AT ODDS
WITH THE REGENT
[Illustration: RICHELIEU THREW HIMSELF AT HER FEET
AND CAUGHT HER HAND Page 335]
AT ODDS
WITH
THE REGENT
A STORY OF THE CELLAMARE
CONSPIRACY
BY
BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON
WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY
ANNA WHELAN BETTS
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
_Electrotyped and Printed by
J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A._
TO
E. B. S.
WHO HAS JOURNEYED
WITH ME SO MANY
TIMES TO THE LAND
OF MAKE-BELIEVE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AN ENCOUNTER WITH CARTOUCHE 9
II. THE SALON OF MADAME DU MAINE 22
III. A LITTLE LESSON IN POLITICS 34
IV. A DUEL AT MID-DAY 50
V. A DESPERATE VENTURE 65
VI. A SURPRISE FOR MAISON-ROUGE 83
VII. AT THE DRYAD FOUNTAIN 98
VIII. AN AUDIENCE WITH THE REGENT 122
IX. THE CONSERVE CLOSET 140
X. THE REGENT SCORES A POINT 154
XI. THE HOUSE IN THE RUE VILLEDOT 167
XII. A CONFERENCE WITH CELLAMARE 181
XIII. AT THE THÉÂTRE-FRANÇAIS 199
XIV. THE GAME OF PRISONER’S CHASE 220
XV. RICHELIEU STANDS HIS GROUND 234
XVI. A DAY OF FRUITLESS EFFORT 249
XVII. THE REGENT SHOWS HIS HAND 263
XVIII. A RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT 279
XIX. D’ANCENIS TELLS THE STORY 294
XX. THE SECRET STAIRCASE 312
XXI. WHERE HONOR WINS 327
XXII. AT THE PALAIS ROYAL 341
XXIII. THE REGENT’S GRATITUDE 355
A LAST WORD 364
AT ODDS WITH THE REGENT
CHAPTER I
AN ENCOUNTER WITH CARTOUCHE
Night had already come as I drew my cloak more closely about me and
stepped forth into the street. I had lingered long over my meal, as
a man will who has been alone all the day and sees little chance of
companionship before him. For in all the city I knew no one, and there
seemed small prospect of the night bringing any enjoyment with it. I
turned to the left, away from that dingy house in the Rue Bailleul,
which was the only home I had thus far found in Paris, determined to
forget, for a time at least, its narrow entrance leading to the dirty
interior court, where a thousand odors struggled ceaselessly for
mastery; the dark staircase mounting steeply upward, and the close
little room, which a single week’s occupancy had sufficed to render
loathsome to me. Ah! it was different from the wide, sweet valley of
the Loire.
At the outset of my career in Paris I had been confronted by a problem
which demanded immediate solution. I might lodge well and dress poorly,
or I might dress well and lodge poorly, but I had not money enough
to do both well. After mature deliberation, I had chosen the latter
course and expended my money upon my wardrobe, reasoning that all
the world would notice my attire, while no one would penetrate to my
lodging. My neighbors in the Rue Bailleul had not yet recovered from
the astonishment with which my advent had filled them, and still gazed
wonderingly and suspiciously after me whenever I chanced to pass.
So I strode through the night away from that shabby garret, and as I
went I thought somewhat bitterly of the high hopes I had brought with
me to the city a week before,--hopes of adventure and glory, after
the fashion, doubtless, of every youth who came to Paris from the
provinces. But a week had passed without adventure, and as for glory,
it seemed farther away than ever. In faith, those same hopes were about
my only possession, a fact brought painfully to my attention when I
had opened my purse ten minutes since to pay my score, and something
must needs happen soon or--well, I had seen a man taken from the Seine
the day before and his face seemed peaceful. At least, I would never go
back to the narrow life which I had always hated.
A splash into a pool of mud brought me out of my thoughts. I stopped
and looked about me, but did not recognize the street, which seemed a
very squalid one. The dilapidated wooden buildings with their plastered
fronts tottered together over my head. A putrid stream filled the
central gutter, giving forth an odor which reminded me forcibly of the
court below my window. I started to retrace my steps and return to a
more inviting quarter of the city, when a hand was laid suddenly upon
my shoulder.
“Ah, monsieur,” said a pleasant voice, “you seem to have lost your way.”
“’Tis not a difficult task in Paris,” I replied, and as I did so, threw
off the man’s hand and stepped quickly back to have my sword arm free
in case of need.
“I should be pleased to conduct monsieur wherever he might wish to
go,” continued the voice, the face of whose owner I tried in vain to
distinguish.
“A thousand thanks,” I answered. “If monsieur will tell me the shortest
way of reaching the Rue St. Denis I need trouble him no further.”
“With pleasure. Take the first street to the right, then onward three
blocks, and monsieur is there,” said my strange companion; and then as
I turned away, “There is one formality which monsieur has overlooked.”
“And what is that?” I questioned, sharply.
“Monsieur’s purse. No gentleman ever leaves the presence of Cartouche
with his purse in his possession.”
“And is this Cartouche?” I asked, more to gain time than for any other
reason, for light as my purse was, I could ill afford to part with it,
even to the most famous thief in Paris.
“Assuredly,” answered the fellow, and he held out his hand with an air
of nonchalance which exasperated me. Cartouche’s fame had travelled
far, and he had spoken truth when he said that all men with whom he
talked left their purses with him, yet I was in mood for an adventure,
and reflected that a man were better dead than penniless.
“I fear that you will have to break your rule in this instance,
monsieur,” I said, after a moment’s silence, during which his attitude
had lost nothing of its gay assurance. “The contents of my purse are of
infinitely greater value to me than they can be to you. Hence I must
beg leave to retain it.”
“Does monsieur count the cost?” he asked, quietly.
“Fully,” I answered, and, leaping back a pace, drew my sword and stood
on guard. At the same instant he placed a whistle to his lips and blew
one shrill blast. I heard the sound of hastening footsteps, and half a
dozen blackguards, who had doubtless been concealed near by, were upon
me, while Cartouche stood calmly to one side and watched the conflict.
The foremost ran on my sword as upon a spit, and as he fell with a
single, sobbing cry, I stepped back against the wall, prepared to give
the others a warm argument. Yet I knew I must be overpowered in the
end by sheer weight of numbers, and it was reputed that Cartouche had
only one penalty for resistance. For some minutes I managed to keep the
space in front of me clear, running one of the scoundrels through the
shoulder before they saw they had a swordsman to deal with and retired
to a safer distance. I heard windows near by opening, and looked for
assistance from that direction, but in a moment they were closed again.
Evidently no one dared interfere with Cartouche.
Then back at me his rascals came, all together, and evidently counting
on overwhelming me in the rush, as, indeed, I thought they must do.
Another fellow felt the point of my sword in his thigh, but matters
were growing desperate, for I had myself been stabbed in the arm and
was fast becoming winded. This was hotter work than I had ever done.
“What have we here?” suddenly rang out a new voice above the clash of
swords. “An honest gentleman beset by knaves? A moment, monsieur, and I
am with you.”
I discerned a dim figure running towards us, a sword flashed in the
air, and its owner was at my side against the wall. He saw that I
needed time to breathe and made play in front of me, while I stood
with my mouth open, gasping like a fish. But it was only for a moment,
and I was back in the fray again. That moment’s rest had given me time
to see that my companion was a master of fence, and when the need to
shield me was past and his blade was free to thrust, he ran one of
the thieves through the breast without more ado. This reduced their
number to three, and they gave back a little, evidently appalled at our
swordsmanship.
“A pistol-shot!” cried one of the rogues to Cartouche. “A pistol-shot!
’Twill settle the business quickly.”
With an indescribable gesture Cartouche drew his pistols from his belt.
“So let it be,” he said. “Your deaths on your own heads, my braves,”
and my heart stood still as I heard him pull back the triggers.
“Come!” I cried to my companion; “charge him. We cannot remain here to
be shot down like dogs.”
He responded with a merry laugh.
“Why, this is better than the Comédie,” he said, speaking for the first
time since he had entered the fray. “It thrills the nerves and makes
the heart beat high. But all things must end, and so, M. Cartouche, I
think it would be just as well to put up your pistols and call your
scoundrels off. You will get no purses here this evening.”
“De Richelieu!” cried Cartouche; and then in a tone of deepest
concern, “Believe me, M. le Duc, I did not recognize you in the
darkness, nor did I know this gentleman to be a friend of yours, else
this would not have happened.”
“Enough, enough,” laughed my companion, as Cartouche’s men slunk back
into the gloom. “A man could not recognize his mistress on a night
like this. My friend and I bid you adieu,” and sheathing his sword
and motioning me to follow, he turned away without once looking back.
I admit that for my part I lacked his assurance, and more than once
glanced over my shoulder to make certain that I was not about to
receive a stab in the back. But my fears were seemingly groundless, for
I saw no more of Cartouche or his men.
It was not until we reached a more frequented street that I turned my
thoughts to my companion. I glanced at him with no little curiosity,
for I knew the young Duc de Richelieu by reputation, as, indeed, did
every other gentleman in the kingdom, yes, and all the ladies, too.
A grandnephew of the Great Cardinal, he resembled in many ways that
intrepid and indomitable man. A fine swordsman, gallant lover, and
brave gentleman,--that is what report said of him,--and I could wish no
better epitaph upon my gravestone, should I ever merit one. I saw a
straight, slight, handsome man of twenty-two or three, with blue eyes
and smiling lips. His hat was worn well down over his forehead and his
cloak pulled negligently about his chin, as though he knew the need of
disguise and yet disdained to use it, which in the end I found to be
the case. There was something strangely familiar in the face, but I
banished the thought in a moment, for I knew very well that I had never
before met the Duc de Richelieu.
We walked for a time in silence, and as I glanced at him again I
recalled with amusement the story of his _début_ at Marly, seven or
eight years before, when Madame de Maintenon had pronounced him “the
dearest doll in the world.” He had found favor with the ladies from the
first, and, so the story ran, had made such violent love to the Duchess
of Burgundy that he was dismissed from the court and sent home under
guard, together with a lettre-de-cachet which had compelled his father
to take him to the Bastille, where he had been imprisoned more than a
year. The story had been repeated in all four corners of the kingdom,
and his reputation was made from that moment. I could not but admit
his comeliness, and of his courage I had already sufficient proof. With
this man for a friend, I reflected, even a youth from the provinces
might go far. My arm was giving me some pain where it had been wounded,
but I managed to bind my handkerchief about it under my cloak and
determined that it must wait a more convenient season for attention. It
was Richelieu who broke the silence.
“’Twas fortunate I had some business in this quarter of the town
to-night and chanced to pass this way,” he said, with a light laugh.
“Cartouche is an old friend of mine. I did him a service once,--saved
him from the wheel, in fact,--and since then he has been kind enough
not to trouble me or my friends; a forbearance which they greatly
value, and which may account, in part, for my having so many. You
perhaps heard him call my name and so know who I am. May I ask whom I
had the honor of rescuing?”
“In faith, it was no less than a rescue,” I answered, warmly, “for the
rogues had me all but overcome. I am Jean de Brancas, at your service,
M. le Duc.”
“Jean de Brancas?” and Richelieu glanced at me with a little air of
surprise. “You are from Poitiers?”
“Yes, from Poitiers,” I answered, looking at him with astonishment.
“But may I ask how you know that, monsieur?”
“And you are new to Paris, I suppose?” he continued, smiling and
disregarding my question.
“I came here but a week ago, monsieur.”
“May I ask for what?” and he smiled yet more broadly. “But I do not
need to ask. It was for adventure, was it not? So many youths come here
for that; and though most of them find adventures in great number, they
are seldom to their liking.”
“That is my case precisely, monsieur,” I said, “with the exception of
this evening, which is greatly to my liking.”
“Perhaps I may find you more of the same kind,” and his face darkened
grimly. “There are many such, if one but knows where to look for them.
May I ask concerning your family, monsieur?”
“My father died a week before I started for Paris,” I answered, simply.
“My mother had preceded him to the grave by two years. I had no
brothers nor sisters.”
“Ah,” he said, not unkindly, “and what heritage did your father leave
you?”
“An honorable name, his sword and some skill in wielding it, monsieur,”
I answered, proudly.
“Heritage enough for any gentleman of spirit,” cried the duke,
heartily. “In truth, M. de Brancas, I think we shall be friends.”
“My heritage is at your service, monsieur,” I said. “I could ask no
better employment for it.”
“’Tis done,” and Richelieu laughed gayly. “Here, strike hands upon it.
Henceforth M. de Brancas is the friend of Richelieu. He will use his
heritage in Richelieu’s service. And in return Richelieu will see that
M. de Brancas has many chances to use this heritage and to make good
returns upon it. Is it agreed?”
“With all my heart!” I cried, and we paused to clasp hands, to the
infinite astonishment of the passers-by.
We had traversed a number of streets as we had talked, whose names I
did not know, but I saw that we were entering a better quarter of the
town. A moment later, we came out in front of a long row of stately
buildings which I knew to be the Tuileries. At one of the pavilions,
which seemed more brilliantly lighted than the others, the duke
entered, and, as I hesitated, bade me enter with him.
“There is no need to postpone your appearance upon the future scene
of your adventures,” he said, as we crossed the wide vestibule, the
lackeys on either side bowing before him. “Besides, we will tarry but a
moment. We are both somewhat travel-stained, ’tis true, but that will
count rather in our favor than against us, for men of action have come
into fashion with the need for them, and one good swordsman is valued
more highly than a dozen poets.”
My eyes caught the sumptuous details of the place as we ascended the
broad staircase, where many people were hurrying up and down, all
apparently upon some business. But none of them was too hurried to bow
to my companion as to a person of importance and to glance curiously at
me.
“And what is this place we are about to enter?” I asked, as we paused
at the stair-head.
“It is the salon of Madame du Maine,” said Richelieu, and in another
moment we had entered the brilliant room.