AN AUDIENCE WITH THE REGENT
The sun was shining brightly through the bars of my window when I
opened my eyes. So soundly had I slept that I had not heard the entry
of the guard, who had placed my breakfast on the chair beside me. It
consisted of a pound of bread, which I learned afterwards was the daily
allowance for each prisoner in the Bastille, and a plate of haricot,
in which bones and turnips were most conspicuous, and which I judged
to consist of the remains of the dinner of the previous day. A can of
water completed the repast, and I ate without grumbling. Not knowing
that the bread was to last me the entire day, I ate it all. Then I sat
down to think over the adventures of the night before, but I saw only
the sweet face of Louise Dacour, and my heart trembled as I thought of
the abyss I needs must span ere I could stand beside her, an equal in
rank and fortune. Yet a stout heart might accomplish even that.
A tapping on the floor brought me back to earth, and I heard
Richelieu’s voice calling me.
“De Brancas,” he cried, “de Brancas, tell me that it was not all a
dream.”
“A dream,” I answered; “then I, too, have dreamed, monsieur.”
“And we really did escape? We were at the dryad fountain?”
“If you could see my hands, monsieur, you would not doubt it,” and I
looked at them myself with tender solicitude, for they were abraded and
blistered in many places.
“Ah, yes,” cried Richelieu, “it was you who devised that plan,--who did
the work. It was a masterpiece, Jean. I shall always remember it.”
And he fell silent for a moment.
“You saw her, did you not, Jean?” he asked, suddenly.
“Yes, I saw her.”
“Her eyes?”
“Yes.”
“And are they not the most beautiful in the kingdom?”
“I am glad you think so, monsieur,” I said. “As for me, I have found
two others which content me admirably.”
“Two others?” he questioned, in an astonished voice. “But to whom do
they belong?”
“To Mlle. Dacour,” I answered simply.
“Oh, my poor friend!” exclaimed Richelieu, and I heard him laughing.
“Is your heart also in the toils? In faith, you have my sympathy. But
come, the affair is not altogether hopeless. What do you know of Mlle.
Dacour?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing, but that she is beautiful and smiles
divinely,” I cried. “Ah, tell me all you know!” and I hung upon every
word.
“She was the daughter of Chevalier Louis-Armand Dacour, who died a
year ago, leaving her an honored name, but little wherewith to support
it. Mlle. de Valois found her, it seems, admired her, and they are now
inseparable. I have heard something more concerning her which favors
your cause,” added the duke, and he laughed again.
“Which favors my cause?” I asked, incredulously.
“She loves brave men,” said Richelieu. “She abhors the wits and roués
who have congregated about the regent, and they tell many stories
of the ways in which she makes them feel her scorn. She sighs for
the days of the Great Cardinal, when good blows were stoutly given
and cheerfully taken. Another exploit such as that of last night, de
Brancas, and, believe me, her heart is yours.”
“No, no, you are jesting,” I murmured. Yet she had listened with
sparkling eyes to the story of our escape. Well, if a sword could win a
way to her heart, mine should not be idle.
“But come,” cried the duke, “we have talked enough of your affairs. Let
us talk of mine. Can you guess what she has promised me?”
“What is it, monsieur?” I asked, with a sinking heart, for I had little
doubt as to the answer.
“A rendezvous for to-morrow night. Not in the cold avenues of the
garden this time, but in her apartment in the Palais Royal.”
“And you intend to keep this rendezvous?” I asked.
“Assuredly; why not? Did we not keep that of yesterday?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “but miracles do not happen twice in the same way.
However, we shall see.”
“’Tis true about the King of Sardinia,” continued Richelieu, in a more
gloomy tone. “He has sent proposals for her hand, and the regent swears
she shall consent. But she says she would rather die, and I trust we
may yet find a way out of it. Ah, there is some one coming!”
A moment later I heard the door of his cell opened and the voice of
Maison-Rouge.
“The regent has just sent me an order for your release, M. le Duc,” he
said.
“My release?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, there is a squadron of horse awaiting in the
court-yard to convey you to your regiment at Bayonne at once. Come,
monsieur.”
“To Bayonne? I am exiled from Paris, then?”
“So it seems.”
“But my friend?”
“There are no orders for him. He must remain here.”
“M. de Maison-Rouge,” demanded Richelieu, “did my friend and I keep the
agreement we made with you last night?”
“To the letter. Better than I had hoped.”
“You may then have some feeling of friendship for us?”
“What is it, monsieur?”
“M. de Maison-Rouge, I ask you to go out of that door, close it after
you, and withdraw ten paces. At the end of five minutes return and I
shall be ready to accompany you. Do this for me, monsieur, and I shall
not forget it.”
“You will not escape?” asked Maison-Rouge. “It is not a trick?”
“I swear to you, monsieur, that I shall be here when you open the door.”
“Very well; I believe I can trust you, M. le Duc,” and I heard him
withdraw and clang the door shut after him.
“Jean, Jean,” called Richelieu, “you heard?”
“Yes, everything,” I answered.
“The regent doubtless thinks I shall be safer at Bayonne, three hundred
leagues away, than in the Bastille. Well, so be it, but nevertheless
I shall keep tryst with Charlotte to-morrow night. Listen. Be at the
dryad fountain at ten o’clock. I will meet you there. I do not doubt
Louise Dacour will be there also.”
I trembled at the thought.
“If human power can do it I will be there,” I said.
“And listen, Jean,” continued Richelieu; “you are to make my house your
home if you get out of here. You understand? Jacques will know you.
Silence. The governor is returning.”
A moment later his door was opened again.
“Are you ready, monsieur?” asked Maison-Rouge.
“Quite ready,” answered Richelieu, “and a thousand thanks for your
courtesy.”
They were gone and I was left alone with reflections that were not
too pleasant. What did the regent intend doing with me? To a man of
Richelieu’s position some consideration must be shown, but I might be
thrown into an oubliette to rot and no one would ask twice about me.
Verily, I thought, if I get out of this place again I shall do my best
to stay out.
Noon came, and with it my dinner of soup, a piece of the meat of which
it had been made, an apple, and a bottle of wine. I had no bread, for
I had eaten all of mine for that day, and the sentry gruffly refused
to give me more. I ate the dinner to the last morsel--for it has ever
been my belief that the more desperate a man’s condition the greater
his need of food--and spent the afternoon looking out through the bars
across the fields and watching the busy highway which led towards the
city. I thought of Louise, and then with a trembling dread of what
it would mean to remain in this accursed hole for a year or even for
a month. I vainly cudgelled my brain for a plan of escape, but could
discover none which offered even a possibility of success. The weather
had turned warm again, for which I was thankful, for the calotte was
exposed to every wind, and must be frightfully cold in severe weather.
The allowance of wood was limited to six pieces a day, and the wretched
stove was wholly incapable of heating the place even with plenty of
fuel.
The afternoon passed and evening came. I ate the scant supper, crept
into the snuggest corner, drew my bench against me for greater warmth,
and soon fell asleep. The sun again awoke me, and the second morning
went much as the first had done, only more wearisomely. I passed the
hours in a kind of frenzy. One thought ran ceaselessly through my
brain,--to escape--to escape--but how? I could find no answer. About
the middle of the afternoon I was startled by the sound of the bolts
of my door being thrown, and turned from my window as a sentry entered.
“You are to follow me,” he said.
“Gladly,” I replied. “Nothing can be worse than this place,” and I
descended the staircase after him. We emerged into the well court, then
into the outer court, and crossed the bridge into the court beyond,
my guard saying never a word, but directing his steps towards the
governor’s office. A coach surrounded by a squad of mounted guards
stood before it. Maison-Rouge himself met us at the door.
“M. de Brancas,” he said, “the regent has sent for you. Enter the
coach, and these gentlemen will conduct you to him.”
“The devil!” I thought. “The regent! What can he want?” But without
permitting any of my discomposure to appear in my face, I entered
the coach. We were soon outside the walls, and I looked about for an
opportunity to escape, but saw none. The guards were too many; besides,
they were on horseback, while I should be on foot. Right across the
city we drove, and I looked out upon the people passing to and fro and
reflected bitterly that they were free and could go where they listed.
But I had little time for meditation, for we were soon at the Palais
Royal, and two of the guards dismounting, asked me to descend from the
carriage. They placed themselves on either side of me, and we mounted
the staircase. Some ten minutes we waited in a small antechamber
to which no one else was admitted, and then we were shown into the
presence of the regent.
“Good-day, M. de Brancas,” he said, coolly; and added to the guards,
“You may go. I fancy I shall not need you again.” Then he turned to
me. “Now, M. de Brancas, I intend to have a candid talk with you. But
first, tell me, why are you my enemy?”
“But I am not your enemy, monsieur,” I protested.
“Then why do you associate with my enemies?” he asked.
“Because they are my friends, monsieur.”
“Ah! But my police tell me that you have been in Paris but ten days.
You seem to make friends quickly.”
“Monsieur,” I answered, “I admit that ten days is not a long time, but
in that time M. le Duc de Richelieu has twice saved my life. It will
take me much longer than ten days to repay that indebtedness.”
Orleans looked at me a moment, and I fancied there was kindness in his
eye. I admit the man pleased me, for he had an engaging address and
an affable and kindly manner. I reflected that in his youth this man
had been of high courage and ambition, and that if he had become a
profligate, it was largely the fault of the king, who had always hated
him, and of the Abbé Dubois, who had been his preceptor. Doubtless
something of my thought appeared in my face, for the regent smiled
somewhat sadly.
“You have heard horrible stories about me, have you not, M. de
Brancas?” he asked. “It was I, they say, who poisoned the young Duke
and Duchess of Burgundy, who am an astrologer, an alchemist, and an
intimate friend of the devil.”
“Oh, monsieur,” I stammered, “but I have never believed such calumnies.”
“No,” said the regent, “I do not think that any one who knows me really
believes them. Only my enemies use them against me in order to pull me
down. But the kingdom will endure, no matter who assaults it. Do you
believe in fate?” he asked, abruptly.
“Undoubtedly, monsieur,” I answered, and I looked at him with
astonished eyes.
He smiled as he glanced at me.
“You may understand, then,” he said, “why I do not fear. For I believe
that it is fate which has committed to my hands the destinies of this
kingdom. And I intend to deserve the trust,--I intend to make it a
kingdom better worth living in.”
He fell silent for a moment, playing with a paper which lay before him
on the table. That he really meant what he said--that he had in his
heart many plans for the good of the people--I do not doubt. Ah, that
he had been stronger and turned a deaf ear to those who led him from
his purpose!
A tap on the door aroused him, and at his command an usher entered.
“What is it?” he asked, sharply.
“A deputation from the King of Sardinia to see Your Highness,” replied
the man.
The regent’s face brightened and he straightened up in his chair.
Evidently, the delegation was welcome.
“Ah, about the marriage,” and I bit my lips to repress the exclamation
which would have burst from me. “How many are in the deputation?”
“Three, monsieur.”
“Then I will receive them here.” The usher bowed and withdrew. “Nay,
stay, M. de Brancas,” he added to me, seeing that I made a movement
to leave the room. “This is not a state secret, but merely a family
affair, and one which I am quite willing for all the world to know.
Besides, there may be something which I wish you especially to hear.”
I felt my face crimson under his glance, whose hidden meaning I could
not doubt, but there was no time to protest, even had I dared to do so,
for the usher was back in a moment with the deputation at his heels.
As they approached the regent I gazed at them with astonishment, for I
could have sworn that they were livid with fear.
“You come from the King of Sardinia, I believe, messieurs,” said the
regent, graciously. “I trust that he is well.”
The deputies bowed as one man.
“He is well, Your Highness,” replied one of them, evidently the chief,
“and begs to present his respects and good wishes.”
“I thank him,” and the regent bowed in turn. “And what message do you
bring from him?”
I noticed that one of the men was wetting his lips convulsively, and
as he hesitated for an answer a tapestry was raised and a man entered,
whom I knew instinctively to be Dubois. The regent glanced at him
impatiently, but said nothing.
“You may remember, M. le Regent,” began the spokesman, in a trembling
voice, “that some days ago the king sent to you a request for the hand
of your daughter, Mlle. de Valois, in marriage.”
“I remember it very well,” said the regent, a storm gathering on his
brow as he began to suspect some unpleasant _dénouement_. “What then?”
“Since that time,” continued the ambassador, “the king has considered
the matter more carefully, and has found that he acted in haste, and
that his health will not permit this marriage. He desires, therefore,
to withdraw the request.”
“What!” cried the regent, bounding from his chair and seeming about to
fall upon the delegates, “withdraw the request? Do you know what you
are saying, messieurs? And what is the reason for this extraordinary
action?”
“I have already had the honor of telling Your Highness,” faltered the
man. I did not wonder that he had entered the room with livid face and
trembling knees.
“Pardon me,” interrupted a smooth voice, which made me start and filled
me with disgust, and the Abbé Dubois stepped forward, “I believe I can
throw some light upon the matter. I received a moment ago a message
from my agent who has been near the King of Sardinia, and I was about
communicating it to Your Highness when I found the delegation here. My
correspondent writes that the king yesterday received word of a certain
encounter of the night before in the gardens of the Palais Royal.” I
colored as I felt the speaker’s eyes on mine, but I returned his gaze
without winking. “In view of this information, he has changed his mind
about desiring to wed Mlle. de Valois.”
“So,” said the regent, falling into that menacing calm which I had
already seen in the Café Procope, “it is Richelieu who has done this.
Do you hear, monsieur?” he continued, turning to me with a deadly
purpose in his face. “I swear that if Richelieu crosses my path again
his head shall fall. But,” he asked, turning suddenly to Dubois, “how
did the King of Sardinia hear of this affair so quickly?”
“He was in Paris,” answered Dubois. “He came incognito a week since,
for the purpose, I think, of getting a glimpse of the princess before
asking for her hand. Hérault’s men have been watching him for me.”
“And where is he now?” asked the regent, eagerly.
“He left Paris at noon yesterday, monsieur,” and I thought to myself
that he had done well to be far away before that message was delivered.
“Ah!” said the regent, in a tone of disappointment; and then turning to
the deputation, “Messieurs, go back to your little king and tell him
that he shall not escape chastisement. What! the ruler of a toy island
in the Mediterranean dare to insult the regent of France? My arm is
long enough to reach him, messieurs, and my hand strong enough to crush
him. Go!”
The deputation hurried to the door, evidently only too glad to escape
so lightly, and at a sign from the regent Dubois followed them.
“You have heard, M. de Brancas,” said the regent, turning to me, his
face still red with anger, “this insult which has been put upon me, and
you understand, of course, that it is Richelieu I have to thank for
it, for I still believe that it was he and you who were in the Palais
Royal gardens. But I am going to be generous, monsieur. You are free.
I do not believe that in your heart you are my enemy. But keep away
from plotting and intrigue, try to find some honorable employment for
your sword, which, I have been assured, you know how to wield, and warn
Richelieu to trouble me no more, else I will crush him as I would a
fly.”
“I thank you, monsieur,” I said simply. “I shall not forget your
kindness.”
“I am sure of it,” said the regent, and motioned me to go.
I left the palace with a light heart, and made my way to the Hotel
de Richelieu. Jacques admitted me at once, and in a few words I told
the anxious fellow what had happened to his master, and that he would
probably return to Paris in the evening. This done, I took a bath and
donned a change of raiment, and then sat down before a meal which
Jacques had ordered for me, and which was in pleasing contrast to my
food of the past two days. I glanced at the window and saw that evening
was already at hand, and as Jacques brought the candles, I pulled
my chair before the fire, with a bottle of wine at my elbow. Louise
Dacour’s sweet face danced before me in the flames, and I wondered if
it were indeed to be my fortune to see her again before the morning
came.