a dying man is no longer an enemy. But look in the bushes over
there; isn't that little Pilar hiding?"
"I don't know who little Pilar is," Aristandre replied, "but I know that
that little hussy is the one whose life I saved last night. See, there
she goes again. She runs like a genuine cat. Do you recognize her now?"
"Yes," said Mario, "I know her too well, and it is clear that the evil
one is in her. Let her go, coachman, and may she go far away from here!"
"Come, monsieur, don't stay in this horrible place," rejoined
Aristandre. "I will put this villain's body underground, for the dogs
and the crows scent him already, and monsieur le marquis would not like
to have it lying around on his land."
Mario, being utterly exhausted, went to take a little rest.
When he had slept an hour in a chair, beside his dear Moor, who
pretended to sleep in order to set his mind at rest, he began anew to go
about the château and through the village, bearing assistance and
consolation, accompanied by the lovable and unselfish Lauriane.
The marquis, having hastily repaired his toilet, received the lieutenant
of the provost, and, with the assistance of Messieurs d'Ars and
Coulogne, set forth the facts to the magistrates whose duty it was to do
prompt and signal justice.
LX
The day was advancing.
The tranquillity of fatigue reigned in the village and the château.
Mario and Lauriane, on returning from their round, craved a breath of
fresh air, and went into the garden, the only part of the enclosure
which had not been profaned by acts of violence and devastation.
As he told his friend in detail his own adventures, which she had not
previously had time to comprehend, they arrived at the _Palace of
Astrée_, in the labyrinth, where he had passed such an agitated hour
during the preceding night.
The weather was mild. The two children sat down on the steps of the
little cottage.
Mario, although he was not ill, had a touch of fever in his blood. Such
a succession of violent emotions had matured him suddenly, as it were,
and Lauriane, on booking at him, was struck by the expression of
melancholy resolution which had so changed his sweet and transparent
glance.
"My Mario," she said, "I fear that you are ill. You have been afraid and
courageous, tired and untiring, happy and unhappy, all at once, during
this last horrible night; but it is all passed. Master Jovelin assures
us that Mercedes is safe, and she declares that she hardly, suffers at
all. You saved our dear papa Sylvain's life and avenged your poor
father's death. All this has transformed you into a noble, gallant
youth; but you must not keep those folds on your brow, but think rather
about thanking God for the assistance He gave you in this affair."
"I do think about it, my Lauriane," Mario replied, "but I am thinking
also of something my father said to me this morning, after which you
kissed me and said: 'Yes, yes.' I did not understand it, and you must
explain it to me. My father said that I had _earned the right to hope to
please you_. Does that mean that I have not pleased you hitherto?"
"No, indeed, Mario; you please me immensely, for I love you dearly."
"Good! But, when my father says sometimes laughingly that I shall be
your husband, do you think that that might happen?
"Really, I do not know, Mario, but I hardly think so. I am two or three
years older than you, and when you are a young man I shall be what might
be called an old maid."
"And yet, Lauriane, Adamas told me that you married your cousin Hélyon,
who was three or four years older than you. Did he ever blame you for
being too young for him?"
"Why, yes, sometimes, before our marriage, when we played at
quarrelling."
"Well, I think that he was wrong; I think that you are neither young nor
old, and I shall always think that you are just right, because I shall
always love you the way I love you now."
"You don't know anything about it, Mario; it is said that one's heart
changes with one's age."
"That is not true with me. I still think my Mercedes young and lovable,
and I have always loved her ever since I have been in the world. My
father is old, so people say, but I enjoy myself more with him than with
Clindor; and I don't see that age makes any difference between Master
Lucilio and us. Do you get tired of me because I am younger?"
"No, Mario; you are much more sensible and attractive than other boys of
your age, and you already know more than I do, in the studies we have
together."
"Tell me, Lauriane, do you think me nicer than your other husband?"
"I must not say that, Mario. He was my husband, and you are not."
"Did you love him because he was your husband?"
"I cannot say; I did not love him much when he was only my cousin; I
thought him too wild and too fond of making a disturbance. But when they
took us to the Reformed Church together and said to us: 'Now you are
married; you will not see each other again for seven or eight years, but
it is your duty to love each other;' I answered: 'Very well;' and I
prayed for my husband every day, asking God to do me the favor to make
me love him when I should see him again."
"And you never saw him again! Were you grieved when he died?"
"Yes, Mario. He was my cousin, and I wept for him."
"And so if I should die, who am neither your cousin nor your husband,
you wouldn't weep for me?"
"You must not talk about dying, Mario," said Lauriane; "they say that it
brings bad luck when one is young. I don't want you to die, and I say
again that I love you dearly."
"But you won't promise me when I shall be your husband?"
"Why, Mario, what good would it do you to have me for your wife? You do
not even know whether you will want to marry when you are old enough."
"Yes, I do, Lauriane! I want nobody else for a wife but you, because you
are good, and because you love everybody that I love. And as you say
that a woman must love her husband, I know that you will always love me
if we are married; but, if you marry someone else, you will never think
about loving me. Then I shall be very unhappy, and it makes me want to
cry just to think of it."
"And now you are really crying!" said Lauriane, wiping his eyes with her
handkerchief. "Come, come, Mario, I tell you that you are ill to-night,
and that you must have a good supper and a good night's sleep; for you
are worrying about troubles that are still to come, instead of rejoicing
over those that you conquered last night."
"What is past is past," said Mario; "what is to come--I don't know why
I think so much about it to-day; but I do, and I cannot help it."
"You have been too much wrought up!"
"Perhaps so; but I do not feel tired; and I do not know why I thought of
you all through the night, whenever my father and I were in great
danger.--'If we should both die,' I said to myself, 'who will save my
Lauriane?'--Really, I thought of you as much, perhaps more than of my
Mercedes and all the others. And I thought of you more when I met Pilar
than at any other time."
"Why did that bad girl make you think of your Lauriane?"
Mario reflected a moment, then replied:
"You see, when I was travelling with the gypsies, I used often to play
and talk with that child, who knows Spanish and a little Arabic, and who
made me feel sorry for her, because she always seemed sick and unhappy.
Mercedes and I were always as kind to her as we could be, and she was
fond of us. She called Mercedes _mother_ and me my _little husband_. And
when I said: 'No, I don't want to be,' she would cry and sulk, so that I
had to say to comfort her: 'Yes, yes, it is all right!' She did us a
service last night, I agree; she went very promptly to give warning to
Monsieur Robin and Monsieur Guillaume, as I told her to; but I had a
horror of her all the same, because I knew that she was cruel and had no
religion. And then that name of husband, which she had often given me
against my will, made me sick, and I remembered that you and I had
promised in sport to marry each other, and I saw the devil on one side
of me, with her features, and my guardian angel on the other side, with
yours."
As Mario concluded, a stone from the little cottage fell so near
Lauriane that she had a narrow escape from being wounded.
The two children hastily departed, thinking that the cottage was falling
to pieces; and they joined the marquis, who was awaiting them for
dinner.
LXI
Meanwhile, Monsieur Poulain had been sought in vain to administer the
sacrament to his dying parishioners; he could not be found.
His house had been pillaged by the gypsies before any others. His
servant had been roughly used and was in bed, praying to heaven for the
return of the rector, concerning whom she was unable to give any
information. He had disappeared two days before.
At last, during the evening, just as Monsieur Robin and Guillaume d'Ars
were about to retire with their men, leaving their wounded to the
hospitable care of the marquis, Jean Faraudet, the farmer of Brilbault,
appeared, and requested permission to make an important communication to
his master.
This is what he had to tell; and we will describe at the same time the
events of the previous evening at Brilbault, whither we have not as yet
had leisure to follow the numerous persons who had assembled there by
agreement, to surround and storm the old manor.
The arrangements had been so carefully made that no one failed to appear
at the rendezvous except Monsieur de Bois-Doré, whose absence was not
noticed at first, all the confederates being divided into small groups,
which held communication with each other in total darkness when they
approached the mysterious ruin.
The said ruin, being explored from roof to cellar, was found to be
silent and empty. But they found traces of recent occupancy in that
portion of the ground floor which the marquis had not dared to enter
alone: hot embers in the fireplaces; rags and broken food on the floor.
They had also discovered an underground passage, with an exit at a
considerable distance from the house, outside the enclosure. Such
passages existed in all feudal châteaux. They were almost all filled up
at the time of our narrative; but the gypsies had cleared this one and
masked the opening cleverly enough.
They had carried their investigations no farther, not only because they
deemed it useless, the enemy having already vanished, but because they
were beginning to be alarmed about Monsieur de Bois-Doré and to scour
the neighborhood for him. They were seriously alarmed when the little
gypsy arrived and told her story.
More time was wasted in serious perplexity. Monsieur Robin thought that
the marquis had fallen into some ambuscade, and he persisted in
searching for him; whereas Monsieur d'Ars, to whom the child's
statements seemed not improbable, decided to start for Briantes with his
following. An hour later, Monsieur Robin concluded to do likewise.
When they had all ridden away, the farmer of Brilbault, who had received
orders to continue the exploration of the château, had postponed the
task to the following day, yielding to fatigue, as he said, and probably
even more to a remnant of terror.
"When the day broke I was there"--it is Jean Faraudet who is
speaking,--"and after turning and pulling over all the old wood and
rubbish from one end of the place to the other, I spied a little hole
that I hadn't seen, and there I found a man bound faster than any sheaf
of grain; for his hands and feet were tied, and his mouth gagged with a
bunch of straw which was very cunningly twisted around his neck like a
rope. So the man seemed to be dead from head to foot. I picked him up
and carried him to my house, where a little brandy brought him to after
I had untied him and rubbed him."
"Who was the man?" inquired the marquis, thinking that it was D'Alvimar
"you did not know him, did you?"
"Yes, indeed, Monsieur Sylvain," replied the farmer; "I had seen him
many a time. It was Monsieur Poulain, the rector of your parish. It was
more than four hours before he could speak a word, because he had
strained himself so in trying to struggle in his bonds. At last he said
to us:
"'I will not tell the authorities anything. I am not to blame for
anything that may have happened; I swear by the holy oil and my
baptism!'
"He had the fever all day and talked at random. This evening he felt
better and wanted to go home, so I brought him behind me on my brood
mare, saving your presence."
"Let us go and question him," said Guillaume, rising.
"No," said the marquis, "we will let him sleep. He needs it as much as
we do ourselves. And what could he disclose that we do not know too well
now? And of what could we accuse him? He went there to administer the
sacrament to Monsieur d'Alvimar; that was his duty. When he learned what
they were plotting there against me, if he did not threaten to betray
it, he at least refused to take part in it. And that is why the gypsies
bound and gagged him."
Guillaume observed that Monsieur Poulain was a dangerous rector for the
parish of Briantes, and that he ought at the very least to be threatened
with a charge of complicity in the affair of the _reitres_, as a means
of keeping him quiet or driving him away.
The marquis absolutely refused to harass a man who seemed to him
sufficiently punished already by the brutal treatment he had endured and
the risk he had run of perishing in oblivion and silence in a prison.
"What!" said he, "by the grace of God, we got the better of forty
_reitres_, well equipped and provided with a cannon; of a band of active
and adroit thieves; of a terrible conflagration, and an execrable
ambush; and we can think of such a thing as wreaking vengeance on a poor
priest who can no longer injure us!"
The marquis forgot that he was not yet entirely out of danger.
Monsieur le Prince, who had set off in hot haste for the court, might
not be well received there, and might suddenly return and vent his
ill-humor on the nobles of his province.
It was most essential therefore that the marquis should at all events
not allow a dangerous advocate of D'Alvimar's cause to intervene between
the prince and himself. This consideration was suggested to the marquis
on the following day by Lucilio; whereupon Bois-Doré hastened to call
upon Monsieur Poulain as if to inquire for his health.
The rector, who was unable as yet to leave his easy-chair, he had
suffered so intensely with cold, discomfort and fright, attempted to
tell him that a fall from his horse had caused his injuries and had
detained him twenty-four hours at the house of one of his confrères.
But Bois-Doré went straight to the fact, and talked to him with a mild
and generous firmness; nor did he fail to show him D'Alvimar's notes and
call his attention to the manner in which his deceased friend referred
to himself and the prince.
Monsieur Poulain did not attempt to combat these revelations. His pride
was much humbled by the atrocious perplexities in which he had suddenly
become involved.
"Monsieur de Bois-Doré," he said with a sigh, wiping away the cold
perspiration which stood out upon his brow at the recollection of his
sufferings, "I have seen death at very close quarters. I did not think
that I feared it, but it appeared to me in such hideous and cruel guise
that I made a vow to retire to a convent if I ever came forth from that
icy tomb in which I was buried alive. I have come forth, and it is my
earnest purpose never again to take part for or against any person or
any interest in this world. Henceforth I shall devote my life, in
profound seclusion, to my salvation and to that alone; and if it be your
pleasure to allot me a cell in the Abbey of Varennes, of which you are
the fiduciary possessor, I should ask nothing more."
"So be it," replied Bois-Doré, "on condition that you inform me frankly
and fully what took place at Brilbault. I will not fatigue you with
useless questions; I know three-fourths of all that you know. I wish to
know but one thing: whether Monsieur d'Alvimar confessed to you the
assassination of my brother."
"You ask me to betray the secret of the confessional," replied Monsieur
Poulain, "and I should refuse, as it is my duty to do, were it not that
Monsieur d'Alvimar, who was sincerely penitent at the last, instructed
me to reveal everything after his death and Sancho's, which latter he
did not suppose to be so near at hand as it proved to be. I will tell
you, therefore, that Monsieur d'Alvimar, descended through his mother
from a noble family, and authorized, by the mystery surrounding his
birth, to bear the name of his mother's husband, was, in reality, the
issue of a guilty intrigue with Sancho, an ex-leader of brigands turned
farmer."
"Really!" exclaimed the marquis. "That explains Sancho's last words,
monsieur le recteur. He declared that he sacrificed me to the memory of
_his son_! But how did this fact enter into Monsieur d'Alvimar's
confession, unless he felt obliged to confess the sins of others as
well?"
"Monsieur d'Alvimar had to confess his connection with Sancho in order
to induce me not to deliver to the secular authorities the man whom he
with shame and sorrow called the author of his days. He called him also
the author of his crime and his misfortunes.
"It was that heartless and wicked man who had made him an accessory to
the death of your brother, to whom the idea first occurred, and who
stabbed him to the heart, while D'Alvimar consented to assist him and to
profit by the crime. It is only too true that the sole object of that
crime, the victim of which was unknown to its perpetrators, was to
obtain possession of a sum of money and a casket of jewels which your
brother had imprudently allowed them to see the night before, at an inn.
At that period Monsieur d'Alvimar was very young, and so poor that he
doubted whether he could pay the expenses of his journey to Paris, where
he hoped to find patrons. He was ambitious; that is a great sin, I know,
monsieur le marquis. It is the most dangerous bait that Satan holds
forth. Sancho inspired and nourished that infernal ambition in his son.
He had to overcome his repugnance, but he triumphed by pointing out to
him that this murder was a sure opportunity which would never be
repeated, and which would place him above the need of debasing himself
by imploring the compassion of others.
"When D'Alvimar made this confession, Sancho was present; he hung his
head and did not seek to excuse himself. On the contrary, when I
hesitated to give absolution for a sin which did not seem to me to have
been sufficiently expiated, Sancho vehemently accused himself, and I
must confess that there was something grand in the passionate desire of
that fierce soul for his son's salvation. I believed then that I was
dealing with two Christians, both guilty and both repentant; but Sancho
filled me with horror and dismay as soon as his son had breathed his
last.
"It was a ghastly scene, monsieur, which I shall never forget while I
live! The lower room in which we were, in that ruined château, had but
one fireplace; and, although it was an enormous apartment, we were much
cramped in the small space where we were sheltered from the cold air
that rushed down from above. Monsieur d'Alvimar had nothing but straw
for his bed, and only his cloak and Sancho's for covering. He was so
exhausted by two months of agony that he resembled a spectre. However,
Sancho had prepared him as best he could to receive the last
consolations of religion; and the spectacle presented by that gentleman
of distinguished bravery, resigned to his fate, amid a horde of gypsies,
heretics and villains, saddened the heart and the eyes.
"Those miscreants, displeased at having to look on at a Christian
ceremony, howled and swore and shouted derisively to avoid hearing the
prayers of the Holy Church, which are detestable to them. It seems that
it was always so during Monsieur d'Alvimar's last days in that place.
Every night Sancho tried to take advantage of their slumber to repeat to
his son the prayers that he desired; but, as soon as one of the gypsies
detected him, the whole band, men, women and children, joined in a
frightful uproar to drown his voice and not allow their own ears to be
offended by any of the blessed words of our service.
"It was therefore in the midst of this horrible tumult, in which
Sancho's authority--based upon the fact that he had some money hidden,
which he doled out to them little by little--sometimes succeeded in
restoring silence for a moment, that I administered the sacrament to
that unhappy young man.
"He died reconciled with God, I trust; for he expressed much regret for
his crime and begged me to inform Monsieur le Prince of the truth, if
he, being deceived as I myself had been concerning the causes and
circumstances of your duel, should molest you because of it."
"And have you resolved to do it, monsieur le recteur?" asked Bois-Doré,
scrutinizing Monsieur Poulain's altered face.
"Yes, monsieur," was the reply, "on condition that you return seriously
and sincerely to the path of duty."
"That is to say, that now you are bargaining with me for your testimony
to the truth, in the name of the supreme truth?"
"No, monsieur; for what happened after D'Alvimar's death deprived me of
the hope of converting you by the example of the repentance of your
enemies. Sancho leaned over his son's pallid face and remained so for an
instant, without speaking or shedding a tear; then he rose, swore aloud
the execrable oath to avenge him by any and every means, and placed his
hand in that of a vile and brutal Huguenot who was present."
"Captain Macabre?"
"Yes, monsieur, that was the ill-omened name they gave him.
"'I have sent for you,' said Sancho, 'to deliver the treasures of
Bois-Doré into your hands; I will join you, and I promise you the aid
of this band of volunteer scouts and skirmishers whom you see about you.
I promised you through Bellinde a chance for an excellent _coup de
main_, and the rector here, who hates Bois-Doré and who stands well
with Monsieur le Prince, will assure you impunity.'
"Then it was, monsieur, that I objected."
"Doubtless!" rejoined Bois-Doré with a smile. "You were well aware that
Monsieur le Prince desired my alleged treasure for himself alone, and
that he was not the man to allow it to pass through the hands of such
trustees."
Monsieur Poulain accepted the rebuke and hung his head with an
expression, sincere or feigned, of repentance and humiliation.
Being urged to continue his narrative, he told how Captain Macabre had
suggested blowing out his brains without ceremony to prevent his
speaking, and how the gypsies had thrown themselves upon him to secure
his clothes before they were ruined by blood.
"That discussion," continued Monsieur Poulain, "saved my life; for
Sancho had time to suggest another plan. It was he who bound me and then
imprisoned me as you have heard. But what a rescue! It seemed to me
worse than a sudden and violent death, when the infamous villain,
without assisting me or giving me a word of hope, left Brilbault with
his gypsies, to attack your château."
"And what was done with D'Alvimar's body, I pray to know?" asked the
marquis.
"I understand," replied the rector with a faint smile, wherein could be
detected a trace of the old aversion, "that you are interested in
finding it, in case proceedings should be instituted against you. But
consider that that would not be evidence that could be used against you.
If people chose to lie, they would be free to say that you buried your
victim there with the help of your friend, Monsieur Robin. And so,
monsieur le marquis, you must depend for your future security upon my
loyalty alone, and I hereby offer you its guaranty."
"On what conditions, monsieur le recteur?"
"Conditions? I make no more conditions, my brother! From this day I am a
recluse, withdrawn from the world. I have implored from your kindness
the Abbey of Varennes."
"Oho!" said Bois-Doré, "the abbey? A simple cell was all that you
wanted a moment ago."
"Will you allow so venerable an abbey to go to ruin, and entrust to
boors the management of a community which is expected to set a noble
example to the world?"
"Very good, I understand. We will see, monsieur le recteur, how you
conduct yourself with respect to me, and you shall be abundantly
gratified if I have reason to be. Meanwhile, I presume that you will not
tell me where my brother's murderer is buried?"
"Pardon me, monsieur," replied the rector, who was too clever to appear
to haggle, and who, moreover, was really striving to extricate himself
from the tempests and passions of the age, provided that the penalty was
not too severe; "I will tell you what I saw. Sancho seemed extremely
anxious to rescue the body from any profanation on the part of the
gypsies. He raised a flagstone in the centre of the floor of the room
where we were, and he certainly interred his son there. For my part I
saw nothing more; they dragged me to my horrible dungeon, where I
languished for eighteen mortal hours, alternating between
unconsciousness and despair."
The marquis and the rector parted on excellent terms, and the latter
made an effort to rise and officiate at the burial of his parishioners.
But after the ceremony he was so ill that he sent for Master Jovelin,
whose balsams and elixirs were much extolled as miraculous in their
operation.
At first he had a great dread of placing his life in the hands of one
whom he looked upon as a natural enemy. But the Italian's remedies
relieved him so effectually that he was conscious of a sort of
gratitude, especially when Lucilio obstinately refused all compensation.
The rector was compelled to offer his sincere thanks to the Beaux
Messieurs de Bois-Doré, who, during his illness, ministered to his
comfort personally and through others, with a solicitude equal to that
which they displayed for their dearest friends.
LXII
Lauriane fell asleep, on the evening of her _matrimonial_ interview with
Mario, slightly disturbed concerning the undue agitation of that lovable
child's heart, and his absorbing interest in the future. Inexperienced
as she was, she had a somewhat clearer idea of life, and she foresaw
that when Mario was old enough to distinguish between love and
friendship, he would still be too young, as compared with her, to
inspire her with any other sentiment than sisterly affection. She smiled
sadly at the thought of a possible combination of circumstances which
should require her to marry a child, after having been married when she
was herself a child, and she said to herself that in that case her
destiny would be a strange problem, perhaps a painful and fatal one.
She was depressed therefore, and summoned all her resolution to resist
the influences which threatened to coerce her; for the marquis took his
plan very seriously, and Monsieur de Beuvre in his letters evidently
concealed beneath a jesting tone an earnest desire for the realization
of that plan.
Lauriane did not resolutely demand love in her dreams of marriage and of
happiness; but she felt vaguely that it would be too hard to marry twice
without knowing love. It seemed to her therefore that a cloud, still
very light, but disquieting none the less, hovered over her present
tranquillity and her delightful relations with the Beaux Messieurs de
Bois-Doré.
She was reassured however on the following day.
Mario had slept soundly; the roses of childhood bloomed anew on his soft
cheeks; his lovely eyes had recovered their angelic limpidity, and a
smile of trustful happiness played about his lips. He had become a child
once more.
As soon as he found that his father had recovered from his fatigue, that
his Mercedes was comfortable, and everybody stirring, he ran to the
stable to greet his little horse, to the village to inquire for
everybody's health, then to the garden to spin his top, and to the
farmyard to clamber over the charred ruins.
Then he returned to wait affectionately upon his dear Moor, and he was
devoted in his attention to her so long as she was obliged to keep her
chamber. But as soon as all anxiety on her account was dispelled, he
became once more the happy and light-hearted Mario, by turns assiduous
in his studies and eager in his play, whom Lauriane could love and
caress chastely as before, without fear of the morrow.
This change was most fortunate for the exceptional temperament of that
sweet child. If he had been subjected much longer to the violent shocks
which had succeeded each other so rapidly during that critical night, he
must inevitably have been driven mad or completely broken down.
It should be said, however, that in those days rougher manners tended to
make men's natures more pliant, and consequently more capable of
resistance. The nervous excitement to which so many precocious natures
succumb to-day, was more violent, but less general and less lasting than
as we know it.
Sensibility, more frequently aroused by the emotions of external life,
grew dull more quickly, and the keen emotions gave place to that intense
desire to live, no matter how, which is man's salvation in times of
disturbance and unhappiness.
Thus the winter passed pleasantly and cheerfully at the château of
Briantes.
They worked at the frames of the new farm buildings, awaiting the time
when the weather would allow the masons to work. The moat was cleared
and the wall repaired provisionally with stones laid without mortar;
Adamas had finally succeeded in reëstablishing subterranean
communication with the open country, and the marquis had purchased his
future peace with the provincial courtiers and churchmen by restoring
divers precious objects to certain chapels in the province, in the shape
of voluntary gifts. He had begged Madame la Princesse de Condé to
accept a number of jewels for herself, and Adamas had artfully concealed
those which in his mind were destined to adorn Mario's future bride.
The greater part of the gold and silver coin which the marquis had in
reserve was expended in rebuilding, and in renewing his stock of grain
for his household and his poor vassals. He had also to replace the
cattle they had lost; for the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré could not
endure poverty in their neighborhood.
Lastly, the famous _treasure_, the value of which had been so
exaggerated, and which had been the moving cause of such great
calamities and such odious persecution, ceased to cause scandal by
ceasing to be kept in hiding. The doors of the mysterious apartment were
opened and remained open, in the sight and knowledge of all the world.
They tried to make sure of Monsieur Poulain by offering him a part of
the booty; but he was shrewd enough to refuse; indeed, it was not
material wealth that he coveted, but power and influence. He desired, he
said, not _to possess_, but _to be_. That is why he insisted upon having
the Abbey of Varennes, a far from wealthy institution, situated in a
veritable hollow of verdure, on the small river Gourdon.
He desired no more land than was required to support himself and two or
three brethren of the order. What he coveted was the title of abbot, and
an apparent withdrawal from the world, which would relieve him from the
daily duties of the rectorship.
Within a month he was fully cured of his desire to renounce the world,
and it was his most cherished dream to make sure of his title and his
daily bread, so that he might have leisure to insinuate himself into the
confidence of those in high station and bear a part in diplomatic
affairs, as so many other men, less capable and less patient than he,
had done.
Bois-Doré understood his variety of ambition, and gratified it with a
good grace. He felt sure that monsieur le prince, who was a great
secularizer of abbeys to his own profit, would sooner or later force the
surrender of this one on ungenerous terms, and he could not hope for a
better opportunity to set the prince's autocratic disposition and
Monsieur Poulain's personal interests against each other.
So the rector was invested with the abbey in consideration of an
exceedingly modest tribute, and he departed to obtain his bishop's
permission to give up his living.
Thus Monsieur Poulain saw the first phase of his dream of the future
realized. What he had predicted to D'Alvimar was beginning to come to
pass. He made his way by artfully exploiting the question of dissent in
religious matters in his neighborhood. D'Alvimar, starving for money and
revenge, had fallen without profit and without honor; Monsieur Poulain,
on the watch for discontent and for means of acquiring influence, exempt
from other passions and quick to sacrifice his hatreds to his interests,
entered the road by what he called the right gate. It was, at all
events, the surest.
The non-appearance of little Pilar caused surprise. The marquis, being
informed of the important commission which she had faithfully executed,
would have been glad to reward her, and Lauriane said that she longed to
rescue the wretched creature from her evil life. But no one knew what
had become of her; they presumed that she had rejoined those of the
gypsies who had escaped from the _basse-cour_.
The captured _reitres_ had been transferred to Bourges. Their cases were
summarily dealt with. Captain Macabre was sentenced to be hanged as a
highwayman, rebel and traitor.
The marquis took pity on Bellinde, who was driven frantic by the
hardships of her life in prison; he refused to testify against her, that
is to say, he declared that she was not in her right mind. She was
banished from the city and province, and forbidden ever to reappear
there under pain of death.
The Moor was cured, and Lucilio, having witnessed her fortitude in
suffering, which she endured with a sort of exalted joy, began to become
very deeply attached to her. But he feared lest he should seem mad if he
told her so, and their mutual affection, carefully concealed on both
sides, spent itself on _the children_, Mario and Lauriane, with a sort
of rivalry.
Madame Pignoux was handsomely rewarded, as was her faithful
maid-servant. They had escaped harsh treatment by flight. The
_Geault-Rouge_ had escaped burning, thanks to the eagerness of the enemy
to pursue their expedition.
At long intervals they received news of Monsieur de Beuvre. Those
intervals were very painful to his daughter. It was the period when the
people of La Rochelle and the nobles who had joined them became corsairs
on the sea, and formed the audacious project of blockading the mouths of
the Loire and the Gironde, in order to levy tribute on all the commerce
of those streams. De Beuvre had hinted at a purpose to accompany Soubise
in this perilous undertaking.
In her moments of grief Lauriane did not lack loving consolation; but
none was so wonderfully ingenious and so untiring as Mario's. His loving
heart and his delicate tact found comforting words whose sweet
artlessness compelled Lauriane to smile through her tears; she could not
resist the temptation to call Mario when the others failed to divert her
mind from gloomy thoughts.
She would say to Mercedes:
"I do not know what spirit of light God has bestowed upon that child;
but a trivial word from him does me more good than all the kind words of
those who are more mature than he.--He is a mere child, however," she
would add mentally, "and I am not old enough to love him with a mother's
love. Ah! well, I know not how it happens that I cannot endure the
thought of ceasing to live with him."
Early in April--1622--they received better news.
De Beuvre had happily thought better of his purpose to accompany
Soubise, who had had very bad luck at the Isle of Rié, against the king
in person. De Beuvre had confined himself to privateering on the coast
of Gascogne--with profit and excellent health, he said.
But this same affair of the Isle of Rié was destined none the less to
result unhappily for Lauriane and her friends at Briantes.
The Prince de Condé had hoped that the king would follow his advice and
rush madly into danger. The king did not fail to do so; personal courage
was the only virtue he had inherited from his father. But Condé was
unfortunate: no bullet reached the king; his horse passed the shallows
at low tide without encountering quicksands, and his majesty fought
valiantly against the Huguenots with no resulting illness or even
fatigue.
Moreover, while wielding his sword with ardor, Louis XIII., being wisely
advised by his mother, who was wisely advised by Richelieu, opened his
ears to suggestions of conciliation and to negotiations tending to put
an end to the civil war.
Thus monsieur le prince, whose only desire was to mix up the cards, was
sorely annoyed and discontented, and he replied to the letters he
received from his government of Berry by honeyed letters overflowing
with gall.
Among other acts of retaliation against the Huguenots in his province,
although they had, as a general rule, been perfectly quiet, he ordered
Monsieur de Beuvre's property to be sequestered, unless he should return
to Berry within three days after the publication of the order.
It would have been very difficult for Monsieur de Beuvre, then at
Montpellier, to reach his château in three days. At that epoch it would
have required at least twice that length of time to advise him of the
measures taken against him.
The lieutenant-general and Mayor of Bourges, Monsieur Pierre Biet, whose
habit it was throughout his life to side with the strongest, and who had
been a zealous Leaguer in his youth, determined to display his zeal, and
decreed, on his own authority, that, Monsieur de Beuvre having failed to
appear and explain his absence within the time allowed for such
appearance, mademoiselle his daughter, Dame de Beuvre, de la
Motte-Seuilly, etc., should be removed from her château and taken to a
convent at Bourges, there to be instructed in the religion of the State.
LXIII
It was on a delightful evening in spring that Mario and Lauriane were
strolling about the enclosure at Briantes, laughing together in tones as
melodious as those of the nightingale, when they saw Mercedes running
toward them in consternation.
"Come, come, my beloved lady," she said, throwing her arms about her
young friend; "let us try to escape; they shall not take you until they
have killed me."
"And what of me?" cried Mario, picking up his little rapier, Which he
had thrown on the ground in order to play more freely. "But what is the
matter, Mercedes?"
Mercedes had no time to explain. She knew that the outer tower was
guarded by the provost's troops; she wished to try to return to the
château with Lauriane hidden under her cloak, so that she could escape
by the secret passage.
But it was an impossible undertaking, and Mario opposed it when he saw
that the inner tower also was guarded.
While they were deliberating, the marquis was in dire distress: he had
informed the provost's agents, who exhibited their commissions in proper
form, that Madame de Beuvre had gone out in the saddle with his son. But
when they demanded his word of honor and he pretended to be insulted by
their suspicions, in order to avoid taking a false oath, their
suspicions increased, and, while humbly asking his pardon, they
stationed guards in the towers in the king's name, and proceeded to make
a minute search of the house.
The provost's guard of La Châtre was not so numerous or so well
equipped that a large force could be sent to Briantes. Moreover,
officers and men alike obeyed their orders with reluctance and were very
much averse to offending worthy Monsieur de Bois-Doré. But they were
afraid of being denounced to monsieur le prince, who was much dreaded in
the city and throughout the province.
So they did their duty conscientiously, hoping that Monsieur de
Bois-Doré would threaten and resist; in which case, as _perhaps_ they
were not in sufficient force, they were all prepared and fully disposed
to withdraw,--a not infrequent result of the differences between the
provincial executive and recalcitrant provincial nobles.
The marquis realized the situation, and Aristandre gnawed his fists with
impatience, awaiting the signal to fall upon the backs of the officers
of the law. But Bois-Doré felt that it was a serious emergency, and
that it was not simply a matter of thrashing the watch in some trivial
dispute.
Monsieur de Beuvre was so deeply compromised that to take up his defence
would inevitably be considered an act of rebellion against the royal
authority; and under the circumstances, those gates were more
effectually guarded _in the king's name_, in the eyes of every patriotic
châtelain, than they would have been by a whole army.
Bois-Doré, despite his belligerent disposition, and despite the fact
that he was an incorrigible Protestant at heart, had always, since the
extinction of the Valois line, looked upon the king as the
personification of France; and at this time, when the last efforts of
the Reformed religion were on the point of betraying us to external
enemies, unintentionally, doubtless, but inevitably, Bois-Doré was
inspired by the genuine sentiment of nationality.
However he was resolved not to abandon his friend's daughter at any
cost. He knew how the children of Protestant families were persecuted in
the convents, and that Lauriane's courageous resistance would doubtless
aggravate the harshness of that persecution. This new disaster must be
averted by adroit management, and he appealed, by a furtive glance, to
the fertile genius of Adamas.
Adamas went to and fro, heaping courtesies on the archers and scratching
his head when no one was looking.
It occurred to him to flood the courtyard by opening the gates of the
pond on that side, or to set fire to the château by means of a small
quantity of firewood piled in the shed, at the risk of having to singe
his beard a little in extinguishing it, when he had succeeded in
frightening the enemy away; but in the midst of his perplexities
Lauriane appeared, calm and haughty, leaning on the arm of the pale and
pensive Mario.
The Moor followed them, weeping bitterly. Four of the provost's guards
escorted them with due respect.
This is what had happened.
Lauriane had insisted upon being told what the matter was. She had
realized at once that any resistance for the purpose of saving her would
lay her friends open to the charge of high treason. She was well aware
that her father had risked his head, and, when he went away, she had
foreseen that her own liberty would be threatened one day or another.
She had never mentioned the subject; but she was ready to submit to any
fate rather than deny her opinions.
In vain did Mario and Mercedes passionately implore her to say nothing
and to remain where she was: she raised her voice, declaring vehemently
that she proposed to give herself up; and when the guards who were
seeking her drew near the garden, she had already left it and was
walking straight toward them.
They hesitated to take her into custody, her self-possession causing
them to doubt if it were really she. But she named herself, saying:
"Do not put your hands upon me, messieurs; I give myself up voluntarily.
Kindly permit me to go and bid my host adieu; please accompany me."
The marquis was deeply distressed by her appearance; yet he could not
but admire the noble girl's great courage.
"Monsieur," he said to the lieutenant of the provost's guard, "you see
that I am resigned to the necessity of obeying your commands, since such
is madame's desire; but you surely will not be less honorable than she.
You will permit me to drive her to Bourges in my carriage, with my son
and his governess. I will take but two or three servants, and you can
escort us and watch us as closely as you deem best."
So reasonable a request was readily granted, and the family had an hour
in which to make their preparations for departure.
Lauriane gave her attention to that duty with wonderful self-possession.
Mario, dismayed and dazed, as it were, allowed Adamas to dress him
without a word. He was seated when his boots were put on, and seemed not
to have sufficient strength to raise his little legs. Lucilio went to
him and showed him these words, written in Italian:
"Be brave, follow the example of that brave heart."
"Yes," cried Mario, throwing his arms about his tutor's neck, "I am
doing all I possibly can, and I realize what _she_ is doing. But don't
you think that my father will find a way to set her free."
"If it can be done, do not doubt it, monsieur," said Adamas. "Thank God!
Adamas will not leave you, and will think about it every moment. If
monsieur le marquis is resigned, it is because there is still some
hope."
The marquis took Adamas and Mercedes in his great carriage. Clindor took
his seat on the box with Aristandre.
It was agreed that Lucilio, concerning whom the marquis did not feel
altogether at ease, should go to Bourges secretly.
"I have it, monsieur," said Adamas to the marquis, when they had passed
La Châtre.
"What, my good fellow? What have you?"
"My idea! When we reach Etalié, we will ask leave to rest a moment at
Madame Pignoux's. She has a goddaughter of Madame Lauriane's age. We
will have them change clothes, and we will take her with us in place of
madame."
"But is this god-daughter certain to be there at this time?"
"If she isn't there," said Mario, whose spirits were revived by Adamas's
project, "I will put on Lauriane's skirt and scarf and hood; then you
can say that I have remained at the inn, whereas she will remain in my
place, and she can easily escape from there to Guillaume's or Monsieur
Robin's, when we have gone a little way."
"Do everything for the best, my children," said the marquis, "but say
nothing to me about it; for it will be very embarrassing not to be able
to deny on my word of honor all knowledge of the substitution, and they
will certainly require me to do so when it is discovered. So try
something else and speak low. I am not listening to you."
"You forget," said Lauriane, "that I will not assent to any plan for my
escape. Do not try to invent one, Adamas; and do you yield to the
inevitable, Mario. I have sworn to accept my fate."
Lauriane did, in fact, refuse to alight at the _Geault-Rouge_, where the
projected substitution might have been effected with some chance of
success.
Mario hoped that, when they had gone a little farther, she would change
her mind and assent to some scheme; but to no purpose did they argue
that the affair might be arranged without compromising the marquis. She
was inflexible.
"No, no," she said, "no one will believe that the marquis did not close
his eyes voluntarily. Who knows, my poor Mario, that they would not keep
you as a hostage until they had recaptured me? And, as for Adamas, he
would surely go to prison. That is what I will not have, and I will not
consent to escape, willingly or unwillingly; for, if you persist, I will
shriek and make an outcry to make sure that I am taken again."
Lauriane's resolution could not be shaken. It was necessary to abandon
all hope of rescuing her from captivity, and they arrived at Bourges
more discouraged and downcast than when they had left Briantes.
The result of this submissive conduct was most favorable. The
lieutenant-general, Monsieur Biet, who had confidently expected that the
marquis would ruin himself by rebelling against Lauriane's arrest, was
greatly surprised when he appeared before him with her, and requested
for her an honorable reclusion, and such consideration as her dignified
conduct entitled her to expect.
Monsieur Biet had no choice but to adopt a mild tone, to express his
great regret at the rigorous measures adopted, which he attributed to
secret orders from the prince, and to consent that Lauriane should be
taken to the Convent of the Annunciation, founded by Jeanne de France,
aunt of her illustrious ancestress, Charlotte d'Albret. Lauriane had
several friends there, and she was allowed to keep Mercedes to wait upon
her.
This convent was one of those to which the fiery Jesuit propaganda had
not penetrated. The nuns, vowed to a life of meditation, did not
threaten Lauriane with a too severe proselytism.
The marquis had a conference with the superior, wherein he was able to
predispose her in the young recluse's favor, and he secured permission
to see her every day, with Mario, in the parlor, in presence of one of
the sisters.
Despite this hopeful prospect, Mario's heart was broken when the heavy
door of the convent closed between him and his dear companion. It seemed
to him that she would, never come forth again, nor was he free from
anxiety concerning Mercedes, who strove to smile when she left him, but
who was like a madwoman for a moment when she no longer saw him, and
realized that she was doomed, for the first time in her life, to sleep
under a different roof.
The result was that she hardly slept at all, nor did Lauriane. They
talked almost all night, and wept together, being no longer restrained
by the fear of distressing Mario by their grief.
"My dear Mercedes," said Lauriane, as she kissed the Moor, "I know what
a sacrifice you make for me by parting from your child for my
consolation."
"My daughter," replied the Moor, "I confess that in consoling you I
console Mario, since he loves you perhaps more than he loves me. Do not
say no; I have seen it; but I am not jealous of you, for I feel that you
will make his life happy."
It was impossible to shake the Moor's conviction that that improbable
marriage would take place, and Lauriane dared not contradict her,
especially at that moment.
Bois-Doré had some doubts concerning the orders said to have been given
by the prince with regard to Lauriane. The prince was naturally
treacherous, grasping and ungrateful; but he was not cruel, and his
aversion to women did not go so far as persecution. Moreover, the
marquis had fancied that he could detect some symptoms of confusion in
the lieutenant-general's manner when he questioned him concerning the
prince's alleged secret orders. He hoped to induce him, by gentle
persuasion, to revoke his decree.
He sent a messenger to Poitou to try to find Monsieur de Beuvre and urge
him to return at the earliest possible moment, and he took up his abode
at Bourges, in order to follow up his plan with respect to Monsieur
Biet, and also to keep his eye upon his dear ward.
The messenger was unable to find Monsieur de Beuvre; he had gone to sea
again, no one knew where. At the end of two months they had not heard
from him.
Lauriane wept for him as for the dead. She was not deceived by the tales
the marquis told her to persuade her that he had been seen and that he
was well. He pretended to be embarrassed by the presence of the sister,
who slept all the time, and to be afraid to show her the letters which
supported his statements.
Lauriane adopted the course of remaining calm, in order to tranquillize
Mario, whose eyes were constantly fixed upon her with an anxious
expression.
LXIV
The year 1622 passed in this way, and the marquis was unable, by prayers
or threats, to obtain the prisoner's release on parole.
Monsieur Biet, fearing that he had made a mistake, had obtained
authority to imprison Madame de Beuvre, after it was done.
The situation was made much worse by her father's prolonged absence and
silence. It became quite useless to deny the reasons therefor. No one
could retain any doubt as to what had happened; and Monsieur Biet
replied, with a bitter smile, to the marquis's urgent entreaties and
reproaches:
"But why does not the gentleman come and get his daughter? She will be
restored to him instantly, and so will the management of her property."
Lucilio had settled at Bourges, in the suburb of Saint-Ambroise, under a
false name. He saw no one but Mario, who came alone, simply dressed and
without ostentation, to take his lessons.
Mercedes, who was allowed to go in and out, served his meals, to which
the philosopher probably would not have given a thought, absorbed as he
was by his work.
At this juncture it became evident that Monsieur Poulain had changed
greatly for the better. He was still at Bourges, engaged in obtaining
permission to become an abbot, when Lucilio found himself face to face
with him one day in the little garden appurtenant to his humble
apartment.
On accosting each other, he and the future abbé discovered that they
lived under the same roof.
Lucilio expected to be denounced and harassed. Nothing of the sort
happened. Monsieur Poulain took pleasure in his society, and displayed
great interest in Mario when he came to take his lessons.
Monsieur Poulain was too shrewd a man not to have reflected profoundly
on his past experience, and he realized how little dependence could be
placed on the Prince de Condé, for the Archbishop of Bourges refused to
make him abbot until monsieur le prince should authorize him, and
monsieur le prince seemed in no haste to do so.
Thus our friends led a reasonably peaceful life during this species of
exile at Bourges. Indeed, they enjoyed more real security than they had
enjoyed at Briantes during their last weeks there.
But the marquis was sadly distressed to have broken up all his
luxurious, comfortable and active habits. He lived very simply and
quietly, in order not to attract attention to Lauriane in a city where
the spirit of the League was by no means extinct, and where the brief
but violent reign of the Reformers had left unpleasant memories.
Mario strove to be cheerful in order to divert him, but the poor child
was far from cheerful himself; and when he read _Astrée_ aloud to him
in the evening, he was always thinking of something else, or sighing
over those pictures of streams, gardens and bosky groves which
intensified the tedium and confinement of his present situation.
So Mario's cheeks were pale, and he became pensive. He worked
desperately to perfect his education, and it was a great pleasure to him
to keep Lauriane informed concerning his studies, imparting to her his
most recently acquired scraps of knowledge. It was an excellent way of
killing time in their daily interviews; for there is no more painful
restraint than that caused by the impossibility of talking freely before
witnesses with the persons one loves.
The Jesuits, who were already to be found everywhere with their fingers
in every pie, tried to persuade the marquis to entrust that charming
child's education to them. He so contrived his reply as to give them
some ground for hope, realizing that it would not be well to have an
open rupture with them.
They were not deceived by his craft, and took alarm at Mario's
mysterious visits to the faubourg. They followed him, and thereupon were
much distressed concerning Master Jovelin. But Monsieur Poulain arranged
everything, declaring that he knew Master Jovelin to be an orthodox
Catholic, and that he, Poulain, was present at the young gentleman's
lessons. The ex-rector feared them more than he loved them, but he was
adroit enough to fool them.
Meanwhile the war drew rapidly to a close. The news of the peace of
Montpellier arrived, and gave rise to magnificent projects for rejoicing
in honor of Monsieur le Prince, on the part of his good city of Bourges.
But the projects had to be abandoned; the prince arrived unexpectedly,
in very bad humor, feeling that his rôle was at an end.
The king had cheated him: in the first place, he had refused to die; in
the second place, he had negotiated the peace without his knowledge. And
then the queen-mother had regained some measure of influence. Richelieu
had obtained the cardinal's hat, and despite all monsieur le prince's
endeavors, was insensibly drawing near to the centre of power.
Condé simply passed through the province and the city. He no longer
believed in astrology; he was becoming pious from disappointment. He had
made a vow to Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.
He started for Italy without giving the slightest attention to the
affairs of the province. Monsieur Biet, feeling that the Huguenots were
about to recover liberty of conscience, and that it would ill become him
to require Lauriane's release to be extorted from him, went himself to
the convent with the marquis, to set her free.
The nuns parted from her with regret, testifying freely to her
gentleness and courtesy.
Lauriane had suffered much during those five months of mental
constraint; she too had lost color and flesh; she had attended, without
a murmur, all the religious services, maintaining a dignified and
respectful demeanor, praying to God with all her soul before the
Catholic altars, and abstaining from any reflection that might have
wounded the saintlike maidens of the Annunciation. But when they urged
her to renounce her faith, she bowed, as if to say: _I understand_, and
met all the questions that were put to her with an obstinate silence. It
was no time for her to assert her liberty of conscience when it might be
that her father was prostrate under the headsman's axe. So she held her
peace and submitted to their importunities with the stoicism of a
sufferer who, with his hands bound, listens to the flies buzzing about
his head, unable to brush them away, but unwilling even to wink.
On all other occasions she treated the sisters with the greatest
respect, and won their hearts by the most delicate attentions. Luckily,
a truly Christian spirit reigned among them. They prayed for her
conversion, they prayed for her salvation, and they left her in peace.
It was a miracle; elsewhere Lauriane, might, in desperation, have been
accused of witchcraft and condemned to perish by earthly flames; that
was the last resource when the persecuted heretics had the courage to
refuse to be convicted of heresy by their own admissions.
At last, on November 30th, our friends, overflowing with joy and hope,
returned to the château of Briantes.
They had received good news from Monsieur de Beuvre. He had written many
times; but his messengers had been intercepted or had betrayed their
trust. He was to return very soon, and he did, in fact, return. He was
welcomed with much feasting and merrymaking; after which they talked of
separating.
It was proper that Lauriane should return to her own château, and the
bulky De Beuvre felt cramped in the small manor of Briantes. Lauriane
could not manifest before her father the slightest reluctance to resume
her life with him. Indeed she was conscious of no such reluctance, she
was so happy to have him at home again. And yet she felt a sudden and
involuntary chill of sadness when she entered the dismal château of La
Motte.
The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré escorted her thither, and, at her
father's request, were to remain two or three days with her. Mercedes
and Jovelin were of the party. It was not therefore the sensation of
solitude taking possession of her already; indeed, might they not, were
they not certain to see one another almost every day?
This vague apprehension which disturbed Lauriane was a sort of
disenchantment, which she did not fully understand. She had always
insisted upon regarding her father as a hero; her anxieties at the
convent, due to the thought of the perils he had incurred for his faith,
had exalted to enthusiasm the conception she had formed of him. She had
been forced to abandon her ideal since he had been at home. In the first
place, although De Beuvre had complained that he grew stout in idleness,
and they had expected that he would return emaciated and exhausted, he
was ruddier and more portly than ever. His mind seemed to have grown
dense in proportion. His blunt gayety had become a little vulgar. He
posed as a sailor, smoked a pipe, swore beyond all reason, forgot to
wrap his scepticism in Montaigne's ingenious aphorisms, and at times
adopted an air of sly and mysterious satisfaction which was by no means
courteous to his friends.
The solution of this last riddle was let fall by him on the day
following his return to La Motte, during a conference which we are about
to describe.
LXV
They had hunted during the day, then supped, and were sitting about the
fire in the large salon, when Guillaume d'Ars, who had been very
assiduous in his attentions to Lauriane since the news of the peace,
asked leave, with some playful emotion, to make a speech.
They all ceased their games and conversation, and Guillaume, after
appealing to Lauriane for special encouragement, which she accorded him
without a suspicion of what it was all about, spoke as follows:
"Mesdames"--Mercedes was present,--"messieurs, friends, kinsmen and
neighbors, all honored, respected and beloved, I beg you to listen to a
story which is my own. In me you see a young man neither better nor
worse made than many another; ignorant enough, Master Jovelin will
agree; reasonably rich and well-born, but those are not virtues; brave,
but that is no subject for boasting; lastly--I pause that some one may
kindly eulogize me; for, as you see, I hardly understand praising
myself."
"Assuredly," exclaimed the marquis with his customary good-humor, "you
are more than you claim, cousin: the flower of the nobility of the
province, the mirror of chivalry, and, like Alcidon, 'so much esteemed
by those who know you, that there is naught to which your merit doth not
entitle you to aspire.'"
"A truce to your insipid nonsense from _Astrée_!" said Monsieur de
Beuvre. "What are you aiming at, Guillaume? and why do you come in quest
of praise from us, when no one here has any thought of complaining of
you?"
"Because, messire, having a momentous request to present to you, I
wished to have for advocates all those in whom you place most
confidence."
"We all bear witness to your loyalty, courage, courtesy and staunch
friendship," said Lauriane. "Now, speak; for there are two women here,
that is to say two curious mortals."
Lauriane had no sooner spoken thus than she blushed and regretted her
words, for the enthusiastic and slightly fatuous air of the excellent
Guillaume suddenly gave her a hint of what was coming.
In truth, it was an offer of marriage which Guillaume, more encouraged
by her than she had intended or supposed, laid before her father and
herself, invoking anew the support of all those who were present, and
blending hyperbole, wit and sentiment in a way which might be considered
agreeable and becoming in view of the spirit of the time.
The declaration was somewhat long and involved, as good breeding
demanded, although it was none the less outspoken and sincere, and most
cordial toward all present.
When his purpose had become manifest, very diverse sentiments were
depicted on the faces of his audience. Monsieur de Bois-Doré manifested
much embarrassment and extreme displeasure, held in check as much as
possible. Lauriane lowered her eyes with an expression of melancholy
rather than annoyance. Mercedes anxiously tried to read what was written
in Mario's great eyes. Mario had turned toward the wall; nobody could
see his face. Lucilio watched Lauriane closely.
Monsieur de Beuvre alone remained unmoved, with no other expression than
one of reflection; one would have said that he was making a mental
calculation that engrossed his whole attention.
No one spoke, and Guillaume was somewhat confused. But that silence
might be considered a sign of encouragement as well as of disapproval,
and he knelt at Lauriane's feet, as if to await her reply in an attitude
of absolute submission.
[Illustration: _GUILLAUME D'ARS PROPOSES
MARRIAGE._
"_Rise, Messire Guillaume," said the young woman,
rising herself in order to induce him to obey her more
quickly. "You surprise us with a thought which is
quite new to us, and to which we cannot reply as quickly
as it was suggested._"]
"Rise, Messire Guillaume," said the young woman, rising herself in order
to induce him to obey her more quickly. "You surprise us with a thought
which is quite new to us, and to which we cannot reply as quickly as it
was suggested."
"It did not come to me quickly," said Guillaume. "It has been in my mind
two or three years. But your youth and your mourning made me fear that I
might speak too soon."
"Permit me to doubt it," said Lauriane, who knew by public report that
Guillaume had always led a joyous life and had recently sighed at the
feet of several more or less marriageable ladies.
"My dear daughter," said Monsieur de Beuvre at last, "permit me to tell
you that Guillaume is not telling an untruth. For a long time past, as I
know, he has thought of you whenever he has thought of marriage. But, in
my opinion, he has decided a little too late to make his desire known to
you."
"A little late?" exclaimed Guillaume in dismay; "can it be that you have
disposed----"
"No, no!" laughed De Beuvre; "my daughter is neither betrothed nor
promised to anyone, unless it be to our _youthful_ neighbor, the Marquis
de Bois-Doré, or to this solemn personage, the other Monsieur de
Bois-Doré, who slumbers yonder while another seeks the hand of his
future bride!"
Mario, bewildered and wounded, did not turn. It seemed as if he were
asleep; the Moor alone saw that he was weeping; but the marquis rose and
retorted with more animation than he usually displayed:
"I will wager, my dear neighbor, that your raillery is intended as a
rebuke for our silence, so we will break it. You will forgive me,
Guillaume; for, as surely as heaven is above us, I esteem you the best
and most loyal man in the world, worthy in every respect to be our
Lauriane's happy husband. But, with no desire to injure you in her eyes,
I hereby declare that my suit preceded yours, and that I was encouraged
by her and her father when I urged my suit."
"You, cousin?" exclaimed Guillaume in amazement.
"Yes, I," replied Bois-Doré, "as uncle, guardian and father by adoption
of Mario de Bois-Doré here present."
"Here present? Nay," said Monsieur de Beuvre, still laughing, "for he is
sleeping the sleep of innocence."
"As a child should do!" added Guillaume gently.
"I am not asleep!" cried Mario, rushing into his father's arms, and
revealing his face all discolored with the sobs he had stifled in his
hands.
"Hoity-toity!" said Monsieur de Beuvre, "he says that with his eyes
half-closed with sleep!"
"Nay," rejoined the marquis, scrutinizing his child's face, "with his
eyes inflamed with tears!"
Lauriane started; Mario's grief reminded her of the scene in the
labyrinth, and brought before her mind once more the apprehensions she
had forgotten. The child's tears pained her deeply, and Mercedes's
glance disturbed her like a reproach.
Lucilio seemed to share her anxiety. Lauriane felt that she held in her
hands for a long while, perhaps forever, the happiness of that family
which had bestowed so much happiness on herself. She became altogether
depressed, and, seeing that the marquis too was weeping, she gave the
old man and the young man each an equally affectionate kiss, entreating
them to be reasonable and not to borrow trouble concerning a future
which she had not yet faced.
De Beuvre shrugged his shoulders.
"You are all very foolish," he said; "and as to you, Bois-Doré, I
consider you thrice mad to have fed this poor schoolboy's brain on your
absurd romances. You see the result of spoiling a child. He deems
himself a man, and wishes to marry, forsooth! at an age when all he
needs is the birch."
These harsh words put the finishing touch to Mario's despair; they made
the marquis seriously angry.
"You seem to be in the mood for making unnecessarily cruel remarks,
neighbor," he said. "The birch has no place in my method with a child
who has displayed the courage of a gallant man. I am well aware that he
should not marry for several years; but it seemed to me that I
remembered that our Lauriane herself did not wish to marry for seven
years from that day last year, when, in this very room, she gave me a
pledge."
"Oh! let us not speak of that ghastly pledge!" cried Lauriane.
"Nay, let us speak of it and give thanks to God," replied the marquis,
"since that dagger was the means of restoring to me my brother's child.
Thus it was through your blessed hands, dear Lauriane, that that
happiness entered my house; and, if I was mad to hope that you too would
enter it, forgive me. The happier one is, the more greedy one is of
happiness. As for you, friend De Beuvre, you surely will not deny your
encouragement of my idea. Your letters prove it; you said: 'If Lauriane
chooses to have patience and not go mad over the thought of marriage
until Mario is nineteen or twenty years of age, I assure you that I
shall be very glad.'"
"I do not deny it!" rejoined De Beuvre; "but I should be an idiot not to
look at the question of my daughter's marriage in both aspects: the
future and the present. Now, the future is less secure; who will assure
me that we shall all be in this world six years hence? And then, when I
wrote as you say, my dear neighbor, my position was not all that could
be desired; and I tell you plainly that now it is much better than you
imagine. So listen to me, Monsieur d'Ars, and you, marquis, and you
above all, my dear daughter. I rely upon secrecy being maintained as to
that which I am about to confide to none but persons of honor and
discretion. I have doubled my fortune in this last campaign. That was my
principal purpose, and I have accomplished it, while serving my cause at
the risk of my life. I fought bad men to the best of my ability, and
contributed, like others, to the honorable terms of peace which the king
grants us. And so, Monsieur d'Ars, if you do me honor by asking for my
daughter's hand, it is only by virtue of your name and your personal
merit; for I am probably as rich as you.--And do you, friend Sylvain,
when you manifest your friendship for me by the same request, understand
that your treasure has no power to dazzle me; for I have my own
treasure, _three ships upon the sea_, all full of _silver, gold and
precious wares_, as says the ballad.
"And so, my dear and noble lords, you will give me time for reflection
before replying to you; and my daughter, knowing now that it will not be
difficult to find another husband for her, will take counsel with
herself and form her own decision."
Thereupon there was nothing more to be done than to say good-night.
Guillaume, like a man of the world, treated Mario's pretensions lightly,
but without acrimony or malice; for the child was excited enough to
demand satisfaction, and Guillaume loved him too well to care to
irritate him to that point. He took his leave with the not unreasonable
hope of triumphing over a rival who did not come to his shoulder.
Mario slept poorly and had no appetite the next day. His father took him
home, fearing that he would fall ill, and beginning to conclude that it
is not well to play with the future of children in their presence. But
this tardy repentance did not cure him. His abnormal, romantic brain,
which had never ceased to be the brain of a child, could not understand
the sound conception of time. Just as he believed that he was still
young, so he imagined that Mario was ripe for the kind of love, cold and
loquacious, chaste and affected, with which _Astrée_ had permeated his
mind.
Mario knew nothing of the subtle distinctions of words. He simply felt
an intolerable heart-ache, the only deep-rooted and lasting torture.
He said: "I love Lauriane;" and if he had been asked with what kind of
love, he would have answered in good faith that there were not two
kinds. Pure as the angels, he had the true ideal of life, which is to
love for the sake of loving.
As soon as De Beuvre and his daughter were left alone, he strongly urged
her to decide in favor of Guillaume d'Ars.
"I did not wish to displease the marquis by declaring my preference," he
said; "but his dream is rank madness, and I fancy that you do not care
to wear the black cap six years longer, until this little brat has lost
all his milk teeth."
"I did not enter into this engagement myself," replied Lauriane; "but I
am afraid that you unconsciously entered into it for me with the
marquis."
"I would snap my fingers at it, if I had," rejoined De Beuvre; "but that
is not the case. So much the worse for the old fool and his cub if they
take thoughtless words seriously; one will console himself with a wooden
horse, the other with a new doublet; for they are equally childish."
"My dear father," said Lauriane, "it is no longer possible for me to
jest about the marquis. He has been more than a father to me, something
like a father, mother and brother all together, there has been so much
protecting care, motherly affection and pleasant raillery in his manner
toward me! And if Mario is only a child, he is not like other children.
He is a girl in gentleness and delicacy; and he is a man in courage, for
you know what he has done, and, furthermore, that he is very learned for
his years.. He could teach both of us!"
"Faith, my girl," cried De Beuvre, puffing himself out, "you dote too
much on the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré, and it seems to me that I am
no longer of much account in your eyes. You seem to think a vast deal of
their grief and nothing at all of my consent, since you turn a deaf ear
to me when I speak of Guillaume d'Ars."
"Guillaume d'Ars is a good friend," replied Lauriane, "but he is too old
as a husband for me. He will soon be thirty years old, and he knows the
world too well; he would soon begin to consider me silly or uncivilized.
His suit would have flattered me perhaps before the peace; he would have
deserved some credit for offering us the support of his name when we
were persecuted. He deserves little to-day, when our rights are
acknowledged and our tranquillity assured. He will deserve still less if
he persists in his suit, now that he knows that we are richer than we
were."
De Beuvre tried in vain to induce her to change her mind. He was
exceedingly vexed with her; for, even if their ages had been the same,
he would have much preferred Guillaume to Mario. A son-in-law devoted to
physical exercise and to the heedless pursuit of pleasure suited him
much better than a cultivated mind and an exceptional character.
Lauriane remonstrated, although she used after every sentence the
formula: "Your will shall be mine."--But when she said it she relied
upon the promise her father had made, since, her widowhood, never to
force her inclination.
De Beuvre, who had become more covetous as soon as he became
richer--this transformation takes place suddenly in those of mature
years,--was sorely tempted to take her at her word and to say: "_It is
my will_."--But he was not an unkind man, and his daughter was almost the
only object of his affection.
He contented himself with harassing her and depressing her spirits by
talking incessantly of those material interests to which she had
believed him to be so indifferent when he made his last Huguenot
crusade.
She did not give way, but, in order not to wound him, she agreed to show
the greatest consideration in rejecting Guillaume's suit, and to receive
his visits until further notice.
LXVI
The _Beaux Messieurs_ did not return to La Motte for a week. Mario had a
slight attack of fever. Lauriane was anxious and wept. Her father
refused to take her to Briantes, saying that it was useless to keep
illusions alive. There was a slight quarrel between them.
"You will make them think me most ungrateful," she said. "After all the
care and attention I received from them, it is my duty to go to nurse
Mario. You should at least go there every day. They will say that you
have forgotten them, now that we no longer need them. Ah! why am I not a
boy? I would ride there every hour in the day; I would be that poor
child's friend and companion, and I could show my friendship for him
without putting a noose around my neck, or incurring blame!"
At last she induced her father to take her to Briantes. She found Mario
almost recovered from his grief and cured of his fever. He seemed to
have determined once more to be a child. The marquis was a little hurt
by Monsieur de Beuvre's conduct. But they could not remain at odds. The
parents gradually entered into conversation as if nothing had happened;
Lauriane began to laugh and romp with her innocent lover.
"My dear neighbor," said De Beuvre to Bois-Doré, "you must not be
offended with me. Your plan for these children was pure dreaming. See on
what excellent terms they are in those innocent games! That is a sign
that in the game of love they would be always at war. Remember that a
too young husband is not long content with a single wife, and that a
deserted wife is jealous and shrewish. Moreover there is another
obstacle between the children, which we have not considered: one is a
Catholic, the other a Protestant."
"That is not an obstacle," said the marquis. "They can be married at the
same church, reserving the right to return to the one they prefer."
"Oh! yes, that is all very well for you, you old unbeliever, who belong
to both churches, that is to say, to neither; but for us----"
"For you, neighbor? I don't know to what communion you belong; but I
believe implicitly in God, and you don't believe in Him at all."
"_Perhaps_! _Who can say_?" as Montaigne says; "but my daughter is a
believer, and you cannot induce her to give way."
"She would not have to give way. Here, she was always free to pray as
she chose. Mario and she used to say their evening prayer together, and
they never thought of disputing. Besides, Mario would be all ready to do
as I did."
"Yes, to say as you did in the days of the good king: 'Long live Sully
and long live the pope!'"
"Lauriane would be no more obstinate in her Calvinism, be sure of that!"
Bois-Doré was mistaken. The more frankly De Beuvre avowed his
scepticism, the more earnest was Lauriane in her disinterested
attachment to the Reformation. De Beuvre, who knew it well and who was
seeking an opportunity to create obstacles, raised the question during
dinner. Lauriane stated her views in mild language, but with remarkable
firmness.
The marquis had never discussed religion with her or before her. In
fact, he never discussed it with anyone, and found the half-Gallic,
half-pagan divinities of _Astrée_ quite reconcilable with his vague
notions concerning the Deity. He was distressed to see Lauriane take up
the cudgels in that way, and he could not resist the temptation to say
to her:
"Ah! you bad girl, you would not be so obstinate in your opinions if you
loved us a little more!"
Lauriane had not detected her father's purpose. The marquis's reproach
made it clear to her. It was the first reproach he had ever addressed to
her, and she was deeply grieved. But the fear of irritating her father
prevented her from answering as her heart prompted. She looked down at
her plate and held back a tear that trembled on her eyelid.
Mario, who seemed entirely engrossed in preparing little Fleurial's
dainty dinner, spied that tear, and said abruptly, in a grave, almost
manly tone, in striking contrast to the puerile occupation of his hands:
"We are making Lauriane sad, father; let us say no more about it. She
has a brain of her own, and she is right. For my part, if I were in her
place I would do as she does, and I would not abandon my party in
misfortune."
"Well said, my little man!" said De Beuvre, impressed by Mario's
intelligent air.
"And it suggests to me," said the marquis, "that we are above such
profitless discussions. My son already has the free spirit of noble
minds, and he would never be the one to dispute Lauriane's opinions."
"Dispute them, no indeed," said Mario; "but----"
"But what?" queried Lauriane eagerly; "you do not mean that you would
share them, Mario, even through affection for me?"
"Ah! if that were the case," exclaimed De Beuvre, once more struck by a
sudden thought, "if the child, with his name and his wealth, should
decide to espouse our cause heartily, I do not say that I would not
advise Lauriane to wear her black cap some time longer."
"Then it is all right!" said the marquis; "when the time comes----"
"No, no, father!" interposed Mario with extraordinary vehemence; "that
time will never come for me. I was baptized a Catholic by Abbé
Anjorrant; I was brought up in the idea that I ought never to change;
and, although he did not ask me to take any oath to it when he was
dying, it would seem to me as if I should disobey him by leaving the
church in which he put me. Lauriane has set me the example and I will
follow it; we will remain as we are, and it will be all right. That will
not prevent me from loving her, and if she doesn't love me, she will do
wrong and be a bad girl."
"What do you say to that, my child?" queried De Beuvre; "doesn't it
strike you that he is the sort of little husband who, when he saw you
burning, would say: 'I feel deeply grieved, but I can do nothing,
because it is the pope's will?'"
Lauriane and Mario disputed like the children they were; that is to say,
their cheeks grew red as fire. Lauriane sulked; Mario did not move an
inch, and finally exclaimed with much heat:
"You say, Lauriane, that you would degrade yourself if you should
change. Then you would despise me if I changed, would you not?"
Lauriane realized the justness of the retort, and said no more; but she
was piqued, like a woman with whom her lover makes conditions, and her
glance said to Mario: "I thought that you loved me more than you do."
When she was riding home with her father, he did not fail to say to her:
"Well, my child, do you not see now that Mario, that charming youth, is
a Papist of the old stock, like his own father, who served the Spaniard
against us? And some day, ashamed of his old uncle's inanity, he will
make war on us! Then what will you say, when you see your husband in one
camp and your father in the other, shooting bullets at each other, or
fighting hand to hand?"
"Really, father," said Lauriane, "you speak as if I had evinced a desire
to remain a widow; but I have never determined upon that. I cannot see,
however, why Monsieur d'Ars is not equally exposed to the evil fate
which you predict. Is not he a Catholic and a devoted partizan of the
royal power?"
"Monsieur d'Ars has no will of his own," replied De Beuvre, "and I will
answer for it that we shall be able to bend him to all our purposes, on
every occasion. More bigoted men than he have changed sides when the
prospects of the Reformation seemed bright."
"If Monsieur d'Ars has no will," rejoined Lauriane, "so much the worse
for him; he is no man; and yet he is a man in years!"
Lauriane was not mistaken. Guillaume was a weak character; but he was a
handsome fellow, a pleasant neighbor, brave as a lion, and very generous
to his friends. He was mild and easy-going with the peasantry, and
allowed himself to be robbed without paying the slightest heed; but he
followed the example of the nobles of his time: he allowed the peasantry
to wallow in ignorance and poverty. It seemed to him a very
fine thing that Lauriane's vassals were neat and well-fed, and very
amusing that Bois-Doré's were stout; but when he was told that, at
Saint-Denis-de-Touhet, the peasants died like flies during the
epidemics; that at Chassignoles and Magny they did not know the taste of
wine and meat--hardly that of bread; and that, in the Brenne country,
they ate grass, while in other even more unhappy provinces they ate one
another, he would say:
"What do you expect to do about it? Everybody cannot be happy!"
And he did not exert his mind beyond its powers to find a remedy. It had
never occurred to him to live on his estate, as Bois-Doré did, and to
share his well-being with all those who were dependent upon him. He
passed as much time as he could at Bourges and Paris, and aspired to a
rich marriage, in order that he might lead a more joyous life than ever,
with a woman whom he would probably make perfectly happy on condition
that she had no more brain and sensitiveness than he.
He was the type of his caste and his epoch, and no one thought of
blaming him.
On the other hand, Lauriane was considered a fanatical heretic and
Bois-Doré an old imbecile. Lauriane herself did not judge Guillaume so
severely as we do, but she felt that he lacked pith and substance, and
she experienced unconquerable ennui when, she was in his company. At
such times the days passed at Briantes would come back to her like a
delightful dream. Well might she have said: _Et in Arcadia ego_!
However, she had no idea of becoming Mario's wife. In her inmost
thoughts she remained his older sister, proud of him and striving to
emulate him; but she found no suitor to her liking, although many a one
came forward as soon as her father was seen to be purchasing additional
estates. By dint of making involuntary comparisons between her father,
who was so practical and selfish, who criticized her so often in regard
to her charities, and the excellent Monsieur Sylvain, who always lived
himself and caused everybody about him to live as in a fairy tale, she
conceived a dislike for cold reason, and became in secret the most
dreamy and romantic maiden on earth, according to Monsieur de Beuvre and
her other relations of both religions. In private, they laughed at her
and at what they called her ridiculous love for a baby in arms.
By dint of hearing it said that she was in love with Mario, Lauriane,
being persecuted to some extent in her own home, was driven, as it were
in spite of herself, to look upon that love as possible. So it was that
she admitted the idea of it when Mario was fifteen.
But she speedily rejected that idea again, for Mario at fifteen did not
seem as yet to distinguish between love and friendship. He was
respectful in his manner toward her, and at the same time familiar in
his speech after the fashion of a well-bred brother. He did not say a
word which could lead her to think that passion had revealed itself to
him. Sometimes, it is true, he flushed deeply when Lauriane suddenly
appeared in some place where he did not expect her, and he turned pale
when some new project of marriage for her was broached in his presence.
At least, Adamas so informed his master, and Mercedes confided the same
observations to Lucilio. But it may be that they were mistaken. The boy
was growing rapidly and reading a great deal; perhaps he had pains in
his head and limbs.
We will say but one word concerning this period, when Mario was fifteen
years of age and Lauriane nineteen. Their placid existence and tranquil
relations were so happily monotonous that we can find no traces thereof
in our documents concerning Briantes and La Motte-Seuilly.
We find there, however, mention of the marriage of Guillaume d'Ars to a
wealthy heiress of Dauphiné. The nuptials were celebrated in Berry, and
it does not appear that Lauriane's rejection of his suit had displeased
honest Guillaume, for she was of the party, as were the Bois-Dorés.
A year later, in 1626, the lives of our characters are more clearly
outlined. That was the epoch of the baptism of Monseigneur le Duc
d'Enghien--afterward the great Condé--which hastened the course of
events for them.
This baptism took place at Bourges on the 5th of May. The young prince
was then about five years of age. The splendid festivities in connection
with the ceremony attracted all the nobility and all the bourgeoisie of
the province.
The Marquis de Bois-Doré, who had at last secured the salutary
indifference, if not the dangerous favor of Condé and the Jesuit
faction, yielded to the wishes of Mario, who was curious to see a little
of the world, and to his own inclinations, which led him to exhibit his
heir under more favorable circumstances than in 1622, when he was in a
very painful and disquieting situation.
LXVII
When his mind was once made up, Bois-Doré, who could do nothing by
halves, employed Adamas's genius and industry for a whole month in
superintending the preparation of the splendid costumes and sumptuous
equipages which he proposed to exhibit before the court and the city.
The supply of horses and gorgeous accoutrements was replenished; they
made investigations concerning the new styles. They exerted themselves
to eclipse all rivals. The old nobleman, still erect on his legs and
straight of back, still becurled and anointed, still in good health and
young in fancy, chose to be dressed in the same fabrics cut in the same
style as his _grandson's_. So Mario was called at court, because the
prince, seeking to jest pleasantly with Bois-Doré, and forgetting the
degree of kinship between the Beaux Messieurs, asked him if it was from
economy that he dressed his grandson in the clippings of his own
clothes. Mario understood the great vassal's contempt, and felt more of
a royalist than ever.
Lauriane also had expressed a wish to see a very great fête for the
first time in her life. As her father had taken no part in the new
uprising of the Huguenots, and, moreover, as a new treaty of peace had
been signed within three months, they could appear at Bourges without
risk. It was agreed that they should all go together.
Magnificent banquets, banners with Latin distichs and anagrams in honor
of the little prince, regiments of children, in brave array and
exceedingly well drilled, for his escort, the singing of motets,
speeches by the magistrates, presentation of the keys of the city,
concerts, dances, a play given by the Jesuit college, angels descending
from triumphal arches and presenting rich gifts to the young duke--that
is to say, to monsieur his father, who would not have been content with
sweetmeats,--manœuvres by the militia, ceremonial functions and
merry-makings--all this lasted five days.
They saw many great personages there.
The comely and famous Montmorency--whom Richelieu afterward sent to the
scaffold--and the Dowager Princesse de Condé--called the
poisoner--represented the godfather and godmother, who were no others
than the King and Queen of France. Monseigneur le Duc received baptism
in the _chrémeau_--a little cap trimmed with precious stones--and a
long dress of cloth of silver. The Prince de Condé wore a gray coat all
stamped with gold and silver.
The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré were invited by Monsieur Biet to take
their places on the platform reserved for the higher nobility, not
because they were among the best friends of the little court, but
because of their rich attire, which did honor to the spectacle.
Mario's beauty attracted even more notice than his costume.
Lauriane heard the ladies--notably the little prince's youthful and
lovely mother--call attention to the beautiful boy's charms. She felt
disturbed for the first time, as if she were jealous of the glances and
smiles of which he was the recipient.
Mario paid no heed to them. He looked at the princely child with
curiosity. He was ugly and of sickly aspect; but there was much
intelligence in his eyes and resolution in his gestures.
On the 6th of May, as our friends were preparing to depart, De Beuvre
led the marquis aside.
They had been sojourning at the house of a friend.
"Look you," said he, "we must have done with this, and come to some
decision."
"Have a little patience. The horses will soon be ready," replied
Bois-Doré, thinking that he was in haste to start for home.
"You do not understand me, neighbor; I say that we must make up our
minds to marry our children, since that is their idea and our own. I
must tell you that I am about to make another journey. I came here only
to make arrangements with certain people who assure me of excellent
opportunities in England, and if I must entrust my Lauriane to you once
more, it will be quite as well that she should be married to your heir.
It is an excellent chance for him; for my vessels are in a fair way to
multiply, so I am told, and the peace will simply double the
opportunities of Anglo-Protestant piracy. So that my daughter might have
aspired to better men than you, as to name and wealth, but not as to
heart; and as the trouble of taking care of her will interfere with my
taking proper care of my business, I desire, on resuming my freedom of
action, to place my Lauriane in good hands. So say yes and let us hasten
matters."
The marquis was staggered by this proposition, which. Monsieur de Beuvre
had seemed little inclined to receive favorably during the past four
years, if it had been made to him. But it did not require much
reflection to convince him of the impropriety of this plan, and of
Lauriane's father's selfish heedlessness. Bois-Doré was often heedless
himself, often injudicious; but he was a father in the truest sense, and
Mario in love and married at sixteen seemed to him to be in a more
perilous situation than Mario romantically and conjugally inclined at
eleven.
"You cannot mean it," he replied; "let our children be betrothed, if you
please; but as to marrying them, it is altogether too soon."
"That is what I meant," said De Beuvre. "Let them be betrothed, and do
you take my daughter with you once more. You can watch over the lovers,
and in two or three years I will return for the wedding."
Bois-Doré was romantic enough to yield; and yet he hesitated. He had
forgotten all about love, about its tempests at all events. But a glance
from Adamas, who pretended to be arranging the luggage, and who was
listening intently with both ears, reminded him of the flushes and
pallors he had noticed on Mario's face, which might be the manifestation
of suffering carefully concealed.
"No, no," he said. "I will not put my child beside the fire; I will not
expose him to the risk of burning up or disobeying the laws of honor.
Abide in your château, neighbor, and let us be prudent. You are rich
enough. Let us exchange oaths, without the knowledge of our children.
Why deprive either of them of sleep? Three years hence we will make them
happy without perplexity or self-reproach."
De Beuvre realized that ambition and greed had led him to make an absurd
suggestion. But he had become obstinate and choleric. He lost his
temper, refused to give his word, and decided to take his daughter to
Poitou, to her kinswoman the Duchesse de la Trémouille.