This blissful day came to an end at last, as every dream must do; the
hours had passed like seconds to the thrice happy gentleman, and yet
it seemed to him as if enough memorable incidents were crowded into
that one day to fill three ordinary lives. Every avenue in the park was
enriched with the memory of a word or a smile from the viscountess;
a look, a gesture, a finger laid upon the lip, everything had its
meaning. As they stepped aboard the boat she pressed his hand; when
they stepped ashore again she leaned upon his arm; as they walked along
by the park wall, she was tired and sat down; and again and again, as a
thrill of pleasure swept like a lightning flash before the young man's
eyes, the landscape, lighted up by a fantastic gleam, was indelibly
imprinted on his mind in its least details.
Canolles was not to leave the viscountess during the day; at breakfast
she invited him to dinner, at dinner she invited him to supper.
Amid all the pomp which the pretended princess displayed in her
reception of the king's messenger, Canolles could discern the winning
attentions of the woman who loves. He forgot the valets, etiquette,
the world; he even forgot the promise he had given to take his
departure, and fancied himself installed for a blissful eternity in
this terrestrial paradise, of which he would be the Adam, and Madame de
Cambes the Eve.
But when night fell, when the supper came to an end, after passing off,
like all the other incidents of that day, in ineffable bliss, when a
maid of honor had duly introduced Monsieur Pierrot, still disguised as
the Duc d'Enghien, who seized the opportunity to eat as much as four
princes of the blood together would have done, when the clock began to
strike, and Madame de Cambes, glancing up at it, made sure that it was
about to strike ten times, she said, with a sigh:--
"Now it is time."
"Time for what?" rejoined Canolles, trying to smile, and to ward off a
great disaster by a jest.
"Time to keep the promise you gave me."
"Ah! madame," said Canolles, sadly, "you forget nothing, do you?"
"Perhaps I might have forgotten, like yourself; but here is something
that refreshes my memory;" and she took from her pocket a letter that
was handed her just as they took their seats at the table.
"From whom is that letter?" queried Canolles.
"From Madame la Princesse, who bids me join her."
"I understand that this is a mere pretext! I am grateful to you for
showing me such consideration."
"Make no mistake, Monsieur de Canolles," rejoined the viscountess,
taking no pains to conceal her sadness. "Had I not received this
letter, I should have reminded you of your promise at the proper time,
just as I have done now. Do you think that the people about us can much
longer avoid detecting the understanding between us? Our relations, you
will agree, are not those of a persecuted princess with her persecutor.
But if this separation is so painful to you as you pretend, let me tell
you, Monsieur le Baron, that it rests with you to make it unnecessary
that we should separate."
"Say what you mean! oh, say!" cried Canolles.
"Do you not guess?"
"Yes, madame, I do, indeed; I cannot be mistaken. You mean to suggest
that I should espouse the cause of Madame la Princesse."
"She speaks of it herself in this letter," said Madame de Cambes,
eagerly.
"I am glad that the idea did not originate with you, and I thank you
for the embarrassment with which you broached the subject. Not that my
conscience revolts at the thought of following this or that party; no,
I have no convictions; indeed, who, save those personally interested,
have convictions in this war? When the sword has once left the
scabbard, what care I whether the blow comes from one side or another?
I do not know the court, nor do I know the princes; with an independent
fortune and without ambition, I have no expectations from either party.
I am an officer, and that's the end of it."
"In that case you will consent to go with me?"
"No."
"But why not, pray, if things are as you say?"
"Because you would esteem me less."
"Is that the only obstacle?"
"My word for it."
"Then you need have no fear."
"You don't yourself believe what you are saying now," rejoined
Canolles, shaking his finger at her with a smile. "A turncoat is the
same thing as a traitor; the first word is a little softer, but they
are synonymous."
"Ah, well! perhaps you are right," said Madame de Cambes, "and I will
urge you no further. If you had been in any ordinary position I would
have tried to win you over to the cause of the princes; but as an envoy
of the king, intrusted with a confidential mission by her Majesty
the queen regent and the first minister of the crown, honored with
the good-will of Monsieur le Duc d'Épernon, who, notwithstanding the
suspicions I entertained at first, is your very zealous patron, so I am
told--"
Canolles blushed.
"I will say no more on that subject, but listen to me, baron; we do not
part forever, be sure; I have a presentiment that we shall meet again."
"Where?" asked Canolles.
"I have no idea; but meet again we certainly shall."
Canolles sadly shook his head.
"I dare not count upon it, madame," said he; "there is war between us,
and that is too great an obstacle when, at the same time, there is no
love."
"Pray, do you count this day as nothing?" asked the viscountess, in a
soul-thrilling tone.
"It is the only day that I am sure that I have lived since I came into
the world."
"Then you see that you are ungrateful."
"Grant me a second day like this one--"
"I cannot; I must leave Chantilly to-night."
"I don't ask it for to-morrow, nor for the day after to-morrow; I
simply ask you for some day in the future. Select whatever time you
choose, whatever place you choose, but give me a certainty to live
upon; I should suffer too much if I had naught but a hope."
"Where shall you go upon leaving me?"
"To Paris, to report upon the success of my mission."
"And then?"
"To the Bastille, perhaps."
"But assuming that you do not go there?"
"I shall return to Libourne, where my regiment should be."
"And I to Bordeaux, where I expect to find Madame la Princesse. Do you
know any out-of-the-way village on the road from Bordeaux to Libourne?"
"I know one, the memory of which is almost as dear to me as that of
Chantilly."
"Jaulnay?" queried the viscountess, with a smile.
"Jaulnay," echoed Canolles.
"Very well; I shall need four days to go to Jaulnay; it is now Tuesday.
I will stop there all day on Sunday."
"Oh! thanks, thanks!" cried Canolles, pressing against his lips a hand
which Madame de Cambes had not the courage to withdraw.
"Now," said she, after a moment's pause, "we must play out our little
comedy to the end."
"Ah, yes, madame; the comedy which is to cover me with ridicule in
the eyes of all Prance. But I have nothing to say; it was I who would
have it so, it was I who--I cannot say selected the part that I play
therein--but arranged the catastrophe which brings it to a close."
Madame de Cambes lowered her eyes.
"Now tell me what I have still to do," said Canolles, coolly; "I await
your orders, and am ready for anything."
Claire was so deeply moved that Canolles could see the velvet folds of
her dress rise and fall with the uneven, hurried beating of her heart.
"You are making a very great sacrifice for me, I know; but pray believe
me when I say that my gratitude will live forever. Yes, you are about
to incur disgrace at court for my sake, and to be severely censured.
Monsieur, care nothing for that, I beg you, if it affords you any
pleasure to know that you have made me happy."
"I will try, madame."
"Believe me, baron," continued Madame de Cambes, "the bitter grief
which I read upon your face causes me no less bitter remorse. It may
be that others would recompense you more fully than I; but, monsieur,
a recompense accorded so readily would not worthily pay for your
self-sacrifice."
As she spoke, Claire hung her head with a sigh.
"Is that all you have to say to me?"
"Stay," said the viscountess, taking from her breast a portrait which
she handed to Canolles; "take this portrait, and at every pang that
this unhappy affair causes you, look at it, and say to yourself that
you suffer for her whose image is before you, and that every such pang
is paid for in regret."
"Is that all?"
"In esteem."
"Is that all?"
"In sympathy."
"Ah! madame, one word more!" cried Canolles. "Why should it cost you so
dear to make me altogether happy?"
Claire stepped quickly toward him, put out her hand, and opened her
mouth to add:--
"In love."
But simultaneously with her mouth, the door was thrown open and the
pseudo-captain of the guards appeared upon the threshold, accompanied
by Pompée.
"I will finish at Jaulnay," said the viscountess.
"Your sentence, or your thought?"
"Both; one always expresses the other."
"Madame," said the captain of the guards, "your Highness's carriage is
waiting."
"Feign astonishment," said Claire, in an undertone.
"Where does your Highness propose to go?" he asked, with a smile of
pity for his own plight.
"I am going away."
"But does your Highness forget that I am instructed by her Majesty not
to leave you for an instant?"
"Monsieur, your mission is at an end."
"What does this mean?"
"That I am not her Highness, Madame la Princesse de Condé, but Madame
la Vicomtesse de Cambes, her first maid of honor. Madame la Princesse
left Chantilly last evening, and I go to join her."
Canolles did not stir. It was plainly most distasteful to him to
continue to play this comedy before an audience of lackeys.
Madame de Cambes, to encourage him, bestowed one of her sweetest
glances upon him; that glance restored his courage in some measure.
"So the king has been deceived," he said. "And where is Monsieur le Duc
d'Enghien?"
"I have given orders that Pierrot return to his flower-beds," said a
grave voice at the door.
It was the voice of the princess dowager, who was standing near the
door, supported by two of her tire-women.
"Return to Paris, to Mantes, to the court, in a word, wherever it may
be; your mission here is at an end. You will say to the king that the
persecuted have resorted to stratagem, which renders fruitless the use
of force. You are at liberty, however, to remain at Chantilly, to stand
guard over me, who have not left, and shall not leave the château,
because such is not my design. With this, Monsieur le Baron, I take my
leave of you."
Canolles, red with shame, could hardly summon strength to bend his
head, as he glanced at the viscountess, and murmured reproachfully:--
"O, madame! madame!"
She understood the glance and heard the words.
"I crave your Highness's permission," she said, "to play the part of
Madame la Princesse one moment more. I desire to thank Monsieur le
Baron de Canolles, in the name of his illustrious hosts who have left
this château, for the respect he has shown, and the great delicacy he
has exhibited in the performance of so difficult a mission. I venture
to believe, madame, that your Highness has the same opinion, and to
hope, therefore, that you will add your acknowledgments to mine."
The dowager was touched by these earnest words, and it may be that her
profound sagacity suggested to her some part of this new secret grafted
upon the old; so it was that her voice was not entirely free from
emotion as she uttered the following words:--
"For all that you have done against us, monsieur, oblivion; for all
that you have done for my family, gratitude."
Canolles knelt upon one knee at the feet of the princess, who gave him
that hand to kiss whereon Henri IV. had imprinted so many kisses.
It was the last act of the play, it was an irrevocable dismissal. There
was nothing left for Canolles to do but to take his leave. And so he
withdrew to his apartment, and lost no time in writing to Mazarin the
most despairing report imaginable; he preferred not to be present to
suffer the consequences of the first outburst of anger. That done he
passed out through the servants of the château, with some apprehension
that he might be insulted by them, to the court-yard, where his horse
awaited him.
As he was about to put his foot in the stirrup, these words were
uttered by an imperious voice:--
"Do honor to the envoy of his Majesty, the king, our master!"
Thereupon every head was bent before Canolles, who, with a low bow
toward the window at which the princess was standing, drove his spurs
into his horse, and disappeared, with head erect.
Castorin, awakened from the seductive dream which he owed to Pompée,
the false intendant, followed his master with lowered crest.