IN WHICH I BECOME AN ABBÉ.
Next morning we were seated at breakfast in the secret boudoir--that
charming little room in which I had first seen the Marquis de Gordon;
the Countess was brilliantly attired as usual, and the richness of
her dress greatly enhanced the beauty of her fair and ample person.
Her eyes shone with unusual lustre, for she had just bathed them in
perfumed water; her cheeks had the slightest tinge of rouge; and I
thought that I had never seen a finer or a lovelier woman. But she
had cost me seven months in the Bastille; and though full of
bitterness against Louis XIII., and irresistibly attracted towards
Clara, I resolved that nothing more should delay my departure for the
army; and on my mentioning this, Madame, notwithstanding all the
love-making that had passed between us, offered so little objection,
that I felt piqued, and soon discovered that while I was fighting in
Lorraine, she had cast her bright roguish eyes on some one else; and
this some one I eventually discovered to be the gallant Comte de
Treville, captain of the king's musketeers. However, Clara was very
cautious not to give me the slightest reason for suspecting this,
though I heard from her all the gossip of Paris during breakfast, and
all the court news, of both of which important branches of knowledge
I was as ignorant as if I had just arrived from the realms of Prester
John.
'To rejoin the army, my dear Arthur,' said the Countess, caressing my
curly head with patronising kindness, 'you will, of course, require
money?'
'Peste! my dear Countess, I should think so.'
'Of course, every one requires money, and you cannot be singular in
that respect. Here is a purse full enough for your purpose. These
are louis d'ors and rose-nobles.'
'The best nobles at the court of France.'
'Decidedly!'
'Ah! madame, you overwhelm me with kindness. How can I repay you for
these many favours?'
'By carefully obeying me, and fulfilling the tasks assigned you by
the King and myself.'
'Speak, madame.'
'From the King, you will convey to M. le Chevalier Hepburn, Marechal
de Camp of the Scottish troops, this letter and this case, both
sealed with the royal arms of France. These you will place in his
hands, before Elsace-Zaberne, which he is now besieging, and which my
old friend, Colonel Mulheim, a Lorrainer, is sure to defend until you
reach the banks of the Sarre. These from Louis XIII.'
'And what from yourself, dearest Countess?' said I, taking her soft
hands in mine and gazing earnestly, perhaps tenderly, into her fair
hazel eyes.
'You know my attendant, Nicola?'
'Yes.'
'Well; as a Lorrainer, the poor girl is no longer safe in Paris; for
the same edict by which Cardinal Richelieu is about to enrol
fifty-two thousand men for the recapture of La Chapelle, Bohain, and
Corbie, which the Spaniards have stormed from those dolts the
Picards, orders the immediate arrest of all Lorrainers and Alsatians
in Paris. Now poor Mademoiselle Nicola is from Nanci--which is her
misfortune, but not her fault.'
'And how about yourself--your own safety?'
'Though Louis is ill--all but bedridden at present--my position is
secure. Nicola is but a waiting-maid.'
'But dangerously beautiful.'
The expressive eyes of the Countess became severe and disdainful.
'She is faithful and attached to me, poor little creature; yet I can
evade the Cardinal's edict no longer. She is a woman, a girl rather,
without a legitimate protector, and you are a gallant chevalier. To
conduct her to her parents at Nanci must be your task.'
'Mine!' I exclaimed, with growing astonishment.
'Yours. So I trust, not to your love for me (that I have ceased to
believe in) but to your honour, that you will convey her in safety to
the gates of Nanci, which you will pass en route for
Elsace-Zaberne--and that you will there leave her, without question
or query. You promise?' she demanded, fixing her bright and piercing
eyes keenly upon me.
'On my honour, Countess,' said I, laying a hand on my breast;
'impatient as I am to leave Paris, to rejoin the Scottish Guard, and
to deliver to Sir John Hepburn his despatches, and the baton he has
earned so well, I shall not think of playing the lover or the
loiterer on the road.'
'C'est bon! I trust Nicola entirely to your honour and to her own
discretion. Horses are provided--I have sent for your old nag
Dagobert, and you will leave this in an hour.'
'So soon!' said I, kissing Clara's hand, and feeling something of my
old love for her reviving.
'Yes--so soon. Moreover, if you execute faithfully and honourably
the trust I repose in you, namely, to see this poor girl to the gates
of Nanci, my favours will not cease with our separation. I have
written to my dear old friend, Monseigneur le Duc de Lennox, who is
now at his castle of Tarbolton, and Cardinal Richelieu by the King's
command--a command issued at my request--has written to the Scottish
minister at Edinburgh, Sir Archibald Acheson of Glencairn, also in
your favour; and thus if you obey me with fidelity, your estate of
Blanerne and all your father's offices of Bailiewick and Captainrie
shall be fully restored to you, and you will be free to return home,
unless,' she added, with one of her old coy glances, 'you find
attractions greater in France.'
'Madame, I have no words to thank you! but will the Cardinal be
successful?'
'Can you doubt it? Mon Dieu! it is but a small request to make of
this sieur Acheson, and the Scottish government, after the late
release of all their ships, when those of England were detained and
sold at Havre, Brest, and Calais.'
The arrival of a visitor, whose gilded carriage preceded by two
liveried valets, powdered, armed and mounted, halted under the _porte
cochère_, cut short the reply I was about to make, and the Countess,
after permitting me to give her a farewell kiss, consigned me to the
care of Antoine, bidding me adieu with a kindness which showed that
though she meant to discard, she had no intention of forgetting me
entirely.
Antoine brought me the dress of an abbé--the usual costume of a
gentleman when travelling at that time; and under the cassock I
placed my belt, with a pair of loaded pistols and a good dagger;
while a pair of petronels were to be slung at my saddle-bow.
'Mademoiselle Nicola,' said Antoine, introducing the Countess's
attendant, whom in her new costume I had some difficulty in
recognising. She wore a dark religious dress, with a little hood and
wimple, a long veil, and a large cross. The demureness of her
appearance contrasted forcibly with the youth and exceeding beauty of
her face, and the luxuriance of her bright golden hair. Her
complexion was pure; her lips a divine coral hue, and her features
were cast in the purest mould of form. Her loose sleeves revealed
the whiteness of her arms, and gave her hands a smallness almost
infantine as she approached, and with great frankness held both out
to me, while her upward glance was timid and earnest, but confiding.
'Welcome, Nicola,' said I, closing the last button of my long and
sombre cassock; 'it seems, my dear little daughter, that we are about
to set out on our travels together, as a nun and an abbé.'
'Yes, monsieur,' said she, with a slight blush, as her long brown
eyelashes drooped; 'and I trust we shall conduct ourselves with due
religious gravity and--propriety.'
'Do not doubt it. I am an abbé of some place unknown; but you, I
presume, have some order to claim?'
'Oh yes, M. Blane. This is the dress of the _Hôpital des Soeurs de
la Charité_, for the relief of the sick and poor, founded by Father
Vincent de Paule, a priest whose life has been one succession of good
deeds, for he has everywhere founded hospitals for the sick, the
aged, and the poor; and King Louis, by letters patent, has just
instituted his new priory of the Lazarites. Father Vincent has
collected, among the pious of Paris, one hundred and sixty thousand
livres, and sent them into Alsace and Lorraine, to lessen the misery
of those peasantry who are afflicted by the war, and the presence
of--'
'Such fellows as I, mademoiselle.'
'Everywhere he is worshipped as a saint, though not yet canonised,
and my dress of his order will protect me, if the circumstance of my
being his favourite god-daughter will not.'
'But, my dear little Nicola, your beautiful voice will be quite
spoiled by the hideous accent of Alsace, where they say _Sdrazpurg_
for Strasbourg, and so on.'
'M. Blane,' said she, looking me full in the face, while her clear
bright eyes filled with emotion, 'if you propose to continue this
spirit of gallantry or banter during our journey, I shall leave you
at the first gate of Paris, and pursue my way alone.'
'Nicola, you are quick as gunpowder; but in what character do we
travel? Father and daughter?'
'No, brother and sister.'
'By Jove! a dearer relationship would save trouble immensely. Oh,
pardon--pardon me, Nicola,' I added, as her cheek reddened and her
eyes sparkled with anger; 'on my honour I will offend you no more.'
Antoine now announced that our nags were waiting at the postern, and
in half an hour after this we had passed through Paris together,
Nicola mounted on a stout and plainly-trapped little horse, and I on
Dagobert. About mid-day we passed the last barrier, and took the
road to Meaux, furnished duly with passports addressed to the various
lieutenants du roi, or deputy-governors, of which every fortified
town in France had one.