Canolles had formed no definite plan of action. Once in his own
quarters he began to stride rapidly back and forth, as undecided folk
are wont to do, without noticing that Castorin, who was awaiting his
return, rose when he saw him, and was following him, holding in his
hands a _robe de chambre_, behind which he was hardly visible.
Castorin stumbled over a chair and Canolles turned about.
"Well," said he, "what are you doing with that _robe de chambre?_"
"I am waiting for monsieur to take off his coat."
"I don't know when I shall take off my coat. Put the _robe de chambre_
on a chair and wait."
"What! monsieur does not propose to take off his coat?" queried
Castorin, who was by nature a capricious rascal, but seemed on this
occasion more intractable than ever. "Monsieur does not intend to
retire at once?"
"No."
"When does monsieur intend to retire, pray?"
"What's that to you?"
"It's a great deal to me, as I am very tired."
"Ah! indeed!" exclaimed Canolles, pausing in his walk, and looking
Castorin in the face, "you are very tired, are you?"
It was easy to read upon the lackey's face the impertinent expression
common to all servants who are dying with the longing to be turned out
of doors.
Canolles shrugged his shoulders.
"Go and wait in the antechamber," said he; "when I have need of you I
will ring."
"I forewarn monsieur that if he delays long, he will not find me in the
antechamber."
"Where shall you be, I pray to know?"
"In my bed. It seems to me that after travelling two hundred leagues it
is high time to go to bed."
"Monsieur Castorin," said Canolles, "you are a clown."
"If monsieur considers a clown unworthy to be his servant, monsieur has
but to say the word, and I will relieve him of my services," rejoined
Castorin, with his most majestic air.
Canolles was not in a patient mood, and if Castorin had possessed the
power to catch a glimpse even of the shadow of the storm that was
brewing in his master's mind, it is certain that, however anxious he
might have been to be free, he would have chosen another time to hazard
the suggestion. Canolles walked up to him, and took one of the buttons
of his doublet between his thumb and forefinger,--the familiar trick,
long afterwards, of a much greater man than poor Canolles ever was.
"Say that again," said he.
"I say," rejoined Castorin with unabated impudence, "that if monsieur
is not content with me I will relieve monsieur of my services."
Canolles let go the button, and went gravely to get his cane. Castorin
was not slow to grasp the meaning of that manœuvre.
"Monsieur," he cried, "beware what you do! I am no longer a common
valet; I am in the service of Madame la Princesse!"
"Oho!" said Canolles, lowering the cane which was already in the air;
"oho! you are in the service of Madame la Princesse?"
"Yes, monsieur, since half an hour ago."
"Who engaged you to take service with her?"
"Monsieur Pompée, her intendant."
"Monsieur Pompée?"
"Yes."
"Well! why didn't you tell me so at once?" cried Canolles. "Yes, yes,
my dear Castorin, you are quite right to leave my service, and here
are two pistoles to indemnify you for the blows I was on the point of
giving you."
"Oh!" ejaculated Castorin, not daring to take the money; "what does
that mean? Is monsieur making sport of me?"
"Not so. On the contrary I bid you by all means be Madame la
Princesse's servant. When is your service to begin, by the way?"
"From the moment that monsieur gives me my liberty."
"Very well; I give you your liberty from to-morrow morning."
"And until then?"
"Until to-morrow morning you are my servant and must obey me."
"Willingly! What are monsieur's orders?" said Castorin, deciding to
take the two pistoles.
"I order you, as you are so desirous to sleep, to undress and get into
my bed."
"What? what is monsieur's meaning? I do not understand,"
"You don't need to understand, but simply to obey. Undress at once; I
will assist you."
"Monsieur will assist me?"
"To be sure; as you are to play the part of the Baron de Canolles, I
must needs play the part of Castorin."
Thereupon, without awaiting his servant's leave, the baron removed his
doublet and hat and put them on himself, and locking the door upon him
before he had recovered from his surprise, ran rapidly downstairs.
He was at last beginning to see through the mystery, although certain
parts of it were still enveloped in mist. For two hours past it
had seemed to him as if nothing of all that he had seen or heard
was perfectly natural. The attitude of every one at Chantilly was
constrained and stiff; everybody that he met seemed to be playing
a part, and yet the various details all seemed to harmonize in a
way which indicated to the queen's envoy that he must redouble his
watchfulness if he did not choose to be himself the victim of some
grand mystification.
The presence of Pompée in conjunction with that of the Vicomte de
Cambes cleared away many doubts, and the few which still remained
in Canolles' mind were completely dissipated when, as he left the
court-yard, he saw, notwithstanding the profound darkness of the night,
four men coming toward him and about to enter the door through which
he had just passed. They were led by the same valet who ushered him
into the presence of the princess. Another man wrapped in a great cloak
followed behind.
The little party halted in the doorway awaiting the orders of the man
in the cloak.
"You know where he lodges," said the latter, in an imperious tone,
addressing the valet, "and you know him, for you introduced him. Do
you watch him, therefore, and see that he doesn't leave his apartment;
station your men on the stairway, in the corridor, anywhere, so that,
without suspecting it, he may be watched himself, instead of watching
their Highnesses."
Canolles made himself more invisible than a ghost in the darkest corner
he could find; from there, unseen himself, he saw his five keepers pass
through the door, while the man in the cloak, having made sure that
they were carrying out his orders, returned the same way that he came.
"This gives me no very definite information," said Canolles to himself
as he looked after him, "for it may be simply their indignation that
leads them to return like for like. If that devil of a Castorin won't
cry out or do some idiotic thing! I did wrong not to gag him; unluckily
it's too late now. Well, I must commence my round."
With that, Canolles cast a keen glance around, then crossed the
court-yard to that wing of the building behind which the stables were
located.
All the life of the château seemed to have taken refuge in that
locality. He could hear horses pawing the ground, and hurried
footsteps. In the harness-room there was a great clashing of bits
and spurs. Carriages were being rolled out of the sheds, and voices,
stifled by apprehension, but which could be distinguished by listening
attentively, were calling and answering one another. Canolles stood
still for a moment listening. There was no room for doubt that
preparations for departure were in progress.
He swiftly traversed the distance between the wings, passed through an
arched gateway, and reached the front of the château.
There he stopped.
The windows of the ground-floor apartments were too brilliantly
illuminated for him not to divine that a large number of torches were
lighted inside, and as they went and came, causing great patches of
light to sweep across the level turf, Canolles understood that that was
the centre of activity, and the true seat of the enterprise.
He hesitated at first to pry into the secret which they were trying to
hide from him. But he reflected that his position as an agent of the
queen, and the responsibility thereby imposed upon him, would excuse
many things to the satisfaction of the most scrupulous conscience. So
he crept cautiously along the wall, the base of which was made all
the darker by the brilliantly lighted windows, which were some six or
seven feet from the ground. He stepped upon a stepping-stone, thence
to a projection in the wall, clung with one hand to a ring, with the
other to the window-sill, and darted through a corner of the window
the keenest and most searching glance that ever made its way into the
sanctuary of a conspiracy.
This is what he saw.
A woman standing before a toilet-table and putting in place the last
pin necessary to hold her travelling-hat upon her head, and near by,
several maids dressing a child in hunting costume. The child's back was
turned to Canolles, and he could see nothing but his long, blond curls.
But the light of two six-branched candelabra, held upon either side of
the toilet-table by footmen in the attitude of caryatides, shone full
upon the lady's face, in which Canolles at once recognized the original
of the portrait he had recently examined in the half-light of the
princess's apartment. There were the long face, the stern mouth, the
imperiously curved nose of the woman whose living image stood before
Canolles. Everything about her betokened the habit of domination,--her
imperious gesture, her sparkling eye, the abrupt movement of her head.
In like manner everything in the bearing of those about her betokened
the habit of unquestioning obedience,--their frequent bowing, the
haste with which they ran to bring whatever she might ask for,
their promptness in responding to the voice of their sovereign, or
anticipating her commands.
Several officials of the household, among whom Canolles recognized the
_valet de chambre_, were pouring into portmanteaux, trunks, and chests,
some jewels, others money, and others the various portions of that
woman's arsenal known as the toilet. The little prince, meanwhile, was
playing about among the assiduous servitors, but by a strange fatality
Canolles was unable to catch a glimpse of his face.
"I suspected it," he muttered; "they are putting a trick upon me, and
these people are making preparations to go away. Very good: but I can
with a wave of my hand change this scene of mystification into a scene
of lamentation; I have only to run out upon the terrace and blow this
silver whistle three times, and in five minutes two hundred men will
have burst into the château in answer to its shrill blast, will have
arrested the princesses and bound all these fellows hand and foot who
are laughing together so slyly. Yes," he continued, but now it was
his heart that spoke rather than his lips; "yes, but I should bring
irretrievable ruin upon that other, who is sleeping, or pretending to
sleep, over yonder; she will hate me, and it will be no more than I
deserve. Worse than all, she will despise me, saying that I have acted
the spy to the end--and yet, if she obeys the princess, why should not
I obey the queen?"
At that moment, as if chance were determined to combat these symptoms
of returning resolution, a door of the apartment where the princess
was dressing opened, and gave admittance to two persons, a man of fifty
years and a woman of twenty, who hurried in with joyful faces. At that
sight Canolles' whole heart passed into his eyes, for he recognized
the lovely hair, the fresh lips, the speaking eye of the Vicomte de
Cambes, as that individual, with smiling face, respectfully kissed the
hand of Clémence de Maillé, Princesse de Condé. But on this occasion
the viscount wore the garments of her own sex, and made the loveliest
viscountess on the face of the earth.
Canolles would have given ten years of his life to hear their
conversation; but to no purpose did he glue his ear to the glass; an
unintelligible buzzing was all that he could hear. He saw the princess
bid the younger woman adieu, and kiss her on the brow, saying as she
did so something which made all the others laugh; he then saw the
viscountess return to the state apartments with some inferior officials
clothed in the uniforms of their superiors. He even saw the worthy
Pompée, swollen with pride, in orange coat trimmed with silver-lace,
strutting about with noble mien, and like Don Jophet of Armenia,
leaning upon the hilt of an enormous rapier, in attendance upon his
mistress, as she gracefully raised the train of her long satin robe.
Then, through another door at the left, the princess's escort began to
file out noiselessly, led by Madame de Condé herself, whose bearing was
that of a queen, not of a fugitive. Next to her came Vialas, carrying
in his arms the little Duc d'Enghien, wrapped in a cloak; then Lenet,
carrying a carved casket and divers bundles of papers, and last of
all the intendant of the château, closing the procession, which was
preceded by two officers with drawn swords.
They all left the room by a secret passageway. Canolles immediately
leaped down from his post of observation and ran to the gateway, where
the lights had meanwhile been extinguished; and he saw the whole
cortège pass silently through on the way to the stables; the hour of
departure was at hand.
At that moment Canolles thought only of the duties imposed upon him by
the mission with which the queen had intrusted him. In the person of
this woman who was about to leave the château, he was allowing armed
civil war to go abroad and gnaw once more at the entrails of France.
Certes, it was a shameful thing for him, a man, to become a spy upon a
woman, and her keeper; but the Duchesse de Longueville, who set fire to
the four corners of France, she was a woman too.
Canolles rushed toward the terrace, which overlooked the park, and put
the silver whistle to his lips.
It would have been all up with the preparations for departure! Madame
de Condé would not have left Chantilly, or, if she had done so,
would not have taken a hundred steps before she and her escort were
surrounded by a force thrice her own; and thus Canolles would have
fulfilled his mission without the least danger to himself; thus, at
a single blow, he would have destroyed the fortune and the future of
the house of Condé, and would by the same blow have built up his own
fortune upon the ruins of theirs, and have laid the foundations of
future grandeur, as the Vitrys and Luynes did in the old days, and more
recently the Guitauts and Miossens, under circumstances which were
perhaps of less moment to the welfare of the realm.
But Canolles raised his eyes to the apartment where the soft, sad light
of the night-lamp shone behind curtains of red velvet, and he fancied
that he could see the shadow of his beloved outlined upon the great
white window-blinds.
Thereupon all his resolutions, all his selfish arguments faded away
before the gentle beams of that light, as the dreams and phantoms of
the night fade away before the first beams of the rising sun.
"Monsieur de Mazarin," he said to himself in a passionate outburst, "is
so rich that he can afford to lose all these princes and princesses
who seek to escape him; but I am not rich enough to lose the treasure
which belongs henceforth to me, and which I will guard as jealously as
a dragon. At this moment she is alone, in my power, dependent upon me;
at any hour of the day or night I can enter her apartment; she will not
fly without telling me, for I have her sacred word. What care I though
the queen be deceived and Monsieur de Mazarin lose his temper? I was
told to watch Madame la Princesse, and I am watching her. They should
have given me her description or have set a more practised spy than
myself upon her."
With that, Canolles put the whistle in his pocket, listened to the
grinding of the bolts, heard the distant rumbling of the carriages
over the bridge in the park, and the clattering of many horses'
hoofs, growing gradually fainter, until it died away altogether. When
everything had disappeared, when there was nothing more to see or hear,
heedless of the fact that he was staking his life against a woman's
love,--that is to say, against a mere shadow of happiness,--he glided
into the second deserted court-yard, and cautiously ascended the
staircase leading to his apartment, the darkness being unrelieved by
the faintest gleam of light.
But, cautious as his movements were, when he reached the corridor he
unavoidably stumbled against a person who was apparently listening at
his door, and who uttered a muffled cry of alarm.
"Who are you? Who are you?" demanded the person in question, in a
frightened voice.
"_Pardieu!_" said Canolles, "who are you yourself, who prowl about this
staircase like a spy?"
"I am Pompée."
"Madame la Princesse's intendant?"
"Yes, yes,-Madame la Princesse's intendant."
"Ah! that's a lucky chance; I am Castorin."
"Castorin, Monsieur de Canolles' valet?"
"Himself."
"Ah! my dear Castorin," said Pompée, "I'll wager that I gave you a good
fright."
"Fright?"
"Yes! _Dame!_ when one has never been a soldier--Can I do anything for
you, my dear friend?" continued Pompée, resuming his air of importance.
"Yes."
"Tell me what it is."
"You can inform Madame la Princesse immediately that my master desires
to speak with her."
"At this hour?"
"Even so."
"Impossible!"
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"Then she will not receive my master?"
"No."
"By order of the king, Monsieur Pompée! Go and tell her that."
"By order of the king!" cried Pompée. "I will go."
He ran precipitately downstairs, impelled at once by respect and fear,
two greyhounds which are quite capable of making a tortoise run at
their pace.
Canolles kept on and entered his room, where he found Castorin snoring
lustily, stretched out magisterially in a large easy-chair. He resumed
his uniform and awaited the result of his latest step.
"'Faith!" he said to himself, "if I don't do Monsieur de Mazarin's
business very successfully, it seems to me that I don't do badly with
my own."
He waited in vain, however, for Pompée's return; and after ten minutes,
finding that he did not come, nor any other in his stead, he resolved
to present himself unannounced. He therefore aroused Monsieur Castorin,
whose bile was soothed by an hour's sleep, bade him, in a tone which
admitted no reply, to be ready for any thing that might happen, and
bent his steps toward the princess's apartments.
At the door he found a footman in very ill humor, because the bell rang
just as his service was at an end, and he was looking forward, like
Monsieur Castorin, to a refreshing slumber after the fatiguing day.
"What do you wish, monsieur?" he asked when he saw Canolles.
"I request the honor of paying my respects to Madame la Princesse."
"At this hour, monsieur?"
"What's that? 'at this hour'?"
"Yes, it seems to me very late."
"How dare you say that, villain?"
"But, monsieur--" stammered the footman.
"I no longer request, I demand," said Canolles, in a supremely haughty
tone.
"You demand? Only Madame la Princesse gives orders here."
"The king gives orders everywhere. By the king's order!"
The lackey shuddered and hung his head.
"Pardon, monsieur," he said, trembling from head to foot, "but I am
only a poor servant, and cannot take it upon myself to open Madame la
Princesse's door; permit me to go and awaken a chamberlain."
"Are the chamberlains accustomed to retire at eleven o'clock at the
château of Chantilly?"
"They hunted all day," faltered the footman.
"In truth," muttered Canolles, "I must give them time to dress some one
as a chamberlain. Very well," he added aloud; "go; I will wait."
The footman started off on the run to carry the alarm through the
château, where Pompée, terrified beyond measure by his unfortunate
encounter, had already sown unspeakable dismay.
Canolles, left to his own devices, pricked up his ears and opened his
eyes.
He heard much running to and fro in the salons and corridors; he saw
by the light of expiring torches men armed with muskets taking their
places at the angles of the stairways; on all sides he felt that the
silence of stupefaction which reigned throughout the château a moment
before was succeeded by a threatening murmur.
Canolles put his hand to his whistle and drew near a window, whence
he could see the dark mass of the trees, at the foot of which he had
stationed the two hundred men he brought with him.
"No," said he, "that would simply lead to a pitched battle, and that is
not what I want. It's much better to wait; the worst that can happen to
me by waiting is to be murdered, while if I act hastily I may ruin her."
Canolles had no sooner come to the end of this reflection than the
door opened and a new personage appeared upon the scene.
"Madame la Princesse is not visible," said this personage, so hurriedly
that he had not time to salute the gentleman; "she is in bed, and has
given positive orders that no one be admitted."
"Who are you?" said Canolles, eying the new-comer from head to foot.
"And who taught you to speak to a gentleman with your hat on your head?"
As he asked the question Canolles coolly removed the man's hat with the
end of his cane.
"Monsieur!" cried the latter, stepping back with dignity.
"I asked you who you are."
"I am--I am, as you can see by my uniform, captain of her Highness's
guards."
Canolles smiled. He had had time to scrutinize his interlocutor, and
saw that he was dealing with some butler with a paunch as round as
his bottles, some prosperous Vatel imprisoned in an official doublet,
which, from lack of time, or superabundance of belly, was not properly
secured.
"Very good, master captain of the guards," said Canolles, "pick up your
hat and answer."
The captain executed the first branch of Canolles' injunction like one
who had studied that excellent maxim of military discipline: "To know
how to command, one must know how to obey."
"Captain of the guards!" continued Canolles. "_Peste!_ that's a fine
post to hold!"
"Why, yes, monsieur, well enough; but what then?" observed that
official, drawing himself up.
"Don't swell out so much, Monsieur le Capitaine," said Canolles, "or
you will burst off the last button, and your breeches will fall down
about your heels, which would be most disgraceful."
"But who are you, monsieur?" demanded the pretended captain, taking his
turn at asking questions.
"Monsieur, I will follow the example of urbanity set by you, and will
answer your question as you answered mine. I am captain in the regiment
of Navailles, and I come hither in the king's name as his ambassador,
clothed with powers--which will be exerted in a peaceful or violent
manner, according as his Majesty's commands are or are not obeyed."
"Violent!" cried the pretended captain. "In a violent manner?"
"Very violent, I give you warning."
"Even where her Highness is personally concerned?"
"Why not? Her Highness is his Majesty's first subject, nothing more."
"Monsieur, do not resort to force; I have fifty men-at-arms ready to
avenge her Highness's honor."
Canolles did not choose to tell him that his fifty men-at-arms were
simply footmen and scullions, fit troops to serve under such a leader,
and that, so far as the princess's honor was concerned, it was at that
moment riding along the Bordeaux road with the princess.
He replied simply, with that indifferent air which is more terrifying
than an open threat, and is familiar to brave men and those who are
accustomed to danger:--
"If you have fifty men-at-arms, Monsieur le Capitaine, I have two
hundred soldiers, who form the advance-guard of the royal army. Do you
propose to put yourself in open rebellion against his Majesty?"
"No, monsieur, no!" the stout man hastened to reply, sadly crestfallen;
"God forbid! but I beg you to bear me witness that I yield to force
alone."
"That is the least I can do for you as your brother-in-arms."
"Very well; then I will take you to Madame the Princess Dowager, who is
not yet asleep."
Canolles had no need to reflect to appreciate the terrible danger that
lay hidden in this snare; but he turned it aside without ceremony,
thanks to his omnipotence.
"My orders are, not to see Madame the Princess Dowager, but the younger
princess."
The captain of the guards once more bent his head, imparted a
retrograde movement to his great legs, trailed his long sword across
the floor, and stalked majestically through the door between two
sentries, who stood trembling there throughout the scene we have
described, and were very near quitting their post when they heard of
the presence of two hundred men,--so little disposed were they to
become martyrs to fidelity in the sacking of the château of Chantilly.
Ten minutes later the captain returned, followed by two guards, and
with wearisome formality undertook to escort Canolles to the apartment
of the princess, to which he was at last introduced without further
delay.
He recognized the room itself, the furniture, the bed, and even the
perfume, but he looked in vain for two things: the portrait of the true
princess which he had noticed at the time of his first visit, and to
which he owed his first suspicion of the trick they proposed to play
him; and the figure of the false princess, for whom he had made so
great a sacrifice.
The portrait had been removed; and as a precautionary measure, somewhat
tardily adopted, the face of the person on the bed was turned toward
the wall with true princely impertinence. Two women were standing in
the passage between the bed and the wall.
The gentleman would willingly have passed over this lack of courtesy;
but as the thought came to his mind that possibly some new substitution
had enabled Madame de Cambes to take flight as the princess had done,
his hair stood on end with dismay, and he determined to make sure at
once of the identity of the person who occupied the bed, by exerting
the supreme power with which he was clothed by his mission.
"Madame," said he with a low bow, "I ask your Highness's pardon for
presenting myself at this hour, especially after I had given you my
word that I would await your commands; but I have noticed a great stir
in the château--"
The person in the bed started, but did not reply. Canolles looked in
vain for some indication that the woman before him was really the one
he sought, but amid the billows of lace and the soft mass of quilts
and coverlets it was impossible for him to do anything more than
distinguish a recumbent form.
"And," he continued, "I owe it to myself to satisfy myself that this
bed still contains the same person with whom I had the honor of half an
hour's conversation."
These words were followed, not by a simple start, but by a downright
contortion of terror. The movement did not escape the notice of
Canolles, who was alarmed by it.
"If she has deceived me," he thought, "if, despite her solemn promise,
she has fled, I will leave the château. I will take horse, I will
place myself at the head of my two hundred men, and I will capture my
runaways, though I have to set fire to thirty villages to light my
road."
He waited a moment longer; but the person in the bed did not speak or
turn toward him; it was evident that she wished to gain time.
"Madame," said Canolles, at last giving vent to a feeling of
impatience, which he had not the courage to conceal, "I beg your
Highness to remember that I am sent hither by the king, and in the
king's name I demand the honor of seeing your face."
"Oh! this inquisition is unendurable," exclaimed a trembling voice,
which sent a thrill of joy through the young officer's veins; for he
recognized therein a quality which no other voice could counterfeit.
"If it is, as you say, the king who compels you to act thus, the king
is still a mere child, and does not yet know the duties of a gentleman;
to force a woman to show her face is no less insulting than to snatch
away her mask."
"There is a phrase, madame, before which women bend the knee when it is
uttered by a king, and kings when it is uttered by destiny. That phrase
is: '_It must be._'"
"Very well, since it must be, since I am alone and helpless against the
king's order and his messenger's persistence, I obey, monsieur; look at
me."
Thereupon the rampart of pillows, bed-clothes, and laces which
protected the fair besieged was suddenly put aside, and through the
improvised breach appeared the blond head and lovely face which the
voice led him to expect to see,--the cheeks flushed with shame, rather
than with indignation. With the swift glance of a man accustomed to
equivalent, if not strictly similar situations, Canolles satisfied
himself that it was not anger which kept those eyes, veiled by velvety
eyelashes, bent upon the ground, or made that white hand tremble, as it
confined the rebellious waves of hair upon an alabaster neck.
The pseudo-princess remained for an instant in that attitude, which she
would have liked to make threatening, but which expressed nothing more
than vexation, while Canolles gazed at her, breathing ecstatically, and
repressing with both hands the tumultuous, joyful beating of his heart.
"Well, monsieur," said the ill-used fair one after a few seconds of
silence, "has my humiliation gone far enough? Have you scrutinized me
at your leisure? Your triumph is complete, is it not? Show yourself a
generous victor, then, and retire."
"I would be glad to do so, madame; but I must carry out my instructions
to the end. Thus far I have performed only that part of my mission
which concerns your Highness; but it is not enough to have seen you; I
must now see Monsieur le Duc d'Enghien."
A terrible silence followed these words, uttered in the tone of a man
who knows that he has the right to command, and who proposes to be
obeyed. The false princess raised herself in bed, leaning upon her
hand, and fixed upon Canolles one of those strange glances which seemed
to belong to none but her, they expressed so many things at once. It
seemed to say: "Have you recognized me? Do you know who I really am? If
you know, forgive me and spare me; you are the stronger, so take pity
on me."
Canolles understood all that her glance said to him; but he hardened
himself against its seductive eloquence, and answered it in spoken
words:--
"Impossible, madame; my orders are explicit."
"Let everything be done as you choose, then, monsieur, as you have no
consideration for rank or position. Go; these ladies will take you to
my son's bedside."
"Might not these ladies, instead of taking me to your son, bring your
son to you, madame? It seems to me that that would be infinitely
preferable."
"Why so, monsieur?" inquired the false princess, evidently more
disturbed by this latest request than by any previous one.,
"Because, in the meantime, I could communicate to your Highness a part
of my mission which must be communicated to you alone."
"To me alone?"
"To you alone," Canolles replied, with a lower reverence than any he
had achieved as yet.
The princess's expression, which had changed from dignity to
supplication, and from supplication to anxiety, now changed once more
to abject terror, as she fixed her eyes upon Canolles' face.
"What is there to alarm you so in the idea of a _tête-à-tête_ with me,
madame?" said he. "Are you not a princess, and am not I a gentleman?"
"Yes, you are right, monsieur, and I am wrong to be alarmed. Yes,
although I now have the pleasure of seeing you for the first time, your
reputation as a courteous, loyal gentleman has come to my ears. Go,
mesdames, and bring Monsieur le Duc d'Enghien to me."
The two women came forth from the passage beside the bed, and walked
toward the door; they turned once to be sure that the order was
intended to be obeyed, and at a gesture confirming the words of their
mistress, or of her _locum tenens_, left the room.
Canolles looked after them until they had closed the door. Then his
eyes, sparkling with joy, returned to the princess.
"Tell me, Monsieur de Canolles," said she, sitting up and folding her
hands, "tell me why you persecute me thus."
As she spoke she looked at the young officer, not with the haughty gaze
of a princess, which she had tried with but poor success, but with a
look so touching and so full of meaning that all the details of their
first meeting, all the intoxicating episodes of the journey, all the
memories of his nascent love came rushing over him, and enveloped his
heart as with perfumed vapor.
"Madame," said he, stepping toward the bed, "it is Madame de Condé whom
I am here to watch in the king's name,--not you, who are not Madame de
Condé."
The young woman to whom these words were addressed gave a little
shriek, became pale as death, and pressed one of her hands against her
heart.
"What do you mean, monsieur?" she cried; "who do you think I am?"
"Oh! as for that," retorted Canolles, "I should be much embarrassed to
explain; for I would be almost willing to swear that you are the most
charming of viscounts were you not the most adorable of viscountesses."
"Monsieur," said the pretended princess, hoping to awe Canolles by
reasserting her dignity, "of all you say to me I understand but one
thing, and that is that you insult me!"
"Madame," said Canolles, "we do not fail in respect to God because we
adore him. We do not insult angels because we kneel before them."
And Canolles bent forward as if to fall on his knees.
"Monsieur," said the countess, hastily, checking him with a
gesture,--"monsieur, the Princesse de Condé cannot suffer--"
"The Princesse de Condé, madame, is at this moment riding along the
Bordeaux road on a good horse, accompanied by Monsieur Vialas her
equerry, Monsieur Lenet her adviser, her gentlemen in waiting, her
officers, her whole household, in short; and she has no concern in
what is taking place between the Baron de Canolles and the Vicomte, or
Vicomtesse, de Cambes."
"What are you saying, monsieur? Are you mad?"
"No, madame; I am simply telling you what I have myself seen and heard."
"In that case, if you have seen and heard all that you say, your
mission should be at an end."
"You think so, madame? Must I then return to Paris, and confess to the
queen that, rather than grieve the woman whom I love (I name no one,
madame, so do not look so angrily at me), I have violated her orders,
allowed her enemy to escape, and closed my eyes to what I saw,--that I
have, in a word, betrayed, yes, betrayed the cause of my king?"
The viscountess seemed to be touched, and gazed at the baron with
almost tender compassion.
"Have you not the best of all excuses," said she, "the impossibility of
doing otherwise? Could you, alone, stop Madame la Princesse's imposing
escort? Do your orders bid you to fight fifty gentlemen single-handed?"
"I was not alone, madame," said Canolles, shaking his head. "I had,
and still have, in the woods yonder, not five hundred yards away, two
hundred soldiers, whom I can summon in a moment by blowing my whistle.
It would have been a simple matter, therefore, for me to stop Madame la
Princesse, who would have found resistance of no avail. But even if the
force under my command had been weaker than her escort, instead of four
times stronger, I could still have fought, and sold my life dearly.
That would have been as easy to me," the young man continued, bending
forward more and more, "as it would be sweet to me to touch that hand
if I dared."
The hand upon which the baron's glowing eyes were fixed, the soft,
plump, white hand, had fallen outside the bed, and moved nervously at
every word the baron spoke. The viscountess herself, blinded by the
electric current of love, the effects of which she had felt in the
little inn at Jaulnay, could not remember that she ought to withdraw
the hand which had furnished Canolles with so happy a simile; she
forgot her duty in the premises, and the young man, falling upon his
knees, put his lips timidly to the hand, which was sharply withdrawn at
the contact, as if a red-hot iron had burned it.
"Thanks, Monsieur de Canolles," said she. "I thank you from the bottom
of my heart for what you have done for me; believe that I shall never
forget it. But I pray you to double the value of the service by
realizing my position and leaving me. Must we not part, now that your
task is ended?"
This _we_, uttered in a tone so soft that it seemed to contain a shade
of regret, made the most secret fibres of Canolles' heart vibrate
painfully. Indeed, excessive joy is almost always accompanied by
something very like pain.
"I will obey, madame," said he; "but I will venture to observe, not
as a pretext for disobedience, but to spare you possible remorse
hereafter, that if I obey I am lost. The moment that I admit my error,
and cease to pretend to be deceived by your stratagem, I become the
victim of my good-nature. I am declared a traitor, imprisoned--shot, it
may be; and it will be no more than just, for I am a traitor."
Claire cried out in dismay, and herself seized Canolles' hand, which
she immediately let fall again with charming confusion.
"Then what are _we_ to do?"
The young man's heart swelled. That blessed _we_ seemed in a fair way
to become Madame de Cambes' favorite pronoun.
"What! ruin you!--you, who are so kind and generous!" she exclaimed. "I
ruin you? Oh! never! At what sacrifice can I save you? Tell me! tell
me!"
"You must permit me, madame, to play my part to the end. It is
essential, as I told you but now, that I seem to be your dupe, and that
I report to Monsieur de Mazarin what I _see_, not what I know."
"Yes, but if it is discovered that you have done all this for me, that
we have met before, that you have seen my face, then I shall be the one
to be ruined: do not forget that!"
"Madame," said Canolles, with admirably simulated melancholy, "I do not
think, judging from your coldness, and the dignity which it costs you
so little to maintain in my presence, that you are likely to divulge a
secret which, after all, has no existence in your heart, at all events."
Claire made no reply; but a fleeting glance, an almost imperceptible
smile, replied in a way to make Canolles the happiest of men.
"I may remain, then?" he said, with an indescribable smile.
"Since it must be so!" was the reply.
"In that case, I must write to Monsieur de Mazarin."
"Yes, go."
"What's that?"
"I told you to go and write to him."
"Not so. I must write to him here, from your room; I must date my
letter at the foot of your bed."
"But it's not proper."
"Here are my instructions, madame; read them for yourself."