Leaving St. Real to meditate over the effects which his candour and
honesty had produced, and to strengthen himself in his integrity
against the bitterness of undeserved suspicion and reproach, we must
follow the Count d'Aubin to his dwelling, and be his companion for the
next few hours. Springing from his charger, he threw the reins to one
of his attendants, ordered fresh horses to be saddled in the stable, a
change of dress to be instantly brought him, and eagerly demanded if
no packet had arrived from Paris. The answer was in the negative; but
still the count proceeded to change his dress, apparelling himself
with no small care and splendour, brushing the dust from his dark
curling locks, and adding the fine essences that were then held a part
even of the simplest toilet. Ere he had done, there was a sharp knock
at the door of his chamber, and the next moment the dwarf Bartholo
stole in, bearing a packet in his hand.
"I saw the messenger straying about the town," he said, "and knowing
you would want this, I hastened to bring it hither."
"You see into my thoughts, and anticipate my wishes, good Bartholo,"
replied D'Aubin, breaking open the packet, and running his eye over
the words of a regular safe-conduct from the Duke of Mayenne. "It is
all right," he added, "though they limit me to four and twenty hours;
but say, have you aught to tell me, Bartholo; for the day wears, and I
am ready to set out. There seems matter in that face of thine. Speak,
man! speak boldly. We know each other well."
"Your lordship is kind," replied the dwarf, with one of his sardonic
grins. "I would fain give your lordship a piece of advice; but knowing
from sweet experience how advice is relished in this wise world, I
wish to know whether you have any appetite for it?"
"Yes, yes; speak boldly," replied D'Aubin; "I am as hungry for good
advice as a famished wolf, and I am inclined to believe thee, just
now, seeing that the hint you gave me not long since concerning my
simple-seeming cousin has proved but too true. He would act in all
honour as yet, it seems; but we all know with what tiny footsteps love
begins the course, that he determines, ere the end, to stride over
like a giant. Not that I think," he added, giving a glance to the
mirror, and marking there as handsome features as ever that crowning
invention of personal vanity reflected to the self-satisfied eyes of
man--though the countenance he beheld might be somewhat worn with the
strife of passions, it is true--"not that I think that, were it come
to rivalry, I should have to fear the result. But I would fain put it
beyond all chances; so speak your advice, good Bartholo. If it suit
me, I will take it; and if not--why it is but empty air."
"Ay, ay," replied the dwarf, "empty air, and dust and ashes! Those few
words are the history of the whole world--man's fame, and wisdom, and
wit, and eloquence, and power, and strength, and beauty--empty air,
and dust and ashes, are the whole!--so that brings me to my tidings,
and to my advice;" he continued, resuming his ordinary tone. "You have
heard of the king's wound, my lord. Now, do not you be one of the
fools who deceive themselves, and think he will recover! Take my word
for it, he will die!"
"Nay; but the surgeons say," replied D'Aubin, "that he is already far
better, and give many shrewd reasons to show that he is nearly well."
"Let them give what reasons they will," answered the dwarf, "do not
you believe them. Why, my good lord, do you think that your fair
friend, the Duchess of Montpensier, or any of the holy and devout men
of the Catholic union, are such fools in grain as to trust to a simple
bit of smooth innocent iron to do the work of their hatred, while they
have our dearly beloved Rene Armandi at hand, to smear the edge and
the point with some of his blessed contrivances for shortening pain
and making the work sure? No, no! my lord. Not more than two days ago,
I was hanging about the gate of that very Jacobin convent from which
this foul monk came forth, and I saw three people arrive to lay their
heads together with the very reverend and respectable Father Prior,
whose meeting told its own tale, whereof this morning's butchery is
but the comment. First came Armandi the poisoner, next came the
Duchess of Montpensier, and then came Wolfstrom the rogue; so be you
sure, my lord, that the king will die; and this very night make your
bargain so firm that no one will dare to break it. To-night," he
added, his lips curling with more cynical bitterness than ever,
"to-night you may dispose of your assistance and co-operation at what
rate you like; but if you wait till tomorrow, your merchandise will
fall a hundred per cent., for the market will be overstocked."
The manner in which the dwarf put his counsels was certainly not the
most agreeable; but D'Aubin was accustomed to his bitterness, and was
willing enough to cull wholesome advice for the direction of his own
plans and purposes from amongst the gall and wormwood wherewith good
Bartholo seldom failed to savour his discourse. "I believe thou art
right, Bartholo," he replied; "and as I am determined sooner to lose
life itself than to be foiled, and made a laughing-stock and held up
to the scorn of all my companions by this fair-faced country-girl, I
must even make the most of my time, and bind Mayenne to his promises
by ties that he cannot shake off. Thanks, then, good Bartholo, for
your advice; I will be back before dawn to-morrow, and will reward you
better than by thanks. In the meantime, keep a wary eye on all that is
going forward here; and, both for ancient love, and for future
advancement, bring me, as often as may be, a hint of other men's
doings. And now, fare thee well--away to thy lord, lest he miss thee.
But hark I there are the horses, and I go."
Thus saying, he threw on his hat and plume, cast a wrapping cloak
round his shoulders to keep his apparel as much as possible from the
dust; and, springing down the stairs, mounted his horse, which stood
saddled at the door. Bartholo watched him, as making a sign for his
usual train of attendants to follow, he struck his spurs into his
charger's flank, and galloped away at full speed towards Paris. A
grim smile hung upon the dwarf's lips as he saw him depart, and
muttering--"Ay, there he goes! to seek an unwilling bride, and for
pure vanity to marry, neither loving nor beloved: but it matters
not--my end is gained!"--he turned back towards the abode of St. Real.
In the mean time, D'Aubin galloped on hastily, giving the word as he
passed any of the posts of the royal army, till at length, having got
beyond the precincts of his own camp, he was challenged by the outmost
sentinel of the League. Occupied with other thoughts, and giving way
to the vehement impatience of his nature, the Count spurred on without
reply; and the man, presenting his matchlock, fired without further
ceremony. The ball whistled past D'Aubin's head; but, merely shaking
his clenched hand at the sentinel, he pursued his rapid way, till at
length he was encountered by a body of Mayenne's horse, who again
challenged him, and obliged him to display his pass. More than once,
ere he was permitted to enter the town, the same ceremony was
observed; and, what between one delay and another, the evening sky
grew deep purple, and then faded into grey, as he rode along, at a
more cautious pace, through the streets of the capital.
Directing his course by the shortest way, he passed through many of
the narrow gloomy lanes of the Faubourg, and, crossing one of the
bridges which joined the island in the middle of the Seine to the
shore, he plunged in amongst that dingy accumulation of tall, dark,
small-windowed houses, which lie behind the great cathedral of Notre
Dame. In these streets, at the hour of which we speak, the twilight,
which would have still been seen in the open country, existed not; and
all was darkness, except where, here and there, citizens returning
from their shops to their dwelling-houses, or persons of a higher
class going on some expedition of pleasure or business, were seen
finding their way along, preceded by a lantern or a torch; and also
where, before the hotel of some of the old nobles of the court, who
still lingered in that quarter, were to be seen a few torches fixed in
sockets at the door. It was to none of these more lordly dwellings,
however, that D'Aubin took his way; but, at a door which stood open in
a tall, unlighted, gloomy-looking house; he sprang to the ground, and
after giving his servants directions to take up their temporary abode
in an inn, where he should find them in case of necessity, and some
money wherewithal to provide themselves their evening meal, he entered
the house, followed by his page and one armed attendant, and began
mounting, in utter darkness, the long, steep, narrow stair.
At the second story D'Aubin stopped, and by the little light that
found its way from a lamp through a small lattice upon the staircase,
he struck several hard blows with the hilt of his dagger against a
massive unshapely oaken door, which stood on one side of the
landing-place. Immediately after, a sound was heard within, and, the
door opening, the Count was admitted, shading his eyes from the sudden
glare of light, into a small ante-room or vestibule, where, stretched
on benches or settles, were ten or eleven stout attendants, together
with one of those large sort of vehicles which we are accustomed to
call sedan-chairs, wherein the ladies of Paris were very much
accustomed, at that time, to go from house to house, and one of which
we have already described.
The person who opened the door was a trim-looking serving-man, dressed
somewhat in the garb of an inferior burgher of the town; and,
conducted by this personage, D'Aubin was led on, leaving his groom
behind him, but followed by the page. The next chamber into which he
was led presented a different aspect, being a small octagon room, with
the ceiling of black oak exquisitely carved, the walls beautifully
painted and gilt, and the furniture as rich and elegant as the art and
taste of that day could produce.
Here D'Aubin was met by no less a personage than Armandi the perfumer,
who, bowing low and reverently, welcomed him to his house, and then
led him on through several chambers, each more tastefully decorated
than the other, into one where eastern luxury itself was outdone, and
where Madame de Montpensier was waiting the guest she had invited
there to supper. Strange as it may seem that the highest and noblest
in such a capital as Paris should abandon their own convenient and
splendid dwellings, to make these little parties at the houses of
inferior, and often of very base and dishonourable persons, yet the
custom was not restricted to this period of French history, but even
in the succeeding reigns the monarch himself was frequently known thus
to indulge; and the custom, which was begun probably with political
views, or for the sake of a temporary relaxation from the fetters of
state, was found to be too convenient for a debauched court to be
readily abandoned.
"True to your appointment, most noble Count," said the Duchess, in a
light tone. "I augur from your punctuality, that all goes well and
happily with the heretics and tyrants beyond the walls, so that they
can spare the services of so gallant a cavalier as the Count d'Aubin."
"The fact is, most beautiful Lady Catherine," replied D'Aubin, whose
plan was already fixed, "that their majesties are waiting till the day
after to-morrow, ere they begin serious operations against the city;
for, first, with that brilliant forgetfulness which characterises
great men, they did not remember till yesterday that fifteen hundred
cannon-balls are hardly enough to begin a regular bombardment; and,
secondly, they wished that my worthy cousin should bring up his troops
on the side of St. Denis, in order to straiten you a little in your
diet, as they are resolved, absolutely, to try whether your stomachs
are not like that of the ostrich, and capable of digesting mere iron
in default of other food. They must therefore wait a day to give time
for casting bullets and marching men."
D'Aubin spoke with so much of his ordinary levity, that he left Madame
de Montpensier still doubtful whether he spoke in earnest or in
jest--whether he was saying what was really the case, or from some
particular motive was endeavouring to deceive her.
"You seem in a mood for revelations to-night," she said. "Thank you
for your warning, Monsieur d'Aubin, we shall be upon our guard; but
whether the two kings will thank you for telling us, remains to be
proved."
"I care very little whether they thank me or not," replied D'Aubin;
"besides, what I have said can do you no good, and them no harm,
otherwise I should not have told it. You are here in a net, fair lady;
and you must employ some other means to get yourself free than those
you have hitherto employed, or depend upon it, the fisherman will put
in his hand and take you."
"He may find that he has a shark in the net," replied Madame de
Montpensier, "and be glad enough to let it escape ere it devour him."
"Well, we shall see," replied D'Aubin--"we shall see. But oh! by the
Lord, I had nearly forgot to compliment your Highness on your exploits
of this morning. Has none of the Dominican come back to you yet?
"None of the Dominican!" exclaimed Madame de Montpensier, with evident
astonishment--"none of the Dominican! What do you mean, D'Aubin?"
"I simply mean," replied the Count, "that by this time I thought your
Highness might at least have got a leg, or an arm, or a foot, or a
little finger of your martyr, to make a relic of; for it could
scarcely be more than two o'clock when he was torn to pieces by the
four horses. No, it could not be more than two; for as soon as ever he
attempted to stab the king, La Guesle ran his sword through him, and,
almost immediately after, casting him out of the window, they tied him
to the horses' heels, and tore him to pieces, in the little square
down by the end of the bridge."
"_Attempted_ to kill the king!" said Madame de Montpensier, but ill
concealing, in her desire to hear more, her previous knowledge of the
act that had been perpetrated--"attempted! Then he _did not_ kill
him."
"Oh, no," replied D'Aubin, gaily, and purposely affecting to laugh at
her disappointment. "You do not think Henry is such a fool as to let
himself be killed by a bungling Dominican. You should have sent our
friend in the next room there, Armandi, or some other skilful,
delicate, dexterous personage. Besides, dear lady, when you and
Armandi and good father Bourgoin were consulting together, surely
three such shrewd heads as yours might have fallen upon some better
and more politic plan of getting rid of a bad king than that of
trusting the execution of the act to an ignorant, clumsy, timid friar.
Good faith! I should have thought that you might have even acted
Judith yourself, and have delivered the land of our worthy Holofernes
of St. Cloud with your own hand."
Madame de Montpensier turned pale, and red, and pale again; and there
was a quivering of her fine lip, and a flashing of her proud dark eye,
which showed D'Aubin at length that he was urging her too far. As soon
as he perceived it, he dropped the sarcastic irony which he had been
using; and drawing nearer to her, he took her fair, soft, jewelled
hand in his, and raised it to his lips. "Forgive me," he said, "for
teasing you. I love not Henry of Valois more than you do--as you well
know; and though I will not say that I regret your attempt has failed,
yet I do believe that all knowledge of the share you had in it rests
with me alone, and, believe me, my lips are and shall ever be sealed
by this kiss upon this hand--except towards yourself."
Madame de Montpensier gazed on him in no small surprise. "You assume
things, sir," she said with some hesitation, "which you have no right
to assume."
"Nay, nay," replied D'Aubin, "say not a word, dear lady. I know the
whole as well as if I had been one of your triumvirate at the Jacobins
the day before yesterday, all the means employed, the vision of the
angel, and all----"
"Either some one has betrayed me, or you deal in magic, D'Aubin!"
cried the Duchess.
D'Aubin smiled to see her consternation; for although, by combining
the information he had received from St. Real with the hints that had
been given him by the dwarf, and adding thereunto his own knowledge of
the parties, he had been able to form a very correct guess at the
truth--and although he knew the effect which vague hints of greater
knowledge than one possesses, supported by one or two distinct facts,
will produce upon a mind loaded with a heavy secret and apprehensive
of discovery, yet he had hardly calculated upon so completely
deceiving such a shrewd intriguer as Madame de Montpensier, in regard
to the extent of his information. "No one has betrayed you," he
replied; "nor do I deal in magic; but I have far greater means of
knowing things that pass both in the city and in the camp than you
suppose. What I have said just now I said but to tease you; and,
indeed, fair lady, you deserve somewhat worse at my hands."
"Wherefore, wherefore? How so?" demanded Madame de Montpensier; "how
have I offended you, D'Aubin?"
"Why, I do think," replied D'Aubin, "that considering all the old
friendships which had existed between us, it should not have been you
who attempted to mar my fortunes, and thwart my purposes. Did you not
only last night propose to my cousin St. Real to bestow on him the
hand of my promised bride?"
"I did," replied Madame de Montpensier, boldly, recovering in a moment
all her composure--"I did, and I will tell you why I did so, Philip
d'Aubin. I saw, by your conversation of the day before, that you had
irretrievably attached yourself to the party of the tyrant; and I
consider the interests of our cause far before any private interests
or friendships. I am resolved, and so I know also is Mayenne, that the
hand of Mademoiselle de Menancourt shall never be given to any but a
member of the union; and it was therefore that I offered her hand to
your cousin, if he would bring his forces to our side."
"Ah! but, lady," replied D'Aubin, "how could you venture on such an
offer, when your own brother, the very morning before, had made the
same to me, and left me a certain time to deliberate and act?"
"Nay, of that I know nothing," replied Madame de Montpensier. "Had I
been aware of that, of course I should have acted differently."
"But if you and your brother will play at cross purposes," said
D'Aubin, "what surety is there that the promises of either will be
kept? And observe the consequences of this sort of dealing! My cousin
at once determined to join the forces of the king, told me the story,
and thus well-nigh changed all my views and purposes, unsettled my
designs, and nearly determined me to take an oath of perpetual service
to the kings."
"Nay, nay," replied the Duchess, giving him her hand, "but join us at
this moment of our need, and Eugenie shall be yours."
"Ay," said D'Aubin; "but I must have some better security than mere
promises."
"Surely you do not doubt me," said Madame de Montpensier, "when I most
solemnly declare----"
"Declare nothing, dear lady," answered D'Aubin; "I doubt nobody, but
my resolution is taken. The hand of Eugenie de Menancourt must be
promised to me this night, under the hand and seal of his Highness of
Mayenne, as lieutenant-general of the kingdom; or when I return to the
camp to-morrow, I pledge myself, in the most solemn terms, to serve
the Kings of France and Navarre, till there is no such thing as a Holy
League and Union in France. And more, I assure you most solemnly, that
I will instantly send an order unto Maine to cut down remorselessly
every acre of my old forests, in order to raise another regiment for
the service of the state. Now, mark me, lady!--mark me well! In doing
this, I know what I am doing; for, if you cannot obtain this written
promise for me, it will be evident your brother does not intend that
the hand of Eugenie should be mine, and I have no other means to
obtain it, but the capture of Paris and the destruction of the League.
It will be therefore well worth my while to sacrifice everything to
swell the ranks of the royal forces, in order to insure success."
"Well, well, say no more, say no more," replied Madame de Montpensier;
"the promise you shall have, if I have any influence with Mayenne; and
besides, you say he voluntarily made it himself, and therefore he will
not hesitate to write it. But tell me what are the terms in which this
promise is to be couched--you mean him to promise you her hand, if she
herself consents?"
"No, no," replied D'Aubin; "I will leave no hold for after tampering
and intrigue by any party. But," seeing a cloud come over the brow of
Madame de Montpensier at his intemperate words, "I mean not any
offence to you, dear lady. Others may tamper--there are others may
intrigue, and may delay her consent and our union so long that my
views in favour of the League itself may be overthrown. The moment
that the hand of Eugenie is mine, I will raise for the service of the
Duke all the retainers of the house of Menancourt who are now either
lying idle, or swelling the ranks of the royalists. What I demand then
is, that your brother--acting as lieutenant-general of the kingdom, as
well as calling himself so, and consequently considering himself as
the lawful guardian of all wards of the crown--shall promise me,
without other condition than that in three days I subscribe the Union
and join my forces to his, the hand of Eugenie de Menancourt, which
was promised to me by her own father."
Madame de Montpensier mused for a moment; and then rising, she
replied, "It shall be done, D'Aubin; it shall be done. The
world--which Mayenne fears more than he will acknowledge--can say
nothing against this act, for it is but a ratification of her father's
promise by him who now stands in her father's place. Here," she cried
aloud, ringing a small silver bell that stood on the table before her,
and which was instantly answered by the appearance of Armandi, "bring
me ink and paper, René. You shall write down the promise as you would
have it, D'Aubin, and I will get my brother to sign it before you go;
but make haste, for every moment I expect Wolfstrom to make our third
at supper."
"I, too, must be speedy," replied D'Aubin; "for I must be back in the
camp long before dawn, lest there be any tampering with my troops.
They are all fresh, and new-arrived, so that I can do with them what I
will at present; but there is many a shrewd head both amongst the
Huguenots and royalists, and, not being too sure of my attachment,
they may think to make sure of my soldiers."
With his swift and gliding step Armandi soon re-appeared, bearing the
writing materials which had been demanded, and D'Aubin proceeded to
put down the brief promise which he required from Mayenne; but
scarcely had he finished, when the leader of the reitters made
his appearance, and seemed somewhat surprised at the grave and
business-like faces by which he was received.
"What is the hour, sir Albert?" demanded Madame de Montpensier. "Has
it yet struck nine?"
"The light, or rather the darkness, says that it is nearer ten,"
replied the German; "and I heard the nine o'clock bell near an hour
ago."
"Then I shall not find Mayenne till eleven," replied the Duchess. "His
clock-work habits have, at all events, the advantage of letting one
know when and where he is to be met with. Come, Armandi, is the table
ready? We may as well fill the moments with something more real than
poor thought."
In a moment Armandi re-appeared, and with soft and courtly words
informed the Duchess that the best refreshments which his poor house
and inferior artists could prepare waited her gracious presence.
Catherine of Guise and her two companions followed where he led; and,
proceeding into another small cabinet, they found a table covered with
what might well have merited the name of _cates divine_, if ever
anything can be so called which is destined to pamper the most animal
propensity of our nature.
Placing himself beside the Duchess's chair--while his own lacqueys and
the pages of the guests served and carved the dishes, and poured out
the wine--Armandi, in his low, sweet tone, mingled in the
conversation, descanted upon the merits of the various kinds of food,
and read one of those lectures upon the mysterious art of cookery
which persons addicted to the pleasures of the table are always well
pleased to hear during their meals--stimulating their appetite for the
good things before them, by exciting their _eating imagination_ with
pictures of unseen delicacies.
The exquisite fare, however, which was placed before them, the choice
and delicious wines that flowed amongst them like water, and even the
culinary eloquence of Armandi, did not seem capable of rousing either
Madame de Montpensier or D'Aubin from the thoughtful seriousness into
which their preceding conversation had thrown them. Albert of
Wolfstrom, indeed, ate and drank, and enjoyed to the uttermost, and
showed his white teeth in many a grin at the thoughts of all the rare
ragouts and savoury sauces which the perfumer described; but his
companions were grave and abstinent, and when the dessert was placed
upon the table the Duchess rose.
"I leave you, gentlemen," she said, "for half an hour, trusting you
can amuse yourselves, at least for that time, without a woman's
presence. D'Aubin," she added, turning to the Count, and marking a
certain degree of stern anxiety upon his brow--"D'Aubin, it shall be
done!"
Thus saying she quitted them; and Wolfstrom looked to D'Aubin with
inquiring eyes, as if for information regarding what was passing. But
D'Aubin's countenance replied nothing; and the German, filling high a
glass with sparkling Burgundy, exclaimed, "Come, come, Count, think no
more of your mysteries with the lovely Duchess! Let us have the dice,
and pass her half hour's absence pleasantly."
"With all my heart," replied D'Aubin; and there shot through his own
bosom one of those strange dreams of superstition which are felt even
in the present time, but which were much more common then. "I have
cast my last great stake already," he thought; "but the dice will soon
show me whether fortune favours me to-night or not!"
The dice were brought, a small table placed beside them, and Wolfstrom
and D'Aubin shook the accursed boxes, and cast throw after throw.
Fortune, however, _did_ favour D'Aubin: he won invariably; and though
the sums for which they played at that time were too small to make the
gain or loss a matter of any consequence, yet the fancy which had
taken possession of him made him rejoice more at the winning of a few
hundred crowns than if he had acquired a fortune. His lip smiled, his
eye sparkled, his cheek glowed; and though the time of Madame de
Montpensier's absence was nearly double that which she had
anticipated, D'Aubin found it not tedious, even under expectation.
At length she returned; and, without a word, laid down a paper on the
table before the Count. D'Aubin ran his eye over the promise he had
himself drawn up; and there assuredly, at the bottom of the page,
stood Mayenne's name in his own handwriting, together with the broad
seal of his arms.
What arguments she had used, what reasons she had assigned, what
motives she had called into action, to obtain that signature, the
Duchess did not tell, but gazed for a moment with a look of triumph
upon the Count; and then, as her eye caught the dice upon the
table, she turned with an air of gay indifference to Wolfstrom,
demanding--"Well, sir Albert! have you won the Royalist's gold!"
"Good faith, no!" cried the German, throwing the dice into a water-jar
of rock-crystal that stood upon the supper-table; "those little demons
have played me false, and he has won six hundred of as good crowns of
the League as ever were squeezed from a heretic Huguenot."
"Well, well!" replied Madame de Montpensier, "if the dice forsake you,
turn again to the wine, Sir Albert; there is a resource for you in all
time of trouble. Fill me yon Venice glass too; and you, D'Aubin, give
me that sweet manchet--for, to tell the truth, the thoughts of this
encounter I was about to undergo in your behalf, sir Count, kept me
from supper."
D'Aubin gracefully spoke his thanks, taking care, however, to veil, in
the circumlocutory ornaments employed in that day, all direct allusion
to the nature of the service for which he expressed his gratitude. The
conversation became gay and animated for half an hour; roamed to a
thousand indifferent subjects, touching each with a momentary
light--like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds of a windy autumn
day, and skipping from point to point in the landscape as the vapours
are hurried on before the gale--and then, drooping for a moment,
paused as if to breathe the wits of the gay little coterie. Madame de
Montpensier took advantage of that minute to rise and depart; and
D'Aubin, bidding his male companion "Good night," proceeded to call
together his attendants and return to the camp.
A more strict watch was kept in the night than in the day; and, what
between one halt and another, the dawn was beginning to purple the
eastern verge of the sky, when the Count arrived at the spot where his
troops were quartered. As he was dismounting from his horse, however,
some one whispered a word in his ear; and, springing again at once
into the saddle, he turned his horse's head, and galloped on to his
lodgings at St. Cloud.