The movements of the parties were of course descried by Captain Florae,

the leader of the troop. As had been foreseen by Marcelline, he mistook

Pomperaût for Bourbon, and started in pursuit with a couple of men,

despatching the rest of the troop after the other fugitives, While

mounting the hill, Marcelline and her companion remained in sight of

their pursuers, but soon after gaining the summit they were lost to

view.

On reaching the same point, Florae found that they were descending a

precipitous road into the valley on the opposite side of the mountain,

and, notwithstanding the danger of the course, he unhesitatingly

followed with his men, and reached the valley in safety.

The chase continued for more than a league along a narrow defile, when

all at once Marcelline and her companion stopped, and, on seeing this,

Florae pressed on more vigorously than ever.

The stoppage of the fugitives had been caused by the appearance of

a body of armed men riding towards them from the farther end of the

defile. Uncertain whether these were friends or foes, but fearing they

might prove the latter, Pomperant hesitated to proceed, halting for a

brief space to consider what course lie should pursue.

Marcelline proposed to take refuge in the fastnesses of the mountains,

and undertook to guide him to a secure retreat, and, without waiting for

his reply, forced her horse up a steep acclivity. Pomperant followed,

but, ere he had climbed half the ascent, Florae and his men came up, and

two shots were fired, one of which struck Pomperant's horse, and

the wounded animal, after a plunge and a struggle, rolled down the

precipice, dragging his rider with him.

Pomperant, though much bruised, tried to disengage himself, but, ere he

could do so, Florae had dismounted, and holding him down, presented a

poniard at his throat.

“I arrest your highness in the king's name,” cried Florae. “You are my

prisoner.”

“Why do you address me by that title?” demanded Pomperant. “For whom do

you take me?”

“For Charles de Bourbon, Constable of France, a rebel and a traitor to

the king,” rejoined Florae. “Fortune has, indeed, favoured me. I shall

obtain the ten thousand gold crowns offered by his majesty for your

highness's capture.”

“You will obtain no reward for my capture,” said Pomperant. “I am not

Bourbon.”

“This denial will not avail with me, prince,” rejoined Florae. “I know

you too well. Yield yourself my prisoner, or----”

“Never!” exclaimed Pomperant, seizing his antagonist's wrist, and

preventing him from using the poniard.

A desperate struggle then ensued between them. Florae was a very

powerful man, and, being uppermost, had a great advantage over

Pomperant, who, moreover, could not extricate himself from his horse.

The issue of the conflict could not therefore be doubted especially as

the troopers were preparing to aid their leader, when at this juncture

a sharp report was heard from above. A well-directed bullet pierced

Florae's brain, and he sank an inert mass upon Pomperant's breast.

Looking up, the troopers perceived Marcelline on the edge of a rock,

with a smoking petronel in her hand.

The fate of their leader caused a momentary irresolution in the men, and

this allowed Pomperant time to free himself from his dead antagonist

and spring to his feet. In another moment he had possessed himself of

Florae's steed, and, charging the troopers, hewed down one of them.

Panic-stricken, the other galloped off, but he did not escape. Pomperant

rode after him, and being better mounted, speedily came up with him, and

by a tremendous blow cleft him almost to the girdle.

The poor wretch had ridden in the direction of the troop, whom we have

described as advancing along the ravine, and who were now not far from

the scene of action, hoping they might succour him--but he shouted to

them in vain. Had they been so minded, they could not have lent him aid,

but they might have avenged him, for the victor did not attempt to

fly, but tranquilly awaited their coming up. Pomperant anticipated

no molestation, for he had recognised in the leader of the troop a

friend--the Seigneur de Lallières.

Meanwhile, Marcelline had descended from the heights and riding up,

received Pomperant's congratulations on the courage she had displayed.

While thanking her for the important service she had rendered him, he

added, with a look that bespoke the depth of his gratitude, “You have

saved my life. I shall never forget the debt I owe you.”

A greeting then took place between Pomperant and Lallières, and after

explanations had been given by the former, Lallières ordered half

a dozen of his retainers to convey the bodies of Florae and the two

troopers to a monastery in the mountains, and there cause them to be

interred, taking care to have masses said for their souls.

The château belonging to Lallières proved to be about three leagues off

and on arriving at it, he consigned Marcelline to the care of his wife,

and then taking Pomperant to his own private chamber, proceeded to

anoint his bruises with a sovereign balsam, which he affirmed would

speedily heal them, and which afforded the sufferer almost immediate

relief. Lallières then left his guest, but presently returned with his

intendant, an old and trusty servant, who brought with him a basket

containing cold viands and wine. Having satisfied his hunger, Pomperant

threw himself on a couch, and, being much fatigued, slept soundly for

several hours, when he was awakened by the opening of the chamber-door,

and by the light of a silver lamp burning on the table, beheld his host,

who was accompanied by the Constable and D'Herment. Bourbon informed his

follower that he and D'Herment had only just reached the château, having

been compelled to take a circuitous road among the mountains, in order

to elude their pursuers; and he added, that it would be necessary to

depart before daybreak, as the château was certain to be visited in the

morning by some of the numerous bands of armed men scouring the country.

“I am ready to set out now, for the few hours' sound sleep I have

enjoyed have completely restored me,” said Pomperant. “But your highness

has been in the saddle since early morning, and must need rest.”

“I need meat and drink more than rest,” replied Bourbon. “D'Herment and

I have fasted more rigorously than hermits through out the day.”

“In an hour I shall be ready,” added D'Herment. “I cannot engage to

satisfy my appetite in less than that time. I never felt the pangs of

hunger so keenly as now.”

“You shall have wherewithal to allay them, I promise you,” observed

Lallières. “Come with me to the banqueting-hall.”

“Nay, there is plenty here,” said Bourbon, glancing at the viands left

on the table by Pomperant. “Fall to without ceremony, I pray you,”

he added to D'Herment. “Regard me only as your comrade, not as your

prince.” They then sat down and attacked the provisions with great

vigour. Seeing the havoc they were making, Lallières sought a fresh

supply of meat and wine, and it was well he did so, for the appetites

of his guests appeared insatiable. At length, however, they declared

themselves satisfied, and arose from the table.

“I think your highness need not depart till morning,” said Lallières;

“but if you are resolved to go, I will order horses for you.”

“Do so, my good friend,” replied Bourbon. “If I remain, my retreat may

be cut off.”

Lallières then quitted the chamber to give the necessary orders, and

Bourbon was discussing his route with the others, when their host

reappeared, his looks proclaiming alarm.

“What has happened?” demanded the Constable.

“The Seigneur Perot de Warthy is at the castle gate and demands

admittance in the king's name,” replied Lallières. “He has a troop of

archers with him.”

“Warthy here!” exclaimed Bourbon, turning pale. “Then there is good

reason for apprehension.”

“How will your highness have me act?” said Lallières. “You have only

to command. I am ready to lay down my life for you. Shall I refuse him

admittance?”

“No,” replied Bourbon, after a moment's reflection. “Escape would then

be impossible. I know the man. He will post himself before the castle,

and allow no one to pass forth from the gates. Admit him. You can find

some place of concealment for us.”

“Easily,” replied Lallières. And touching a spring in the oak

wainscoting a secret panel flew open, disclosing a narrow passage

constructed within the wall. “That passage will lead you to a chamber

known only to myself and my intendant, where you will be perfectly safe.

I will come to you anon.”

“Enough,” replied Bourbon. And, taking up the lamp, he passed through

the secret door with the others.

Lallières then summoned the intendant, and bidding him remove all

evidences of the repast, descended to the outer court, and ordered the

gates to be thrown open.

Warthy rode into the court-yard at the head of his troop, and

dismounting, said, in a stern authoritative voice to the châtelain, “I

require the keys of the castle to be delivered to me.”

“By what right do you make the demand?” rejoined Lallières.

“As the king's representative,” replied Warthy.

The keys were then brought him by the warder, and having seen the gate

locked, and placed two of his own men on guard beside it, he thrust the

bunch of keys in his girdle, and returned to Lallières, by whom he was

conducted to a large hall on the ground floor. The attendants kept at a

respectful distance, so that what passed between them was unheard.

“Seigneur de Lallières,” said Warthy, “I have reason to believe that the

arch-traitor, Charles de Bourbon, has sought shelter beneath your roof.

Those who screen him share his guilt. Deliver him up, and I will save

you from all ill consequences. Attempt to shield him from justice, and

you will incur the severest displeasure of the king.”

“Search the castle, and if you find the prince, take him,” replied

Lallières, sternly.

“Then you do not deny that he is here?” said Warthy.

“I neither deny it, nor admit it,” rejoined Lallières. “Search the

castle, I say. I shall not hinder you. I have no other answer to make.”

“Your answer is insolent, seigneur, and shall be reported to the king,”

said Warthy.

“Be it so,” rejoined Lallières.

Warthy called the intendant, whom he recognised by his wand, and ordered

him to conduet him over the castle. The old man did not dare to refuse

compliance. But though the châtelain's private room was visited in the

course of the perquisition, no discovery was made.

“Are you satisfied, sir?” inquired Lallières, as Warthy returned to the

hall, after his unsuccessful search.

“I am satisfied that Bourbon is hidden somewhere in the château,”

replied Warthy, “but he shall not escape me. To-morrow I will institute

a more rigorous search. I understand you have some guests in the

chateau. Where are they?”

“The only person now here is the Demoiselle Marcelline d'Herment,”

replied Lallières. “The others are gone.”

“Who are gone?” demanded Warthy.

“Those you seek. They departed on foot.”

“At what time?” said Warthy.

“Scarce half an hour before your arrival,” returned Lallières. “I

counselled them not to stay, and I am thankful they took my advice.”

“Was Bourbon one of them?” demanded Warthy.

Lallières remained silent, and Warthy repeated the question yet more

authoritatively.

“I refuse to answer,” replied the châtelain. “I have said that the

persons who came hither are gone. That is all I choose to tell you.

Follow them, if you think proper, or remain here. You do not expect me

to put you on their track.”

“You are bound to aid in capturing rebels and traitors,” rejoined

Warthy. “But I will not talk longer with you now. To-morrow I shall have

more to say.”

“To-morrow I will speak freely,” returned Lallières, “for then my

friends will be out of your reach. Meantime, it shall not be said that

I neglected the rites of hospitality. Will you sup before you retire to

rest?--or shall my intendant conduct you at once to a sleeping-chamber?”

“I do not mean to retire to rest,” replied Warthy. “I shall visit the

guard in person throughout the night, to assure myself that strict watch

is kept. Let supper be served here.”

Lallières then withdrew. Left alone, Warthy took a few turns in the

great hall, and then flung himself into a chair. While doing so, he

found that the keys incommoded him, so, removing them from his girdle,

he laid them upon the table.

Presently afterwards a chamberlain appeared, followed by four

serving-men, charged with the materials of a plentiful repast. While

serving the dishes to Warthy, who ate all that was offered him, and

emptied several goblets of wine, the chamberlain remarked the keys lying

on the table, and it instantly occurred to him that he might be able to

secure them.

While replenishing Warthy's goblet he threw a napkin over the keys, and

immediately afterwards took it up again so cautiously that no sound

was audible, and then quitted the hall, ostensibly for the purpose of

fetching another flask of wine.

Warthy was too much engaged with his repast to remark what had taken

place, and he was still sedulously occupied when the chamberlain

returned, bringing with him another flask of wine, and also a second

bunch of keys--somewhat resembling those he had carried off--and while

moving about he let them drop on the floor.

“Ha! give me those keys!” cried Warthy, angrily.

And taking them from the chamberlain, who apologised for the

inadvertence, he thrust them into his girdle.

Just then Lallières entered the hall, accompanied by Marcelline.

“This lady has desired me to bring her to you, sir,” said the châtelain.

“She has a favour to ask of you.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Warthy, rising and bowing. “I trust it may be in my

power to grant it.”

“It is merely that I may be permitted to quit the castle,” said

Marcelline.

“Alone, fair lady, at this hour?” rejoined Warthy. “I have too much

consideration for you to grant the request.”

“Were I to depart alone, I should have no fear,” she replied, “but I

shall have three attendants with me.”

“This is a stratagem to get Bourbon out of the castle,” thought Warthy.

“But I will defeat it and secure my prey at the same time. When do you

desire to depart?' he added to Marcelline.

“An hour hence,” she replied.

“Well, you have my permission. You have three attendants, you say?”

“Yes, three,” she answered. “You can see them before they quit the

castle.”

“Of course I shall see them,” he returned. “They cannot depart till I am

satisfied. Go fetch the warder,” he added to an attendant.

Presently the personage in question entered the hall, and Warthy told

him he had granted permission to the Demoiselle d'Herment to quit the

château with three attendants.

“To-night?” asked the warder.

“Ay, to-night, at any hour she pleases,” said Warthy.

The warder bowed, and retired.

“I am much beholden to you, messire,” said Marcelline.

“Nay, fair lady, I am happy to oblige you,” he returned, gallantly.

Marcelline then withdrew, accompanied by Lallières, both looking well

pleased.

“I have him now,” thought Warthy, as he was left alone. “It is needless

to give any further instructions to the warder. He cannot unlock the

gate without coming to me,” he added, satisfying himself that the keys

were safe.

He then resumed his seat and finished his repast, and when the table

had been cleared by the serving-men, he reclined back in his chair, and

presently fell into a doze.

While thus slumbering, he fancied he heard the trampling of horses in

the court, but he did not disturb himself on that account, as he felt

certain no one could get out of the castle without his aid. After he had

slumbered on for nearly two hours, he was aroused by the entrance of the

warder.

“I have brought the keys, monseigneur,” said the man.

“You have come for them, you mean, sirrah,” rejoined Warthy,

ascertaining that the bunch of keys was hanging from his girdle.

“I mean what I say, monseigneur,” returned the warder, laying down the

keys before him.

“What, then, are these?” cried Warthy, holding up the other bunch.

“Those are not the keys of the castle gate,” returned the other.

“Ha! I have been duped!” cried Warthy, the truth beginning to flash

upon him. “Answer me, villain,” he roared. “You have not allowed the

Demoiselle d'Herment and her attendants to depart?”

“Yes, I have. I concluded they had your lordship's full permission,”

replied the warder, trembling. “They brought the keys with them, and

told me to unlock the gate. I am sorry if I have done wrong, but I fully

believed they had your sanction, and so did the guard, or we should have

stopped them.”

“Fool! idiot!” roared Warthy. “You have allowed the Constable de Bourbon

to escape. How long have they been gone?”

“Upwards of an hour,” replied the warder.

“Time enough to allow him to get fairly off,” cried Warthy. “But I must

start at once in pursuit. Order my horse instantly--instantly, d'ye

hear, sirrah?--and bid twenty archers get ready to attend me. The rest

will remain here.”

The warder rushed forth to obey the order, and in less than five minutes

Warthy had quitted the castle with twenty men.

His last words to the guard were: “Hold this eastle for the king,

till his majesty's pleasure shall be known, and keep the Seigneur de

Lallières a close prisoner.”

XIII. THE MOUNTAIN HOSTELRY.

|Having got clear of the eastle by the stratagem just described, the

fugitives, apprehensive of immediate pursuit, dashed down the mountain,

and, on reaching the valley, speeded along it as fast as their horses

could carry them. Nor did they slacken their pace for more than an hour.

They then paused to listen, but hearing nothing behind them, they went

on somewhat more leisurely. They were all well mounted, for Lallières

had given them the best horses in his stables.

Hitherto no plans had been fixed. Bourbon would fain have persuaded

D'Herment and his courageous sister to leave him, but they refused,

D'Herment insisting upon acting as the Constable's guide throughout the

night, lest he might miss his way among the mountains, and fall into the

hands of his enemies.

After some consideration it was decided that they should proceed to the

Chateau de Montbrison, which could be reached by daylight, and where

Bourbon might halt, if circumstances permitted, for a brief space, and

then continue his course towards the south. With this design, the party

journeyed throughout the night, and, after crossing a chain of mountains

just as day began to dawn, came in sight of the ancient towers of

Montbrison.

Bourbon's purpose, however, of sheltering himself in the castle, was

at once abandoned as he perceived a large troop of armed men, numbering

three or four hundred, riding towards Montbrison through the valley.

Evidently, the leader of this troop was about to take possession of the

fortress, and it was fortunate for the Constable that he was outside its

walls.

Under these circumstances, it would have been dangerous for D'Herment

and his sister to proceed thither, so the party still kept together, but

as their horses were dead beaten, it was absolutely necessary to give

the wearied animals rest. The fugitives were therefore compelled to

enter a small village among the mountains, where a hostelry promised

them all they required.

The little inn was kept by an old couple and their son, Hugues. The

latter took charge of the horses, while the old man and his wife

attended to their guests, and quickly set before them the best their

house afforded. Bourbon, having to support the character of a servant,

went with Hugues to the stable, and, on entering it, was glad to

perceive several strong horses in the stalls.

“My master wants to reach Vienne without delay, friend,” he said to

Hugues, “and I am sure he would be glad to hire horses from you to

proceed thither.”

“Your master shall have the horses, sir,” replied Hugues, showing by

the profound respect of his manner that he had recognised the person who

addressed him. “If you desire it,” he added, significantly, “I will go

with you myself to Vienne.”

“I perceive you know me, friend,” rejoined Bourbon, “so I will not

attempt further concealment with you. You are aware of the peril in

which I am placed?”

“I am aware that ten thousand golden crowns of the sun are offered for

your highness's capture,” replied Hugues; “but were the reward ten times

as great, it would not tempt me to betray you. I am sorry to see your

highness here. I hoped you were already out of France.”

And he then proceeded to explain to the Constable that the whole country

was alarmed by the royal proclamations, and that a large body of men

had just passed through the valley from Lyons to take possession of

Montbrison.

“I saw them,” replied Bourbon. “But do you think there is danger in

proceeding to Vienne? I want to get across the Rhone.”

“I know not how to advise your highness,” said Hugues. “The shortest

road out of France is the safest you can pursue. By the time you

have breakfasted, the horses shall be ready, and you can then go

whithersoever you list.”

Bourbon then returned to the hostel, and, sitting down at a table apart

from the others, a modest repast was set before him by the old dame.

Impatient to be gone, as soon as he had despatched his breakfast the

Constable went forth again, and found that the horses were in readiness.

By this time the old host had learned who was his guest, and professed

as much devotion for him as his son had done.

“I only wish I could attend your highness in person,” said the old man.

“But take my son with you--take my horses--and may Heaven guard you on

your way!”

“I shall not forget your zeal, my good friend,” replied Bourbon, much

moved; “and I trust I shall one day be able to requite you.”

During breakfast, it had been arranged that the party should now

separate. D'Herment and his sister proposed to return to their château,

while the Constable and Pom-perant resolved to make the best of their

way to Vienne.

Hasty adieux were exchanged at the door of the little hostelry.

“Farewell, prince!” said Marcelline to Bourbon. “May you re-enter France

at the head of an army! It will give me new life when I hear you have

crossed the frontier.”

“Have no fear for me,” rejoined Bourbon. “Rest assured that I shall

baffle my enemies. But I trust you may not suffer for your zeal in my

behalf.”

“If the king should imprison me and my brother, your highness must come

and deliver us,” she replied.

“That I engage to do,” replied Bourbon.

The parting between Pomperant and Marcelline was brief, but it was

evident that the former felt it deeply. The young seigneur had already

become passionately enamoured of the fair damsel who had saved his life.

“Farewell, Marcelline,” he said. “We shall meet again.”

“I trust so,” she replied.

Bourbon did not attempt to mount till Pomperant was in the saddle, but

as soon as his supposed master had ridden off, he followed with Hugues.

Often and often did Pomperant turn to gaze at Marcelline, till her

figure was lost in the distance.

XIV. THE MILL AT SAINT-SIMPHORIEN.

|Compelled to avoid the public roads, the fugitives, on reaching the

valley, traversed an extensive marshy plain, which would have been

impassable without a guide, forded the Loire about half a league above

Montrond, and after a toilsome journey through a wild and mountainous

district, drew near Saint-Simphorien about an hour before midnight. As

they could not put up at an auberge, Hugues proposed that they should

seek a lodging at a mill which he pointed out on an eminence a short

distance from the road.

“I think Maître Benoit, the miller, will take us in,” he said. “He is

kind-hearted and hospitable, and his daughter Madelon is the prettiest

girl in Saint-Simphorien, and as good as she is pretty.”

“You know her?” said Bourbon.

“I persuade myself I do,” replied Hugues, “I have given my heart to her

keeping, and hope one day to make her my wife--that is, if we can obtain

Benoit's consent to the marriage.”

“In that case we will go to the mill,” said Bourbon. “You can answer for

the miller's daughter, if not for the miller and his wife.”

“I can answer for all three,” replied Hugues. “I will stake my life that

your highness shall be safe at the mill---provided we can only get in;

and what is more, we shall have a good stable for the horses.”

They then rode towards the mill. Close beside it was Benoit's

dwelling--a substantial-looking tenement, which showed he must have

thriven in his trade. A little to the rear of the house were a large

barn and stable.

As the party approached the miller's abode, the alarm was given by

the barking of a couple of fierce dogs in the stable-yard, and just as

Hugues, who had dismounted for the purpose, was about to knock against

the door with his whip, a chamber window was opened, and Benoit,

thrusting forth his head, which was adorned with a tall bonnet de nuit,

called out in a gruff voice:

“Hola! my masters, what do you mean by disturbing honest folk at this

time of night? Go about your business.”

“Our business is to procure a lodging beneath your roof, père Benoit,”

rejoined Hugues. “Don't you know me, my good friend?”

“What! is it Hugues?” cried the miller. “What brings you here, boy, and

who have you got with you?”

At this juncture, Pomperant thought proper to interpose, declaring he

was a captain of the royal guard of archers, on the way to Vienne, to

intercept the flight of the Constable de Bourbon.

The explanation did not appear very satisfactory to honest Benoit, for

he rejoined in a sullen tone:

“Pardieu! I shan't disturb myself for you, captain. You must go to the

auberge. Good night!”

And he was about to shut the casement, when Hugues called out to him:

“Hold! père Benoit. You are mistaken. We are all friends of the Duke de

Bourbon.”

“Since you give me that assurance, Hugues, I am content,” said the

miller. “But no enemy of Bourbon shall set foot in my dwelling, if I can

prevent it.”

“By Saint Louis! I am glad to hear you say so, good Benoit,” cried the

Constable. “Admit us without fear. Bourbon has no better friend than

myself.”

“That voice!” exclaimed Benoit. “Oh, if it should turn out to be the

Constable in person!”

“You have not made a bad guess, père Benoit,” rejoined Hugues. “Come

down as quickly as you can, and, meantime, let me have the key of the

stable.”

“Here it is,” replied the miller, throwing him the key from the window.

“But wait till Madelon can go with you, for the dogs are loose.”

“Oh, I'll wait. I don't want to be torn in pieces,” said Hugues,

laughing, as he picked up the key.

Benoit then disappeared, and his voice was subsequently heard from

within calling to his wife and daughter to get up immediately. Madelon

was already astir, having recognised her lover's voice, and ere many

minutes opened the door, and as she held a light in her hand, it could

be seen that Hugues had not overrated her beauty. Nothing daunted by

the presence in which he stood, her lover clasped her in his arms, and

snatched a few hasty kisses. Disengaging herself as quickly as she could

from his embrace, the blushing damsel turned to the others, both of whom

had dismounted and fastened their horses to a rail, and begging them

to enter, ushered them into a large plainly-furnished but

comfortable-looking room. At the same moment, the miller and his wife,

each carrying a light, came down an oak staircase which communicated

with the rooms above.

Feeling that disguise was unnecessary, and that he could safely trust

the worthy miller, Bourbon had re moved his hood, and no sooner did

Benoit look upon him than he exclaimed:

“Ay, there stands the Duke de Bourbon. I knew his voice the moment I

heard it. Look, wife, 'tis he!--'tis his highness!”

So saying, he threw himself at the Constable's feet, and his dame

followed his example. So demonstrative were they in their devotion, that

Bourbon could scarcely persuade them to rise. When they regained their

feet, Madelon came forward to pay him like homage.

“No, no, that must not be, my pretty damsel,” said Bourbon, checking

her. And he added, with a smile, “Go with Hugues to the stable. He needs

your protection from the dogs.”

“Ay, take a lantern and go with him, Madelon,” said her father. “Show

him where to find food for the horses.”

As the young couple departed, the miller's wife, Margot, a comely,

middle-aged woman, threw a heap of wood on the hearth, and in a few

minutes a blazing fire cast a cheerful glow around. While she was thus

employed, an active-looking female servant, about Madelon's age, and not

without some pretension to good looks, tripped down the staircase, and

hastened to spread a snow-white cloth upon the table, and make other

preparations for supper. Babet, for so she was named, took Bourbon for a

serving-man, and would have assigned him a place at the lower end of the

table, but her mistress soon set this matter right, and ere long the two

fugitives were seated opposite each other, discussing a very substantial

repast.

By this time Madelon and Hugues had returned from the stables, and the

young man took his seat at a respectful distance from his superiors.

Before he had finished his supper, Babet, who had gone up-stairs with

her mistress, came down again, and made the satisfactory announcement

that chambers were ready for the guests, whereupon Bourbon and Pomperant

immediately arose, and prepared to retire, intimating their intention of

departing an hour before dawn.

The females having likewise retired, Benoit and Hugues drew near the

fire, and fell fast asleep, but they were speedily roused from their

slumbers by the fierce barking of the dogs. Both started to their feet

in great alarm, as the trampling of horses, mingled with the clank of

arms, was heard outside, and left no doubt that a troop of cavalry was

at hand.

Without a moment's delay, Benoit extinguished the lamp which unluckily

had been left burning on the table, and rushed up the staircase to warn

the fugitives.

In another minute a loud knocking was heard at the door, and an

authoritative voice demanded immediate admittance. Hugues, however, made

no reply, but reconnoitring the party through the window, perceived

that it consisted of some twenty mounted men-at-arms, whose leader was

knocking against the door with the handle of his sword.

“Unfasten the door instantly, I say,” cried this personage, “or my men

shall burst it open. Some one must be astir, for a light has just been

extinguished.”

“I knew that cursed light had betrayed us,” groaned Hugues. “If the

saints do not help us now, Bourbon will certainly be captured!”

Just then the creaking of a window on the upper floor was heard, and a

voice, which Hugues recognised as that of the miller, called out, “Who

are you, and what is the meaning of this disturbance?”

“I am the Seigneur Perot de Warthy,” returned the officer. “I am in

quest of the traitor and rebel, Charles de Bourbon. I have tracked

him to this neighbourhood, and shall search the house to see if he is

concealed within it.”

“Mercy on us! what is to be done?” ejaculated Hugues.

“You must look for the Constable de Bourbon elsewhere,” replied Benoit,

in a surly tone. “You won't find him here.”

“I am by no means sure of that,” rejoined Warthy. “Are you the miller?”

“I am Benoit, the miller, at your service.”

“Then listen to me, Maître Benoit,” continued Warthy, “and give heed to

what I say. By harbouring Bourbon you incur the punishment of death, and

if he is concealed within your house, and you do not at once deliver him

up, I will hang you at your own threshold.”

“I have nothing to fear on that score,” returned the miller, resolutely.

“Bravely answered!” exclaimed Hugues. “My father-in-law that is to be is

a true man. But I am afraid his courage will be severely tried anon.”

“Are you going to open the door, rascal, or must I break it down?”

roared Warthy. “I have been trifled with long enough.”

“Have a moment's patience and I will let you in,” returned Benoit.

“Be speedy, then,” said Warthy. “Surround the house,” he added to his

men, “and see that no one gets out at the back.”

The trampling of horses, accompanied by the clanking of arms, proved

that this order was promptly obeyed.

“Bourbon's only chance is gone,” ejaculated Hugues.

As the exclamation was made, the miller, followed by Bourbon and

Pomperant, both with their swords drawn, descended to the room. Madelon

came down quickly after them.

“Pass out at this window, monseigneur,” said Benoit, in a low voice to

the Constable, moving towards the back of the room. “You may gain the

wood at the foot of the hill.”

“Have a care,” whispered Hugues. “The house is surrounded by soldiers.”

“Open the window at once,” said Bourbon. “I will cut my way through

them.”

“Give me a sword, père Benoit,” said Hugues.

“Here is one,” rejoined Madelon, unhooking a weapon from the wall, and

presenting it to him.

“Stay a moment, monseigneur,” said Benoit. “A plan occurs to me. I

should have thought of it before, but I am so bewildered. Underneath

this room there is a vault where I store my corn before grinding it.

Will it please you to hide there?”

“If the retreat should be discovered, we shall be caught like rats in a

trap, and can offer no defence,” objected Bourbon.

“My father has not explained that there is a communication between the

vault and the mill,” interposed Madelon. “Your highness can get out that

way, should it be necessary.”

“The entrance to the vault is there--under the staircase,” urged the

miller. “Madelon will conduct your highness. Lift the trap, girl--lift

it quickly,” he added to his daughter.

The trap-door was soon opened by Madelon, who descended by means of a

ladder into the vault, and was instantly followed by the fugitives, the

trap-door being shut by Hugues, who went down last.

Scarcely had they disappeared, when the outer door was burst open with

a tremendous crash, and Warthy, sword in hand, and followed by four

men-at-arms, rushed into the house. Alarmed by the noise, Margot and

Babet hurried down the staircase, bearing lights, both screaming loudly

as they perceived Benoit upon his knees before Warthy, who held a sword

to his throat. Flying towards them, and kneeling to Warthy, Margot

besought him, in piteous terms, to spare her husband's life.

“Harm him not, and I will tell all,” she cried, almost frightened out of

her wits.

“Speak out then at once, woman,” said Warthy. “Where is the traitor

Bourbon hidden?”

“Hold your tongue, wife, I command you,” said the stout-hearted miller.

“But I can't stand by and see your throat cut, Benoit,” she rejoined. “I

must speak.”

“Certainly you must, unless you desire to become a widow,” said Warthy.

“You may as well confess that Bourbon is here. Your looks betray you. He

cannot escape, for the house is surrounded, and I don't mean to leave a

hole or corner unvisited. Where is the traitor, I say?”

“Where is he, Benoit?” she cried, appealing to her husband. “For my

sake, don't sacrifice yourself.”

“Woman, you have lost your senses,” said the miller, angrily. “What do I

know about the Duke de Bourbon?”

“You know a great deal more than you appear inclined to tell, rascal,”

rejoined Warthy. “But I will have the truth from you. I give you five

minutes for consideration,” he added, releasing him, “and if at the end

of that time Bourbon be not forthcoming, I will execute my threat, and

hang you at your own door.”

Without another word, he took the light which Margot had set down upon

the table, and, signing to two of his men to follow him, ascended the

staircase. In less than five minutes he came down again, his countenance

betraying anger and disappointment.

“Well, have you found him?” inquired Benoit, who had not been allowed to

exchange a word with his wife during Warthy's absence.

“Not yet, but I soon shall,” replied Warthy. “He has only just left his

couch. Now, madame,” he continued, in a stern tone, to Margot, “do you

desire to see your husband hanged?”

“Oh no, monseigneur! I would rather you hanged me than Benoit.”

“Nonsense! I don't hang women. Speak! or my men will take your husband

forth. Where is Bourbon hidden?”

“I can't tell,” she sobbed. “But if he is hidden anywhere, it must be

in--in--the vault.”

“A plague upon your mischievous tongue!” cried her husband,

reproachfully.

“Don't blame me, Benoit,” she cried. “I couldn't bear to see you

hanged.”

“At last we have got the truth,” muttered Warthy. “I knew the woman

wouldn't hold out. Show me the Way to the vault, madame.”

“I forbid you,” said Benoit, authoritatively.

“Take care what you are about, sirrah,” cried Warthy; “you will only

make your own position worse. Now, madame!”

At this moment the trap-door, which had been elevated a few inches so

as to allow the person beneath it to overhear what was going on in the

room, suddenly fell with a clap, that attracted the attention of Warthy.

Snatching up the light, he flew in the direction of the noise, and

instantly detected the trap-door. “Soh! I have found it!” he exclaimed.

“Here is the entrance to the vault. Open this trap-door,” he added to

his men.

The order being promptly obeyed, Madelon was discovered standing on the

upper steps of the ladder.

“A woman!” exclaimed Warthy, surprised. “And, by my faith, a very pretty

one, too! Take care, mademoiselle! My men are coming down into the vault

to look for your companions.”

“Let me come up first,” she rejoined, placing herself in the mouth of

the trap, so as to obstruct the descent of the soldiers. “It will be

useless for you to search the vault. You will find no one there.”

“I shan't take your word for that, mademoiselle,” rejoined Warthy. “Make

way. My men _must_ go down.”

Madelon was obliged to obey, and the four soldiers instantly descended.

In another minute, Warthy, who was listening anxiously, heard shouts and

the noise of a struggle within the vault, and he called to know whether

Bourbon had been captured.

“Yes, we've caught him,” replied a soldier from below.

“Well done, my brave fellows!” cried Warthy. “You shall be handsomely

rewarded. Bring him up at once.”

“Fear nothing, father,” said Madelon, noticing the miller's

consternation. “It is not the Constable.”

“Heaven be praised for that!” exclaimed Benoit.

A man-at-arms now ascended from the vault. After him came the captive,

and then the three other soldiers.

“Why, this is not Bourbon!” cried Warthy, regarding the prisoner.

“I told your men so, captain,” replied Hugues--for it was he--“but they

wouldn't believe me.”

“Go down again instantly, and make further search,” roared Warthy. “He

is there.”

“There was no one in the vault but this man, whom we took to be Bourbon

in disguise,” replied one of the soldiers.

“Has the vault an outlet?” demanded Warthy.

“Oh yes,” returned the soldier, “there is a door at the farther end, but

it is locked.”

“Then I have lost my prize,” cried Warthy. “He has escaped. You shall

be hanged, rascal, for assisting the traitor,” he added, furiously, to

Hugues.

“Give me my life, captain, and I'll tell you where to find him,”

rejoined the prisoner.

“If you utter a word, you need think no more of me, Hugues,” said

Madelon.

“Heed her not, fellow,” said Warthy. “Better lose your mistress than

your life.”

“I am quite of your opinion, captain,” rejoined Hugues. “I don't like

the thought of a halter. On the understanding, then, that I am to be

spared----”

“Recollect what the consequences will be,” interrupted Madelon.

“Avoid the rope, if you are wise,” said Warthy.

“I mean to do so, captain,” replied Hugues. “His highness the Constable

and his companion have taken refuge in the mill.”

“Miserable craven!” exclaimed Madelon, scornfully. “Hanging is too good

for you.”

“If you have misinformed me, you know the fate that awaits you,” said

Warthy to Hugues. “To the mill!”

Just as he was about to quit the house, a sudden glare filled the room,

rendering every object as visible as it would have been in broad day. No

doubt could exist as to the cause of this illumination.

“Gracious Heavens! the mill is on fire!” exclaimed Benoit.

The shouts of the men-at-arms outside confirmed the truth of the

ejaculation, and the guard stationed at the door vociferated,

“The mill is on fire, captain!”

“Take care no one escapes from it,” roared Warthy, in reply.

“Powers of mercy! what an accident!” exclaimed Hugues, his countenance

reflecting the horror depicted on the faces of all around. “The

Constable de Bourbon will be burnt to death!”

“No, no, he won't,” cried Warthy, who remained perfectly calm, even at

this exciting moment. “But he will be forced out of his hiding-place.”

On this he quitted the house with his men, leaving a guard outside the

door.

No sooner was he gone than Hugues went up to the miller, who looked

almost stupified, and clapping him on the shoulder, said, with a grin,

“I set the mill on fire, père Benoit.”

“You did!” exclaimed the miller; “a nice piece of work you've done. And

you make a joke of it, rascal--you laugh.”

“Laugh! to be sure. And so will you, père Benoit, when you know why I

set it on fire.”

“Mother of Heaven! how it burns!” exclaimed Margot, as the glare

momentarily increased in brilliancy, and the roaring of the flames and

the crackling of the timber could be distinctly heard.

“My poor old mill!” cried Benoit, in a despairing voice. “I shall never

behold it again!”

“Cheer up, father,” said Madelon. “I told Hugues to set fire to

it--indeed, I helped him.”

“What! you have assisted to make me a beggar, and then bid me cheer up!”

cried the miller.

“The loss of the mill won't make you a beggar, father. I know better

than that,” she rejoined. “I felt sure you wouldn't mind any sacrifice

to save the Duke de Bourbon.”

“That I shouldn't!” exclaimed Benoit. “But how will the burning of my

mill save him? Mercy on us! how the flames roar!”

“I like to hear them roar,” said Madelon. “And I'm glad the fire burns

so furiously. It will distract the soldiers, and enable the Constable

and the Seigneur Pom-perant to get off unobserved.”

“Heavens! they are not in the mill?” exclaimed Margot.

“No, they are at the stable, I hope, by this time,” rejoined Madelon.

“How lucky it was, Hugues, that I shut up the dogs!”

“If we can only get out the horses, all will be well,” he replied. “I

must be off to the stable. Good night, père Benoit! I hope soon to bring

you good tidings.”

“You can get away safely now,” said Madelon, cautiously opening the back

window. “There is no one here now, and the smoke will hide you.”

Despite the danger, Hugues snatched a parting kiss from his charmer's

lips, and then sprang through the window.

The burning mill formed a magnificent spectacle, being now wrapped in

flames from top to bottom, while blazing flakes fell from the sails.

Having highly combustible material to deal with, the fire had made rapid

progress. Fortunately the dense volume of smoke that arose from the

blazing structure was carried by the wind in the direction of the

stable, and the vapour served to screen Hugues from the observation of

the men-at-arms, who were all collected round the mill. Amongst them

Hugues descried Warthy, and heard him exclaim, in a loud and angry

voice, that he was certain Bourbon was not in the mill.

“Had he and his companion been there, they must have come forth,” he

said. “They would never submit to be roasted alive.”

Not a moment was to be lost. Hugues hurried off to the stable, and

was rejoiced to find, on reaching it, that Bourbon and Pomperant were

already mounted. His own horse was also in readiness, and he was no

sooner in the saddle than the party galloped off.

They had not ridden far, however, when a loud shout, proceeding from the

scene of the conflagration, proclaimed that their flight was discovered.

Warthy and his men were starting in pursuit.

Sounds also arose from the little town of Saint-Simphorien, proving

that its inhabitants had been roused from their slumbers by the alarm

of fire, while the loud clangour of a church bell, violently rung, broke

the stillness of the night.

“Poor Benoit will have plenty of help in case his house should catch

fire,” remarked Hugues. “All the good folks of Saint-Simphorien will be

with him presently.”

“Fail not to tell him I will rebuild his mill,” said Bourbon.

“Your highness need not trouble yourself on that score,” rejoined

Hugues. “Benoit is rich enough to rebuild the mill himself. He will

think nothing of the loss, provided your highness escapes.”

“We must spur our horses sharply, if we would escape,” cried Pomperant,

looking back. “Warthy and his men are better mounted than we are, and

are gaining upon us.”

“But they won't catch us,” rejoined Hugues. “We shall reach yonder

thicket before them, and then we are safe.”

“By Saint Denis, it galls me to the quick to fly thus before such

caitiffs!” cried Bourbon. “Let us wait for them. That villain Warthy

shall pay for his temerity.”

“He _shall_ pay for it, but not now,” rejoined Pomperont. “On--on--for

Heaven's sake! I implore your highness not to risk your life in a

miserable encounter. Consider that a kingdom is at stake.”

“Right,” rejoined the Constable. “En avant!”

And dashing his spurs rowel-deep into his horse, he galloped swiftly on,

the others keeping close beside him.

In a few minutes more the party reached the thicket in safety, and,

guided by Hugues, plunged unhesitatingly into its depths.

XV. VIENNE

|All Warthy's efforts to discover the fugitives were fruitless, though

he sent half his men into the thicket, and continued himself to skirt

it with the others till some hours after daybreak, when he gave up the

quest.

He did not return to the mill, deeming that Benoit had been sufficiently

punished by the destruction of his property, but shaped his course

towards Vienne, under the impression that Bourbon would attempt to cross

the bridge over the Rhone at that town, and, if so, he might still be

able to intercept him.

In this expectation he rode on to Rive de Gier, where he halted for a

while to recruit both men and horses, and at the same time instituted

inquiries as to the fugitives, but could learn nothing of them. Then,

crossing a mountainous ridge, in the midst of which towered Mont Pilas,

he descended, towards evening, through vine-clad slopes to the lovely

valley, through which rushes the broad and impetuous Rhone, hurrying on

its way to the Mediterranean.

On the farther bank of the river stood the ancient and picturesque town

of Vienne--ancient indeed it may well be termed since it existed long

before Lyons, and was a flourishing city in the time of the Romans, of

whose occupation it still boasts many monuments.

Facing the river, which almost washed the steps leading to its grand

portal, stood the Cathedral of Saint Maurice--a vast and stately pile.

Behind it was grouped a multitude of buildings, remarkable for their

quaint and fantastic architecture, in the midst of which rose many a

lofty tower, while here and there could be discerned a Roman arch or

temple, proclaiming the great antiquity of the place.

The background of the picture was formed by precipitous hills. On the

summit of one of them, known as Mont Salomon, stood a strong fortress,

which from its position completely commanded the valley and this part of

the river. The castle was of Roman origin, the donjon being built by the

first Cæsar, and, according to tradition, Pilate was imprisoned within

it.

All was picturesque about Vienne--its fortified walls, its cathedral,

its churches, towers, Roman monuments, and overhanging castle. But

not the least striking feature was its antique stone bridge, with

crenellated parapets and lofty towers. From one of the latter, called

the Tour de Mauconseil, it was said that Pilate threw himself into the

river, which rushed with overwhelming force through the narrow arches of

the bridge. Unluckily for the truth of the legend, the tower was built

some centuries later than the event supposed to be connected with

it could possibly have occurred. Notwithstanding this, the Tour de

Mauconseil had an ill repute. More than once it had been struck by

lightning, and no Sentinel would remain on its summit during a storm.

Towards this evil tower Warthy proceeded on arriving at

Saint-Colombe--as the little suburb on the right bank of the Rhone is

designated. Questioning the guard stationed at the gate, he ascertained

that no persons answering to the description of the fugitives had

crossed the bridge on that day. Ever since the king's proclamation in

regard to Bourbon's treason, strict watch had been kept, and no one

allowed to pass without examination--a precautionary measure which

Warthy felt certain would prevent the fugitives from attempting to cross

the bridge.

On further inquiry, he learnt that lower down the river, at Ampuis,

there was a ferry, which might not be guarded, and he determined to

proceed thither without loss of time. Accordingly, despatching half his

men across the bridge, with orders to proceed along the left bank of the

river, until they arrived opposite Ampuis, he set off with the others

towards the ferry in question.

Animated by the hope of intercepting Bourbon, and dreading lest he

should cross the river before his arrival, Warthy hurried on, regardless

of the fatigue he had previously endured. His spirit communicated

itself to his men, and they followed him without a murmur; no doubt

anticipating a share in the reward.

The road pursued by Warthy was singularly beautiful, and carried him

past vine-clad slopes, backed by the chain of mountains which he had

just crossed. But he was insensible to the charms of the scenery, and

did not even notice a lofty Roman obelisk on the opposite bank of the

river. He looked only for his men, and when he saw them issue from the

gates of Vienne, he was content.

Now and then he watched the turbid waters of the Rhone as they swept

past him, and envied the rapidity of the current, wishing he could speed

on as swiftly. But the shades of night had fallen, the mountains

were shrouded, and the beauties of the banks were obscured before

he approached Ampuis. Still, any object on the darkling river was

discernible.

For some little time he had lost sight of the detachment on the opposite

bank--the men having been forced to go inland on account of rocks and

other obstacles which they encountered in their course---and he looked

anxiously for their reappearance.

XVI. THE ROCK. IN THE RHONE.

|Having conducted Warthy thus far, we will now see what had become of

the fugitives.

Aided by Hugues, whose intimate acquaintance with the country was of the

utmost service, Bourbon and his companion had managed to steal out of

the thicket in which they had secreted themselves, and passing through

a long ravine, had crossed the chain of mountains lying between them

and the valley of the Rhone, and had descended the vine-clad slopes

bordering the noble river.

They did not, however, make for Vienne--Hugues having ascertained from

a peasant that the bridge was strictly guarded--but proceeded at once

to Ampuis, where they hoped to cross by the ferry. Bourbon now proposed

that Hugues should leave him, but the faithful fellow begged so

earnestly to be allowed to go on, that at last the Constable assented.

At Ampuis, which was then, as now, renowned for its delicious wine,

known as Côte Rôtie, they alighted at an auberge close by the river, and

obtained some refreshment, of which they stood greatly in need, together

with a flask or two of generous wine. Here they left the horses, the

poor brutes being too jaded to proceed farther, and renovated by the

repast, hastened to the ferry, which was at no great distance from the

inn. The ferryboat, it may be mentioned, was not rowed across the river,

but being fastened by a rope to a rock in the middle of the stream,

swung to and fro, like a flying-bridge.

At this juncture it was chained to a post on the river-side--no

passengers just then requiring to cross.

When the party approached the ferryman, it was so dark that he could not

distinguish them very dearly. But he looked hard at Bourbon, and showed

by his manner that his suspicions were awakened.

“We want to cross the river instantly, friend,” said Pomperant.

“What am I to have?” inquired the ferryman.

“A gold crown,” replied Pomperant, without hesitation.

“That's not enough,” said the ferryman. “I ought to have ten gold crowns

at the least.”

“Well, you shall have them--but be quick,” said Pomperant.

“A moment, and I'll be with you,” said the ferryman, running towards the

inn.

“We are discovered!” cried Bourbon. “The villain has gone for

assistance. Ha! what is that?” he added, as the trampling of horses was

heard.

As he looked anxiously in the direction, Warthy and his men came in

sight.

“Our pursuers are at hand!” exclaimed Pomperant. “Jump into the boat at

once.”

In another moment all three had embarked.

The boat was large, heavy, and flat-bottomed, built to transport horses

and cattle, as well as passengers, across the river. A minute or so

elapsed before Hugues could unchain it, and the delay was sufficient

to bring Warthy near enough to distinguish the fugitives, and at once

comprehending their designs, he redoubled his speed.

“'Tis Bourbon! I see him!” he vociferated.

No sooner did the ferryman become aware of the approach of the troop,

than he turned back to prevent the departure of the fugitives. But he

was too late. The boat had been pushed from the strand by means of a

pole which Pomperant had seized, and was swinging slowly towards the

centre of the stream. But there was another boat of lighter construction

and smaller size fastened to a post close by, and the ferryman busied

himself in preparing it, and by the time. Warthy and his men came up it

was ready.

“'Tis he you seek, captain!” he cried--“'tis the Constable de Bourbon. A

hundred crowns and you shall have him.”

“Thou art an extortionate knave; but I agree,” replied Warthy.

Dismounting, and commanding six of his men to follow him, he sprang into

the boat, which was pushed off by the ferryman. Its load, however, was

too great to allow it to move expeditiously, and thus a minute or

two was lost. However, there seemed little chance of escape for the

fugitives, since at this moment the soldiers, tracking the left bank of

the river, made their appearance, and hastened towards the landing-place

of the ferry.

Nothing now remained to the fugitives, who were, of course, alive to the

imminence of their peril, but to cut the rope and drop down the river.

This was done, but not so quickly as could have been desired. The

rope was stout, and resisted Pomperant's efforts to sever it with his

poniard. While he was thus employed, several shots were fired by the

soldiers, who, as we have said, were riding up to the landing-place, but

without effect.

As soon as it was set free the boat was carried rapidly down the river,

and other shots fired at its occupants fell short of their mark. Warthy

instantly followed in pursuit, and now began to regret that his boat

was overloaded, her quickness being much impeded from this cause.

Nevertheless, he felt confident that his prey could not escape him. His

men had their arquebuses with them, but he would not allow them to fire.

“I must take the traitor alive,” he said.

Notwithstanding all the ferryman's efforts, he gained very slightly, if

at all, upon the fugitives, who were swept on by the impetuous current,

and for nearly half a league they kept well ahead. Any attempt to land

would have been dangerous, as soldiers were riding after them on either

bank, and an occasional shot warned them of their risk. It was an

exciting chase, both to pursuers and pursued, and promised to become

more so before it was terminated.

Hitherto, the boat containing Bourbon and his fortunes had pursued its

course without encountering any obstacle, though the course of the Rhone

is beset by numerous sand-banks; and Warthy had been equally lucky.

But the channel was now narrowed by high rocks on either side, and thus

confined, the river rushed on with the swiftness of a mill-race.

The pass was considered dangerous even by experienced boatmen, as there

were many sunken rocks within it. But if the fugitives were here exposed

to a fresh peril, they escaped one to which they had hitherto been

subjected, for the precipices kept the soldiers away from the river, and

the firing of arquebuses ceased.

Another circumstance seemed favourable to the fugitives. Even in daytime

the pass was sombre, but now it was buried in gloom. In places where

the rocks overhung the river it was almost pitch-dark. Owing to this

obscurity, the fugitives could no longer be distinguished, and Warthy

becoming apprehensive lest they might contrive to catch at some

projecting ledge of rock or overhanging tree, and allow him to shoot

past them, stood up in the boat, trying to peer through the gloom, but

could discern nothing save the reflexion of the stars on the darkling

current. Though he listened intently, no sound met his ear except the

rushing of the impetuous river.

He then ordered two of his men to discharge their arquebuses, and, by

the momentary illumination thus afforded, found that his fears were not

wholly groundless. But for the precaution he had taken he might have

passed the fugitives unobserved. They had struck, it appeared, against

a rock, which reared itself above the stream about twenty yards from the

left bank, and were now vainly endeavouring to get the boat free.

Warthy instantly directed the ferryman to make for the rock, and at

the same time ordered another discharge of arquebuses to guide him,

reiterating his injunctions to his men that Bourbon must be taken alive.

The ferryman performed his part of the business successfully. In another

moment the boat struck against the rock, and with a violence that shook

her from head to stern. Both parties were now close together, and the

soldiers immediately attempted to board the ferry-boat, but were beaten

back with the loss of one of their number, who was wounded and thrown

into the river.

In a second attempt, however, they were more successful, and the

ferry-boat became the scene of a desperate conflict, in which personal

strength was displayed rather than skill. Indeed, the space was so

confined that swords could scarcely be used.

After a furious struggle, which endured for a few minutes, both

Pomperant and Hugues were thrown down, and a general attack was made

upon Bourbon, who was standing near the head of the boat.

Warthy summoned him to surrender, saying that resistance was useless,

but he replied by striking down the foremost of his opponents, and the

man fell overboard. Bourbon, being then hard pressed by Warthy and two

others, who turned their swords against him, sprang backwards upon the

rock, which rose about a couple of feet above the water, presenting a

rugged summit, on which not more than two or three persons could find

standing room.

“Hold back!” cried Warthy to his men. “If we advance we shall drive him

into the river, and I shall lose my prize, and you your reward. Listen

to me, Charles de Bourbon,” he added to the Constable. “For the last

time, I summon you to surrender.”

“Not while I can defend myself,” rejoined Bourbon. “Come and take me.

You dare not come alone.”

“You are mistaken, traitor,” cried Warthy, courageously. “I can capture

you without assistance.”

“Make good your vaunt, then,” said Bourbon. “Drag me from this rock, and

I will yield.”

“I accept the challenge,” rejoined Warthy, resolutely. “I have no fear

of the issue of a conflict with a traitor. Guilt will unnerve your

arm--justice will strengthen mine. Move not, I charge you,” he added to

his men.

“Leave me to fight it out alone.”

So saying, he leaped upon the rock.

Bourbon did not oppose him, but drew back slightly to give him room.

They now stood face to Face, eyeing each other fiercely--the one

thirsting for vengeance, the other animated with the hope of achieving a

feat which would ensure him a great reward and endless renown.

“Swords are useless here,” said Warthy.

“Use your poniard, then,” replied Bourbon, sheathing his sword.

His example was followed by Warthy, and in another moment each held

a poniard in his right hand, while with his left he grasped the

corresponding hand of his adversary.

“You are a brave man, Warthy,” said Bourbon, “and I am loth to kill you,

but you have sought your own destruction. You will never leave this rock

alive.”

“I will leave it alive, and take you with me, traitor,” rejoined the

other.

No more was said. Each released the hand he had till that moment tightly

clutched, and a terrible struggle commenced, either combatant striving,

with all his force, to prevent his antagonist from using his weapon.

Notwithstanding their leader's injunctions, his men would have come to

his assistance, if they could have done so, but Warthy himself was

in the way, his back being towards the boat, and Bourbon could not be

reached save through him.

For more than a minute the combatants remained locked in each other's

embrace, unable to strike a blow. Warthy exerted all his strength to

drag the Constable into the boat, but he might as well have striven

to uproot an oak, or move the solid rock beneath his feet. At last,

exhausted by futile efforts, he sought to extricate himself from the

crushing gripe in which he was held, and partially succeeding, tried to

use his poniard. But Bourbon caught his wrist as he raised the weapon,

and thus had him completely at his mercy.

“Swear to take off your men and trouble me no further,” said the

Constable, “and I will grant you your life.”

“Never!” exclaimed Warthy, again vainly struggling to get free, and

calling on his men to succour him.

But, ere assistance could be rendered, Bourbon's poniard pierced his

heart, and his body was flung into the rushing Rhone.

Scared by their leader's fate, the two soldiers held back for a moment,

and this allowed Bourbon time to draw his sword, and successfully repel

the attack made upon him.

One of his assailants was speedily sent to join Warthy, and was swept

off by the greedy current. The other retreated towards the farther end

of the boat, whither he was pursued by Bourbon. His comrades, who had

been occupied in guarding Pomperant and Hugues, instantly joined him,

and all three attacked the Constable. But the captives being now free,

the soldiers were soon overpowered. Two were slain by Bourbon, and the

last was thrown overboard by Pomperant.

All Bourbon's enemies were now disposed of except the ferryman, who had

taken no part in the conflict, anticipating a very different result. The

man now endeavoured to push off his boat, but was prevented by Hugues,

who seized the oars.

Half paralysed by terror, the miserable wretch begged his life in

piteous terms, calling upon all the saints to witness that he had been

an involuntary agent in the attempt at capturing the Constable, and

affirming that he was delighted at its failure. His quavering tones

belied his words, and, disgusted by his mendacity, Hugues would have

thrown him into the river, but Bourbon interposed, offering the caitiff

his life, provided he landed them safely.

All the party having embarked in the boat, it was soon set free, and in

another minute the stony mass, which had been the scene of so terrible

a conflict, and which was afterwards known as “Bourbon's Rock,” was left

far behind.

The current bore them swiftly through the narrow pass, the river

widened, the precipices disappeared, and gave way to vine-clad slopes.

Bourbon would have now landed, but he was deterred by perceiving some of

Warthy's men on the left bank. Luckily, the boat escaped their notice,

but mistrusting the ferryman, Hugues threatened to stab him if he made

the slightest signal.

This danger avoided, they went on for two leagues farther. In passing

Condrieu, then a small village, but now an important town, boasting a

suspension-bridge, besides being celebrated for its wine, Hugues again

enforced silence upon the ferryman, and the boat swept by unnoticed.

At length a point was reached between Le Roches and Saint-Alban, where

Bourbon thought he might safely land, and he accordingly disembarked

with his companions.

On leaping ashore, his first impulse was to thank Heaven for a great

deliverance.

XVII. THE INN AT SAINT-ANDRE

|After his narrow escape from capture by Warthy, Bourbon made his way,

as well as he could, across Dauphiné, his intention being either

to proceed to Italy, or shape his course to Saint-Claude, in the

Franche-Comté, as circumstances might dictate. The journey had to be

performed entirely on foot, since he found it impossible to procure

horses, and besides undergoing great fatigue, and running constant

risks, He had to submit to extraordinary hardships.

On quitting the banks of the Rhone, the fugitives, fearing they might be

followed--it being certain the ferryman would give information of their

route--did not dare to enter any village where there was an inn, or even

seek shelter in a cottage, but avoiding all frequented roads, after

a toilsome walk of more than three hours, gained a thick forest, and

entering it, passed the rest of the night beneath the trees.

Next morning they quitted the forest, and feeling faint and exhausted

from want of food, they were compelled to halt at an auberge, kept by

an old woman, in the outskirts of the little town of Saint-André.

Astonished at the appetites of her guests, who ate with the voracity of

famished wolves, the hostess did not trouble them with any questions,

feeling sure she would get no response until they had satisfied their

hunger. She then broached the topic on which the whole country was

interested, and inquired whether the Constable de Bourbon had been

taken.

“I hope not,” replied Pomperant, regarding her fixedly.

“Then you are a partisan of the Constable?” rejoined the old woman.

“I won't deny it. I am Bourbon's partisan--his staunch partisan,”

returned Pomperant. “I hope he may give his enemies the slip--and I

think he will, for I hear he is making his way through Languedoc to

Narbonne, and if so, he will soon be safe across the Pyrenees.”

“You have been misinformed,” rejoined the hostess. “Some soldiers who

were here late last night declared that Bourbon had crossed the Rhone

below Ampuis.”

“Diable! this is news!” exclaimed Pomperant, glancing uneasily at the

Constable. “Can you tell us which way the soldiers went, dame?”

“Yes, I can satisfy you on that point,” she replied. “They divided

into two parties--one taking the road to Roussillon, the other to

Beaurepaire. It may not please you, who have declared yourself a

partisan of the Constable, to hear what I have got to say. But I believe

he will soon be taken.”

“Before you give a reason for that opinion, let us have some more wine,

dame,” said Pomperant. “Your wine is sound and wholesome.”

“Better wine cannot be had in all Dauphiné,” she replied, filling their

cups. “Now, then, I'll tell you why I think Bourbon will be caught.”

“Ay, tell us that,” said the Constable, emptying his flagon.

“I think he will be taken, because he is rash, and exposes himself

to needless risk,” said the old woman, looking hard at Bourbon as she

spoke. “He is beset with dangers on all sides. The roads are guarded,

and there are soldiers in every town in Dauphiné on the lookout for him.

Where is he to go?”

“If he reaches the mountains, he will be safe,” said Bourbon.

“Ah! but he won't reach the mountains if he comes this way,” remarked

the hostess.

“Why not?--they are close at hand,” asked Bourbon.

“Because the provost of Vienne, with a powerful guard, is in the

neighbourhood, making active search for him,” said the old woman, in a

significant tone; “that is why I think he will be captured.”

“She warns me of my danger,” thought Bourbon.

“The provost is coming hither from Eclose,” pursued the hostess. “I

wouldn't advise Bourbon to take that road.”

“I don't think it likely he will take it, my good dame,” said the

Constable. “Depend upon it, he will go in quite another direction.”

“In which direction can he go?” said the hostess. “I tell you, there are

soldiers on every road.”

“But there is a cross-road to the mountains,” remarked Hugues.

“True, if he could only find it,” she rejoined.

“I know it,” said Hugues. “Have you any horses, hostess?”

“I have, but I cannot spare them.”

“You mean, you dare not let us have them.”

“As you will. But you won't get horses in Saint-André, and I advise you

not to stay longer than you can help in the neighbourhood.”

“We will follow your counsel, good dame,” said Pom-perant, as he and

Bourbon rose from the table, and prepared for immediate departure.

“Thanks for our entertainment,” he added, giving her a gold crown.

“This is too much,” she said.

“Keep it, it will bring you luck,” said the Constable. “If Bourbon comes

back, show it to him.”

“Ah! I dread his coming back!” she exclaimed. “They say if Bourbon

escapes, he will return at the head of an army of English and Spaniards,

and slaughter us all, like so many sheep.”

“His enemies say that of him,” rejoined the Constable. “Hear me. If

Bourbon comes back, it will be to liberate the people from oppression,

and bring them peace and happiness. He loves France better than the king

loves it.”

“In that case, I hope he may get away safely, and come back speedily,”

said the old woman.

“Amen!” cried Bourbon. “Heaven has already delivered him from many

dangers, and will not desert him now! Farewell, good dame!”

“A good journey to you, messieurs,” she rejoined. “Stay,” she added to

Hugues; “though I can't furnish you with horses, I can supply you with

provisions, and you will need them in the mountains.”

So saying, she hastily filled a basket with bread and cold meat, and did

not neglect to add a couple of flasks of wine.

Armed with this supply, Hugues followed his leaders out of the house,

and the party took their way along a rarely-trodden footpath towards the

mountains.

They had not proceeded more than a league, when they found they were

pursued by the provost of Vienne and his guard, and again sought shelter

in a wood. Nor did they venture forth till nightfall, when they inarched

on vigorously, and reached the mountains without further interruption.

Nearly four days, marked by incessant toil and exposure to hardship,

difficulties, and dangers of many kinds, elapsed before Bourbon and his

companions reached Chambéry.

Often, in the course of the wearisome journey, they lost their way among

the mountains, for they did not dare to employ a guide, and only when

compelled by absolute necessity did they approach a chalet.

Nevertheless, through all this fatigue and danger, Bourbon never lost

heart--never for a moment doubted his ultimate escape. Both he and

Pomperant had too often known a soldier's couch to heed sleeping amid

the mountains with only the skies above them; and Hugues was not less

hardy. Had it not been for the risk to which he was exposed, this kind

of life would not have been without a charm to the fugitive prince.

Magnificent scenery was presented to him. Mountains, sometimes bare

and craggy, sometimes rounded and clothed with trees almost to their

summit--while from these heights lovely views were obtained of broad and

fertile valleys, watered by rapid streams, and peopled with villages--or

a vast plain, spreading out for leagues, giving glimpses here and there

of the rushing Rhone, and bounded in the distance by the snowy peaks

of the Alps. Such were some of the prospects which cheered Bourbon

during-his detention amid the Jura mountains.

At last he approached Chambéry, but neither he nor Pomperant ventured

into the town, but, tarrying in the environs, sent on Hugues to

reconnoitre. Some time elapsed before their emissary returned. He had

managed to replenish his basket with wine and provisions, but brought

word that the town was full of soldiers, the Comte de Saint-Pol being

there with a large force, on his way to Italy to join Bonnivet.

This intelligence caused Bourbon at once to abandon the design he had

formed of crossing the Alps and proceeding to Genoa, and decided him,

at whatever risk, to prosecute his original design, and make for the

Franche-Comté. There was danger in the latter course, but far greater

danger from Saint-Pol and his troops.

Without entering the town, Bourbon therefore turned aside from Chambéry,

and took the way towards Aix. They walked for a couple of hours, when

worn out almost by fatigue, they approached a châlet, and obtained

accommodation for the night. The account they gave of themselves

satisfied the master of the châlet, and they left early next morning

without exciting his suspicion. On reaching the Lac de Bourget, they

hired a boat, and were rowed to the farther end of that beautiful lake.

Having reached Seyssel in safety, they crossed the Rhone, and sought

shelter in a châlet for the night. Next morning they again began to

ascend the Jura, and alter crossing several peaks, and tracking more

than one gloomy gorge, they came in sight of the ancient town of Nantua,

seated on the borders of a lake. Not daring, however, to enter the town,

they again sought the shelter of a châlet. A mountainous ridge now only

separated them from the Franche-Comté. This ridge crossed, Bourbon's

danger would be over.

At break of day the fugitives again started on their journey. It was a

lovely morning, and the beauty of the scenery might have tempted them to

linger on their way; but they hurried on, eager to cross the frontier.

On attaining the summit of a mountain commanding the beautiful valley,

in which lay the old town of Nantua and its lake, Bourbon paused for a

moment to survey the lovely prospect, and then became aware that a small

troop of cavalry was ascending the heights. Pointing out the danger

to his companions they all three started off, and, after crossing the

summit of the mountain, dashed down the opposite side. Near the foot of

the acclivity there was a thick dark wood, and into this they plunged,

though not unperceived by their pursuers, who by this time had gained

the brow of the mountain.

At the sight, the soldiers dashed down the hill, a portion of the troop

entering the wood, while the others rode round it. By this manouvre

they hoped to secure their prey; but they were foiled. Three of the

men-at-arms, who had penetrated into the thicket, were suddenly set upon

by Bourbon and his companions, and compelled to give up their horses.

Being thus provided with steeds, the fugitives suddenly burst out of the

wood and galloped towards the frontier, which was marked by the river

Ain, now only half a league off.

On a mount on the farther side of the river stood a fort garrisoned

by the soldiers of the Emperor, and it was towards this point that the

fugitives now shaped their course. But they were hotly pursued by their

enemies, while another small band of cavalry, sallying from a fort on

the French side of the river, sought to cut off their retreat. Before

the latter could come up, however, Bourbon and his companions had

reached the river, and dashing into it without hesitation, their horses

safely across.

When they landed on the opposite hank they were welcomed by a company of

German reiters, to whom the Constable immediately announced himself,

and on learning his quality the men shook their lances and set up a loud

shout of “Vive Bourbon!”

XVIII. SAINT-CLAUDE.

|At the Constable's request he was conducted by the reiters to the

fort, where he was received with all the honour due to his rank by the

governor, who congratulated him most heartily on his escape, and gave

him the very satisfactory intelligence that all his adherents whom he

had quitted at the Chateau d'Herment--including the Seigneurs Tansannes,

Du Peloux, Espinat, and Desguières--together with Lurcy, had already

succeeded in reaching the Franche-Comté.

“Your highness will find them at Saint-Claude, where they are anxiously

awaiting your arrival,” said the governor. “They are guests of Cardinal

Labaume, Sovereign Bishop of Geneva, and are sojourning at the episcopal

palace. Most of them arrived nearly a week ago, but the Seigneur Lurcy

only crossed the frontier yesterday.”

“I am rejoiced to learn that Lurcy has escaped,” said Bourbon. “I have

heard nothing of him, and feared he might have fallen into the hands of

the king, who would have shown him no mercy.”

“That is quite certain,” replied the governor. “Your highness is no

doubt aware that the Comte de Saint-Vallier, the Bishops of Autun and

Puy, the Seigneurs Aimard de Prie, Pierre de Popillon, Chancellor of

the Bourbonnois, Gilbert Baudemanche, and others of your partisans, have

been arrested and lodged in the Conciergerie at Paris. It is said, but

I know not with what truth, that the Comte de Saint-Vallier has been

tortured, to wring confession from him.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Bourbon, “he is most unjustly dealt with. Of all my

partisans, Saint-Vallier is the last who ought to be punished, for he

endeavoured to dissuade me from my design, and yet it is on his devoted

head that the tyrant seems bent on wreaking his direst vengeance. But a

day of retribution is at hand. For every life sacrificed by François, I

will have ten.”

“I am sorry to mar your highness's satisfaction at a moment like the

present,” said the governor, “but I could not withhold this painful news

from you.”

“I thank you for giving it me, sir,” rejoined Bourbon. “The information

steels my breast. As I have just said, if I cannot deliver my friends, I

can avenge them. But what of the ten thousand lanz-knechts that were to

be raised for me by the Comtes Furstenberg?”

“On hearing of your highness's flight,” returned the governor, “the

Comtes Furstenberg marched with their men towards the west, to join the

Anglo-Flemish army in Picardy. They took several castles by the way,

but I fear they have encountered serious obstacles. The last tidings

received of them were, that they were retreating to Neufchâteau on the

Meuse, after heavy losses.”

“Would I had been with them!” cried Bourbon. “But where are the four

thousand Vaudois promised me?”

“They have returned to their own country, fearing they would get no

pay,” replied the governor.

“Then I have no army in the Franche-Comté?”

“Your highness will soon raise one. When your escape is known, thousands

will flock round your standard.”

With this assurance Bourbon was forced to be content. He tarried for a

few hours at the fort to rest and refresh himself, and during this time

both he and Pomperaut were enabled, by the governor's aid, to make some

change in their habiliments, of which they stood greatly in need.

Thus newly equipped, and attended by Hugues, who had likewise obtained

fresh habiliments, they started for Saint-Claude, accompanied by an

escort of twenty reiters.

As he rode along, Bourbon could not help contrasting his present

position with that in which he had been so lately placed, A few hours

ago, he was environed by enemies, and in danger of his life. Now he was

free, and would soon be able to requite the injuries he had sustained.

His exultation was damped by the thought that so many of his partisans

were in the king's hands, but this reflection only served to intensify

his desire for vengeance.

On arriving at Saint-Claude, he repaired at once to the episcopal

palace, and presenting himself to Cardinal Labaume, received a cordial

welcome from the prelate, who was a zealous partisan of the Emperor.

After listening with great interest to Bourbon's account of his flight,

and the perils he had encountered, the Cardinal sent for Lurcy and the

rest of the Constable's adherents, and was much touched by the meeting

that took place between them and their fugitive lord.

Bourbon himself was profoundly affected on beholding his devoted

friends, and embraced each individually.

“This rewards me for all my suffering,” he said. “You must forgive me,

my good friends, for quitting you. The step was absolutely necessary for

the safety of us all. Had I not taken it, we might not be here now.”

“Your highness's escape from so many perils is truly providential,”

observed Cardinal Labaume. “Thanks should be offered to the Great Power

who has so marvellously preserved you. Let us now repair to my chapel,

where you can perform your devotions.”

Though a stern soldier, Bourbon was devout, and religiously believing

that the hand of Heaven had been manifested in his behalf, it was with

unwonted fervour that he offered up his grateful prayers at the altar of

the small chapel to which he was led by the cardinal.

XIX. IN WHAT MANNER BOURBON ENTERED BESANÇON.

|Bourbon remained for three days at Saint-Claude, the guest of Cardinal

Labaume, by whom he was entertained with princely hospitality. On the

fourth day, he departed for Besançon, accompanied by all his adherents,

and attended by a numerous escort of reiters, furnished for him by

the cardinal. Among his suite was Hugues, who was now enrolled in his

service.

Harbingers had been sent on to announce Bourbon's visit to the ancient

capital of the Franche-Comté. Preparations, therefore, for his reception

had been made by the municipal authorities, who, in order to please the

Emperor and mortify the King of France, had determined to treat Bourbon

as a sovereign prince.

The city of Besançon, which existed in the time of the Romans, and which

has been described by Cæsar himself, was a place of great strength,

built on a hill, almost surrounded by the river Doubs, which here takes

the form of a horse-shoe. On a rocky height, the base of which was

washed by the Doubs, stood the castle, originally built by the Romans;

and in later times, when Besançon was annexed to France after the peace

of Nimeguen, was converted into a citadel by Vauban. From its position,

this castle looked impregnable, and capable of protecting the city, but

it was besieged and taken by Louis XIV. in 1660. On a plain between two

branches of the Doubs, where the Roman legions had once been encamped,

and which is still known as the Campus Martius, could be seen the tents

of a small force of German lanz-knechts, reserved by the Emperor for the

defence of the province.

On his arrival at Besançon, Bourbon was met at the foot of the old

bridge across the Doubs by the burgomaster and all the civic authorities

on horseback, and welcomed by them to the city. After listening to an

address from the burgomaster, he was conducted across the bridge,

which was lined by German lanz-knechts, into the city, amid the roar

of ordnance, the braying of trumpets, the beating of drums, and the

acclamations of the spectators. The picturesque old houses were decked

with garlands of flowers, and hung with scrolls and banners, houses were

decorated with carpets and rich stuffs, the fountains ran with wine, and

the capital of the Franche-Comté had not been so festive since the time

when the Emperor last visited it.

Bourbon was conducted by the burgomaster and the other magistrates to

the cathedral of Saint-Jean, a noble Gothic pile, and as he dismounted

at the porch, enthusiastic shouts were raised by the lanz-knechts

crowding the enclosure--the interior of the sacred pile being so full

that they could not obtain admittance. Thanksgivings were then offered

for the deliverance of the fugitive prince from his enemies, and a _Te

Deum_ sung. At the close of these religious solemnities, Bourbon was

taken to the Herrenhaus, where a grand banquet had been prepared.

All honours that could have been bestowed upon the Emperor himself was

shown to the illustrious fugitive. A palatial mansion in the midst of

the city, which Charles V. himself had occupied, was appropriated to

him, and a numerous civic guard assigned him.

Notwithstanding this brilliant reception, Bourbon was greatly

disheartened by the intelligence he received of the proceedings of his

royal allies. To his mortification he learnt that the Spanish forces had

been successfully held in check at Bayonne by Lautrec, while the Duke

of Suffolk, who had made a descent upon the coast of Picardy, and had

advanced almost within sight of Paris, had been recalled by the King of

England. Moreover, a large force had been placed by François upon the

frontiers of Burgundy, under the joint command of the Duke d'Alençon and

the Duke de Guise, while the king himself still remained at Lyons with

the army.

Bourbon had now been more than a fortnight at Besançon, burning with

impatience to avenge his injuries, when despatches arrived from Spain

and England. Both monarchs attributed the failure of the design to

him. Had he performed his promises, the joint invasion must have been

successful. But when he fled, Henry recalled his forces, and the Emperor

suspended the siege of Bayonne. The King of England refused the supplies

of money and artillery which Bourbon had urgently demanded of him,

and the Emperor professed himself unable to send him either money

or succour. Both declared that the project must be for the present

abandoned.

Bourbon's hopes of immediate revenge being thus at an end, he resolved

to proceed without delay to Spain, in order to hold a personal interview

with the Emperor, and, if possible, plan a campaign for the winter.

His design was to pass into Italy by way of Germany, Switzerland being

then allied to France, and he proposed in the first instance to visit

his cousin the Duke of Mantua. From Mantua he would proceed to Genoa,

and thence embark for Spain.

While he was making preparations for his meditated journey, he was

informed, one morning, that the Seigneur d'Imbaut, a gentleman belonging

to the household of the King of France, furnished with a sauf conduit,

had arrived at Besançon, and sought a private audience of him.

Bourbon refused a private audience, but consented to receive the envoy

in the presence of his adherents. Accordingly, D'Imbaut was ushered into

a great hall half filled with the civic guard, armed with halberds. At

the upper end of the hall, on a chair of state, sat Bourbon, surrounded

by his partisans.

After making a profound obeisance, the envoy said:

“I am the bearer of a message from my royal master the King of France.

I am sent to offer to your highness a full and complete pardon for all

your offences committed against his majesty and against the state, if

you will engage to merit clemency by sincere repentance, and unshaken

fidelity for the future.”

Here D'Imbaut paused, but Bourbon making no reply, he went on:

“As an incitement to your highness to return to your duty, the king my

master graciously offers you the im mediate restitution of the whole

of your possessions, which will otherwise be confiscated, the

re-establishment of all the pensions of which you have been deprived,

with full assurance that they shall hereafter be paid with exactitude.”

He then paused for a moment, and added, “What answer shall I take from

your highness to his majesty?”

“Tell the king your master,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly and haughtily,

“that I have thrown off my allegiance to him, and consequently he has

no power to pardon me. Tell him that he has already played me false, and

that I would not trust his promise to restore me my possessions, or to

continue my pensions. Tell him to confiscate my domains if he likes--I

will soon have them back again.”

“I will repeat word for word what your highness has told me,” replied

the envoy.

“You may depart, then,” said Bourbon.

“I have not yet done,” said D'Imbaut, assuming a different and more

haughty manner; “since your highness has declared that you have thrown

off your allegiance, I must, in the name of the king my master, demand

your sword as Constable of France.”

Bourbon's eyes blazed with anger at this demand, but he constrained

himself.

“The king your master took that sword from me at Fontainebleau,” he

said. “But I have another sword, which he shall have--when he can take

it.”

“I have my answer,” said D'Imbaut.

Then looking round at the group of gentlemen, he asked:

“Messeigneurs, do you all remain obstinate in rebellion? I am enabled to

offer you the king's grace. Will none of you accept it?”

“None,” they replied, with one voice.

“A moment, sir,” said Bourbon to the envoy. “Tell the king your master,

from me, his enemy, that when next we meet we shall have changed places.

It will be for him to sue for pardon.”

Charged with this defiant message, D'Imbaut departed.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK