THE REGENT’S GRATITUDE
She wore the same gown in which she had followed the princess to
the altar, and there were traces of tears upon her face. She walked
straight to the regent, without glancing in my direction.
“What is it, monsieur?” she cried, “what is it that has separated me
from Charlotte at this last moment?”
“And did she tell you nothing?” asked the regent, kindly.
“She told me only that it had been done at her request and that she
wished it. She bade me good-by at her carriage window, and said that
you would explain it all to me.”
“And so I shall,” said the regent. “You would wish to do what my
daughter desires you to do, would you not, mademoiselle, and what you
knew would make her happier?”
“Oh, M. le Duc, can you ask?”
“No, I do not need to ask,” and the regent smiled into her anxious
face. “Only, before beginning, I wish to assure you, mademoiselle,
that that which follows is really what my daughter does wish, and what
will, I am certain, truly make her happier. You will believe this,
mademoiselle?”
“I will try to do so,” and Louise looked at him wonderingly. Evidently
she, also, was not acquainted with this man of kindly face and tender
voice.
“Sit down, then, mademoiselle,” he said, “and you also, M. de Brancas.
What I have to say will take some time and I do not wish to weary you.”
We did as he bade, and I gazed at Louise with all my love in my eyes,
but she did not vouchsafe me a glance.
“We must commence first with M. de Brancas,” and the regent picked
up some papers which were lying on the table at his elbow. “I pray
neither of you to interrupt me until I have finished. This paper which
I hold in my hand is the report of the Marquis d’Ancenis, captain of
the guards. It informs me that among the gentlemen who were found in
the salon of Madame du Maine on the night of the discovery of the
plot was a certain M. Jean de Brancas. It adds that there can be no
possible doubt of his complicity in the plot, that he had been aware of
all its details for several days, that he was present at a conference
between Mlle. de Launay and Prince Cellamare, that on that occasion he
resisted and dangerously wounded one of M. Hérault’s agents, that he
subsequently caused to be delivered to M. Hérault a number of spurious
papers for the purpose of misleading him, and that he has, in a word,
been guilty of treason.”
“But, M. le Duc----” protested Mlle. Dacour. The regent stopped her
with a gesture.
“M. de Brancas has, then, been guilty of the gravest crime which can be
charged against a subject of France,” he continued. “All persons who
conspire against the kingdom must be punished. To this there can be no
exception. All of the other conspirators have been imprisoned. M. de
Brancas must therefore be imprisoned. Some of the other conspirators
must lose their heads. M. de Brancas’s further punishment has also to
be considered.”
At last she looked at me,--only a glance, but a glance that made my
heart leap.
“And have you brought me here to torture me?” she cried.
“Have patience,” and the regent smiled down again into her upturned
face. “You will learn in a moment, mademoiselle. This,” he continued,
picking up another paper, “is a second report concerning M. de Brancas.
It relates how he escaped from the salon by overturning two of the
guards, mounted a horse and rode away no one knew whither, evading two
volleys which were fired after him. Here is a third report, stating
that Madame du Maine endeavored to prevent his escape, and furnished a
description of the horse and rider, which was sent to all the gates of
Paris, and especially, at her urgent request, to the Versailles gate.
This paper is the report of the commandant of the Versailles gate.
It relates how M. de Brancas arrived at the gate in the guise of a
courier, having in some way obtained the pass-word; how, in the instant
that an attempt was made to arrest him, he rode down a sentry, forced
open the gate, and plunged into the outer darkness. The report adds
that a volley of musketry was fired after him, but that he apparently
escaped uninjured, and that the absence of horses prevented a pursuit.
Here is a report from Levau, chief surgeon of the Hotel Dieu, to whom
this case was especially intrusted. It states that M. de Brancas was
brought there suffering from a pistol-shot in the head and another in
the shoulder, that he recovered from both wounds and was discharged
practically well again.”
The regent paused and I got another glance from Louise. She was
breathing more freely and the color was returning to her face. What
cared I for the regent if only she loved me?
“But the most important report of all is not here,” he continued. “That
is my report, which, however, has never been put into writing. It is
that on this same night I was returning to Paris from Versailles, where
some business had summoned me. I had passed St. Cloud, when out of the
wood ahead rode a madman, who fired a pistol into the air, cried to me
to save myself, and rolled lifeless into the road. The report would
add that, upon examination, this madman was found to be the same M.
de Brancas concerning whom so many reports have already been written.
The report would conclude by stating that a plot to assassinate me was
subsequently discovered.”
Again the regent paused for a moment. Ah! the joy in my heart when
Louise looked at me a third time,--this time almost with a smile.
“In other words,” went on the regent, “the object of this mad ride
through the night, this overcoming of so many obstacles, this
encountering of so many perils,--in short, this achievement almost
superhuman,--was to save my life from a band of murderers. For this I
am grateful, and I intend to show my gratitude. This, M. de Brancas,”
and he picked up another paper, “is the title to a pretty little estate
in Normandy. It is called Arneaux. This title, monsieur, I give you,
and I instruct you to set out for your estate as soon as possible. It
is upon your estate that I propose to imprison you.”
I took the paper, too stupefied to speak. An estate for me--for me,
Jean de Brancas!
“But this is more than I merit, monsieur,” I stammered. He silenced me
with a gesture. Louise was beaming at me, her eyes bright with tears.
“It was at this point,” continued the regent, whose face grew ever
more smiling, “that my daughter came to my assistance. It was last
night that she knocked at the door of my apartment, and after she
had entered, she told me of an act of loyalty before which I count
all this as nothing. She told me of a man who held honor above love
and friendship, and of a woman who held loyalty and honor above love.
Believe me, monsieur and mademoiselle, there are not many such. And in
return for this my daughter suggested that I also appoint a jailer for
M. de Brancas.”
“But, M. le Duc,” protested Louise, “M. de Brancas does not need a
jailer. His simple word of honor, it seems to me, should be sufficient.”
I confess my head was in a whirl. I knew not what to think.
“So I thought,” answered the regent, “and so I told my daughter, but I
was silenced when she told me whom she wished me to name as jailer. I
have made out the appointment here. You will see it is in due form. ‘I,
Philip d’Orleans, Regent of France, in the name of His Most Gracious
Majesty, Louis XV., of France, do this day appoint as jailer of M. Jean
de Brancas, to securely guard upon his estate at Arneaux by whatever
means may seem necessary, one Mlle. Louise Dacour----’”
Louise uttered a cry of astonishment. I was on my feet in an instant.
The regent silenced us both with another wave of the hand.
“‘The only condition being,’” he continued, “‘that Mlle. Dacour shall
be united in marriage to the prisoner, M. de Brancas, in order that she
may be able to guard him more effectually at all times. Signed, Philip
d’Orleans, Regent of France.’ Now, M. de Brancas, we will hear you
first. Is it that you object to this jailer?”
“No, M. le Duc,” I answered, not daring to glance at Louise. “God
knows, I would willingly spend my whole life in such a prison. But I
ask no assistance in love, monsieur, nor do I wish any woman, however
much I love her, to be compelled to marry me.”
The regent looked at me for a moment with a smile.
“And who has said anything about compulsion, my friend?” he asked.
“Certainly, not I. It is for Mlle. Dacour to choose. I fancy you would
suffer little with such a jailer, but if she does not desire the
position, she has only to refuse it.”
I turned to Louise. She, too, had risen, and her face was rosy with
blushes and tender with a great tenderness. She was looking at me with
brimming eyes. For a moment I did not understand.
“Louise!” I cried, “Louise!”
“M. le Duc,” she said, with the prettiest bow in the world, “I believe
I will accept the trust.”
In an instant she was in my arms, and the regent, with smiling face,
left us alone together.
A LAST WORD
The roses are blooming about me in this little garden in Normandy, for
it is June, and six months have gone since that memorable audience with
the regent,--six months that have passed like a dream. I have been busy
looking over my estate--how strangely it sounds, even yet, to say “my
estate!”--getting acquainted with my people and trying to make them
love me.
I receive a letter from Paris now and then, and from these I learn the
news. Madame du Maine is still at Dijon, and the other conspirators are
also still in prison, but the regent is not vindictive, and I believe
will soon release them. To the Bretons he was not so merciful, and more
than one went to the gibbet. But the kingdom is at peace, and we hear
no more of plots against it.
I close my eyes, and see again the lovely face of Charlotte d’Orleans
as I saw it last and as I love best to remember it, and I pray that it
may yet be my good fortune to be of service to her. Stranger things
have happened, and, who knows, perhaps some day the chance will come.
And Richelieu? Ah, Richelieu is coming next week to be my guest, and
how I shall delight to take him by the hand, to show him over my
estate, to talk with him again!
As I lay down my pen I hear a stealthy step upon the walk behind me,
and two soft hands are clasped upon my eyes.
“Guess who it is,” cries a merry voice.
“I do not need to guess, my love,” I answer. “My heart tells me too
surely,” and I draw my wife’s laughing face down to mine and kiss her
fondly.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.