Taking Eugenie by the arm to give some support to her tottering frame,
Beatrice hurried on, and they reached the end of the street in safety.
As they were turning into another, however, a man who was walking
slowly on the other side of the way paused to mark them in their
advance towards him, and seemingly attracted by a certain degree of
agitation as well as haste in their demeanour, crossed over and
accosted them:--
"What now, my young rovers!" he exclaimed. "Whither away so fast? Some
intrigue, I warrant!"
"What is it to you?" demanded Beatrice, turning towards him fiercely,
while she still hurried on, holding up the trembling form of her timid
friend. "If no one meddles with your intrigues, meddle you with no
one's either."
"What is it to me!" cried the stranger. "Do you not perceive that I am
the captain of the quarter? and I doubt you have been about some
notorious evil, by your haste and this young lad's trembling;" and, as
he spoke, he laid a somewhat rude grasp upon Eugenie's arm.
"By the blessed Union, and the holy catholic faith!" exclaimed
Beatrice, in a tone that made the man start back, "if you hold his arm
another moment, I will drive my dagger into you, twice as far as Saint
Jacques Clement did the other day into the tyrant at St. Cloud;" and,
without hesitation, she drew the weapon out of its sheath, and brought
the gleaming blade so near the man's breast that he dropped Eugenie's
arm, and laid his hand upon his sword.
Bursting into a loud laugh, Beatrice taunted him with his fright; and
putting up her dagger, hurried on, diverting the stranger's attention
by raillery, till at the corner of another street, Eugenie saw her
raise her two fingers in the moonlight, and the next moment a man
sprang out from a gateway on the dark side of the way; and running
forward as fast as possible, as if intending to pass them, he rushed
full against their undesired companion, and laid him prostrate in the
gutter in the middle of the street. Then taking the first word of
quarrel, he stopped and turned to abuse the fallen man for not getting
out of his way, while Beatrice and her companion hurried on, and were
soon at a distance from the scene of strife.
"Matthew managed that well!" exclaimed Beatrice, when she thought
herself at a sufficient distance to pause and take breath; "I must
promote that fellow to some better office for his skill."
"Then that was one of your own people?" said Eugenie, with her
confidence in the success of their endeavour somewhat strengthened by
every new proof of the foresight and precaution which her fair
companion had used to ensure support. "But what if the captain of the
quarter calls up the guard, and takes him into custody?"
"Captain of the quarter!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, "and did you
believe that? Do you not know that, in these times, every one assumes
what name he pleases? Captain of the quarter, indeed! Rather some
_filou_ or some _escroc_, who seeing two youths fresh from an idle
scrape, as he thought, fancied he could lay a tribute on their purse
as the price of his silence and departure."
Still hurrying on, Beatrice of Ferrara led the way through a number of
streets towards the gates of the city; but, warned by their late
adventure, she no longer proceeded at such a rapid pace. Assuming, on
the contrary, somewhat of a swagger in her air, yet still holding
Eugenie firm by the arm, she walked along, displaying no bad imitation
of the vastly important demeanour of some noble page, who, just
liberated from his mother's careful eye, overlays the inexperienced
timidity of youth with affected self-confidence.
More than once quitting the quieter and less frequented streets,
Beatrice was obliged to lead the way into others, through which the
human tide that rarely ebbs entirely in the city of Paris, was still
flowing on, though the hour was approaching to midnight. Eugenie's
heart beat quick at every fresh group that they encountered, and many
a pang crossed her bosom, and many an unseen blush passed over her
cheek, at some of the scenes that she thus for the first time
witnessed in the streets of the metropolis. Twice as they walked
along, Beatrice paused for a moment to speak a single word to persons
who seemed to be common passengers, and Eugenie, whose timid glance
was frequently cast behind, remarked that the men to whom her
companion spoke turned and followed at the distance of a few paces. At
length, as they approached the extremity of the Faubourg St. Germain,
Beatrice whispered in her ear, "It will be impossible to pass the
gates at this hour of the night, and, therefore, we must take shelter
till the morning begins to dawn in a place of refuge which I have
prepared."
Eugenie expressed her willingness to do anything her companion thought
fit; and in a few moments Beatrice stopped opposite to a small house
in the suburb, and pushing the door which was open, led the way in.
All was darkness within; and Eugenie, though she had the most perfect
confidence in her friend, felt her terror increased at the aspect of
the place. Taking her hand, however, Beatrice led her on, up a narrow
staircase, and through a still narrower passage, to a door at which
she knocked for admittance. It was instantly opened, and the next
moment Eugenie found herself in a neat, plainly furnished room, where
two of Beatrice's women, whom she had frequently seen before, stood
ready to receive them. The moment they had entered, Beatrice cast her
arms round her; and kissing her tenderly, exclaimed, "Now, my sweet
friend, I trust we are safe; to-morrow morning, I think, we shall be
able to pass the gates without obstruction, and the rest of our
expedition will be easy."
"Thank God!" cried Eugenie, sinking down into her seat. "Thank God!
and next to him, Beatrice, I have to thank you!"
"Spare your thanks to me, Eugenie," cried her companion, "till we have
reached the end of our journey. I will then try to hear them with
patience. But now, I dare say, you will think it strange that I have
not taken you to my own house, instead of bringing you here. But I
have three sufficient reasons for not doing so. First, because on many
accounts they might suspect you of flying to me; secondly, because we
are here much nearer to the gate, and, thirdly, for a reason, Eugenie,
that you would scarcely suspect, which is, that I did not choose any
of the gossiping fraternity should say they had seen two gay-looking
youths enter the house of Beatrice of Ferrara at night, and remain
there till morning shone. So you see, Eugenie, that I, even I, am not
without fears of scandal; I who have not scrupled, when my purpose
served, to go disguised as I am now, and live disguised in the house
of a strange man. Ay, Eugenie I do not look so horrified, for I was
as safe there as in my own chamber. I was surrounded by own
attendants, whom I had contrived by one means or another to force into
his service. He was too simple and unsuspicious to suspect me, and
even had he discovered me, was too noble-minded to have misused his
advantage."
"You do not mean," exclaimed Eugenie, "you do not mean surely the----"
"Not the Count d'Aubin!" exclaimed Beatrice, with a blush that spread
like lightning over her cheek, and forehead, and temples; "not the
Count d'Aubin! I would not have trusted myself within his gates in
this guise for millions of kingdoms. No, not to have obtained a
century of the brightest happiness that ever yet shone upon the path
of mortal!"
"I did not mean him," replied Eugenie, smiling; "I meant the Marquis
of St. Real."
"Then you have divined more shrewdly than I thought you would,"
replied Beatrice. "But I will tell you all that story another time,"
she added, quitting suddenly a subject on which she evidently wished
to speak, but did not know well how to proceed. "What was I saying?
Oh! that I feared to have two gay-looking youths seen to enter my
house at this hour; but the fact is, Eugenie, I have found that by
caution and propriety, and determination in certain things, I have
acquired, as it were, a right prescriptive to be as wild, and as
daring, and as unhesitating as I like in all others,--but now, my fair
friend, let us think of the present moment. You have four good hours
to rest yourself ere we set out. In yonder room you will find a bed;
and one of my girls shall sit by you, while you lie down to repose, if
you are afraid of sleeping in a strange apartment. Yet stay, I must
have those delicate shoes of yours; for ere we set out to-morrow, we
shall need a pair more conformable to your dress, and must send a
model to my own shoemaker, who perhaps may have some that will fit. He
is accustomed to my whims; and will not mind being roused out of his
bed to serve me. In the meantime, I must change my dress and hasten
away; for I am determined to show myself, if but for an hour, at the
fete given to-night by old Madame de Gondi, so as to turn away all
suspicion from the right direction. I will be back long ere it be time
to set out to-morrow."
Exhausted with all she had gone through, grief, terror, mental
exertion, and corporeal fatigue, Eugenie de Menancourt gladly availed
herself of the opportunity of repose. Casting off her upper robe, but
without undressing herself farther, she lay down to rest. She did not
refuse, however, the attendance of one of Beatrice's women; for danger
and terror, instead of losing their effect on her mind by custom, had
only rendered her more timid and apprehensive.
For more than an hour, agitation prevented Eugenie from sleeping; but
towards two o'clock weariness prevailed, and she sunk into profound
slumber. It seemed scarcely a moment, however, ere she was roused by
some one touching her arm; and she found Beatrice standing beside her,
while the grey light that found its way into the room through the open
window showed that she had slept longer than she imagined.
"It is time for us to depart, Eugenie," said her friend, "and
unwillingly I must break your short repose; but I see the market carts
coming in; showing both that the gates are open, and that the siege of
Paris is not only raised in name but in reality. We must make the best
of our time, Eugenie; for in five hours more your absence may be
discovered."
Eugenie de Menancourt needed no admonitions to haste. Her dress was
soon resumed, her shoes tried on and found to fit tolerably, her hair
re-arranged so as to conceal its length; and once more taking
Beatrice's arm, she proceeded down the narrow staircase to the door of
the house, where, stretched upon some benches in the passage, lay two
or three men in different costumes, who instantly started upon their
feet as the two maskers approached.
"Do not come out," said Beatrice, stopping to speak with them, "but
look forth from the side window where you can see the gate. If I hold
up my handkerchief, run up to help us; and, good faith, you must even
risk a hard blow or two, should need be; but if you see Andrew join
us, or if I do not hold up my handkerchief, be sure that all is safe,
and return home with the women."
The men bowed and made way; and Eugenie, accompanying her companion
through the doorway, found herself once more in the street in the
cool, clear light of the early morning. During the former part of her
flight, she had thought the very darkness increased her terror; but
now as she walked on, with faltering steps, in an unwonted garb, and
fancying that every passing eye must penetrate her disguise, she would
have given worlds for night once more to afford her the covering of
its dull obscurity.
The gate lay at the distance of not more than a hundred yards before
them; and Beatrice whispering, "Do not be surprised or alarmed at
anything you see or hear, for I expect a confederate here," led the
way with a quick step.
Not to be alarmed, however, was out of Eugenie's power; for even the
great interests she had at stake, though they prompted to exertion,
were without effect in giving birth to courage: nor was the sight of
the gate at that moment calculated to remove her fears, for although
the siege was, as Beatrice said, absolutely at an end, and the royal
army already many leagues from Paris, yet sentinels were to be seen in
every direction, and a number of the fierce-looking soldiers of the
League still hung about the gates, some examining the market carts as
they entered the city, some jesting with the countrywomen who
accompanied them.
Beatrice advanced boldly, however, her confidence and presence of mind
appearing to increase as the dangers became more imminent, and gliding
between two carts which stood in the archway, she was leading Eugenie
on, when the _lanceprisade_ of the guard darted out of the gate-house,
and caught her by the arm.
"Ha, ha! my young truant," he exclaimed, "whither away so fast? none
passes here without question: this is not the door of a church, young
man!"
Beatrice shook off the man's hold without showing the slightest
symptom of alarm or agitation; and ever ready with a reply, she
answered, "Not the door of a church! Is it the door of a Huguenot
_prêche_ then? and are you a _maheutre_ minister? Come, come! what do
you stop us for? They told me that the Bearnois and his beasts were
gone, and that we could go out in safety and see where the Huguenots
roasted their apples."
"You have more malice in your heads than that, my good youths, I have
a notion," replied the soldier. "We must have your names at least.
Give us your name, my good boy."
"Mine is Monseigneur le Duc du Petit Chatelet," replied Beatrice,
laughing; "so put that down in your book."
The soldier shook his finger at her good-humouredly enough. "You are a
wild one," he said, "and will break many a country wench's heart, I'll
warrant you, ere you be done with it. But what is your name, my pretty
little abbé, that stand there holding by the cart and blushing like a
girl of fifteen?"
Eugenie hesitated, and blushed a thousand times more deeply than
before; but Beatrice instantly came to her aid, exclaiming, "Do not
tell him your real name, silly boy; have you not wit to make one? What
has he to do with your real name? Monsieur le Soldat, or better still,
Monsieur le Lanceprisade, this gentleman here present is called L'Abbé
des Ponts et Chaussees,--so put that down in your book also!"
"Very well, I will," replied the man; "but before I let you go
farther, I must know whether these are your real names or not, and I
think we have one within there who can tell us."
Eugenie's heart sunk, and even Beatrice's confidence seemed a little
shaken, while the soldier, turning to some of his companions,
exclaimed, "send out the old man there, and we shall soon see if he
recognises these two pretty youths!"
The moment after, an elderly man, dressed much in the costume of a
major-domo belonging to some old family of distinction, came forth
from the gate-house and approached them, holding up his hands and
eyes, as if in horror and astonishment. Eugenie looked to Beatrice, to
see what was to come next; but a suppressed smile upon the countenance
of her fair friend re-assured her, although the words that accompanied
that smile tended to a contrary effect. "We are caught now, Eugene,"
she exclaimed aloud, "we are caught now, that is clear!"
At the same time the old man advanced, crying, in a lamentable tone,
"Ah! young gentlemen, young gentlemen! how could you play such a
trick? There's my Lord the Marquis been storming like mad, and your
lady-mother crying her eyes out, ever since you left the chateau. We
thought you must have fallen into the hands of the Huguenots, and
there has been nothing but fear and anxiety through the whole
household. You, Monsieur Leonard, your father said he could understand
your running away, for you are always in mischief, but how you could
persuade Monsieur l'Abbé here to accompany you, he could not
understand!"
"I am sure if my father be in such a rage," replied Beatrice, in the
tone of a spoilt boy, caught in some trick more outrageous than
ordinary, "I am sure if my father be in such a rage, I shall not go
back till he is cool again; and so you may go and tell him, good
Master Joachim!"
"Oh, let us go! let us go!" said Eugenie in a low tone; and now
comprehending her companion's scheme, but anxious to bring the scene
to an end as speedily as possible, "Oh, let us go! it is useless to
delay."
"That is right! Monsieur l'Abbé, that is right!" cried the old man;
"but you need be under no fear of your father either, Master Leonard,
for good Father Philip has made him promise that nothing shall be said
if you do but come home quietly. There is the carriage, as you see,
standing ready, with Jean the lackey, and nothing shall be said I
promise you; but if you will not go peaceably, of your own will, I
must make you go whether you will or not, and these good gentlemen of
the guard will help me."
"Ay, that we will," cried the lanceprisade. "Two young truants! If ye
were not two such pretty boys, I should feel tempted to make your
backs so well acquainted with the staff of my halbert, that you would
jump into the carriage fast enough, I will answer for it!"
"We will not give thee the trouble, most redoubtable hero," answered
Beatrice, in a mocking tone. "But, as we must go, there is a crown for
you and your pot companions to drink to the health of the Duc du Petit
Chatelet and the Abbé des Ponts et Chaussees."
The man laughed and took the money; and Beatrice, with the same gay
and swaggering air, marched forward through the gate, followed by
Eugenie; while the old man came after; the lanceprisade of the guard
taking care to whisper in his ear, with a knowing look ere he went,
"You had better look sharp to them, or that young chap will give you
the slip yet; he is as full of mischief as a loaded cannon."
"Ay! ay! I will look to them," said the old man, with a solemn shake
of the head; "I will look to them, sir Lanceprisade, and many thanks
for your kind help and assistance in taking them."
Thus saying, he followed Beatrice to the side of the carriage or
rather _chaise-roulante_, and having assisted her and Eugenie in, took
his seat in one of the boots. The lackey, who had waited with the
carriage, now closed the leathern curtain, which served the purpose of
a door, and then springing up beside the driver, who sat ready in his
seat, gave the signal for putting the whole in motion. The short whip
cracked, the two strong horses darted forward, and, after drawing to
its full extension the complication of ropes, leather straps, and iron
rings, which formed the harness, started the heavy carriage from the
spot where it rested in the full force of its _vis inertiæ_; and in a
moment, Eugenie, with a heart palpitating with joy, felt herself
rolling away from the gates of Paris, over roads which were rough,
indeed, with the recent passage of waggons and artillery, but every
step of which seemed to her hopes to conduct to safety and to peace.
For her part, Beatrice cast herself back in the carriage; her
lightness, her gaiety, her air of daring passed away; and for some
minutes she remained with her hands clasped over her eyes, as if
exhausted with all the exertion she had made. When she looked up, she
was still grave, and there was a languor about her which spoke plainly
that all the ease, and the courage, and the unconcernedness which she
had displayed through the difficult scenes just passed, had been, in
fact, the triumph of a ready and determined mind over the weakness of
a frame as delicate as that of the most timid of her sex.
"We are safe, Eugenie!" she said, "we are safe! and now give me
credit. Have I not played my part well? But it has almost been too
much for me. When by myself I can go through anything, but I was
alarmed and agitated for you; I feared not only lest you would be
overtaken, but lest you should sink under the trial. But now I trust
you are safe, dear Eugenie, for these horses go fast. We have nearly
five hours before us ere Mayenne will be up; ere he will be well
awake, and his eyes rubbed, and his boots pulled on, we shall have an
hour more; then to discover the whole, to think which way we are gone,
and to cross-examine your servants, will bring him to dinner time: the
poor man must eat, you know; and what with other business, and the
time required to give orders, and mount horsemen, and consult with his
sister, the day will be done, so that we may well calculate upon its
being to-morrow morning ere any one sets out to seek us. Therefore, my
Eugenie, with God's help, you are safe!"
"Thanks! thanks, Beatrice! A thousand thanks, my sister, my more than
sister!" cried Eugenie. "Well, indeed, as you say, and skillfully have
you played your part. But you would say I have not played mine badly
either, if you knew all that I have suffered, especially when we were
stopped at the gate. If you had told me, however, that you had got
such a comedy ready for our deliverance, I should have been better
prepared."
"But I knew no more than yourself," replied Beatrice, "what was to
come next; I had only time after your letter reached me to take
general measures. Luckily I had a number of my own people around me
without the walls of Paris. I bade Joachim have a carriage and horses
prepared this morning, and to hang about as near as possible, telling
whatever story he thought fit, if questioned. Thus, when the soldier
spoke to me, I took great care not to say a word that could contradict
my confederate's story, whatever it was; but kept to general nonsense,
which could signify nothing under any circumstances. As to the comedy
which you talk of, between Joachim and myself, it was like one of
those mysteries which people play in the convents, where the names of
the different characters, and some general idea of the story, is all
that is given, and the actors fill up the speeches as they think best
at the time. But my good major-domo played his part admirably too, and
shall not have reason to repent of it when we come to speak of
rewards."
"And, now, whither are we going?" demanded Eugenie; "for this does not
seem to me to be the road towards Maine."
"The road towards Maine!" exclaimed Beatrice--"why, my dear, simple
girl, that would be going into the lion's den, indeed. They will seek
you there in the first instance, and we must give time to let their
search be fully over ere we think of going near to Maine. At present
we are following, as fast as ever we can, the march of the king's
army, and I hope to pass the rear-guard to-night."
"But may not that be dangerous?" demanded Eugenie. "We have no pass
from them; and if any of the parties of soldiers meet us, we may be
taken and discovered, and perhaps maltreated."
"No fear of that," answered Beatrice; and then added, with a smile
that called the warm blood up into Eugenie's cheek, "we can send for
the Marquis of St. Real, you know, Eugenie. But, no, no! Do not be
afraid of that, or anything else. I have orders and safe-conducts in
the king's own hand. In short, Eugenie, I do not think that there is
one thing, which can tend to your safety, that has been forgotten by
Beatrice of Ferrara."