HOW BUSSY WAS OFFERED THREE HUNDRED PISTOLES FOR HIS HORSE, AND
PARTED WITH HIM FOR NOTHING.
The next day, Bussy left Angers before the most wakeful bourgeois
had had their breakfast. He flew along the road, and Diana, mounted
on a terrace in front of the castle, saw him coming, and went
to meet him. The sun had scarcely risen over the great oaks,
and the grass was still wet with dew, when she heard from afar,
as she went along, the horn of St. Luc, which Jeanne incited
him to sound. She arrived at the meeting-place just as Bussy
appeared on the wall. The day passed like an hour. What had they
to say? That they loved each other. What had they to wish for?
They were together.
“Diana,” said Bussy at length, “it seems to me as though my life
had begun only to-day. You have shown me what it is to live.”
“And I,” replied she, “who not long ago would have willingly
thrown myself into the arms of death, would now tremble to die
and lose your love. But why do you not come to the castle? My
father would be glad to see you, and M. de St. Luc is your friend.”
“Alas, Diana, if I came once, I should be always there; all the
province would know it, and if it came to the ears of that ogre,
your husband, he would hasten here. You forbid me to deliver
you from him----”
“Oh, yes!”
“Well, then, for the safety of our happiness, we must guard our
secret. Madame de St. Luc knows it, and her husband soon will. I
have written him a line this morning, asking him for an interview
at Angers, and when he comes I will make him promise never to
breathe a word of this. It is the more important, dear Diana,
as doubtless they are seeking me everywhere. Things looked grave
when I left Paris.
“You are right; and then my father is so scrupulous that, in
spite of his love for me, he is capable of denouncing me to M.
de Monsoreau.”
“Let us hide ourselves well, then; I fear some evil spirit, jealous
of our happiness.”
“Say adieu to me, then; and do not ride so fast--your horse frightens
me.”
“Fear nothing; he knows the way, and is the gentlest and safest
horse I ever rode. When I return to the city, buried in sweet
thoughts, he takes the way without my touching the bridle.”
At last the sound of the returning chase was heard, the horns
playing an air agreed upon with Jeanne, and Bussy left. As he
approached the city, he remarked that the time was approaching
when the gates of the city would be closed. He was preparing to
ride on quickly, when he heard behind him the gallop of horses.
For a lover who wishes to remain concealed, as for a robber,
everything seems a menace. Bussy asked himself whether he should
ride on or draw up and let them pass, but their course was so
rapid that they were up to him in a moment. There were two.
“Here is the city,” said one, with a Gascon accent; “three hundred
more blows with the whip, and one hundred with the spur; courage
and vigor!”
“The beast has no more breath--he shivers and totters; he will
not go on; and yet I would give a hundred horses to be in my
city before nightfall.”
“It is some Angers man out late,” thought Bussy. “But look, the
horse is falling; take care, monsieur,” cried he; “quit your
horse--he is about to fall.”
Indeed, as he spoke the animal fell heavily on his side, shook
his legs convulsively, then suddenly his breath stopped, his
eyes grew dim, and he was dead.
“Monsieur!” cried the cavalier to Bussy, “three hundred pistoles
for your horse!”
“Ah, mon Dieu!” cried Bussy, drawing near.
“Do you hear me, monsieur? I am in haste.”
“Ah! my prince, take it for nothing,” cried Bussy, who had recognized
the Duc d’Anjou.
At the same moment they heard the click of a pistol, which was
cocked by the duke’s companion.
“Stop, M. d’Aubigné,” cried the duke, “it is Bussy, I believe.”
“Oh! yes, my prince, it is I. But what, in Heaven’s name are you
doing, killing horses on the road at this hour?”
“Ah! is it M. de Bussy?” said D’Aubigné, “then you do not want
me any more. Permit me to return to him who sent me?”
“Not without receiving my sincere thanks and the promise of a
lasting friendship.”
“I accept it, monseigneur, and will recall your words to you some
day.”
“M. D’Aubigné! I am in the clouds,” murmured Bussy.
“Did you not know? As you are here, did you not expect me?” said
the prince, with an air of suspicion which did not escape Bussy,
who began to reflect that his secret residence in Anjou might
seem very strange to the prince.
“I did better than expect you,” said Bussy, “and as you wish to
enter the town before the gates are closed, jump into the saddle,
monseigneur.”
The prince accepted, and Bussy mounted behind him, asking himself
if this prince, dressed in black, were not the evil spirit sent
already to disturb his happiness.
“Where do we go now, monseigneur?” said he, as they entered the
city.
“To the castle. Let them hoist my banner and convoke the nobility
of the district.”
“Nothing more easy,” said Bussy, full of surprise, but willing
to be docile. The news was soon spread through the city that
the duke had arrived, and a crowd soon collected.
“Gentlemen!” cried the duke, “I have come to throw myself into my
good city of Angers. At Paris the most terrible dangers have menaced
my life--I had lost even my liberty. I succeeded in escaping, thanks
to some good friends, and now I am here I feel my tranquillity
and my life assured.”
The people cried, “Long live our seigneur.”
“Now let me sup,” said the prince, “I have had nothing since the
morning.”
The city was illuminated, guns were fired, the bells of the cathedral
were rung, and the wind carried to Méridor the noisy joy of the
good Angevins.