The baron was scarcely seated, when he said:
“What in the devil is the matter with my head? Is Honorât not going
to take supper with us?”
“He promised yesterday to do so,” said Reine.
“And do you allow your betrothed to break his word? What o’clock is
it, Laramée?”
“Monseigneur, I have just posted the two sentinels on the rampart.”
“That is to say it is eight o’clock, is it not, captain?” merrily
answered the baron to the majordomo, tending his glass.
“Yes, monseigneur, somewhat past eight.”
“Ah, that!” replied the old gentleman, replacing his glass on the
table, not without having emptied it. “I hope nothing has happened to
Honorat.”
“Father, why not send a messenger on horseback to Berrol at once?”
said Reine, with keen interest.
“You are right, my child; at any rate, we would feel assured: there is
not much to fear, but at night the road through the morasses of Berrol
is not safe.”
“Whom shall I send for the chevalier, monseigneur?” said Laramée.
The baron was about to reply when the Chevalier de Berrol appeared,
preceded by a valet who carried a lamp.
“Where in the devil do you come from, my son?” said the Baron des
Anbiez, extending his hand to Honorat, whom he called son since he was
to marry his daughter. “Did you meet the fairies in the quagmires of
Berrol?”
“No, my father, I was at the house of Seigneur de Saint-Yves, and
then--” Suddenly he approached the young girl, and said, “Excuse me,
I pray, Reine, for being late.”
She extended her hand to him with charming grace, and said, with a
penetrating, almost serious tone:
“I am happy, very happy to see you, Honorât, for we were anxious.”
There was in these few words, and in the look which accompanied them,
such an expression of confidence, tenderness, and solicitude, that the
chevalier started with delight.
“Come, come, sit down to the table, and as you have made your peace
with Reine, tell us what detained you at the house of Seigneur de
Saint-Yves.”
The chevalier handed his sword and cap to Laramée, and taking a seat
by the side of the baron, replied: “The recorder of the admiralty of
Toulon, who is making a tour of the province, accompanied by a scribe
and two guards of the governor, has come by order of the latter to visit
the castle of Seigneur de Saint-Yves.”
“Manjour!” cried the impetuous baron, “I am sure that it concerns
some insolent command! This marshal, murderer of our favourites, never
means to give us another; and they say this recorder is the most arrant
knave that ever announced a decree.”
“Oh, father, control yourself,” said Reine.
“You are right; Vitry does not deserve a generous anger. But it is
hard, nevertheless, for the Provençal nobility to see such a man hold
functions which, heretofore, have always been given to princes of the
blood. But we live in strange times. Kings are asleep, cardinals reign,
and bishops wear the cuirass and the belt. Do you think that is very
canonical, abbé?”
The good Mascarolus never liked to give a decided opinion, and he
replied, humbly:
“Without doubt, monseigneur, the canons of Jean VIII. and the text
of St. Ambrose forbid prelates to bear arms; but on the other hand the
literal interpretation of the Council of Worms authorises them to do
so--with the Pope’s approbation--when they possess domains independent
of the Crown. Under Louis the Young, the Bishops of Paris went to
battle. Hinemar and Hervien, Archbishops of Reims, led their troops
under Charles the Bald, and under Charles the Simple; Tristan de
Salazar, Archbishop of Reims, thoroughly armed, mounted on a good
charger, a javelin in his hand--”
“Well, well, abbé,” interrupted the baron, “by the grace of the
cardinal, we shall grow accustomed to the sight of bishops equipped as
soldiers, with a helmet for mitre, a military coat as a stole, a lance
instead of a cross, and shedding blood in the place of sprinkling holy
water,--it is altogether proper. Some wine, Laramée! And you, Honorât,
finish your story.”
“The fact is,” said the chevalier, “the recorder Isnard, who they
say has no pity for poor people, came, in the company of lawyers, to
inform himself of the number of arms and quantity of ammunition that
Seigneur de Saint-Yves kept in his castle,--in short, to draw up an
account of it, according to the orders of the Marshal of Vitry.”
The baron had just emptied his glass gloriously. He still held it
between his thumb and the index finger of his right hand. When he
heard these words he remained motionless, looking at Honorât with a
bewildered expression, and wiping mechanically, with the back of his
left hand, his white moustache, which was soaked in wine.
The chevalier, without remarking the baron’s astonishment, continued:
“As the Seigneur de Saint-Yves hesitated to comply with the demand of
the recorder, who insisted almost with threats, saying that he acted by
order of the governor of the province, in the name of the cardinal, I
wished to interpose between them, and--”
“What! Saint-Yves did not nail these crows by the feet and hands to
the door of his manor, to serve as a scarecrow to the others!” cried
the baron, purple with indignation, and setting his glass on the table
so violently that it broke in pieces.
“Father!” said Reine, alarmed, as she saw the veins which furrowed
the baron’s bald forehead, swollen to bursting, “Father, what does
it matter to you? No doubt the Seigneur de Saint-Yves has acceded to the
governor’s demands.”
“He! obey such orders!” shouted Raimond V., “he! if he could be
guilty of such cowardice, and dared appear again at the next assembly of
the nobility of Aix, I would seize him by the collar, and chase him out
of the hall with blows of my sword-belt. What! a recorder must enter
our houses to take account of our arms, our powder, and our balls, as
a bailiff takes account of a merchant’s goods! Manjour! if it were the
express and signed order of the King of France, our count, I would reply
to such an order with good shots from musket and cannon.”
“But, sir,--” said Honorât.
“Visit our castles!” cried the baron, more and more exasperated.
“Ah, it is not enough to have placed at the head of the old nobility
of Provence a Vitry!--a hired assassin,--but this cardinal--may hell
confound him; pray for him, abbé, for he has devilish need of it--must
impose upon us the most humiliating obligations! Visit our houses,
forsooth! Ah, Vitry, you wish to know how we can fire our muskets and
cannon, and, by God’s death, come and lay siege to our castles and you
shall know!” Then turning with eagerness to Honorât, he asked: “But
what has Saint-Yves done?”
“Sir, at the time I left him, he was proposing to enter into an
agreement to draw up, himself, the inventory demanded, and send it
directly to the marshal.”
“Laramée,” said the baron, rising abruptly from the table, “have
Mistraon saddled, mount five or six of my men and arm them well, and get
ready yourself to follow me.”
“In the name of Heaven, father, what are you going to do?” cried
Reine, taking one of the baron’s hands in her own.
“Prevent that good man, Saint-Yves, committing a cowardice which would
dishonour the nobility of Provence. He is old and feeble, and he has
not many persons around him; he will suffer himself to be intimidated.
Laramée, my arms, and to horse, to horse!”
“This black night, over such bad roads--surely you will not dream of
it,” said Honorât, taking the other hand of the baron.
“Did you hear me, Laramée!” shouted Raimond V.
“But, sir,--” said Honorât.
“Eh, Manjour, my young master, I do what you ought to have done! At
your age, I would have thrown the recorder and his guards out of the
window. God’s death! the blood of your fathers does not run in the
veins of you young men! Laramée, my arms, and to horse!”
Honorât made no response to the baron’s reproaches. He looked at
Reine and shook his head to make her understand her father’s injustice
to his conduct.
The young girl understood the situation, and while Laramée was occupied
in taking down his master’s arms from one of the panoplies which
ornamented the dining-hall, she said:
“Laramée, have my nag saddled too; I will accompany monseigneur.”
“To the devil with such folly!” said the baron, shrugging his
shoulders.
“Folly or not, I intend to accompany you, father.”
“No, no, a hundred times no. You shall not go with me; such roads, and
at such an hour!”
“I will follow you, father. You know I am wilful and obstinate.”
“Certainly, as a goat, when you set your mind to it; but this time I
hope you will yield to me.”
“I am going down-stairs to prepare for my departure,” said Reine.
“Come, Honorât.”
“To the devil with such nonsense! She is capable of doing it as well
as saying it Ah, there it is, I have been too good; I have been too
indulgent to her; she abuses it!” cried the old gentleman, stamping
his foot with anger. Then taking a milder tone, he said: “Let us see,
Reine, my daughter, my dear daughter, be reasonable; just one dash of
a gallop, and I am with Saint-Yves in time to drive away these wretches
with blows of my whip, and I return.”
Reine made a step toward the door.
“But you may join me, Honorât; you are as unmoved as a worm.”
“Ah, father, do you forget that just now you stigmatised as cowardice
his firm and prudent conduct in this affair?”
“He, Honorât, my son, a coward? I would cut anybody in the face
who would dare say it If I said that, I was wrong,--it was anger that
carried me away. Honorât, my son--”
Raimond V. opened his arms to Honorât, who embraced him, and said:
“Believe, me, sir, do not undertake this journey. My God! you will see
these people only too soon.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“To-morrow morning, without doubt, they will be here,--not one house
of the nobility will be exempt from this measure.”
“They will be here to-morrow!” cried the baron, with an expression
of joy difficult to portray. “Ah, the recorder will be here to-morrow,
he who has condemned poor devils to the galleys for the crime of
smuggling. Ah, he will be here to-morrow! As God lives, it fills my
heart with joy. Laramée, do not have the horses saddled, no, no,
only to-morrow at daybreak prepare twenty good poles from hazel-trees,
because I hope we will break a good many; then arrange a seesaw above
the moat, and--but I will tell you to-night when I go to bed. Some wine,
Laramée, some wine; give me my father’s cup and Spanish wine, I must
drink with solemnity to such a piece of news; some wine of Xeres, I
tell you,--wine of Lamalgue to the devil! since the minions of the petty
tyrant of Provence will be here to-morrow, and we will be able to lash
them soundly with the straps that ought to be laid on Vitry.”
Having said this, the baron sat down again in his armchair; each one
took his place, to the great delight of the poor abbé, who, during this
scene, had not dared to utter a word.
The supper, interrupted by this incident, was finished with a certain
constraint.
Raimond V., preoccupied with the reception that he was preparing for the
agents, stopped every few moments to whisper something in Laramée’s
ear; it was easy to guess the subject of these secret conferences, by
the air of profound satisfaction with which the old soldier received the
instructions of his master.
Like all soldiers, Laramée cherished an instinctive hatred of men
of the law, and he did not dissimulate his joy at the thought of the
reception awaiting the recorder and his scribe the next day.
Reine and Honorât exchanged glances of distress; they knew the
obstinate and irascible temper of the baron, his taste for rebellion,
and aversion to Marshal of Vitry.
The young girl and her lover feared, not without reason, that the baron
might become involved in some serious difficulty. Recent and terrible
examples had proven that Richelieu desired to put an end to the
independence of the lords, and absorb their feudal privileges in the
power of the king.
Unfortunately, they could not dream of preventing Raimond V., when once
he determined upon any course of action, and his dependents were only
too willing to second his dangerous projects.
The good Abbé Mascarolus ventured to say a few words on
obedience,--that the lords owed it to themselves to set the example;
but a severe glance from the eye of the baron cut short the chaplain’s
moralising, and he dared not defend the marshal as he had defended the
warlike bishops.
Reine was not a little frightened at the baron’s extravagant bursts of
merriment and laughter, as he talked aside with Laramée.
When supper was over, according to the ancient and invariable usage of
hospitality, the baron took a lamp, and himself conducted Honorât de
Berrol to the chamber he was to occupy.
As upon previous occasions, the young man wished to spare the baron this
ceremonial, arguing that his position as a betrothed lover rendered
it unnecessary, but the old gentleman replied that not until after the
festivities of Christmas, when the marriage rite was to be celebrated,
could he be treated with less formality; until then, he must receive all
the attention due a gentleman who slept under his roof.
Reine entered her chamber, followed by Stephanette. Her apartment was
near that of her father, and listening she discovered to her great
regret that Laramée remained with him longer than was his habit, and
that the baron continued to make plans for the discomfiture of the
recorder and officers. At a late hour of the night, she heard the
majordomo order some of the baron’s servants to carry invitations.
Distressed by these indications, she dismissed Stephanette, and returned
to her chamber.
A new object of astonishment, almost of terror, awaited her there.