A Gentleman of France by Stanley WeymanBeing the memoirs of Gaston de Bonne, sieur de Marsac (page 4)

‘Of the two parties at Court,’ Rosny continued, calmly overlooking my ill-humour, ‘trust D’Aumont and Biron and the French clique. They are true to France at any rate. But whomsoever you see consort with the two Retzs–the King of Spain’s jackals as men name them–avoid him for a Spaniard and a traitor.’

‘But the Retzs are Italians,’ I objected peevishly.

‘The same thing,’ he answered curtly. ‘They cry, “Vive le Roi!” but privately they are for the League, or for Spain, or for whatever may most hurt us; who are better Frenchmen than themselves, and whose leader will some day, if God spare his life, be King of France.’

‘Well, the less I have to do with the one or the other of them, save at the sword’s point, the better I shall be pleased,’ I rejoined.

On that he looked at me with a queer smile; as was his way when he had more in his mind than appeared. And this, and something special in the tone of his conversation, as well, perhaps, as my own doubts about my future and his intentions regarding me, gave me an uneasy feeling; which lasted through the day, and left me only when more immediate peril presently rose to threaten us.

It happened in this way. We had reached the outskirts of Blois, and were just approaching the gate, hoping to pass through it without attracting attention, when two travellers rode slowly out of a lane, the mouth of which we were passing. They eyed us closely as they reined in to let us go by; and M. de Rosny, who was riding with his horse’s head at my stirrup, whispered me to press on. Before I could comply, however, the strangers cantered by us, and turning in the saddle when abreast of us looked us in the face. A moment later one of them cried loudly, ‘It is he!’ and both pulled their horses across the road, and waited for us to come up.

Aware that if M. de Rosny were discovered he would be happy if he escaped with imprisonment, the king being too jealous of his Catholic reputation to venture to protect a Huguenot, however illustrious, I saw that the situation was desperate; for, though we were five to two, the neighbourhood of the city–the gate being scarcely a bow-shot off–rendered flight or resistance equally hopeless. I could think of nothing for it save to put a bold face on the matter, and, M. de Rosny doing the same, we advanced in the most innocent way possible.

‘Halt, there!’ cried one of the strangers sharply. ‘And let me tell you, sir, you are known.’

‘What if I am?’ I answered impatiently, still pressing on. ‘Are you highwaymen, that you stop the way?’

The speaker on the other side looked at me keenly, but in a moment retorted, ‘Enough trifling, sir! Who YOU are I do not know. But the person riding at your rein is M. de Rosny. Him I do know, and I warn him to stop.’

I thought the game was lost, but to my surprise my companion answered at once and almost in the same words I had used. ‘Well, sir, and what of that?’ he said.

‘What of that?’ the stranger exclaimed, spurring his horse so as still to bar the way. ‘Why, only this, that you must be a madman to show yourself on this side of the Loire.’

‘It is long since I have seen the other,’ was my companion’s unmoved answer.

‘You are M. de Rosny? You do not deny it?’ the man cried in astonishment.

‘Certainly I do not deny it,’ M. de Rosny answered bluntly. ‘And more, the day has been, sir,’ he continued with sudden fire, ‘when few at his Majesty’s Court would have dared to chop words with Solomon de Bethune, much less to stop him on the highway within a mile of the palace. But times are changed with me, sir, and it would seem with others also, if true men rallying to his Majesty in his need are to be challenged by every passer on the road.’

‘What! Are you Solomon de Bethune?’ the man cried incredulously. Incredulously, but his countenance fell, and his voice was full of chagrin and disappointment,

‘Who else, sir?’ M. de Rosny replied haughtily. ‘I am, and, as far as I know, I have as much right on this side of the Loire as any other man.’

‘A thousand pardons.’

‘If you are not satisfied–‘

‘Nay, M. de Rosny, I am perfectly satisfied.’

The stranger repented this with a very crestfallen air, adding, ‘A thousand pardons’; and fell to making other apologies, doffing his hat with great respect. ‘I took you, if you will pardon me saying so, for your Huguenot brother, M. Maximilian,’ he explained. ‘The saying goes that he is at Rosny.’

‘I can answer for that being false,’ M. de Rosny answered peremptorily, ‘for I have just come from there, and I will answer for it he is not within ten leagues of the place. And now, sir, as we desire to enter before the gates shut, perhaps you will excuse us.’ With which he bowed, and I bowed, and they bowed, and we separated. They gave us the road, which M. de Rosny took with a great air, and we trotted to the gate, and passed through it without misadventure.

The first street we entered was a wide one, and my companion took advantage of this to ride up abreast of me. ‘That is the kind of adventure our little prince is fond of,’ he muttered. ‘But for my part, M. de Marsac, the sweat is running down my forehead. I have played the trick more than once before, for my brother and I are as like as two peas. And yet it would have gone ill with us if the fool had been one of his friends.’

‘All’s well that ends well,’ I answered in a low voice, thinking it an ill time for compliments. As it was, the remark was unfortunate, for M. de Rosny was still in the act of reining back when Maignan called out to us to say we were being followed.

I looked behind, but could see nothing except gloom and rain and overhanging eaves and a few figures cowering in doorways. The servants, however, continued to maintain that it was so, and we held, without actually stopping, a council of war. If detected, we were caught in a trap, without hope of escape; and for the moment I am sure M. do Rosny regretted that he had chosen this route by Blois–that he had thrust himself, in his haste and his desire to take with him the latest news, into a snare so patent. The castle–huge, dark, and grim–loomed before us at the end of the street in which we were, and, chilled as I was myself by the sight, I could imagine how much more appalling it must appear to him, the chosen counsellor of his master, and the steadfast opponent of all which it represented.

Our consultation came to nothing, for no better course suggested itself than to go as we had intended to the lodging commonly used by my companion. We did so, looking behind us often, and saying more than once that Maignan must be mistaken. As soon as we had dismounted, however, and gone in, he showed us from the window a man loitering near; and this confirmation of our alarm sending us to our expedients again, while Maignan remained watching in a room without a light, I suggested that I might pass myself off, though ten years older, for my companion.

‘Alas!’ he said, drumming with his fingers on the table ‘there are too many here who know me to make that possible. I thank you all the same.’

‘Could you escape on foot? Or pass the wall anywhere, or slip through the gates early?’ I suggested.

‘They might tell us at the Bleeding Heart,’ he answered. But I doubt it. I was a fool, sir, to put my neck into Mendoza’s halter, and that is a fact. But here is Maignan. What is it, man?’ he continued eagerly.

‘The watcher is gone, my lord,’ the equerry answered.

‘And has left no one?’

‘No one that I can see.’

We both went into the next room and looked from the windows. The man was certainly not where we had seen him before. But the rain was falling heavily, the eaves were dripping, the street was a dark cavern with only here and there a spark of light, and the fellow might be lurking elsewhere. Maignan, being questioned, however, believed he had gone off of set purpose.

‘Which may be read half a dozen ways,’ I remarked.

‘At any rate, we are fasting,’ M. de Rosny answered. Give me a full man in a fight. Let us sit down and eat. It is no good jumping in the dark, or meeting troubles half way.’

We were not through our meal, however, Simon Fleix waiting on us with a pale face, when Maignan came in again from the dark room. ‘My lord,’ he said quietly, ‘three men have appeared. Two of them remain twenty paces away. The third has come to the door.’ As he spoke we heard a cautious summons below, Maignan was for going down, but his master bade him stand. Let the woman of the house go,’ he said.

I remarked and long remembered M. de Rosny’s SANG-FROID on this occasion. His pistols he had already laid on a chair beside him throwing his cloak over them; and now, while we waited, listening in breathless silence, I saw him hand a large slice of bread-and- meat to his equerry, who, standing behind his chair, began eating it with the same coolness. Simon Fleix, on the other hand, stood gazing at the door, trembling in every limb, and with so much of excitement and surprise in his attitude that I took the precaution of bidding him, in a low voice, do nothing without orders. At the same moment it occurred to me to extinguish two of the four candles which had been lighted; and I did so, M. de Rosny nodding assent, just as the muttered conversation which was being carried on below ceased, and a man’s tread sounded on the stairs.

It was followed immediately by a knock on the outside of our door. Obeying my companion’s look, I cried, ‘Enter!’

A slender man of middle height, booted and wrapped up, with his face almost entirely hidden by a fold of his cloak, came in quickly, and closing the door behind him, advanced towards the table. ‘Which is M. de Rosny?’ he said.

Rosny had carefully turned his face from the light, but at the sound of the other’s voice he sprang up with a cry of relief. He was about to speak, when the newcomer, raising his hand peremptorily, continued, ‘No names, I beg. Yours, I suppose, is known here. Mine is not, nor do I desire it should be. I want speech of you, that is all.’

‘I am greatly honoured,’ M. de Rosny replied, gazing at him eagerly. ‘Yet, who told you I was here?’

‘I saw you pass under a lamp in the street,’ the stranger answered. ‘I knew your horse first, and you afterwards, and bade a groom follow you. Believe me,’ he added, with a gesture of the hand, ‘you have nothing to fear from me.’

‘I accept the assurance in the spirit in which it is offered,’ my companion answered with a graceful bow, ‘and think myself fortunate in being recognised’–he paused a moment and then continued–‘by a Frenchman and a man of honour.’

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. ‘Your pardon, then,’ he said, ‘if I seem abrupt. My time is short. I want to do the best with it I can. Will you favour me?’

I was for withdrawing, but M. de Rosny ordered Maignan to place lights in the next room, and, apologising to me very graciously, retired thither with the stranger, leaving me relieved indeed by these peaceful appearances, but full of wonder and conjectures who this might be, and what the visit portended. At one moment I was inclined to identify the stranger with M. de Rosny’s brother; at another with the English ambassador; and then, again, a wild idea that he might be M. de Bruhl occurred to me. The two remained together about a quarter of an hour and then came out, the stranger leading the way, and saluting me politely as he passed through the room. At the door he turned to say, ‘At nine o’clock, then?’

‘At nine o’clock,’ M. de Rosny replied, holding the door open. ‘You will excuse me if I do not descend, Marquis?’

‘Yes, go back, my friend,’ the stranger answered. And, lighted by Maignan, whose face on such occasions could assume the most stolid air in the world, he disappeared down the stairs, and I heard him go out.

M. de Rosny turned to me, his eyes sparkling with joy, his face and mien full of animation. ‘The King of Navarre is better,’ he said. ‘He is said to be out of danger. What do you think of that, my friend?’

‘That is the best news I have heard for many a day,’ I answered. And I hastened to add, that France and the Religion had reason to thank God for His mercy.

‘Amen to that,’ my patron replied reverently. ‘But that is not all–that is not all.’ And he began to walk up and down the room humming the 118th Psalm a little above his breath–

La voici l’heureuse journee
Que Dieu a faite a plein desir;
Par nous soit joie demenee,
Et prenons en elle plaisir.

He continued, indeed, to walk up and down the floor so long, and with so joyful a countenance and demeanour, that I ventured, at last to remind him of my presence, which he had clearly forgotten. ‘Ha! to be sure,’ he said, stopping short and looking at me with the utmost good-humour. ‘What time is it? Seven. Then until nine o’clock, my friend, I crave your indulgence. In fine, until that time I must keep counsel. Come, I am hungry still. Let us sit down, and this time I hope we may not be interrupted. Simon, set us on a fresh bottle. Ha! ha! VIVENT LE ROI ET LE ROI DE NAVARRE!’ And again he fell to humming the same psalm–

O Dieu eternel, je te prie,
Je te prie, ton roi maintiens:
O Dieu, je te prie et reprie,
Sauve ton roi et l’entretiens!

doing so with a light in his eyes and a joyous emphasis, which impressed me the more in a man ordinarily so calm and self- contained. I saw that something had occurred to gratify him beyond measure, and, believing his statement that this was not the good news from La Ganache only, I waited with the utmost interest and anxiety for the hour of nine, which had no sooner struck than our former visitor appeared with the same air of mystery and disguise which had attended him before.

M. de Rosny, who had risen on hearing his step and had taken up his cloak, paused with it half on and half off, to cry anxiously, ‘All is well, is it not?’

‘Perfectly,’ the stranger replied, with a nod.

‘And my friend?’

Yes, on condition that you answer for his discretion and fidelity.’ And the stranger glanced involuntarily at me who stood uncertain whether to hold my ground or retire.

‘Good,’ M. de Rosny cried. Then he turned to me with a mingled air of dignity and kindness, and continued: ‘This is the gentleman. M. de Marsac, I am honoured with permission to present you to the Marquis de Rambouillet, whose interest and protection I beg you to deserve, for he is a true Frenchman and a patriot whom I respect.’

M. de Rambouillet saluted me politely. ‘Of a Brittany family, I think?’ he said.

I assented; and he replied with something complimentary. But afterwards he continued to look at me in silence with a keenness and curiosity I did not understand. At last, when M. de Rosny’s impatience had reached a high pitch, the marquis seemed impelled to add something. ‘You quite understand M. de Rosny?’ he said. ‘Without saying anything disparaging of M. de Marsac, who is, no doubt, a man of honour’–and he bowed to me very low–‘this is a delicate matter, and you will introduce no one into it, I am sure, whom you cannot trust as yourself.’

‘Precisely,’ M. de Rosny replied, speaking drily, yet with a grand air which fully matched his companion’s. ‘I am prepared to trust this gentleman not only with my life but with my honour.’

‘Nothing more remains to be said then,’ the marquis rejoined, bowing to me again. ‘I am glad to have been the occasion of a declaration so flattering to you, sir.’

I returned his salute in silence, and obeying M. de Rosny’s muttered direction put on, my cloak and sword. M. de Rosny took up his pistols.

‘You will have no need of those,’ the Marquis said with a high glance.

‘Where we are going, no,’ my companion answered, calmly continuing to dispose them about him. ‘But the streets are dark and not too safe.’

M. de Rambouillet laughed. ‘That is the worst of you Huguenots,’ he said. ‘You never know when to lay suspicion aside.’

A hundred retorts sprang to my lips. I thought of the Bartholomew, of the French fury of Antwerp, of half a dozen things which make my blood boil to this day. But M. de Rosny’s answer was the finest of all. ‘That is true, I am afraid,’ he said quietly. ‘On the other hand, you Catholics–take the late M. de Guise for instance–have the habit of erring on the other side, I think, and sometimes trust too far.’

The marquis, without making any answer to this home-thrust, led the way out, and we followed, being joined at the door of the house by a couple of armed lackeys, who fell in behind us. We went on foot. The night was dark, and the prospect out of doors was not cheering. The streets were wet and dirty, and notwithstanding all our care we fell continually into pitfalls or over unseen obstacles. Crossing the PARVIS of the cathedral, which I remembered, we plunged in silence into an obscure street near the river, and so narrow that the decrepit houses shut out almost all view of the sky. The gloom of our surroundings, no less than my ignorance of the errand on which we were bound, filled me with anxiety and foreboding. My companions keeping strict silence, however, and taking every precaution to avoid being recognised, I had no choice but to do likewise.

I could think, and no more. I felt myself borne along by an irresistible current, whither and for what purpose I could not tell; an experience to an extent strange at my age the influence of the night and the weather. Twice we stood aside to let a party of roisterers go by, and the excessive care M. de Rambouillet evinced on these occasions to avoid recognition did not tend to reassure me or make me think more lightly of the unknown business on which I was bound.

Reaching at last an open space, our leader bade us in a low voice be careful and follow him closely. We did so and crossed in this way and in single file a narrow plank or wooden bridge; but whether water ran below or a dry ditch only, I could not determine. My mind was taken up at the moment with the discovery which I had just made, that the dark building, looming huge and black before us with a single light twinkling here and there at great heights, was the Castle of Blois.

CHAPTER XV.

VILAIN HERODES.

All the distaste and misliking I had expressed earlier in the day for the Court of Blois recurred with fresh force in the darkness and gloom; and though, booted and travel-stained as we were, I did not conceive it likely that we should be obtruded on the circle about the king, I felt none the less an oppressive desire to be through with our adventure, and away from the ill-omened precincts in which I found myself. The darkness prevented me seeing the faces of my companions; but on M. de Rosny, who was not quite free himself, I think, from the influences of the time and place, twitching my sleeve to enforce vigilance, I noted that the lackeys had ceased to follow us, and that we three were beginning to ascend a rough staircase cut in the rock. I gathered, though the darkness limited my view behind as well as in front to a few twinkling lights, that we were mounting the scarp from the moat; to the side wall of the castle; and I was not surprised when the marquis muttered to us to stop, and knocked softly on the wood of a door.

M. de Rosny might have spared the touch he had laid on my sleeve, for by this time I was fully and painfully sensible of the critical position in which we stood, and was very little likely to commit an indiscretion. I trusted he had not done so already! No doubt–it flashed across me while we waited–he had taken care to safeguard himself. But how often, I reflected, had all safeguards been set aside and all precautions eluded by those to whom he was committing himself! Guise had thought himself secure in this very building, which we were about to enter. Coligny had received the most absolute of safe-conducts from those to whom we were apparently bound. The end in either case had been the same –the confidence of the one proving of no more avail than the wisdom of the other. What if the King of France thought to make his peace with his Catholic subjects–offended by the murder of Guise–by a second murder of one as obnoxious to them as he was precious to their arch-enemy in the South? Rosny was sagacious indeed; but then I reflected with sudden misgiving that he was young, ambitious, and bold.

The opening of the door interrupted without putting an end to this train of apprehension. A faint light shone out; so feebly as to illumine little more than the stairs at our feet. The marquis entered at once, M. de Rosny followed, I brought up the rear; and the door was closed by a man who stood behind it. We found ourselves crowded together at the foot of a very narrow staircase, which the doorkeeper–a stolid pikeman in a grey uniform, with a small lanthorn swinging from the crosspiece of his halberd–signed to us to ascend. I said a word to him, but he only stared in answer, and M. de Rambouillet, looking back and seeing what I was about, called to me that it was useless, as the man was a Swiss and spoke no French.

This did not tend to reassure me; any more than did the chill roughness of the wall which my hand touched as I groped upwards, or the smell of bats which invaded my nostrils and suggested that the staircase was little used and belonged to a part of the castle fitted for dark and secret doings.

We stumbled in the blackness up the steps, passing one door and then a second before M. de Rambouillet whispered to us to stand, and knocked gently at a third.

The secrecy, the darkness, and above all the strange arrangements made to receive us, filled me with the wildest conjectures. But when the door opened and we passed one by one into a bare, unfurnished, draughty gallery, immediately, as I judged, under the tiles, the reality agreed with no one of my anticipations. The place was a mere garret, without a hearth, without a single stool. Three windows, of which one was roughly glazed, while the others were filled with oiled paper, were set in one wall; the others displaying the stones and mortar without disguise or ornament. Beside the door through which we had entered stood a silent figure in the grey uniform I had seen below, his lanthorn on the floor at his feet. A second door at the farther end of the gallery, which was full twenty paces long, was guarded in like manner. A couple of lanthorns stood in the middle of the floor, and that was all.

Inside the door, M. de Rambouillet with his finger on his lip stopped us, and we stood a little group of three a pace in front of the sentry, and with the empty room before us. I looked at M. de Rosny, but he was looking at Rambouillet. The marquis had his back towards me, the sentry was gazing into vacancy; so that baffled in my attempt to learn anything from the looks of the other actors in the scene, I fell back on my ears. The rain dripped outside and the moaning wind rattled the casements; but mingled with these melancholy sounds–which gained force, as such things always do, from the circumstances in which we were placed and our own silence–I fancied I caught the distant hum of voices and music and laughter. And that, I know not why, brought M. de Guise again to my mind.

The story of his death, as I had heard it from that accursed monk in the inn on the Claine, rose up in all its freshness, with all its details. I started when M. de Rambouillet coughed. I shivered when Rosny shifted his feet. The silence grew oppressive. Only the stolid men in grey seemed unmoved, unexpectant; so that I remember wondering whether it was their nightly duty to keep guard over an empty garret, the floor strewn with scraps of mortar and ends of tiles.

The interruption, when it came at last, came suddenly. The sentry at the farther end of the gallery started and fell back a pace. Instantly the door beside him opened and a man came in, and closing it quickly behind him, advanced up the room with an air of dignity, which even his strange appearance and attire could not wholly destroy.

He was of good stature and bearing, about forty years old as I judged, his wear a dress of violet velvet with black points cut in the extreme of the fashion. He carried a sword but no ruff, and had a cup and ball of ivory–a strange toy much in vogue among the idle–suspended from his wrist by a ribbon. He was lean and somewhat narrow, but so far I found little fault with him. It was only when my eye reached his face, and saw it rouged like a woman’s and surmounted by a little turban, that a feeling of scarcely understood disgust seized me, and I said to myself, ‘This is the stuff of which kings’ minions are made!’

To my surprise, however, M. de Rambouillet went to meet him with the utmost respect, sweeping the dirty floor with his bonnet, and bowing to the very ground. The newcomer acknowledged his salute with negligent kindness. Remarking pleasantly ‘You have brought a friend, I think?’ he looked towards us with a smile.

‘Yes, sire, he is here,’ the marquis answered, stepping aside a little. And with the word I understood that this was no minion, but the king himself: Henry, the Third of the name, and the last of the great House of Valois, which had ruled France by the grace of God for two centuries and a half! I stared at him, and stared at him, scarcely believing what I saw. For the first time in my life I was in the presence of the king!

Meanwhile M. de Rosny, to whom he was, of course, no marvel, had gone forward and knelt on one knee. The king raised him graciously, and with an action which, viewed apart from his woman’s face and silly turban, seemed royal and fitting. ‘This is good of you, Rosny,’ he said. ‘But it is only what I expected of you.’

‘Sire,’ my companion answered, ‘your Majesty has no more devoted servant than myself, unless it be the king my master.’

‘By my faith,’ Henry answered with energy–‘and if I am not a good churchman, whatever those rascally Parisians say, I am nothing–by my faith, I think I believe you!’

‘If your Majesty would believe me in that and in some other things also,’ M. de Rosny answered, ‘it would be very well for France.’ Though he spoke courteously, he threw so much weight and independence into his words that I thought of the old proverb, ‘A good master, a bold servant.’

‘Well, that is what we are here to see,’ the king replied. ‘But one tells me one thing,’ he went on fretfully, ‘and one another, and which am I to believe?’

‘I know nothing of others, sire,’ Rosny answered with the same spirit. ‘But my master has every claim to be believed. His interest in the royalty of France is second only to your Majesty’s. He is also a king and a kinsman, and it erks him to see rebels beard you, as has happened of late.’

‘Ay, but the chief of them?’ Henry exclaimed, giving way to sudden excitement and stamping furiously on the floor. ‘He will trouble me no more. Has my brother heard of THAT? Tell me, sir, has that news reached him?’

‘He has heard it, sire.’

‘And he approved? He approved, of course?’

‘Beyond doubt the man was a traitor,’ M. de Rosny answered delicately. ‘His life was forfeit, sire. Who can question it?’

‘And he has paid the forfeit,’ the king rejoined, looking down at the floor and immediately falling into a moodiness as sudden as his excitement. His lips moved. He muttered something inaudible, and began to play absently with his cup and ball, his mind occupied apparently with a gloomy retrospect. ‘M. de Guise, M. de Guise,’ he murmured at last, with a sneer and an accent of hate which told of old humiliations long remembered. ‘Well, damn him, he is dead now. He is dead. But being dead he yet troubles us. Is not that the verse, father? Ha!’ with a start, ‘I was forgetting. But that is the worst wrong he has done me,’ he continued, looking up and growing excited again. ‘He has cut me off from Mother Church. There is hardly a priest comes near me now, and presently they will excommunicate me. And, as I hope for salvation, the Church has no more faithful son than me.’

I believe he was on the point, forgetting M. de Rosny’s presence there and his errand, of giving way to unmanly tears, when M. de Rambouillet, as if by accident, let the heel of his scabbard fall heavily on the floor. The king started, and passing his hand once or twice across his brow, seemed to recover himself. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘no doubt we shall find a way out of our difficulties.’

‘If your Majesty,’ Rosny answered respectfully, ‘would accept the aid my master proffers, I venture to think that they would vanish the quicker.’

‘You think so,’ Henry rejoined. ‘Well, give me your shoulder. Let us walk a little.’ And, signing to Rambouillet to leave him, he began to walk up and down with M. de Rosny, talking familiarly with him in an undertone.

Only such scraps of the conversation as fell from them when they turned at my end of the gallery now reached me. Patching these together, however, I managed to understand somewhat. At one turn I heard the king say, ‘But then Turenne offers–‘ At the next, ‘Trust him? Well, I do not know why I should not. He promises –‘ Then ‘A Republic, Rosny? That his plan? Pooh! he dare not. He could not. France is a kingdom by the ordinance of God in my family.’

I gathered from these and other chance words, which I have since forgotten, that M. de Rosny was pressing the king to accept the help of the King of Navarre, and warning him against the insidious offers of the Vicomte de Turenne. The mention of a Republic, however, seemed to excite his Majesty’s wrath rather against Rosny for presuming to refer to such a thing than against Turenne, to whom he refused to credit it. He paused near my end of the promenade.

‘Prove it!’ he said angrily. ‘But can you prove it? Can you prove it? Mind you, I will take no hearsay evidence, sir. Now, there is Turenne’s agent here–you did not know, I dare say, that he had an agent here?’

‘You refer, sire, to M. de Bruhl,’ Rosny answered, without hesitation. ‘I know him, sire.’

‘I think you are the devil,’ Henry answered, looking curiously at him. ‘You seem to know most things. But mind you, my friend, he speaks me fairly, and I will not take this on hearsay even from your master. Though,’ he added after pausing a moment, ‘I love him.’

‘And he, your Majesty. He desires only to prove it.’

‘Yes, I know, I know,’ the king answered fretfully. ‘I believes he does. I believe he does wish me well. But there will be a devil of an outcry among my people. And Turenne gives fair words too. And I do not know,’ he continued, fidgeting with his cup and ball, ‘that it might not suit me better to agree with him, you see.’

I saw M. de Rosny draw himself up. ‘Dare I speak openly to you, sire,’ he said, with less respect and more energy than he had hitherto used. ‘As I should to my master?’

‘Ay, say what you like,’ Henry answered. But he spoke sullenly, and it seemed to me that he looked less pleasantly at his companion.

‘Then I will venture to utter what is in your Majesty’s mind,’ my patron answered steadfastly. ‘You fear, sire, lest, having accepted my master’s offer and conquered your enemies, you should not be easily rid of him.’

Henry looked relieved. ‘Do you call that diplomacy?’ he said with a smile. ‘However, what if it be so? What do you say to it? Methinks I have heard an idle tale about a horse which would hunt a stag; and for the purpose set a man upon its back.’

‘This I say, sire, first,’ Rosny answered very earnestly. ‘That the King of Navarre is popular only with one-third of the kingdom, and is only powerful when united with you. Secondly, sire, it is his interest to support the royal power, to which he is heir. And, thirdly, it must be more to your Majesty’s honour to accept help from a near kinsman than from an ordinary subject, and one who, I still maintain, sire, has no good designs in his mind.’

‘The proof’ Henry said sharply. ‘Give me that!’

‘I can give it in a week from this day.’

‘It must be no idle tale, mind you,’ the king continued suspiciously.

‘You shall have Turenne’s designs, sire, from one who had them from his own mouth.’

The king looked startled, but after a pause turned and resumed his walk. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you do that, I on my part–‘

The rest I lost, for the two passing to the farther end of the gallery, came to a standstill there, balking my curiosity and Rambouillet’s also. The marquis, indeed, began to betray his impatience, and the great clock immediately over our heads presently striking the half-hour after ten, he started and made as if he would have approached the king. He checked the impulse, however, but still continued to fidget uneasily, losing his reserve by-and-by so far as to whisper to me that his Majesty would be missed.

I had been, up to this point, a silent and inactive spectator of a scene which appealed to my keenest interests and aroused my most ardent curiosity. Surprise following surprise, I had begun to doubt my own identity; so little had I expected to find myself first in the presence of the Most Christian King–and that under circumstances as strange and bizarre as could well be imagined– and then an authorised witness at a negotiation upon which the future of all the great land of France stretching for so many hundred leagues on every side of us, depended. I say I could scarcely believe in my own identity; or that I was the same Gaston de Marsac who had slunk, shabby and out-at-elbows, about St. Jean d’Angely. I tasted the first sweetness of secret power, which men say is the sweetest of all and the last relinquished; and, the hum of distant voices and laughter still reaching me at intervals, I began to understand why we had been admitted with, so much precaution, and to comprehend the gratification of M. de Rosny when the promise of this interview first presented to him the hope of effecting so much for his master and for France.

Now I was to be drawn into the whirlpool itself. I was still travelling back over the different stages of the adventure which had brought me to this point, when I was rudely awakened by M. de Rosny calling my name in a raised voice. Seeing, somewhat late, that he was beckoning to me to approach, I went forward in a confused and hasty fashion; kneeling before the king as I had seen him kneel, and then rising to give ear to his Majesty’s commands. Albeit, having expected nothing less than to be called upon, I was not in the clearest mood to receive them. Nor was my bearing such as I could have wished it to be.

M. de Rosny tells me that you desire a commission at Court, sir,’ the king said quickly.

‘I, sire?’ I stammered, scarcely able to believe my ears. I was so completely taken aback that I could say no more, and I stopped there with my mouth open.

‘There are few things I can deny M. de Rosny,’ Henry continued, speaking very rapidly, ‘and I am told that you are a gentleman of birth and ability. Out of kindness to him, therefore, I grant you a commission to raise twenty men for my service. Rambouillet,’ he continued, raising his voice slightly, ‘you will introduce this gentleman to me publicly to-morrow, that; I may carry into effect my intention on his behalf. You may go now, sir. No thanks. And M. de Rosny,’ he added, turning to my companion and speaking with energy, ‘have a care for my sake that you are not recognised as you go. Rambouillet must contrive something to enable you to leave without peril. I should be desolated if anything happened to you, my friend, for I could not protect you. I give you my word if Mendoza or Retz found you in Blois I could not save you from them unless you recanted.’

‘I will not trouble either your Majesty or my conscience,’ M. de Rosny replied, bowing low, ‘if my wits can help me.’

‘Well, the saints keep you,’ the king answered piously, going towards the door by which he had entered; ‘for your master and I have both need of you. Rambouillet, take care of him as you love me. And come early in the morning to my closet and tell me how it has fared with him.’

We all stood bowing while he withdrew, and only turned to retire when the door closed behind him. Burning with indignation and chagrin as I was at finding myself disposed of in the way I have described, and pitchforked, whether I would or no, into a service I neither fancied nor desired, I still managed for the present to restrain myself; and, permitting my companions to precede me, followed in silence, listening sullenly to their jubilations. The marquis seemed scarcely less pleased than M. de Rosny; and as the latter evinced a strong desire to lessen any jealousy the former might feel, and a generous inclination to attribute to him a full share of the credit gained, I remained the only person dissatisfied with the evening’s events. We retired from the chateau with the same precautions which had marked our entrance, and parting with M. de Rambouillet at the door of our lodging– not without many protestations of esteem on his part and of gratitude on that of M. de Rosny–mounted to the first-floor in single file and in silence, which I was determined not to be the first to break.

Doubtless M. de Rosny knew my thoughts, for, speedily dismissing Maignan and Simon, who were in waiting, he turned to me without preface. ‘Come, my friend,’ he said, laying his hand on my shoulder and looking me in the face in a way which all but disarmed me at once, ‘do not let us misunderstand one another. You think you have cause to be angry with me. I cannot suffer that, for the King of Navarre had never greater need of your services than now.’

‘You have played me an unworthy trick, sir,’I answered, thinking he would cozen me with fair speeches.

‘Tut, tut!’ he replied. ‘You do not understand.’

‘I understand well enough,’ I answered, with bitterness, ‘that, having done the King of Navarre’s work, he would now be rid of me.’

‘Have I not told you,’ M. de Rosny replied, betraying for the first time some irritation, ‘that he has greater need of your services than ever? Come, man, be reasonable, or, better still, listen to me.’ And turning from me, he began to walk up and down the room, his hands behind him. “the King of France–I want to make it as clear to you as possible–‘ he said, ‘cannot make head against the League without help, and, willy-nilly, must look for it to the Huguenots whom he has so long persecuted. The King of Navarre, their acknowledged leader, has offered that help; and so, to spite my master, and prevent a combination so happy for France, has M. de Turenne, who would fain raise the faction he commands to eminence, and knows well how to make his profit out of the dissensions of his country. Are you clear so far, sir?’

I assented. I was becoming absorbed in spite of myself.

‘Very well,’ he resumed. ‘This evening–never did anything fall out more happily than Rambouillet’s meeting with me–he is a good man!–I have brought the king to this: that if proof of the selfish nature of Turenne’s designs be laid before him he will hesitate no longer. That proof exists. A fortnight ago it was here; but it is not here now.’

‘That is unlucky!’ I exclaimed. I was so much interested in his story, as well as flattered by the confidence he was placing in me, that my ill-humour vanished. I went and stood with my shoulder against the mantelpiece, and he, passing to and fro between me and the light, continued his tale.

‘A word about this proof,’ he said. ‘It came into the King of Navarre’s hands before its full value was known to us, for that only accrued to it on M. de Guise’s death. A month ago it–this piece of evidence I mean–was at Chize. A fortnight or so ago it was here in Blois. It is now, ‘M. de Marsac,’ he continued, facing me suddenly as he came opposite me, ‘in my house at Rosny.’

I started. ‘You mean Mademoiselle de la Vire?’ I cried.

‘I mean Mademoiselle de la Vire!’ he answered, ‘who, some month or two ago, overheard M. de Turenne’s plans, and contrived to communicate with the King of Navarre. Before the latter could arrange a private interview, however, M. de Turenne got wind of her dangerous knowledge, and swept her off to Chize. The rest you know, M. de Marsac, if any man knows it.’

‘But what will you do?’ I asked. ‘She is at Rosny.’

‘Maignan, whom I trust implicitly, as far as his lights go, will start to fetch her to-morrow. At the same hour I start southwards. You, M. de Marsac, will remain here as my agent, to watch over my interests, to receive Mademoiselle on her arrival, to secure for her a secret interview with the king, to guard her while she remains here. Do you understand?’

Did I understand? I could not find words in which to thank him. My remorse and gratitude, my sense of the wrong I had done him, and of the honour he was doing me, were such that I stood mute before him as I had stood before the king. ‘You accept, then?’ he said, smiling. ‘You do not deem the adventure beneath you, my friend?’

‘I deserve your confidence so little, sir,’ I answered, stricken to the ground, ‘that I beg you to speak, while I listen. By attending exactly to your instructions I may prove worthy of the trust reposed in me. And only so.’

He embraced me again and again, with a, kindness which moved me almost to tears. ‘You are a man after my own heart,’ he said, ‘and if God wills I will make your fortune. Now listen, my friend. To-morrow at Court, as a stranger and a man introduced by Rambouillet, you will be the cynosure of all eyes. Bear yourself bravely. Pay court to the women, but attach yourself to no one in particular. Keep aloof from Retz and the Spanish faction, but beware especially of Bruhl. He alone will have your secret, and may suspect your design. Mademoiselle should be here in a week; while she is with you, and until she has seen the king, trust no one, suspect everyone, fear all things. Consider the battle won only when the king says, “I am satisfied.”‘

Much more he told me, which served its purpose and has been forgotten. Finally he honoured me by bidding me share his pallet with him, that we might talk without restraint, and that if anything occurred to him in the night he might communicate it to me.

‘But will not Bruhl denounce me as a Huguenot?’ I asked him.

‘He will not dare to do so,’ M. de Rosny answered, ‘both as a Huguenot himself, and as his master’s representative; and, further, because it would displease the king. No, but whatever secret harm one man can do another, that you have to fear. Maignan, when he returns with mademoiselle, will leave two men with you; until they come I should borrow a couple of stout fellows from Rambouillet. Do not go out alone after dark, and beware of doorways, especially your own.’

A little later, when I thought him asleep, I heard him chuckle; and rising on my elbow I asked him what it was. ‘Oh, it is your affair,’ he answered, still laughing silently, so that I felt the mattress shake under him. ‘I don’t envy you one part of your task, my friend.’

‘What is that?’ I said suspiciously.

‘Mademoiselle,’ he answered, stifling with difficulty a burst of laughter. And after that he would not say another word, bad, good, or indifferent, though I felt the bed shake more than once, and knew that he was digesting his pleasantry.

CHAPTER XVI.

IN THE KING’S CHAMBER.

M. de Rosny had risen from my side and started on his journey when I opened my eyes in the morning, and awoke to the memory of the task which had been so strangely imposed upon me; and which might, according as the events of the next fortnight shaped themselves, raise me to high position or put an end to my career. He had not forgotten to leave a souvenir behind him, for I found beside my pillow a handsome silver-mounted pistol, bearing the letter ‘R.’ and a coronet; nor had I more than discovered this instance of his kindness before Simon Fleix came in to tell me that M. de Rosny had left two hundred crowns in his hands for me.

‘Any message with it?’ I asked the lad.

‘Only that; he had taken a keepsake in exchange,’ Simon answered, opening the window as he spoke.

In some wonder I began to search, but I could not discover that anything was missing until I came to put on my doublet, when I found that the knot of ribbon which mademoiselle had flung to me at my departure from Rosny was gone from the inside of the breast, where I had pinned it for safety with a long thorn. The discovery that M. de Rosny had taken this was displeasing to me on more than one account. In the first place, whether mademoiselle had merely wished to plague me (as was most probable) or not, I was loth to lose it, my day for ladies’ favours being past and gone; in the second, I misdoubted the motive which had led him to purloin it, and tormented myself with thinking of the different constructions he might put upon it, and the disparaging view of my trust worthiness which it might lead him to take. I blamed myself much for my carelessness in leaving it where a chance eye might rest upon it; and more when, questioning Simon further, I learned that M. de Rosny had added, while mounting at the door, ‘Tell your master, safe bind, safe find; and a careless lover makes a loose mistress.’

I felt my cheek burn in a manner unbecoming my years while Simon with some touch of malice repeated this; and I made a vow on the spot, which I kept until I was tempted to break it, to have no more to do with such trifles. Meanwhile, I had to make the best of it; and brisking up, and bidding Simon, who seemed depressed by the baron’s departure, brisk up also, I set about my preparations for making such a figure at Court as became me: procuring a black velvet suit, and a cap and feather to match; item, a jewelled clasp to secure the feather; with a yard or two of lace and two changes of fine linen.

Simon had grown sleek at Rosny, and losing something of the wildness which had marked him, presented in the dress M. de Rosny had given him a very creditable appearance; being also, I fancy, the only equerry in Blois who could write. A groom I engaged on the recommendation of M. de Rambouillet’s master of the horse; and I gave out also that I required a couple of valets. It needed only an hour under the barber’s hands and a set of new trappings for the Cid to enable me to make a fair show, such as might be taken to indicate a man of ten or twelve thousand livres a year.

In this way I expended a hundred and fifteen crowns. reflecting that this was a large sum, and that I must keep some money for play, I was glad to learn that in the crowded state of the city even men with high rank were putting up with poor lodging; I determined, therefore, to combine economy with a scheme which I had in my head by taking the rooms in which my mother died, with one room below them. This I did, hiring such furniture as I needed, which was not a great deal. To Simon Fleix, whose assistance in these matters was invaluable, I passed on much of M. de Rosny’s advice, bidding him ruffle it with the best in his station, and inciting him to labour for my advancement by promising to make his fortune whenever my own should be assured. I hoped, indeed, to derive no little advantage from the quickness of wit; which had attracted M. de Rosny’s attention; although I did not fail to take into account at the same time that the lad was wayward and fitful, prone at one time to depression, and at another to giddiness, and equally uncertain in either mood.

M. de Rambouillet being unable to attend the LEVEE, had appointed me to wait upon him at six in the evening; at which hour I presented myself at his lodgings, attended by Simon Fleix. I found him in the midst of half a dozen gentlemen whose habit it was to attend him upon all public occasions; and these gallants, greeting me with the same curious and suspicious glances which I have seen hounds bestow on a strange dog introduced into their kennel, I was speedily made to feel that it is one thing to have business at Court, and another to be well received there.

M. de Rambouillet, somewhat to my surprise, did nothing to remove this impression. On all ordinary occasions a man of stiff and haughty bearing, and thoroughly disliking, though he could not prevent, the intrusion of a third party into a transaction which promised an infinity of credit, he received me so coldly and with so much reserve as for the moment to dash my spirits and throw me back on myself.

During the journey to the castle, however, which we performed on foot, attended by half a dozen armed servants bearing torches, I had time to recall M. de Rosny’s advice, and to bethink me of the intimacy which that great man had permitted me; with so much effect in the way of heartening me, that as we crossed the courtyard of the castle I advanced myself, not without some murmuring on the part of others, to Rambouillet’s elbow, considering that as I was attached to him by the king’s command, this was my proper place. I had no desire to quarrel, however, and persisted for some time in disregarding the nudges and muttered words which were exchanged round me, and even the efforts which were made as we mounted the stairs to oust me from my position. But a young gentleman, who showed himself very forward in these attempts, presently stumbling against me, I found it necessary to look at him.

‘Sir,’ he said, in a small and lisping voice, ‘you trod on my toe.’

Though I had not done so, I begged his pardon very politely. But as his only acknowledgment of this courtesy consisted in an attempt to get his knee in front of mine–we were mounting very slowly, the stairs being cumbered with a multitude of servants, who stood on either hand–I did tread on his toe, with a force and directness which made him cry out.

‘What is the matter?’ Rambouillet asked, looking back hastily.

‘Nothing, M. le Marquis,’ I answered, pressing on steadfastly.

‘Sir,’ my young friend said again, in the same lisping voice, ‘you trod on my toe.’

‘I believe I did, sir,’ I answered.

‘You have not yet apologised,’ he murmured gently in my ear.

‘Nay, there you are wrong,’ I rejoined bluntly, ‘for it is always my habit to apologise first and tread afterwards.’

He smiled as at a pleasant joke; and I am bound to say that his bearing was so admirable that if he had been my son I could have hugged him. ‘Good!’ he answered. ‘No doubt your sword is as sharp as your wits, sir. I see,’ he continued, glancing naively at my old scabbard–he was himself the very gem of a courtier, a slender youth with a pink-and-white complexion, a dark line for a moustache, and a pearl-drop in his ear–‘it is longing to be out. Perhaps you will take a turn in the tennis-court to-morrow?’

‘With pleasure, sir,’ I answered, ‘if you have a father, or your elder brother is grown up.’

What answer he would have made to this gibe I do not know, for at that moment we reached the door of the ante-chamber; and this being narrow, and a sentry in the grey uniform of the Swiss Guard compelling all to enter in single file, my young friend was forced to fall back, leaving me free to enter alone, and admire at my leisure a scene at once brilliant and sombre.

The Court being in mourning for the Queen-mother, black predominated in the dresses of those present, and set off very finely the gleaming jewels and gemmed sword-hilts which were worn by the more important personages. The room was spacious and lofty, hung with arras, and lit by candles burning in silver sconces; it rang as we entered with the shrill screaming of a parrot, which was being teased by a group occupying the farther of the two hearths. Near them play was going on at one table, and primero at a second. In a corner were three or four ladies, in a circle about a red-faced, plebeian-looking man, who was playing at forfeits with one of their number; while the middle of the room seemed dominated by a middle-sized man with a peculiarly inflamed and passionate countenance, who, seated on a table, was inveighing against someone or something in the most violent terms, his language being interlarded with all kinds of strange and forcible oaths. Two or three gentlemen, who had the air of being his followers, stood about him, listening between submission and embarrassment; while beside the nearer fireplace, but at some distance from him, lounged a nobleman, very richly dressed, and wearing on his breast the Cross of the Holy Ghost; who seemed to be the object of his invective, but affecting to ignore it was engaged in conversation with a companion. A bystander muttering that Crillon had been drinking, I discovered with immense surprise that the declaimer on the table was that famous soldier; and I was still looking at him in wonder–for I had been accustomed all my life to associate courage with modesty–when, the door of the chamber suddenly opening, a general movement in that direction took place. Crillon, disregarding all precedency, sprang from his table and hurried first to the threshold. The Baron de Biron, on the other hand– for the gentleman by the fire was no other–waited, in apparent ignorance of the slight which was being put upon him, until M. de Rambouillet came up; then he went forward with him. Keeping close to my patron’s elbow, I entered the chamber immediately behind him.

Crillon had already seized upon the king, and, when we entered, was stating his grievance is a voice not much lower than that which he had used outside. M. de Biron, seeing this, parted from the marquis, and, going aside with his former companion, sat down on a trunk against the wall; while Rambouillet, followed by myself and three or four gentlemen of his train, advanced to the king, who was standing near the alcove. His Majesty seeing him, and thankful, I think, for the excuse, waved Crillon off. ‘Tut, tut! You told me all that this morning,’ he said good-naturedly. ‘And here is Rambouillet, who has, I hope, something fresh to tell. Let him speak to me. Sanctus! Don’t look at me as if you would run me through, man. Go and quarrel with someone of your own size.’

Crillon at this retired grumbling, and Henry, who had just risen from primero with the Duke of Nevers, nodded to Rambouillet. ‘Well, my friend, anything fresh?’ he cried. He was more at his ease and looked more cheerful than at our former interview; yet still care and suspicion lurked about his peevish mouth, and in the hollows under his gloomy eyes. ‘A new guest, a new face, or a new game–which have you brought?’

‘In a sense, sire, a new face,’ the marquis answered, bowing, and standing somewhat aside that I might have place.

‘Well, I cannot say much for the pretty baggage,’ quoth the king quickly. And amid a general titter he extended his hand to me. ‘I’ll be sworn, though,’ he continued, as I rose from my knee, ‘that you want something, my friend?’

‘Nay, sire,’ I answered, holding up my head boldly–for Crillon’s behaviour had been a further lesson to me–‘I have, by your leave, the advantage. For your Majesty has supplied me with a new jest. I see many new faces round me, and I have need only of a new game. If your Majesty would be pleased to grant me–‘

‘There! Said I not so?’ cried the king, raising his hand with a laugh. ‘He does want something. But he seems not undeserving. What does he pray, Rambouillet?’

‘A small command,’ M. de Rambouillet answered, readily playing his part. ‘And your Majesty would oblige me if you could grant the Sieur de Marsac’s petition. I will answer for it he is a man of experience.’

‘Chut! A small command?’ Henry ejaculated, sitting down suddenly in apparent ill-humour. ‘It is what everyone wants– when they do not want big ones. Still, I suppose,’ he continued, taking up a comfit-box, which lay beside him, and opening it, ‘if you do not get what you want for him you will sulk like the rest, my friend.’

‘Your Majesty has never had cause to complain of me,’ quoth the Marquis, forgetting his role, or too proud to play it.

‘Tut, tut, tut, tut! Take it, and trouble me no more,’ the king rejoined. ‘Will pay for twenty men do for him? Very well then. There, M. de Marsac,’ he continued, nodding at me and yawning, ‘your request is granted. You will find some other pretty baggages over there. Go to them. And now, Rambouillet,’ he went on, resuming his spirits as he turned to matters of more importance, ‘here is a new sweetmeat Zamet has sent me. I have made Zizi sick with it. Will you try it? It is flavoured with white mulberries.’

Thus dismissed, I fell back; and stood for a moment, at a loss whither to turn, in the absence of either friends or acquaintances. His Majesty, it is true, had bidden me go to certain pretty baggages, meaning, apparently, five ladies who were seated at the farther end of the room, diverting themselves with as many cavaliers; but the compactness of this party, the beauty of the ladies, and the merry peals of laughter which proceeded from them, telling of a wit and vivacity beyond the ordinary, sapped the resolution which had borne me well hitherto. I felt that to attack such a phalanx, even with a king’s good will, was beyond the daring of a Crillon, and I looked round to see whether I could not amuse myself in some more modest fashion.

The material was not lacking. Crillon, still mouthing out his anger, strode up and down in front of the trunk on which M. de Biron was seated; but the latter was, or affected to be, asleep. ‘Crillon is for ever going into rages now,’ a courtier beside me whispered.

‘Yes,’ his fellow answered, with a shrug of the shoulder; ‘it is a pity there is no one to tame him. But he has such a long reach, morbleu!’

‘It is not that so much as the fellow’s fury,’ the first speaker rejoined under his breath. ‘He fights like a mad thing; fencing is no use against him.’

The other nodded. For a moment the wild idea of winning renown by taming M. de Crillon occurred to me as I stood alone in the middle of the floor; but it had not more than passed through my brain when I felt my elbow touched, and turned to find the young gentleman whom I had encountered on the stairs standing by my side.

‘Sir,’ he lisped, in the same small voice, ‘I think you trod on my toe a while ago?’

I stared at him, wondering what he meant by this absurd repetition. ‘Well, sir,’ I answered drily, ‘and if I did?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, stroking his chin with his jewelled fingers, ‘pending our meeting to-morrow, you would allow me to consider it as a kind of introduction?’

‘If it please you,’ I answered, bowing stiffly, and wondering what he would be at.

‘Thank you,’ he answered. ‘It does please me, under the circumstances; for there is a lady here who desires a word with you. I took up her challenge. Will you follow me?’

He bowed, and turned in his languid fashion. I, turning too, saw, with secret dismay, that the five ladies, referred to above, were all now gazing at me, as expecting my approach; and this with such sportive glances as told only too certainly of some plot already in progress or some trick to be presently played me. Yet I could not see that I had any choice save to obey, and, following my leader with as much dignity as I could compass, I presently found myself bowing before the lady who sat nearest, and who seemed to be the leader of these nymphs.

‘Nay, sir,’ she said, eyeing me curiously, yet with a merry face, ‘I do not need you; I do not look so high!’

Turning in confusion to the next, I was surprised to see before me the lady whose lodging I had invaded in my search for Mademoiselle de la Vire–she, I mean, who, having picked up the velvet; knot, had dropped it so providentially where Simon Fleix found it. She looked at me blushing and laughing, and the young gentleman, who had done her errand, presenting me by name, she asked me, while the others listened, whether I had found my mistress.

Before I could answer, the lady to whom I had first addressed myself interposed. ‘Stop, sir!’ she cried. What is this–a tale, a jest, a game, or a forfeit?’

‘An adventure, madam,’ I answered, bowing low.

‘Of gallantry, I’ll be bound,’ she exclaimed. ‘Fie, Madame de Bruhl, and you but six months married!’

Madame de Bruhl protested, laughing, that she had no more to do with it than Mercury. ‘At the worst,’ she said, ‘I carried the POULETS! But I can assure you, duchess, this gentleman should be able to tell us a very fine story, if he would.’

The duchess and all the other ladies clapping their hands at this, and crying out that the story must and should be told, I found myself in a prodigious quandary; and one wherein my wits derived as little assistance as possible from the bright eyes and saucy looks which environed me. Moreover, the commotion attracting other listeners, I found my position, while I tried to extricate myself, growing each moment worse, so that I began to fear that as I had little imagination I should perforce have to tell the truth. The mere thought of this threw me into a cold perspiration, lest I should let slip something of consequence, and prove myself unworthy of the trust which M. de Rosny had reposed in me.

At the moment when, despairing of extricating myself, I was stooping over Madame de Bruhl begging her to assist me, I heard, amid the babel of laughter and raillery which surrounded me– certain of the courtiers having already formed hands in a circle and sworn I should not depart without satisfying the ladies–a voice which struck a chord in my memory. I turned to see who the speaker was, and encountered no other than M. de Bruhl himself; who, with a flushed and angry face, was listening to the explanation which a friend was pouring into his ear. Standing at the moment with my knee on Madame de Bruhl’s stool, and remembering very well the meeting on the stairs, I conceived in a flash that the man was jealous; but whether he had yet heard my name, or had any clew to link me with the person who had rescued Mademoiselle de la Vire from his clutches, I could not tell. Nevertheless his presence led my thoughts into a new channel. The determination to punish him began to take form in my mind, and very quickly I regained my composure. Still I was for giving him one chance. Accordingly I stooped once more to Madame de Bruhl’s ear, and begged her to spare me the embarrassment of telling my tale. But then, finding her pitiless, as I expected, and the rest of the company growing more and more insistent, I hardened my heart to go through with the fantastic notion which had occurred to me.

Indicating by a gesture that I was prepared to obey, and the duchess crying for a hearing, this was presently obtained, the sudden silence adding the king himself to my audience. ‘What is it?’ he asked, coming up effusively, with a lap-dog in his arms. ‘A new scandal, eh?’

‘No, sire, a new tale-teller,’ the duchess answered pertly. ‘If your Majesty will sit, we shall hear him the sooner.’

He pinched her ear and sat down in the chair which a page presented. ‘What! is it Rambouillet’s GRISON again?’ he said with some surprise. ‘Well, fire away, man. But who brought you forward as a Rabelais?’

There was a general cry of ‘Madame de Bruhl!’ whereat that lady shook her fair hair, about her face, and cried out for someone to bring her a mask.

‘Ha, I see!’ said the king drily, looking pointedly at M. de Bruhl, who was as black as thunder. ‘But go on, man.’

The king’s advent, by affording me a brief respite, had enabled me to collect my thoughts, and, disregarding the ribald interruptions, which at first were frequent, I began as follows: ‘I am no Rabelais, sire,’ I said, ‘but droll things happen to the most unlikely. Once upon a time it was the fortune of a certain swain, whom I will call Dromio, to arrive in a town not a hundred miles from Blois, having in his company a nymph of great beauty, who had been entrusted to his care by her parents. He had not more than lodged her in his apartments, however, before she was decoyed away by a trick, and borne off against her will by a young gallant, who had seen her and been smitten by her charms. Dromio, returning, and finding his mistress gone, gave way to the most poignant grief. He ran up and down the city, seeking her in every place, and filling all places with his lamentations; but for a time in vain, until chance led him to a certain street, where, in an almost incredible manner, he found a clew to her by discovering underfoot a knot of velvet, bearing Phyllida’s name wrought on it in delicate needlework, with the words, “A moi!”‘

‘Sanctus!’ cried the king, amid a general murmur of surprise, ‘that is well devised! Proceed, sir. Go on like that, and we will make your twenty men twenty-five.’

‘Dromio,’ I continued, ‘at sight of this trifle experienced the most diverse emotions, for while he possessed in it a clew to his mistress’s fate, he had still to use it so as to discover the place whither she had been hurried. It occurred to him at last to begin his search with the house before which the knot had lain. Ascending accordingly to the second-floor, he found there a fair lady reclining on a couch, who started up in affright at his appearance. He hastened to reassure her, and to explain the purpose of his coming, and learned after a conversation with which I will not trouble your Majesty, though it was sufficiently diverting, that the lady had found the velvet knot in another part of the town, and had herself dropped it again in front of her own house.’

‘Pourquoi?’ the king asked, interrupting me.

‘The swain, sire,’ I answered, ‘was too much taken up with his own troubles to bear that in mind, even if he learned it. But this delicacy did not save him from misconception, for as he descended from the lady’s apartment he met her husband on the stairs.’

‘Good!’ the king exclaimed, rubbing his hands in glee. ‘The husband!’ And under cover of the gibe and the courtly laugh which followed it M. de Bruhl’s start of surprise passed unnoticed save by me.

‘The husband,’ I resumed, ‘seeing a stranger descending his staircase, was for stopping him and learning the reason of his presence; But Dromio, whose mind was with Phyllida, refused to stop, and, evading his questions, hurried to the part of the town where the lady had told him she found the velvet knot. Here, sire, at the corner of a lane running between garden-walls, he found a great house, barred and gloomy, and well adapted to the abductor’s purpose. Moreover, scanning it on every side, he presently discovered, tied about the bars of an upper window, a knot of white linen, the very counterpart of that velvet one which he bore in his breast. Thus he knew that the nymph was imprisoned in that room!’

‘I will make it twenty-five, as I am a good Churchman!’ his Majesty exclaimed, dropping the little dog he was nursing into the duchess’s lap, and taking out his comfit-box. ‘Rambouillet,’ he added languidly, ‘your friend is a treasure!’

I bowed my acknowledgments, and took occasion as I did so to step a pace aside, so as to command a view of Madame de Bruhl, as well as her husband. Hitherto madame, willing to be accounted a part in so pretty a romance, and ready enough also, unless I was mistaken, to cause her husband a little mild jealousy, had listened to the story with a certain sly demureness. But this I foresaw would not last long; and I felt something like compunction as the moment for striking the blow approached. But I had now no choice. ‘The best is yet to come, sire,’ I went on, ‘as I think you will acknowledge in a moment. Dromio, though he had discovered his mistress, was still in the depths of despair. He wandered round and round the house, seeking ingress and finding none, until at length, sunset approaching, and darkness redoubling his fears for the nymph, fortune took pity on him. As he stood in front of the house he saw the abductor come out, lighted by two servants. Judge of his surprise, sire,’ I continued, looking round and speaking slowly, to give full effect to my words, ‘when he recognised in him no other than the husband of the lady who, by picking up and again dropping the velvet knot, had contributed so much to the success of his search!’

‘Ha! these husbands!’ cried the king. And slapping his knee in an ecstasy at his own acuteness, he laughed in his seat till he rolled again. ‘These husbands! Did I not say so?’

The whole Court gave way to like applause, and clapped. their hands as well, so that few save those who stood nearest took notice of Madame de Bruhl’s faint cry, and still fewer understood why she rose up suddenly from her stool and stood gazing at her husband with burning cheeks and clenched hands. She took no heed of me, much less of the laughing crowd round her, but looked only at him with her soul in her eyes. He, after uttering one hoarse curse, seemed to have no thought for any but me. To have the knowledge that his own wife had baulked him brought home to him in this mocking fashion, to find how little a thing had tripped him that day, to learn how blindly he had played into the hands of fate, above all to be exposed at once to his wife’s resentment and the ridicule of the Court–for he could not be sure that I should not the next moment disclose his name–all so wrought on him that for a moment I thought he would strike me in the presence.

His rage, indeed, did what I had not meant to do. For the king, catching sight of his face, and remembering that Madame de Bruhl had elicited the story, screamed suddenly, ‘Haro!’ and pointed ruthlessly at him with his finger. After that I had no need to speak, the story leaping from eye to eye, and every eye settling on Bruhl, who sought in vain to compose his features. Madame, who surpassed him, as women commonly do surpass men, in self- control, was the, first to recover herself, and sitting down as quickly as she had risen, confronted alike her husband and her rivals with a pale smile.

For a moment curiosity and excitement kept all breathless, the eye alone busy. Then the king laughed mischievously. ‘Come, M. de Bruhl,’ he cried, ‘perhaps you will finish the tale for us?’ And he threw himself back in his chair, a sneer on his lips.

‘Or why not Madame de Bruhl?’ said the duchess, with her head on one side and her eyes glittering over her fan. ‘Madame would, I am sure, tell it so well.’

But madame only shook her head, smiling always that forced smile. For Bruhl himself, glaring from face to face like a bull about to charge, I have never seen a man more out of countenance, or more completely brought to bay. His discomposure, exposed as he was to the ridicule of all present, was such that the presence in which he stood scarcely hindered him from some violent attack; and his eyes, which had wandered from me at the king’s word, presently returning to me again, he so far forgot himself as to raise his hand furiously, uttering at the same time a savage oath.

The king cried out angrily, ‘Have a care, sir!’ But Bruhl only heeded this so far as to thrust aside those who stood round him and push his way hurriedly through the circle.

‘Arnidieu!’ cried the king, when he was gone. ‘This is fine conduct! I have half a mind to send after him and have him put where his hot blood would cool a little. Or–‘

He stopped abruptly, his eyes resting on me. The relative positions of Bruhl and myself as the agents of Rosny and Turenne occurred to him for the first time, I think, and suggested the idea, perhaps, that I had laid a trap for him, and that he had fallen into it. At any rate his face grew darker and darker, and at last, ‘A nice kettle of fish this is you have prepared for us, sir!’ he muttered, gazing at me gloomily.

The sudden change in his humour took even courtiers by surprise. Faces a moment before broad with smiles grew long again. The less important personages looked uncomfortably at one another, and with one accord frowned on me. ‘If your Majesty would please to hear the end of the story at another time?’ I suggested humbly, beginning to wish with all my heart that I had never said a word.

‘Chut!’ he answered, rising, his face still betraying his perturbation, ‘Well, be it so. For the present you may go, sir. Duchess, give me Zizi, and come to my closet. I want you to see my puppies. Retz, my good friend, do you come too. I have something to say to you. Gentlemen, you need not wait. It is likely I shall be late.’

And, with the utmost abruptness, he broke up the circle.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE JACOBIN MONK.

Had I needed any reminder of the uncertainty of Court favour, or an instance whence I might learn the lesson of modesty, and so stand in less danger of presuming on my new and precarious prosperity, I had it in this episode, and in the demeanour of the company round me. On the circle breaking up in confusion, I found myself the centre of general regard, but regard of so dubious a character, the persons who would have been the first to compliment me had the king retired earlier, standing farthest aloof now, that I felt myself rather insulted than honoured by it. One or two, indeed, of the more cautious spirits did approach me; but it was with the air of men providing against a danger particularly remote, their half-hearted speeches serving only to fix them in my memory as belonging to a class, especially abhorrent to me–the class, I mean, of those who would run at once with the hare and the hounds.

I was rejoiced to find that on one person, and that the one whose disposition towards me was, next to the king’s, of first importance, this episode had produced a different impression, Feeling, as I made for the door, a touch on my arm, I turned to find M. de Rambouillet at my elbow, regarding me with a glance of mingled esteem and amusement; in fine, with a very different look from that which had been my welcome earlier in the evening. I was driven to suppose that he was too great a man, or too sure of his favour with the king, to be swayed by the petty motives which actuated the Court generally, for he laid his hand familiarly on my shoulder, and walked on beside me.

‘Well my friend,’ he said,’ you have distinguished yourself finely! I do not know that I ever remember a pretty woman making more stir in one evening. But if you are wise you will not go home alone to-night.’

‘I have my sword, M. le Marquis,’ I answered, somewhat proudly. ‘Which will avail you little against a knife in the back!’ he retorted drily. ‘What attendance have you?’

‘My equerry, Simon Fleix, is on the stairs.’

‘Good, so far, but not enough,’ he replied, as we reached the head of the staircase. ‘You had better come home with me now, and two or three of my fellows shall go on to your lodging with you. Do you know, my friend,’ he continued, looking at me keenly, ‘you are either a very clever or a very foolish man?’

I made answer modestly. ‘Neither the one, I fear, nor the other, I hope sir,’ I said.

‘Well, you have done a very pertinent thing,’ he replied, ‘for good or evil. You have let the enemy know what he has to expect, and he is not one, I warn you, to be despised. But whether you have been very wise or very foolish in declaring open war remains to be seen.’

‘A week will show,’ I answered.

He turned and looked at me. ‘You take it coolly,’ he said.

‘I have been knocking about the world for forty years, marquis,’ I rejoined.

He muttered something about Rosny having a good eye, and then stopped to adjust his cloak. We were by this time in the street. Making me go hand in hand with him, he requested the other gentlemen to draw their swords; and the servants being likewise armed and numbering half a score or more, with pikes and torches, we made up a very formidable party, and caused, I think, more alarm as we passed through the streets to Rambouillet’s lodging than we had any reason to feel. Not that we had it all to ourselves, for the attendance at Court that evening being large, and the circle breaking up as I have described more abruptly than usual, the vicinity of the castle was in a ferment, and the streets leading from it were alive with the lights and laughter of parties similar to our own.

At the door of the marquis’s lodging I prepared to take leave of him with many expressions of gratitude, but he would have me enter and sit down with him to a light refection, which it was his habit to take before retiring. Two of his gentlemen sat down with us, and a valet, who was in his confidence, waiting on us, we made very merry over the scene in the presence. I learned that M. de Bruhl was far from popular at Court; but being known to possess some kind of hold over the king, and enjoying besides a great reputation for recklessness and skill with the sword, he had played a high part for a length of time, and attached to himself, especially since the death of Guise, a considerable number of followers.

‘The truth is,’ one of the marquis’s gentlemen, who was a little heated with wine, observed, ‘there is nothing at this moment which a bold and unscrupulous man may not win in France!’

‘Nor a bold and Christian gentleman for France!’ replied M. de Rambouillet with, some asperity. ‘By the way,’ he continued, turning abruptly to the servant, ‘where is M. Francois?’

The valet answered that he had not returned with us from the castle. The Marquis expressed himself annoyed at this, and I gathered, firstly, that the missing man was his near kinsman, and, secondly, that he was also the young spark who had been so forward to quarrel with me earlier in the evening. Determining to refer the matter, should it become pressing, to Rambouillet for adjustment, I took leave of him, and attended by two of his servants, whom he kindly transferred to my service for the present, I started towards my lodging a little before midnight.

The moon had risen while we were at supper, and its light, which whitened the gables on one side of the street, diffused a glimmer below sufficient to enable us to avoid the kennel. Seeing this, I bade the men put out our torch. Frost had set in, and a keen wind was blowing, so that we were glad to hurry on at a good pace; and the streets being quite deserted at this late hour, or haunted only by those who had come to dread the town marshal, we met no one and saw no lights. I fell to thinking, for my part, of the evening I had spent searching Blois for Mademoiselle, and of the difference between then and now. Nor did I fail while on this track to retrace it still farther to the evening of our arrival at my mother’s; whence, as a source, such kindly and gentle thoughts welled up in my mind as were natural, and the unfailing affection of that gracious woman required. These, taking the place for the moment of the anxious calculations and stern purposes which had of late engrossed me, were only ousted by something which, happening under my eyes, brought me violently and abruptly to myself.

This was the sudden appearance of three men, who issued one by one from an alley a score of yards in front of us, and after pausing a second to look back the way they had come, flitted on in single file along the street, disappearing, as far as the darkness permitted me to judge, round a second corner. I by no means liked their appearance, and, as a scream and the clash of arms rang out next moment from the direction in which they had gone, I cried lustily to Simon Fleix to follow, and ran on, believing from the rascals’ movements that they were after no good, but that rather some honest man was like to be sore beset.

On reaching the lane down which they had plunged, however, I paused a moment, considering not so much its black-ness, which was intense, the eaves nearly meeting overhead, as the small chance I had of distinguishing between attackers and attacked. But Simon and the men overtaking me, and the sounds of a sharp tussle still continuing, I decided to venture, and plunged into the alley, my left arm well advanced, with the skirt of my cloak thrown over it, and my sword drawn back. I shouted as I ran, thinking that the knaves might desist on hearing me; and this was what happened, for as I arrived on the scene of action–the farther end of the alley–two men took to their heels, while of two who remained, one lay at length in the kennel, and another rose slowly from his knees.

‘You are just in time, sir,’ the latter said, breathing hard, but speaking with a preciseness which sounded familiar. ‘I am obliged to you, sir, whoever you are. The villains had got me down, and in a few minutes more would have made my mother childless. By the way, you have no light, have you?’ he continued, lisping like a woman.

One of M. de Rambouillet’s men, who had by this time come up, cried out that it was Monsieur Francois.

‘Yes, blockhead!’ the young gentleman answered with the utmost coolness. ‘But I asked for a light, not for my name.

‘I trust you are not hurt, sir?’ I said, putting up my sword.

‘Scratched only,’ he answered, betraying no surprise on learning who it was had come up so opportunely; as he no doubt did learn from my voice, for he continued with a bow, a slight price to pay for the knowledge that M. de Marsac is as forward on the field as on the stairs.’

I bowed my acknowledgments.

‘This fellow,’ I said, ‘is he much hurt?’

‘Tut, tut! I thought I had saved the marshal all trouble, M. Francois replied. ‘Is he not dead, Gil?’

The poor wretch made answer for himself, crying out piteously, and in a choking voice, for a priest to shrive him. At that moment Simon Fleix returned with our torch, which he had lighted at the nearest cross-streets, where there was a brazier, and we saw by this light that the man was coughing up blood, and might live perhaps half an hour.

‘Mordieu! That comes of thrusting too high!’ M. Francois muttered, regretfully. An inch lower, and there would have been none of this trouble! I suppose somebody must fetch one. Gil,’ he continued, ‘run, man, to the sacristy in the Rue St. Denys, and get a Father. Or–stay! Help to lift him under the lee of the wall there. The wind cuts like a knife here.’

The street being on the slope of the hill, the lower part of the house nearest us stood a few feet from the ground, on wooden piles, and the space underneath it, being enclosed at the back and sides, was used as a cart-house. The servants moved the dying man into this rude shelter, and I accompanied them, being unwilling to leave the young gentleman alone. Not wishing, however, to seem to interfere, I walked to the farther end, and sat down on the shaft of a cart, whence I idly admired the strange aspect of the group I had left, as the glare of the torch brought now one and now another into prominence, and sometimes shone on M. Francois’ jewelled fingers toying with his tiny moustache, and sometimes on the writhing features of the man at his feet.

On a sudden, and before Gil had started on his errand, I saw there was a priest among them. I had not seen him enter, nor had I any idea whence he came. My first impression was only that here was a priest, and that he was looking at me–not at the man craving his assistance on the floor, or at those who stood round him, but at me, who sat away in the shadow beyond the ring of light!

This was surprising; but a second glance explained it, for then I saw that he was the Jacobin monk who had haunted my mother’s dying hours. And, amazed as much at this strange RENCONTRE as at the man’s boldness, I sprang up and strode forwards, forgetting, in an impulse of righteous anger, the office he came to do. And this the more as his face, still turned to me, seemed instinct to my eyes with triumphant malice. As I moved towards him, however, with a fierce exclamation on my lips, he suddenly dropped his eyes and knelt. Immediately M. Francois cried ‘Hush!’ and the men turned to me with scandalised faces. I fell back. Yet even then, whispering on his knees by the dying man, the knave was thinking, I felt sure, of me, glorying at once in his immunity and the power it gave him to tantalise me without fear.

I determined, whatever the result, to intercept him when all was over; and on the man dying a few minutes later, I walked resolutely to the open side of the shed, thinking it likely he might try to slip away as mysteriously as he had come. He stood a moment speaking to M. Francois, however, and then, accompanied by him, advanced boldly to meet me, a lean smile on his face.

‘Father Antoine,’ M. d’Agen said politely,’ tells me that he knows you, M. de Marsac, and desires to speak to you, MAL-A- PROPOS as is the occasion.’

‘And I to him,’ I answered, trembling with rage, and only restraining by an effort the impulse which would have had me dash my hand in the priest’s pale, smirking face. ‘I have waited long for this moment,’ I continued, eyeing him steadily, as M. Francois withdrew out of hearing, ‘and had you tried to avoid me, I would have dragged you back, though all your tribe were here to protect you.’

His presence so maddened me that I scarcely knew what I said. I felt my breath come quickly, I felt the blood surge to my head, and it was with difficulty I restrained myself when he answered with well-affected sanctity, ‘Like mother, like son, I fear, sir. Huguenots both.’

I choked with rage. What!’ I said, ‘you dare to threaten me as you threatened my mother? Fool! know that only to-day for the purpose of discovering and punishing you I took the rooms in which my mother died.’

‘I know it,’ he answered quietly. And then in a second, as by magic, he altered his demeanour completely, raising his head and looking me in the face. ‘That, and so much besides, I know,’ he continued, giving me, to my astonishment, frown for frown, ‘that if you will listen to me for a moment, M. de Marsac, and listen quietly, I will convince you that the folly is not on my side.’

Amazed at his new manner, in which there was none of the madness that had marked him at our first meeting, but a strange air of authority, unlike anything I had associated with him before, I signed to him to proceed.

‘You think that I am in your power?’ he said, smiling.

‘I think,’ I retorted swiftly, ‘that, escaping me now, you will have at your heels henceforth a worse enemy than even your own sins.’

‘Just so,’ he answered, nodding. ‘Well, I am going to show you that the reverse is the case; and that you are as completely in my hands, to spare or to break, as this straw. In the first place, you are here in Blois, a Huguenot!’

‘Chut!’ I exclaimed contemptuously, affecting a confidence I was far from feeling. ‘A little while back that might have availed you. But we are in Blois, not Paris. It is not far to the Loire, and you have to deal with a man now, not with a woman. It is you who have cause to tremble, not I.’

‘You think to be protected,’ he answered with a sour smile, ‘even on this side of the Loire, I see. But one word to the Pope’s Legate, or to the Duke of Nevers, and you would see the inside of a dungeon, if not worse. For the king–‘

‘King or no king!’ I answered, interrupting him with more assurance than I felt, seeing that I remembered only too well Henry’s remark that Rosny must not look to him for protection, ‘I fear you not a whit! And that reminds me. I have heard you talk treason–rank, black treason, priest, as ever sent man to rope, and I will give you up. By heaven I will!’ I cried, my rage increasing, as I discerned, more and more clearly, the dangerous hold he had over me. ‘You have threatened me! One word, and I will send you to the gallows!’

‘Sh!’ he answered, indicating M. Francois by, a gesture of the hand. ‘For your own sake, not mine. This is fine talking, but you have not yet heard all I know. Would you like to hear how you have spent the last month? Two days after Christmas, M. de Marsac, you left Chize with a young lady–I can give you her name, if you please. Four days afterwards you reached Blois, and took her to your mother’s lodging. Next morning she left you for M. de Bruhl. Two days later you tracked her to a house in the Ruelle d’Arcy, and freed her, but lost her in the moment of victory. Then you stayed in Blois until your mother’s death, going a day or two later to M. de Rosny’s house by Mantes, where mademoiselle still is. Yesterday you arrived in Blois with M. de Rosny ; you went to his lodging; you–‘

‘Proceed, I muttered, leaning forward. Under cover of my cloak I drew my dagger half-way from its sheath. ‘Proceed, sir, I pray,’ I repeated with dry lips.

‘You slept there,’ he continued, holding his ground, but shuddering slightly, either from cold or because he perceived my movement and read my design in my eyes.

‘This morning you remained here in attendance on M. de Rambouillet.’

For the moment I breathed freely again, perceiving that though he knew much, the one thing on which M. de Rosny’s design turned had escaped him. The secret interview with the king, which compromised alike Henry himself and M. de Rambouillet, had apparently passed unnoticed and unsuspected. With a sigh of intense relief I slid back the dagger, which I had fully made up my mind to use had he known all, and drew my cloak round me with a shrug of feigned indifference. I sweated to think what he did know, but our interview with the king having escaped him, I breathed again.

‘Well, sir,’ I said curtly, ‘I have listened. And now, what is the purpose of all this?’

‘My purpose?’ he answered, his eyes glittering. ‘To show you that you are in my power. You are the agent of M. de Rosny. I, the agent, however humble, of the Holy Catholic League. Of your movements I know all. What do you know of mine?’

‘Knowledge,’ I made grim answer, ‘is not everything, sir priest.’

‘It is more than it was,’ he said, smiling his thin-lipped smile. ‘It is going to be more than it is. And I know much–about you, M. de Marsac.’

‘You know too much!’ I retorted, feeling his covert threats close round me like the folds of some great serpent. ‘But you are imprudent, I think. Will you tell me what is to prevent me striking you through where you stand, and ridding myself at a blow of so much knowledge?’

‘The presence of three men, M. de Marsac,’ he answered lightly, waving his hand towards M. Francois and the others, ‘every one of whom would give you up to justice. You forget that you are north of the Loire, and that priests are not to be massacred here with impunity, as in your lawless south-country. However, enough. The night is cold, and M. d’Agen grows suspicious as well as impatient. We have, perhaps, spoken too long already. Permit me –he bowed and drew back a step–‘to resume this discussion to- morrow.’

Despite his politeness and the hollow civility with which he thus sought; to close the interview, the light of triumph which shone in his eyes, as the glare of the torch fell athwart them, no less than the assured tone of his voice, told me clearly that he knew his power. He seemed, indeed, transformed: no longer a slinking, peaceful clerk, preying on a woman’s fears, but a bold and crafty schemer, skilled and unscrupulous, possessed of hidden knowledge and hidden resources; the personification of evil intellect. For a moment, knowing all I knew, and particularly the responsibilities which lay before me, and the interests committed to my hands, I quailed, confessing myself unequal to him. I forgot the righteous vengeance I owed him; I cried out helplessly against the ill-fortune which had brought him across my path. I saw myself enmeshed and fettered beyond hope of escape, and by an effort only controlled the despair I felt.

‘To-morrow?’ I muttered hoarsely. ‘At what time?’

He shook his head with a cunning smile. ‘A thousand thanks, but I will settle that myself!’ he answered. ‘Au revoir!’ and uttering a word of leave-taking to M. Francois d’Agen, he blessed the two servants, and went out into the night.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE OFFER OF THE LEAGUE.

When the last sound of his footsteps died away, I awoke as from an evil dream, and becoming conscious of the presence of M. Francois and the servants, recollected mechanically that I owed the former an apology for my discourtesy in keeping him standing in the cold. I began to offer it; but my distress and confusion of mind were such that in the middle of a set phrase I broke off, and stood looking fixedly at him, my trouble so plain that he asked me civilly if anything ailed me.

‘No,’ I answered, turning from him impatiently; ‘nothing, nothing, sir. Or tell me,’ I continued, with an abrupt change of mind, ‘who is that; who has just left us?’

‘Father Antoine, do you mean?’

‘Ay, Father Antoine, Father Judas, call him what you like,’ I rejoined bitterly.

‘Then if you leave the choice to me,’ M. Francois answered with grave politeness, ‘I would rather call him something more pleasant, M. de Marsac–James or John, let us say. For there is little said here which does not come back to him. If walls have ears, the walls of Blois are in his pay. But I thought you knew him,’ he continued. ‘He is secretary, confidant, chaplain, what you will, to Cardinal Retz, and one of those whom–in your ear– greater men court and more powerful men lean on. If I had to choose between them, I would rather cross M. de Crillon.’

‘I am obliged to you,’ I muttered, checked as much by his manner as his words.

‘Not at all,’ he answered more lightly. ‘Any information I have is at your disposal.’

However, I saw the imprudence of venturing farther, and hastened to take leave of him, persuading him to allow one of M. de Rambouillet’s servants to accompany him home. He said that he should call on me in the morning; and forcing myself to answer him in a suitable manner, I saw him depart one way, and myself, accompanied by Simon Fleix, went off another. My feet were frozen with long standing–I think the corpse we left was scarce colder–but my head was hot with feverish doubts and fears. The moon had sunk and the streets were dark. Our torch had burned out, and we had no light. But where my followers saw only blackness and vacancy, I saw an evil smile and a lean visage fraught with menace and exultation.

For the more closely I directed my mind to the position in which I stood, the graver it seemed. Pitted against Bruhl alone, amid strange surroundings and in an atmosphere of Court intrigue, I had thought my task sufficiently difficult and the disadvantages under which I laboured sufficiently serious before this interview. Conscious of a certain rustiness and a distaste for finesse, with resources so inferior to Bruhl’s that even M. de Rosny’s liberality had not done much to make up the difference, I had accepted the post offered me rather readily than sanguinely; with joy, seeing that it held out the hope of high reward, but with no certain expectation of success. Still, matched with a man of violent and headstrong character, I had seen no reason to despair; nor any why I might not arrange the secret meeting between the king and mademoiselle with safety, and conduct to its end an intrigue simple and unsuspected, and requiring for its execution rather courage and caution than address or experience.

Now, however, I found that Bruhl was not my only or my most dangerous antagonist. Another was in the field–or, to speak more correctly, was waiting outside the arena, ready to snatch the prize when we should have disabled one another, From a dream of Bruhl and myself as engaged in a competition for the king’s favour, wherein neither could expose the other nor appeal even in the last resort to the joint-enemies of his Majesty and ourselves, I awoke to a very different state of things; I awoke to find those enemies the masters of the situation, possessed of the clue to our plans, and permitting them only as long as they seemed to threaten no serious peril to themselves.

No discovery could be more mortifying or more fraught with terror. The perspiration stood on my brow as I recalled the warning which M. de Rosny had uttered against Cardinal Retz, or noted down the various points of knowledge which were in Father Antoine’s possession. He knew every event of the last month, with one exception, and could tell, I verily believed, how many crowns I had in my pouch. Conceding this, and the secret sources of information he must possess, what hope had I of keeping my future movements from him? Mademoiselle’s arrival would be known to him before she had well passed the gates; nor was it likely, or even possible, that I should again succeed in reaching the king’s presence untraced and unsuspected. In fine, I saw myself, equally with Bruhl, a puppet in this man’s hands, my goings out and my comings in watched and reported to him, his mercy the only bar between myself and destruction. At any moment I might be arrested as a Huguenot, the enterprise in which I was engaged ruined, and Mademoiselle de la Vire exposed to the violence of Bruhl or the equally dangerous intrigues of the League.

Under these circumstances I fancied sleep impossible; but habit and weariness are strong persuaders, and when I reached my lodging I slept long and soundly, as became a man who had looked danger in the face more than once. The morning light too brought an accession both of courage and hope. I reflected on the misery of my condition at St. Jean d’Angely, without friends or resources, and driven to herd with such a man as Fresnoy. And telling myself that the gold crowns which M. de Rosny had lavished upon me were not for nothing, nor the more precious friendship with which he had honoured me a gift that called for no return, I rose with new spirit and a countenance which threw Simon Fleix who had seen me lie down the picture of despair– into the utmost astonishment.

‘You have had good dreams,’ he said, eyeing me jealously and with a disturbed air.

‘I had a very evil one last night,’ I answered lightly, wondering