We must now turn to trace the proceedings of Philip Count d'Aubin,
who, riding on at full speed, drew not his bridle rein till he reached
the magnificent Hotel de Guise; where, pushing through the mingled
crowd of attendants and petitioners, that swarmed, round the _porte
cochere_ of the dwelling, in which, for the time, resided all the
power of Paris, if not of France, he advanced, with hasty steps and
abstracted look, to the foot of the great staircase. He had even
proceeded some way up the stairs ere he noticed, or even seemed to
hear, the reiterated inquiries regarding his name and business, which
were addressed to him by the various grooms and porters in his
progress. When, at length--called for a moment from his fit of
absence--he did condescend to speak, he merely mentioned his name,
without indicating in any manner which of the many persons that the
house contained was the object of his present visit.
Although unacquainted with his person, the valet, who had at length
obtained an answer, happening to recall some of the court scandal of
former times, instantly, by an association not unnatural, connected
the coming of the Count d'Aubin with the presence of the Duchess de
Montpensier, the sister of the Duke de Mayenne, in the house at that
moment; and he proceeded forthwith to show the Count to her
apartments. D'Aubin entered the splendid saloon in which the Duchess
was sitting with the same thoughtful and abstracted air which had been
left behind by the strong and turbulent passions, that had just been
excited in his bosom by his interview with Beatrice of Ferrara. Madame
de Montpensier, surrounded by a group of the gay idlers of the
capital, who even at that time mingled in their character that degree
of levity and ferocity which marked with such dreadful traits the
first French revolution, was engaged in the seemingly puerile
employment of cutting out a paper crown with a huge pair of scissors,
the sheath of which, black, coarse, and disfiguring, was passed
through the silken girdle that spanned her beautiful waist.
Shouts of laughter were ringing through the hall, when the valet
opened the door, and announced the Count d'Aubin. The Duchess
instantly looked up, with a smile of pleasure; but, remarking the
ruffled aspect of the Count, she instantly exclaimed--"Why, how now,
D'Aubin! how now! After so long an absence, do you come back to our
feet, not like a penitent suing for pardon, but rather like a harsh
husband, full of scoldings and tempests?"
The cause of those gloomy looks, which she remarked, was not one which
Philip d'Aubin would willingly have communicated to the gay, satirical
Duchess de Montpensier, who, to the libertine freedom common to the
whole court, added many a wily art, and many a vindictive passion,
derived from the angry political factions of the time. The immediate
cause of his visit to Paris, however, afforded him a ready motive to
assign for his dark brow and agitated look. "Well may I be disturbed,
madam," he replied, after a hasty word of salutation, "when my noble
cousin, St. Real, confiding in an authentic pass, from the hands of
your Highness's brother, has been entrapped in the neighbourhood of
Senlis, and is now, as I am informed, a prisoner in Paris!"
"Nay, but why bear such a countenance into our presence, Count
d'Aubin?" rejoined the Duchess; "I am guiltless of entrapping your
cousin, or of even trying to entrap yourself; though, once upon a
time," she added in a low tone, "I may have seen the Count d'Aubin a
tassel not unwilling to be lured;" and she looked up at him with a
glance in which reproach was so skilfully mingled with playfulness and
tenderness, that D'Aubin, although he knew that full two-thirds of the
pageant which daily played its part on her countenance, was mere
artifice, could not refrain from smiling in his turn.
"Ever willing to be lured, dear lady, where the lure is fair!" he
replied; "and though I certainly came to speak reproaches, they were
not to you. I know not why your blockhead groom," he added, "brought
me hither, unless he divined, indeed, how much the sight of your
Highness softens all wrath. My business was with your brother, the
Duke of Mayenne."
The Duchess muttered to herself--"That will never do! If he see
Mayenne, he will spoil the whole! I appeal to you, fair ladies and
gentlemen all," she exclaimed aloud, with one of those quick and happy
turns of artifice, which no one knew better how to employ, "if this is
not a high crime and misdemeanour in the court of love and gallantry,
to tell a lady, whom he dare not deny to be fair, that he came for any
other purpose on earth than to see herself?"
"Blasphemy! blasphemy! utter blasphemy!" cried half a dozen voices.
"Judge him, fair lady, for his great demerits!"
"Philip d'Aubin!" exclaimed the Duchess, putting on a theatrical air,
"you are condemned by your peers; but, under consideration of your
having been thoroughly brutalized, by a two months' residence at the
distance of a hundred leagues from Paris, we are inclined to show you
lenity: kneel down here, then; humbly, at our feet, confess your
crime! and swear upon this paper crown, which we have cut expressly
for the royal Henry's head, never to commit the like iniquity again!"
D'Aubin had entered the apartment, not very well disposed to jest, but
yet the feelings which had oppressed him were of such a nature, that
he was quite willing to forget them; and the smiles of the Duchess de
Montpensier, as well as the tone of tenderness she assumed towards
him, together with the remembrance of many gay moments, spent in her
society long before, made him gladly enough take up the part that she
assigned him. Bending his knee gracefully before her, then, he made
confession of his crime, declared his penitence, and, vowing, in the
terms she had dictated, never to offend again, he stooped his head to
kiss the paper crown which she held upon her knee. At the same moment
the Duchess bent forward, as if to receive his vow, and, as she did
so, she whispered, rapidly, "Stay with me, D'Aubin, and I will soon
send these fools away."
The Count replied nothing, but rose; and, still holding the paper
crown playfully in his hand, demanded, in his ordinary tone, what was
the real intent and purpose of that fragile mockery of the royal
symbol.
The Duchess saw that he had heard, understood, and was prepared to
obey her whisper; and she replied, "'Tis exactly as I have told you,
most incredulous of men. When, by the fate of war, or by the blessing
of God, Henry, calling himself the Third, shall be brought in chains
into Paris, it might be expected that the sister of the murdered
Guise"--and as she spoke, her eye flashed for a moment with all the
fiery spirit of her race;--"it might be supposed that the sister of
the murdered Guise should not bound her wishes for revenge, till she
saw the assassin's blood flow like water in the kennel. But she is
more charitable, or, rather, he is too pitiful a thing to be worthy of
severe punishment. With these scissors shall be cut off his royal
locks, ere he quits the courtly world for the world of the cloister;
and on his head shall he bear this crown, from the door of Notre Dame
to the abbey of St. Denis, when he goes to take the vows that exclude
him for ever from the world."
D'Aubin laughed. "So, this crown is for King Henry!" he exclaimed:
"and have you never thought, madam, of cutting out another, from some
different materials, for your noble brother of Mayenne?"
"It must be an iron crown, then," replied the Duchess, tossing her
head proudly; "and he must hew it out for himself, with his good
sword."
"Rather a Cyclopean labour," remarked D'Aubin; "rather a Cyclopean
labour I suspect! especially since Harry of Valois, to whom you deny
the crown, has chosen to turn up his hat with a Huguenot button."
"We shall see, we shall see!" replied the Duchess: "I know, sir Count,
you laugh at all parties; so I understand not why you should cling so
fondly to the rabble of accursed murderers and heretics, who lie out
there at St. Cloud, like vipers in a garden."
D'Aubin laughed outright at the Duchess's vehemence, and reminded her
that some of her near relations were amongst the rabble she so
qualified.
"They are none the less vipers for that," she replied: and the
conversation taking a turn neither very wise nor very decent, may as
well be omitted in this place. It lingered on, however, from minute to
minute, without the Duchess making any apparent effort to fulfil the
promise she had made to D'Aubin, and send away the idlers by whom she
was surrounded. Too long accustomed to the intriguing society of
Paris, and too well acquainted with the character of the wily woman
with whom he had now to deal, not to be armed at all points against
every art and deception, D'Aubin began to suspect that the Duchess was
trifling with him for some particular purpose, and was seeking to
occupy him with other matters, till some moment of importance, to
himself or his cousin, was irretrievably lost.
"Hark!" he exclaimed, as this thought crossed his mind; "there is the
clock of St. Gervais striking one, and I must really seek my lord the
Duke."
"I hear no clock," replied the Duchess--nor could she, for none had
struck--"I hear no clock! But not yet, D'Aubin, not yet; I am not yet
going to slip the jesses of my _faucon gentil_, after having just
recovered him from so long a flight. Stay you with me, D'Aubin, and I
will send and see if my brother be within. You go, Mont-Augier," she
added, turning to one of the young cavaliers, who instantly sprang to
obey her; but, ere he reached the door, the Duchess, by a sudden
movement, placed herself near him; and, while D'Aubin was for a moment
occupied by some other person present, she said, in a low voice, "Do
not return, do not return: we must keep the Count away from Mayenne,
or they will together spoil some of our best schemes."
D'Aubin's eye turned upon her; and his quick suspicions might have
gone far to counteract her purposes, had not Madame de Montpensier,
almost as soon as Mont-Augier's back was turned, contrived, on various
pretences, to dismiss the rest of her little court. Left thus alone
with a fascinating and beautiful woman, who condescended to court his
society, D'Aubin could not resist the temptation to trifle away with
her half an hour of invaluable time, though he knew all her arts, and
even suspected that, on the present occasion, they were employed
against him for insidious purposes. He was on the watch, however, and,
ere long, the clatter of many horses' feet in the court-yard caught
his attention, and led him instantly to conclude that the Duke of
Mayenne was about to go forth, without having seen him. It was now all
in vain that Madame de Montpensier, who likewise heard the sounds, and
attributed them to the same cause, endeavoured to occupy his attention
by every little art of coquetry. D'Aubin started up, and, in gay, but
resolute terms, expressed his determination of seeing the Duke ere he
left the house.
To what evasion Madame de Montpensier would have had recourse, is
difficult to say; but, ere she could reply, the door opened, and a
lady entered, whom we will not pause here to describe. Suffice it,
that she was the widow of the murdered Duke of Guise, and that, though
her person wore the weeds, her face betrayed few of the sorrows, of
widowhood.
"Catherine! Catherine!" she exclaimed, entering; "there is our slow
brother of Mayenne just returned, and calling for you so quickly that
one would think he were himself as nimble as Harry of Navarre."
"Returned! I knew not that he was absent!" replied the Duchess de
Montpensier, with an air of irrepressible mortification, on finding
that all her arts had been thrown away, and, instead of preventing
D'Aubin from seeing her brother ere he went forth, had only tended to
keep the Count there till he returned. A meaning smile, too, on the
lip of D'Aubin, served to increase her chagrin; and she exclaimed,
with a slight touch of pettish impatience in her tone, "Well, well, I
go to him; and you, my fair sister, had better stay and console this
tiresome man, till my return."
The Duchess of Guise saw that something had gone wrong; but D'Aubin
laughed, and replied, as Madame de Montpensier turned towards the
door, "May I request you to tell his Highness that the tiresome man
waits an audience; and, as his business will be explained in few
words, he will not detain the Duke so long as he has detained Madame
de Montpensier,--or as, perhaps, I might say, more truly, Madame de
Montpensier has detained him,--probably under a mistake;" and he made
her a low and significant bow, to which she only replied by shaking
her finger at him as she passed through the doorway.
"Where is the Duke?" she demanded eagerly of the pages in the
corridor, who started up at her approach; and then, scarcely listening
to their answer, she hurried on to the room in which she expected to
find him, and opened the door without ceremony. The Duke was seated at
a table, hastily sealing some letters, while a courier, booted,
spurred, and armed, stood by his side, ready to bear them to their
destinations as soon as the packets were complete.
"Why, how now, Catherine!" he exclaimed, turning towards her as she
entered, and, in so doing, spilling the boiling wax over his broad
hand, without suffering the pain to produce the slightest change of
expression on his heavy, determined countenance; "why, how now,
Catherine! you have been tampering, I find, with things wherein you
have no right to meddle. What is this business about the young Marquis
of St. Real? Is it not bad enough that that rash boy, Aumale, should
lose me a battle beneath the walls of Senlis, without my sister losing
me my honour?"
"Tush, nonsense, Duke of Mayenne!" replied his sister; "Nonsense, I
tell you! If you intend that packet for Senlis, you may spare the wax,
and your trouble, and your fingers, for it shall never go!"
"Indeed!" said the Duke, pressing firm upon it the broad seal of his
arms; "indeed! and why not? Do you not know me better than that, my
fair sister? Do you not know that my word, or my safe-conduct, was
never in life violated by myself, and never shall be violated by any
one else with impunity?"
"All very true! all very true, Charles of Mayenne!" she replied;
"but, in the first place, I tell you that your safe-conduct cannot be
said to be violated, because some friends of mine choose to help this
young St. Real to pursue his journey on the very road for which the
safe-conduct was given; and, in the second place, there is no use of
sending to Mortfontaine or Nanteuil either, for within an hour St.
Real will be, I trust, in Paris."
"Then within an hour he shall be set at liberty!" replied the Duke;
"for I shall suffer no quibbling with my honour: he shall be free to
come and free to go, till the term of the safe-conduct expires."
"Nonsense, nonsense, Charles!" replied the Duchess; "do not talk like
the man in the mystery. Send this fellow away, and let me speak with
you calmly; for here is the Count d'Aubin already in the house; and,
if you go on vapouring in this way, you may miss a golden opportunity
of gaining more than the battle of Senlis has lost."
The Duke made a sign for the courier to withdraw. "I know your skill
well, Kate!" he said, as the man left the room, "and am far from
wishing to counteract your views; but neither must you meddle with my
schemes, nor affect my honour. Now let me hear what it is you have
done, and what you propose to do."
"For the done first, then," replied Madame de Montpensier: "what I
have done is simply this:--Hearing from good authority that this St.
Real had left his troops under the command of his Lieutenant, and,
while his cousin D'Aubin went to join Longueville, at Chantilly, had
shown a strong inclination to seek the camp of the Henrys before he
came to Paris, I thought it much better to change his destination, and
bring him hither, well knowing that the first step is all. So much for
the past! and now for the future. Leave him but in my hands two days;
and if, in that time, I do not find a way, by one means or another, to
make him put his hand to the Union, and draw his sword for Mayenne,
why, set him free, in God's name! and then talk of your honour and
your safe-conducts as much as you like. He shall be well and kindly
treated, upon my word!"
The Duke smiled. "I doubt not that, Catherine," he said; "you and your
fair sister of Guise, who, I suppose, has some hand in the affair, are
not such hard-hearted dames, I know, as to use harsh measures, when
tender ones will do."
"Well, well, Mayenne," she answered, "if we bestow our smiles to
promote your interest, you, at least, have no occasion to complain,
good brother: but you consent, is it not so?"
"On condition that no harshness is used--that I know not where he
is--that I see him not--and, that he finds no means for applying for
liberation to me: for on the instant I set him free!"
"Manifold conditions!" replied his sister; "but they shall be all
complied with. And now for the Count d'Aubin. If we can but win St.
Real, I will promise you D'Aubin; for I know one or two of the good
Count's secrets, which give me some tie upon him."
"I hold him by a stronger bond," replied the Duke; "the bond of
interest, Catherine; for, by my faith, if he quit not soon him whom
Beatrice of Ferrara calls the crowned Vice at St. Cloud, I will give
the hand of Eugenie de Menancourt to some better friend of the League.
I am glad he is come, for I may give him a gentle notice to decide
more speedily."
At the name of Beatrice de Ferrara, the cheek of Madame de Montpensier
reddened, and her brow contracted; and, without noticing the
concluding words of her brother, she replied, "I hate that woman, that
Beatrice of Ferrara!" and as she spoke, she moved absently towards the
door. The Duke marked her with a smile, and followed, saying, "Well,
well, where is this Count d'Aubin?"
The Duchess led the way to the apartment in which he had been left
with the Duchess de Guise, and where she still found him, bandying
repartees with the fair widow, and with the Chevalier d'Aumale, who
had lately been added to the party. The entrance of the Duke of
Mayenne, however, at once put a stop to the light jests which were
flying thick and fast; and the Duke, without preface, entered upon the
subject of D'Aubin's journey to Paris.
"Good morrow! Monsieur le Comte," said he, with an air of
unconsciousness, which his somewhat inexpressive countenance enabled
him easily to assume. "Right glad was I of your application for a
safe-conduct last night, doubting not that, by this time, you are
heartily tired of consorting with the effeminate rabble of painted
minions and Huguenot boors gathered together at St. Cloud, and are
come to support the Catholic faith, with a sharp sword, that has been
somewhat too long employed against her."
"Your Highness's compliment to the sharpness of my sword," replied
D'Aubin, "does not, I am afraid, extend to the sharpness of my wit;
for the occurrences which have taken place within the last five days
are surely not calculated to bring over a cousin of the Marquis of St.
Real to the party of the Catholic League, or to raise very high the
character of dealers in Spanish Catholicon."
The Duke of Mayenne turned a sharp and somewhat angry glance upon
Madame de Montpensier; but to D'Aubin he replied coldly, "You seem
angry, Monsieur le Comte d'Aubin; and as it is far from my wish to
give just cause for anger to a French nobleman, whose good sense, I am
sure, will, sooner or later, detach him from a party composed of all
that is either infamous or heretical, if you will explain the subject
of your wrath, I will do all that is in my power to satisfy you, if I
shall find your complaints just and reasonable."
"My complaint is simply this, my lord Duke," replied D'Aubin, smiling
at the air of unconsciousness which Mayenne assumed:--"If my
imagination have not deceived me, somewhat less than a month
ago, Charles, Duke of Mayenne vouchsafed, under the title of
lieutenant-general of the kingdom, to grant a regular safe-conduct to
a noble gentleman called the Marquis of St. Real, in order that the
said Marquis might visit, in safety, the capital of this country, as
well as the court of King Henry, in order to judge between the
factions which strangle this unhappy land, and take his part
accordingly."
"True," said the Duke of Mayenne, bowing his head, "true, we did so."
"Well, then, my lord," continued D'Aubin, "is it not equally true
that, when my cousin, St. Real, thought fit to leave his forces at a
sufficient distance from either army to give him an opportunity of
joining which he pleased hereafter, and was advancing calmly to confer
with the King, he was entrapped by false information, surrounded by a
party wearing the green scarfs of the League, and carried off, in
direct contravention of the safe-conduct you had given him?"
"I will not affect to deny, Monsieur d'Aubin," replied the Duke,--and
Madame de Montpensier looked in no small anxiety while he spoke; "I
will not affect to deny, that the rumour of some such skirmish as you
speak of has reached me--"
"Skirmish, my lord Duke!" exclaimed D'Aubin; "there has been no
skirmish in the business; the simple facts are these:--My cousin, with
only twenty gentlemen in his train, was surrounded by a party of two
hundred men; and, of course, offered no resistance. He produced your
safe-conduct, however; but it was set at nought and the leaders of the
band gave him very sufficiently to understand, that they had your own
authority for what they did. Such, at least, is the account brought to
me by one of my cousin's attendants, who contrived to effect his
escape; and I now make the charge boldly and straightforwardly, in
order that you may have the opportunity of clearing yourself at once;
or, that the spot of darkness, which such a transaction must affix to
the character of the Duke of Mayenne, may be stamped upon it in
characters which no aftertime can efface."
The Duke reddened, and bit his lip. "You make me angry, sir!" he
said--"you make me angry!"
"No cause for anger, my lord Duke," replied D'Aubin, "if you be clear
of this transaction. It is I who am a friend to the character of the
Duke of Mayenne, by giving him an instant opportunity of clearing
it;--and let me say, my lord, if you be not free from share in this
business," he added, sternly and boldly, "you may find that you are
not the only one who is made angry: for, putting aside all respect to
your high rank, and to the station which you hold, I shall urge the
matter against you as noble to noble, and gentleman to gentleman."
"Was ever the like heard?" exclaimed Madame de Montpensier. "Heed him
not, Brother of Mayenne! heed him not; the man is mad, raving mad!"
"Not so mad, nor so foolish, lady," replied D'Aubin, his lip bending
into a slight smile, "as to be turned from my purpose, either by sweet
words, or angry ones. My lord Duke," he continued, approaching nearer
to the Duke of Mayenne, who had taken a hasty turn in the room, as if
to give his passion vent before he spoke; "my lord Duke, I mean not to
offend you; but my cousin has suffered wrong, and that wrong must be
redressed."
"You have spoken too boldly, Count d'Aubin," replied Mayenne, to whom
the considerations of policy had by this time restored the calmness of
which personal anger had deprived him: "but I must make excuses for
the warmth of affection which you seem to bear your cousin; and, in
reply to your charge, I have merely to say, that the first correct
information respecting this event"--and he turned a somewhat
reproachful glance upon Madame de Montpensier--"has been received from
yourself; that the capture of your cousin was unauthorized by, and
unknown to me; that I know not precisely in whose hands he is; and,
that I promise you, upon my honour, he shall be set free as soon as
ever I meet with him. Farther still, I pledge myself to find him and
liberate him before three days have expired, and to punish, most
severely, those who are concerned, in case he have met with any
ill-treatment whatever."
"Your promise goes farther than even I could expect, my lord Duke,"
replied D'Aubin, in a softened tone; "and I most sincerely thank you
for having met so candidly a charge which I may, perhaps, have urged
too boldly, as your Highness says. Forgive my hastiness, my lord; for,
on my honour, in these times of indifference, it is sometimes
necessary to give way to a little rashness, in order to show that we
have some heart and feeling left."
"We esteem you all the more highly for it," answered the Duke, "and
only regret, Monsieur d'Aubin, that one who can so well feel what is
right and noble, in some points, should attach himself to a party
stained with murder, treachery, falsehood, and many a vice that I will
not number; while sense, and wisdom, and good feeling should all
induce him to take the more patriotic part that we are in arms to
maintain."
"And, let me add, his own interest also," said Madame de Montpensier,
"should lead him to join us here."
"Wisely reserving the best argument for the last!" joined in the
Chevalier d'Aumale. "The great God Interest, first cousin to the
little God Mammon, is powerful both with Catholic and Huguenot,
Leaguer and Royalist; and doubtless, beautiful priestess, if you can
show that the Deity favours the League more than its opponents, you
will soon bring over Monsieur d'Aubin to worship at his shrine."
"That can be easily shown," rejoined the Duke of Mayenne, following
the idea of the Chevalier d'Aumale, half in jest and half in earnest:
"Has not the god already put at our disposal sundry Huguenot lands and
lordships, purses well stuffed with gold, and, above all, the hand of
more than one fair heiress? On my word! Monsieur d'Aubin," he added,
assuming a more serious and feeling tone, "far would it be from me to
hold out to you views of interest, in order to bring you over to the
party of the Faith, did not those views of interest coincide entirely
with your honour, your reputation, and your duty."
D'Aubin mused for a moment, and then answered laughing, "I never yet
did hear, my lord, that interest did not bring a long train of seeming
virtues, to give greater strength to her own persuasions: and yet, I
do not see how my honour could be raised by abandoning my king at a
moment of his greatest need; how my reputation could be increased by
quitting a party which I have long served; or how my duty is to be
done by breaking my oath of allegiance to my legitimate sovereign."
"Thus, Monsieur d'Aubin," replied the Duke:--"if you are a man of
honour,--and most truly do I hold you to be such,--you will flee the
society of those who have none; if you have a fair reputation, you
will quit a court whose very breath is infamy; and, if you hold
sincerely to the Catholic faith, you cannot refuse to turn your sword
against its most inveterate enemies."
"No, no, my lord!" replied D'Aubin; "King Henry holds the Catholic
faith as well as yourself; and, indeed, loves monks and priests rather
better than either you or I do. To him, also, have I sworn fidelity
and attachment, as my lawful sovereign; and I will neither break my
oath, nor forget my allegiance."
"Thank God, that the thread of a tyrant's life is spun of very
perishable materials!" said Madame de Montpensier, with a significant
glance at the Duchess de Guise; "and were this Henry dead, we might
well count upon you, D'Aubin: is it not so?"
D'Aubin replied not for a moment; and the soft sleepy-eyed Duchess of
Guise could not refrain from pursuing the subject jestingly; although
her sister-in-law endeavoured, by a chiding look, to stay her, till
D'Aubin had answered. "Perhaps the noble Count may be a Huguenot
himself." she exclaimed: "who knows, in these strange changeable
times----"
"Or, perhaps, this dearly-beloved cousin of his may have been one
these twenty years," said the Chevalier d'Aumale; "for shut up in that
old castle of theirs, these St. Reals may have been Turks and
infidels, for anything that we can tell."
"I wish there was as good a Catholic present as St. Real," replied
D'Aubin; "and as for myself, though not very learned in all its
mysteries, I hold the faith of my fathers, and will not abandon it. My
lord of Mayenne, I would fain speak with you for one moment, in this
oriel here," he added.
The Duke of Mayenne instantly complied; and, advancing with the Count
into the deep recess of one of the windows at the farther end of the
room, he listened to what D'Aubin had to say, and then replied
gravely. The Count rejoined; and, though the subject which they
discussed seemed to interest them highly, it might be inferred, from
the laughter which occasionally mingled with their discourse, that
their conversation had taken a turn towards some topic less unpleasant
than that which had been broached at the beginning of their first
interview.
In the meantime, however, a new personage had been added to the
party at the other end of the room. He was a tall gaunt man, of about
five-and-forty, with aquiline features, a keen kite-like eye, fine
teeth, and curly hair and beard: in short, he was one of those men who
are called handsome by people in whose computation of beauty the
expression of mind, and soul, and feeling make no part of the account.
His dress was not only military, but of such a character as to show
that his most recent occupation had been the exercise of his
profession. The steel cuirass was still upon his shoulders, the heavy
boots upon his legs; and, though some attempt had been made to brush
away the dust of a journey, a number of long brown streaks, on various
parts of his apparel, evinced, that whatever toilet he had made had
been hasty and incomplete.
As soon as Madame de Montpensier caught the first glance of his person
entering the saloon, she made him an eager sign not to come in; but he
either did not perceive, or was unwilling to obey the signal, and
proceeded, with an air of perfect assurance, till the Duchess,
starting up, advanced to meet him; trusting, apparently, that the
eager conversation which was going on between D'Aubin and the Duke
would prevent either of them from remarking her man[oe]uvres at the
other end of the room.
"What, in misfortune's name, brought you here?" she said, giving a
hasty glance towards the oriel, and perceiving at once that she must
make the best of what had occurred, for that D'Aubin's eye had already
marked the entrance of the stranger; "what, in misfortune's name,
brought you here just now? Here is D'Aubin himself inquiring furiously
after this young kestril, that we have taken such pains to catch; and
Mayenne, like a fool, standing on his honour, has promised to set him
free as soon as ever he finds dim. So you know nothing about the
matter: pretend utter ignorance; and swear you have never seen the
young Marquis."
"That I can well swear," replied the other, in the same low tone, but
with a slight Teutonic accent; "that I can well swear, most beautiful
and charming of princesses! for I took especial care to keep out of
the way while the poor bird was being limed; and have ridden on before
to tell you that, by this time, he must be safe in my house, in the
rue St. Jacques."
"Keep him close and sure, then," replied Madame de Montpensier, "at
least till his shrewd cousin is out of the city; for Mayenne will let
us keep him but two days; and we must work him to our purpose before
that time expires." She had just time to finish her sentence, ere
Mayenne and D'Aubin quitted the recess of the oriel window; and the
latter, advancing towards the place where she stood, addressed her
companion as an old acquaintance.
"Ha! Sir Albert of Wolfstrom," he said, with an ironical smile,
"faithful and gallant ever! Receiving the soft commands of this
beautiful lady with the same devotion as in days of yore, I see! But I
have reason to believe that you are lately become acquainted with one
of my cousins, and have laid him under some obligations."
"No, no;" replied Wolfstrom, with a grin, which showed his white teeth
to the back; "no, no: if you mean Monsieur de Rus, we have been very
intimate ever since that night when we three played together at
Vincennes, and when I won from you ten thousand livres, Monsieur
d'Aubin."
"Well, well, I will win them back again," replied D'Aubin, "the first
truce that comes."
"I don't know that," rejoined the German; "you are always unlucky with
the dice, D'Aubin: you should be more careful, or, by my faith, the
Jews will have all your fine estates in pawn."
D'Aubin coloured deeply; for, as Wolfstrom well knew, the hint that he
threw out of excessive expenses, and consequent embarrassments, went
home. Mayenne, however, who by those words gained a new insight into
the situation of the Count, smiled, well satisfied; assured, from that
moment, that those who had it in their power to grant or to withhold
the hand of the rich heiress of Menancourt would not be long without
the support of Philip d'Aubin.
The Count recovered himself in a moment; and, turning the matter off
with a pointed jest, which hit the German nearly as hard, he prepared
to take his leave before anything more unpleasant could be said.
"I shall look for the performance of your promise, my lord Duke," he
said, as he turned to depart; "and three days hence, shall hope to
hear that my cousin has been liberated."
"Come, to make sure of it, yourself," replied Madame de Montpensier,
holding out her hand, which he raised in gallant reverence to his
lips; "come and make sure of it, yourself. Sup with me at Rene
Armandi's, our dearly beloved perfumer, who has a right choice and
tasteful cook; and, though the profane rabble insist upon it that he
used to aid our godmother, of blessed memory, Catherine, mother of
many bad kings, in sending to heaven, or the other abode, various
persons, to prepare a place for her, we will ask him, on this
occasion, to give us dainties, and not poisons."
"You must send me a safe-conduct, however," replied D'Aubin, laughing,
"and I will come with all my heart."
"A safe-conduct you shall have," answered Mayenne, "and as many as you
like. But, remember, I do not make myself responsible for Armandi no,
nor Catherine, either," he added, with a smile.
"Oh! I will trust her Highness," replied D'Aubin: "the only thing I
fear are her eyes;" and, with a low bow, and a glance which left it
difficult to determine whether the gallant part of his speech was jest
or earnest, he took his leave, and, mounting his horse, rode away
towards the gates of Paris.
"He teases me, that Count d'Aubin," said Madame de Montpensier: "I
don't know whether to love him, or to hate him."
"Oh! if he teases you, you will love him, of course," replied the
Chevalier d'Aumale.
"I think you may love him, Kate," replied the Duke. "At all events,
one thing is very certain, that Philip Count d'Aubin is varying fast
towards the League; and if you, Catherine, by some of your wild
schemes, do not spoil my more sober ones, we shall soon have him as
one of our most strenuous and thoroughgoing partisans: for you know,
Wolfstrom," he added, laying his broad hand significantly upon the
iron-covered shoulder of the German, who, together with three thousand
lansquenets, had deserted from the party of Henry III. on the pretence
of wanting pay; "for you know, Wolfstrom, there is no one so zealous
as a renegade!"