THE TWO DIANAS.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
BOSTON, LITTLE, BROWN, & CO.
1894.
ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAITS.
Diane de Poitiers
ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS
DRAWN AND ETCHED BY E. VAN MUYDEN.
Glimpses at Divers Men of the Sword
Love Disdained
[Illustration: Diane de Poitiers.]
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. In which Divers Occurrences artfully fall
out Together
II. How Arnauld du Thill caused Arnauld
du Thill to be hanged at Noyon
III. Arnauld du Thill's Bucolic Dreams
IV. The Arms of Pierre Peuquoy, the Hopes of
Jean Peuquoy, and the Tears of Babette Peuquoy
V. Sequel to the Misfortunes of Martin-Guerre
VI. In which Martin-Guerre's Character begins
to be Rehabilitated
VII. A Philosopher and a Soldier
VIII. Wherein Mary Stuart's Loveliness flits
across the Course of the Story with as
Transient a Gleam as it casts upon the
History of France
IX. The Other Diane
X. A Grand Scheme for a Great Man
XI. Glimpses at Divers Men of the Sword
XII. The Cleverness of Stupidity
XIII. December 31, 1557
XIV. During the Bombardment
XV. Within the Tent
XVI. Small Craft sometimes save Large Men-of-War
XVII. Obscuri sola sub Nocte
XVIII. Between Two Chasms
XIX. Arnauld du Thill, though Absent, continues
to exert a Fatal Influence on
the Destiny of Poor Martin-Guerre
XX. Lord Wentworth at Bay
XXI. Love disdained
XXII. Love requited
XXIII. Le Balafré
XXIV. Partial Dénouement
XXV. Happy Omens
XXVI. A Quatrain
XXVII. The Vicomte de Montgommery
XXVIII. Joy and Anguish
XXIX. Precautionary Measures
XXX. The Secret Prisoner
XXXI. The Comte de Montgommery
XXXII. The Knight-Errant
XXXIII. In which Arnauld du Thill appears once
more
XXXIV. Justice in a Quandary
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH DIVERS OCCURRENCES ARTFULLY FALL OUT
TOGETHER
Three weeks had elapsed. The last days of September were at hand; and no
change of moment had taken place in the respective situations of the
different characters represented in this tale.
Jean Peuquoy had paid to Lord Wentworth the trifling sum at which he had
shrewdly had his ransom fixed. More than that, he had obtained leave to
settle at Calais. We ought to say, however, that he seemed to be in no
haste to commence operations. He seemed to be of a very inquisitive and
yet careless disposition; in fact, the honest burgher might be seen from
morning till night sauntering about on the walls, and talking with the
soldiers of the garrison, while apparently thinking no more about the
weaver's trade than if he were an abbé or a monk.
Nevertheless, he had either not tried or not been able to induce his
cousin Pierre to be his companion in this life of idleness; and the
skilful armorer had never turned out more or more finely executed work.
Gabriel's melancholy increased from day to day. He received nothing but
general news from Paris. France was beginning to breathe again. The
Spaniards and English had wasted too much precious time in besieging and
reducing places of no importance; thus the country had had an
opportunity to recover its balance, and it seemed as if both France and
the king would be saved. This news, to which the heroic defence of St.
Quentin had had no small share in imparting such a favorable character,
no doubt was cheering to Gabriel; yet he heard not a word of Henri II.,
of Coligny, of his father, or of Diane! That reflection cast a shadow
upon his brow and made it impossible for him to respond, as he might
have done at another time, to Lord Wentworth's friendly overtures.
The easy-going and unreserved governor seemed really to have taken a
great liking to his prisoner. His ennui, and a little feeling of chagrin
during the last few days, had no doubt had their share in arousing this
feeling. The society of a young and clever gentleman of the French court
was an invaluable distraction in stupid Calais. Thus it was that Lord
Wentworth never allowed two days in succession to go by without calling
upon Vicomte d'Exmès, and insisted upon his dining with him three times
a week at his own table. This excessive affection was rather oppressive
to Gabriel, all things considered; for the governor laughingly swore
that he would not release his hold upon his captive till the last
extremity; that he would never consent to let him go on parole; and that
until the last crown of Gabriel's ransom should be well and truly paid,
he would not yield to the cruel necessity of parting from so dear a
friend.
After all, this might well be only a refined and courtly way of
expressing suspicion of him, so Gabriel did not dare to persist in his
excuses; besides, his delicacy led him to suffer uncomplainingly while
awaiting the convalescence of his squire, who, it will be remembered,
was to go to Paris to procure the sum of money agreed upon as the price
of Vicomte d'Exmès's liberty.
But Martin-Guerre--we should say, his substitute Arnauld du Thill--was
very deliberate in his convalescence. After a few days, the surgeon who
had been called to look after the wound, which the scamp had sustained
in a scuffle, had ceased to visit him, announcing that his task was
done, and his patient entirely restored to health. A day or two of rest,
and the excellent nursing of pretty Babette, Pierre's sister, would be
quite sufficient to complete the cure, if indeed it were not already
completed.
Upon receiving that assurance, Gabriel had informed his squire that he
must start for Paris on the next day but one without fail; but when the
morning of that day arrived, Arnauld complained of dizziness and
faintness, which made him likely to fall if he took but a few steps
without Babette's accustomed support. Thereupon two days' more of delay
were asked and granted. At the end of that time a sort of general
debility caused poor Arnauld's arms and legs to become perfectly
useless; and this new symptom, which was caused doubtless (so he said)
by the excessive pain he had suffered, had to be treated with hot baths
and a very rigid diet. But this last regimen gave rise to such utter
weakness that more delay was considered indispensable, to give the
faithful fellow time to build himself up once more with tonics and
generous draughts of wine. At least his nurse Babette declared to
Gabriel, with tears in her eyes, that if he required Martin-Guerre to
set out at once, he would expose him to the danger of dying of inanition
on the road.
This extraordinary convalescence was thus prolonged to much greater
length than the illness itself, in spite of the tender care of
Babette,--a malicious person might say, thanks to that same tender
care,--until two weeks had elapsed since the surgeon had pronounced him
cured, and it was nearly a month since Gabriel's arrival at Calais.
This could not be allowed to go on forever. Gabriel finally lost his
patience; and even Arnauld du Thill, who at first had sought and found
all manner of expedients with the best grace in the world, now
announced, with a very self-sufficient and triumphant air, to poor
broken-hearted Babette, that he could not afford to make his master
angry, and that, after all, his best course would be to start at once so
that he might the sooner return; but Babette's red eyes and downcast
look proved that she hardly understood that kind of reasoning.
The evening before the day when, according to his formal announcement,
Arnauld proposed finally to take his departure for Paris, Gabriel took
supper with Lord Wentworth.
The governor seemed to have even more melancholy than usual to shake
off, for he carried his gayety almost to the point of madness.
When he left Gabriel after escorting him to the courtyard, lighted at
that hour only by a lamp which was already flickering, the young man,
just as he was wrapping himself in his cloak before going out, saw one
of the doors opening into the courtyard partly ajar. A woman, whom
Gabriel recognized as one of those employed in the house, glided up to
him, with a finger on her lips, and holding a paper toward him with the
other hand, said in a low voice,--
"For the French gentleman whom Lord Wentworth entertains so often."
She handed him the folded paper; and before Gabriel had recovered
sufficiently from his stupefaction to question her, she was already
gone.
The youth, in his perplexity, being naturally of an inquiring mind, and
perhaps a little rash, reflected that he had a quarter of an hour's walk
to take in the dark before he would be able to read the note at his ease
in his own room; and that seemed a long while to wait for the key to a
riddle which piqued his curiosity. So without more ado he determined to
ascertain at once if anything was required of him. He looked about, and
seeing that he was quite alone, drew near the smoking lamp, unfolded the
note, and read, not altogether unmoved, the following words:--
"Monsieur, I do not know you, nor have I ever seen you; but one of the
women who wait upon me tells me that you are a Frenchman, and are, as I
am, a prisoner. This gives me courage to appeal to you in my distress.
You are doubtless held for ransom. You will probably soon return to
Paris. You can see there my friends, who have no idea what has become of
me. You might tell them where I am; that Lord Wentworth is holding me a
prisoner without allowing me to communicate with a living, soul, and
refusing to name any price for my liberty; and that, shamefully abusing
the cruel privilege which my unfortunate position gives him, he has the
effrontery every day to speak to me of a passion which I repulse with
horror, but which my very scorn and his certainty of impunity may excite
to the use of force. A gentleman, and above all, a fellow-countryman,
will surely come to my aid in this wretched extremity; but I still have
to tell you who I am for whom--"
The letter came to an end there, and was unsigned. Some unexpected
interruption or sudden accident had probably caused her to break off
thus abruptly, and yet she had chosen to send the letter, even though it
were unfinished, so that she might not lose any precious opportunity,
and because, although not complete, it still said everything that she
wished to say except the name of the lady who was being subjected to
such odious restraint.
That name Gabriel did not know, nor could he recognize the trembling,
hurried handwriting; and yet a strange feeling of anxiety, an
extraordinary presentiment, crept into his heart. Pale with emotion, he
drew near the lamp again to read the letter once more, when another door
behind him opened, and Lord Wentworth himself came out, preceded by a
little page, and crossed the courtyard on his way to his sleeping
apartment.
As he recognized Gabriel, to whom he had said good-night some time
before, the governor stayed his steps in surprise.
"Are you still here, my friend?" he said, approaching him with his
customary friendly manner. "What has detained you? No mishap, I trust,
or sudden illness?"
The straightforward young man, without replying, simply held out to Lord
Wentworth the letter that had been handed him. The Englishman cast his
eye upon it, and became even paler than Gabriel; but he succeeded in
maintaining his presence of mind, and while pretending to read it, was
really making up his mind how to deal with the matter.
"What an old fool she is!" said he, crumpling the letter in his hand and
throwing it on the floor in well-feigned contempt.
No words could have served to throw Gabriel off the scent more quickly
or completely, for he was continually absorbed in his own thoughts, and
had already begun to lose interest in the unknown. However, he did not
abandon his suspicions at once, but responded rather evasively,--
"You don't tell me who this prisoner is whom you are detaining here
against her will, my Lord?"
"Against her will, indeed!" said Wentworth, in a perfectly unembarrassed
tone. "It is a kinswoman of my wife,--a little crack-brained, if any one
ever was,--whom her family wished to send away from England, and who
has, much to my disgust, been put in my charge in this place, where it
is easier to keep an eye on lunatics as well as on prisoners. However,
since you have penetrated this family secret, my dear fellow, I think I
might as well tell you the whole story on the spot. The particular mania
of Lady Howe, who has read too many of the poems of chivalry, is to
imagine, despite her fifty years and her gray hairs, that she is an
oppressed and persecuted heroine; and she tries to interest in her
behalf, by fables with more or less foundation in fact, every
good-looking young cavalier who comes within her reach. Upon my soul,
Gabriel, it seems to me as if my old aunt's romancing has enlisted your
sympathy for her. Come! confess that her _billet-doux_ did cause you a
little anxiety, my poor fellow?"
"It's a strange story that you tell me, my Lord, you must agree," said
Gabriel, coldly; "you have never spoken to me of your kinswoman that I
remember."
"No, to be sure I have not," rejoined Lord Wentworth; "for one does not
ordinarily care to admit strangers into one's confidence as to private
family matters."
"But how does she come to say that she is French?" asked Gabriel.
"Oh, to arouse your interest more successfully, in all probability," was
Wentworth's reply, with a smile which began to be rather forced.
"And this passion which she claims that you inflict upon her, my Lord?"
"The delusion of an old woman who mistakes ancient memories for new
hopes," rejoined Wentworth, who was beginning to grow restive.
"Is it to avoid being laughed at, my Lord, that you keep her out of
everybody's sight?"
"Ah, how many questions you ask!" exclaimed Lord Wentworth, frowning
darkly, but still without any outburst. "I had no idea you were of such
an inquiring mind, Gabriel. But it's quarter to nine, and I have your
agreement to be in your own quarters before the curfew sounds; for your
freedom as a prisoner on parole does not extend so far as to allow any
infringement of the police regulations of Calais. If Lady Howe interests
you so deeply, we can return to the subject to-morrow. Meanwhile, I beg
you will say nothing about these delicate family matters; and I have the
honor to wish you good-evening, Monsieur le Vicomte."
Thereupon the governor saluted Gabriel, and re-entered the house. He
desired to retain his self-control to the end, and feared that he might
become too much excited if the conversation were to continue.
Gabriel, after a moment's hesitation and thought, left the governor's
mansion to return to the humble abode of the armorer. But Lord Wentworth
had not remained so entirely master of himself to the last as to do away
with all suspicion in Gabriel's heart; and the young man's doubts, which
were added to by his secret instinct, assailed him anew on his way
through the streets.
He determined to say nothing more on the subject to Lord Wentworth, who
was not likely to give him any information, but to watch and make
inquiries, and to find out if he could whether the fair unknown was
really a countrywoman of his own, and the Englishman's prisoner.
"But, _mon Dieu_! even if that is proved to demonstration," thought
Gabriel, "what can I do then? Am I not myself a prisoner here? Are not
my hands bound, and has not Lord Wentworth a perfect right to call upon
me for my sword, which I wear only by his favor and at his pleasure?
There must be an end to this state of things; and I must be able to have
matters on a different footing, in case of need. Martin-Guerre must
absolutely and without more trifling be off to-morrow. I will tell him
so myself this very evening."
So when the door had been opened to Gabriel by one of Pierre Peuquoy's
apprentices, he went up to the second floor, instead of stopping, as he
generally did, at his own room on the first floor. Probably everybody in
the house was asleep at that hour, Martin-Guerre no doubt like the
others. If so, Gabriel concluded to awaken him and make known to him his
firm determination. He noiselessly approached the room occupied by his
squire, so that he might disturb nobody's slumbers.
The key was in the outer door, which Gabriel softly opened; but the
inner door was closed, and Gabriel could hear through the partition
bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Thereupon he knocked
with some force, and announced himself in an imperious voice. The noise
ceased abruptly; and as Gabriel only called the louder, Arnauld du Thill
hurriedly opened the door to his master. In fact, he made too much
haste, and failed to allow sufficient time for a fluttering dress, which
was vanishing through an opposite door, to disappear completely before
Gabriel came in.
He took it to be some little love-making with the housemaid; and as he
was not very prudish in his ideas, he could not refrain from smiling as
he reprimanded his squire.
"Aha, Martin," said he, "I think you must be much better than you
pretend! A table all set, three bottles, and two covers! I seem to have
frightened away your companion at the banquet. Never mind! I have seen
now very decisive proofs of your recovery, and I am more than ever free
from hesitation about ordering you to start to-morrow."
"That was my intention, you know, Monseigneur," said Arnauld, rather
abashed; "and I was just saying my adieus--"
"To a friend? Oh, yes!" said Gabriel, "that shows your kind heart; but
friendship must not make us forget our duty, and I must insist that you
be on your way to Paris before I rise to-morrow. You have the governor's
safe-conduct; your outfit has been ready for some days: your horse is as
thoroughly rested as yourself; your purse is full, thanks to the
confidence of our good host, who has only one regret, worthy man, and
that is that he is unable to advance the whole of my ransom. You lack
nothing, Martin; and if you start early in the morning you ought to be
in Paris in three days. Do you remember what you are to do when you are
safely there?"
"Yes, Monseigneur. I am to go at once to the house in the Rue des
Jardins de St. Paul, to inform your nurse of your safety; to ask her for
the ten thousand crowns required for your ransom, and three thousand
more for your expenses and debts here; and as tokens of my authority, I
am to show her this line from you, and your ring."
"Useless precautions, Martin, for my good nurse knows you well, my
faithful fellow! but I have yielded to your scruples. Remember to see
that this money is got together as quickly as possible, do you
understand?"
"Never fear, Monseigneur. When I have the money, and have handed your
letter to Monsieur l'Amiral, I am to come back even faster than I went
away."
"No wretched quarrels on the way, above all things!" "There is no
danger, Monseigneur."
"Well, then, adieu, Martin, and good luck to you!"
"In ten days you will see me here again, Monseigneur, and at sunrise
to-morrow I shall be a long way from Calais."
On this occasion Arnauld kept his promise. He allowed Babette to go with
him next morning to the city walls. He embraced her for the last time,
swearing solemnly that she should see him again very soon; then he drove
his spurs into his horse, and was off in high spirits like the rascal
that he was, and speedily disappeared at a bend in the road.
The poor girl made haste to get back to the house before her terrible
brother should have arisen; but she had to send word down that she was
ill, so that she might indulge her grief alone in her chamber.
Thereafter it would not be easy to say whether she or Gabriel awaited
the squire's return the more impatiently. They were both doomed to wait
a long while.