Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XIII.

  AT ROSNY.

  The morning brought only fresh proofs of the kindness which M. deRosny had conceived for me. Awaking early I found on a stool beside myclothes, a purse of gold containing a hundred crowns; and a youthpresently entering to ask me if I lacked anything, I had at first somedifficulty in recognising Simon Fleix, so sprucely was the laddressed, in a mode resembling Maignan's. I looked at the student morethan once before I addressed him by his name; and was as muchsurprised by the strange change I observed in him--for it was notconfined to his clothes--as by anything which had happened since Ientered the house. I rubbed my eyes, and asked him what he had donewith his soutane.

  'Burned it, M. de Marsac,' he answered briefly.

  I saw that he had burned much, metaphorically speaking, besides hissoutane. He was less pale, less lank, less wo-begone than formerly,and went more briskly. He had lost the air of crack-brained disorderwhich had distinguished him, and was smart, sedate, and stooped less.Only the odd sparkle remained in his eyes, and bore witness to thesame nervous, eager spirit within.

  'What are you going to do, then, Simon?' I asked, noting these changescuriously.

  'I am a soldier,' he answered, 'and follow M. de Marsac.'

  I laughed. 'You have chosen a poor service, I am afraid,' I said,beginning to rise; 'and one, too, Simon, in which it is possible youmay be killed. I thought that would not suit you,' I continued, to seewhat he would say. But he answered nothing, and I looked at him ingreat surprise. 'You have made up your mind, then, at last?' I said.

  'Perfectly,' he answered.

  'And solved all your doubts?'

  'I have no doubts.'

  'You are a Huguenot?'

  'That is the only true and pure religion,' he replied gravely. Andwith apparent sincerity and devotion he repeated Beza's Confession ofFaith.

  This filled me with profound astonishment, but I said no more at thetime, though I had my doubts. I waited until I was alone with M. deRosny, and then I unbosomed myself on the matter; expressing mysurprise at the suddenness of the conversion, and at such a man, as Ihad found the student to be, stating his views so firmly andsteadfastly, and with so little excitement. Observing that M. de Rosnysmiled but answered nothing, I explained myself farther.

  'I am surprised,' I said, 'because I have always heard it maintainedthat clerkly men, becoming lost in the mazes of theology, seldom findany sure footing; that not one in a hundred returns to his old faith,or finds grace to accept a new one. I am speaking only of such, ofcourse, as I believe this lad to be--eager, excitable brains, learningmuch, and without judgment to digest what they learn.'

  'Of such I also believe it to be true,' M. de Rosny answered, stillsmiling. 'But even on them a little influence, applied at the rightmoment, has much effect, M. de Marsac.'

  'I allow that,' I said. 'But my mother, of whom I have spoken to you,saw much of this youth. His fidelity to her was beyond praise. Yet herfaith, though grounded on a rock, had no weight with him.'

  M. de Rosny shook his head, still smiling.

  'It is not our mothers who convert us,' he said.

  'What!' I cried, my eyes opened. 'Do you mean--do you mean thatMademoiselle has done this?'

  'I fancy so,' he answered, nodding. 'I think my lady cast her spellover him by the way. The lad left Blois with her, if what you say betrue, without faith in the world. He came to my hands two days laterthe stoutest of Huguenots. It is not hard to read this riddle.'

  'Such conversions are seldom lasting,' I said.

  He looked at me queerly; and, the smile still hovering about his lips,answered 'Tush, man! Why so serious? Theodore Beza himself could notlook dryer. The lad is in earnest, and there is no harm done.'

  And, Heaven knows, I was in no mood to suspect harm; nor inclined justthen to look at the dark side of things. It may be conceived howdelightful it was to me to be received as an equal and honoured guestby a man, even then famous, and now so grown in reputation as toovershadow all Frenchmen save his master; how pleasant to enjoy thecomforts and amiabilities of home, from which I had been longestranged; to pour my mother's story into Madame's ears and findcomfort in her sympathy; to feel myself, in fine, once more agentleman with an acknowledged place in the world. Our days we spentin hunting, or excursions of some kind, our evenings in longconversations, which impressed me with an ever-growing respect for mylord's powers.

  For there seemed to be no end either to his knowledge of France, or tothe plans for its development, which even then filled his brain, andhave since turned wildernesses into fruitful lands, and squalid townsinto great cities. Grave and formal, he could yet unbend; the mostsagacious of counsellors, he was a soldier also, and loved theseclusion in which we lived the more that it was not devoid of danger;the neighbouring towns being devoted to the League, and the generaldisorder alone making it possible for him to lie unsuspected in hisown house.

  One thing only rendered my ease and comfort imperfect, and that wasthe attitude which Mademoiselle de la Vire assumed towards me. Of hergratitude in the first blush of the thing I felt no doubt, for notonly had she thanked me very prettily, though with reserve, on theevening of my arrival, but the warmth of M. de Rosny's kindness leftme no choice, save to believe that she had given him an exaggeratedidea of my merits and services. I asked no more than this. Such goodoffices left me nothing to expect or desire; my age and ill-fortuneplacing me at so great a disadvantage that, far from dreaming offriendship or intimacy with her, I did not even assume the equality inour daily intercourse to which my birth, taken by itself, entitled me.Knowing that I must appear in her eyes old, poor, and ill-dressed, andsatisfied with having asserted my conduct and honour, I was carefulnot to trespass on her gratitude; and while forward in such courtesiesas could not weary her, I avoided with equal care every appearance ofpursuing her, or inflicting my company upon her. I addressed herformally and upon formal topics only, such, I mean, as we shared withthe rest of our company; and reminded myself often that though we nowmet in the same house and at the same table, she was still theMademoiselle de la Vire who had borne herself so loftily in the Kingof Navarre's ante-chamber. This I did, not out of pique or woundedpride, which I no more, God knows, harboured against her than againsta bird; but that I might not in my new prosperity forget the light inwhich such a woman, young, spoiled, and beautiful, must still regardme.

  Keeping to this inoffensive posture, I was the more hurt when I foundher gratitude fade with the hour. After the first two days, duringwhich I remarked that she was very silent, seldom speaking to me orlooking at me, she resumed much of her old air of disdain. For that Icared little; but she presently went farther, and began to rake up theincidents which had happened at St. Jean d'Angely, and in which I hadtaken part. She continually adverted to my poverty while there, to theodd figure I had cut, and the many jests her friends had made at myexpense. She seemed to take a pleasure positively savage in these,gibing at me sometimes so bitterly as to shame and pain me, and bringthe colour to Madame de Rosny's cheeks.

  To the time we had spent together, on the other hand, she never orrarely referred. One afternoon, however, a week after my arrival atRosny, I found her sitting alone in the parlour. I had not known shewas there, and I was for withdrawing at once with a bow and a mutteredapology. But she stopped me with an angry gesture. 'I do not bite,'she said, rising from her stool and meeting my eyes, a red spot ineach cheek. 'Why do you look at me like that? Do you know, M. deMarsac, that I have no patience with you.' And she stamped her foot onthe floor.

  'But, mademoiselle,' I stammered humbly, wondering what in the worldshe meant, 'what have I done?'

  'Done?' she repeated angrily. 'Done? It is not what you have done, itis what you are. I have no patience with you. Why are you so dull,sir? Why are you so dowdy? Why do you go about with your doublet awry,and your hair lank? Why do you speak to Maignan as if he were agentleman? Why do you look always solemn and polite, and as if a
ll theworld were a preche? Why? Why? Why, I say?'

  She stopped from sheer lack of breath, leaving me as much astonishedas ever in my life. She looked so beautiful in her fury and fiercenesstoo, that I could only stare at her and wonder dumbly what it allmeant.

  'Well!' she cried impatiently, after bearing this as long as shecould, 'have you not a word to say for yourself? Have you no tongue?Have you no will of your own at all, M. de Marsac?'

  'But, mademoiselle,' I began, trying to explain.

  'Chut!' she exclaimed, cutting me short before I could get farther, asthe way of women is. And then she added, in a changed tone, and veryabruptly, 'You have a velvet knot of mine, sir. Give it me.'

  'It is in my room,' I answered, astonished beyond measure at thissudden change of subject, and equally sudden demand.

  'Then fetch it, sir, if you please,' she replied, her eyes flashingafresh. 'Fetch it. Fetch it, I say! It has served its turn, and Iprefer to have it. Who knows but that some day you may be showing itfor a love-knot?'

  'Mademoiselle!' I cried, hotly. And I think that for the moment I wasas angry as she was.

  'Still, I prefer to have it,' she answered sullenly, casting down hereyes.

  I was so much enraged, I went without a word and fetched it, and,bringing it to her where she stood, in the same place, put it into herhands. When she saw it some recollection, I fancy, of the day when shehad traced the cry for help on it, came to her in her anger; for shetook it from me with all her bearing altered. She trembled, and heldit for a moment in her hands, as if she did not know what to do withit. She was thinking, doubtless, of the house in Blois and the perilshe had run there; and, being for my part quite willing that sheshould think and feel how badly she had acted, I stood looking at her,sparing her no whit of my glance.

  'The gold chain you left on my mother's pillow,' I said coldly, seeingshe continued silent, 'I cannot return to you at once, for I havepledged it. But I will do so as soon as I can.'

  'You have pledged it?' she muttered, with her eyes averted.

  'Yes, mademoiselle, to procure a horse to bring me here,' I replieddrily. 'However, it shall be redeemed. In return, there is something Itoo would ask.'

  'What?' she murmured, recovering herself with an effort, and lookingat me with something of her old pride and defiance.

  'The broken coin you have,' I said. 'The token, I mean. It is of nouse to you, for your enemies hold the other half. It might be ofservice to me.'

  'How?' she asked curtly.

  'Because some day I may find its fellow, mademoiselle.'

  'And then?' she cried. She looked at me, her lips parted, her eyesflashing. 'What then, when you have found its fellow, M. de Marsac?'

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  'Bah!' she exclaimed, clenching her little hand, and stamping her footon the floor in a passion I could not understand. 'That is you! Thatis M. de Marsac all over. You say nothing, and men think nothing ofyou. You go with your hat in your hand, and they tread on you. Theyspeak, and you are silent! Why, if I could use a sword as you can, Iwould keep silence before no man, nor let any man save the King ofFrance cock his hat in my presence! But you! There! go, leave me. Hereis your coin. Take it and go. Send me that lad of yours to keep meawake. At any rate he has brains, he is young, he is a man, he has asoul, he can feel--if he were anything but a clerk.'

  She waved me off in such a wind of passion as might have amused me inanother, but in her smacked so strongly of ingratitude as to pain menot a little. I went, however, and sent Simon to her; though I likedthe errand very ill, and no better when I saw the lad's face light upat the mention of her name. But apparently she had not recovered hertemper when he reached her, for he fared no better than I had done;coming away presently with the air of a whipped dog, as I saw from theyew-tree walk where I was strolling.

  Still, after that she made it a habit to talk to him more and more;and, Monsieur and Madame de Rosny being much taken up with oneanother, there was no one to check her fancy or speak a word ofadvice. Knowing her pride, I had no fears for her; but it grieved meto think that the lad's head should be turned. A dozen times I made upmy mind to speak to her on his behalf; but for one thing it was not mybusiness, and for another I soon discovered that she was aware of mydispleasure, and valued it not a jot. For venturing one morning, whenshe was in a pleasant humour, to hint that she treated those beneathher too inhumanly, and with an unkindness as little becoming nobleblood as familiarity, she asked me scornfully if I did not think shetreated Simon Fleix well enough. To which I had nothing to answer.

  I might here remark on the system of secret intelligence by means ofwhich M. de Rosny, even in this remote place, received news of allthat was passing in France. But it is common fame. There was no comingor going of messengers, which would quickly have aroused suspicion inthe neighbouring town, nor was it possible even for me to say exactlyby what channels news came. But come it did, and at all hours of theday. In this way we heard of the danger of La Ganache and of theeffort contemplated by the King of Navarre for its relief. M. de Rosnynot only communicated these matters to me without reserve, but engagedmy affections by farther proofs of confidence such as might well haveflattered a man of greater importance.

  I have said that, as a rule, there was no coming or going ofmessengers. But one evening, returning from the chase with one of thekeepers, who had prayed my assistance in hunting down a crippled doe,I was surprised to find a strange horse, which had evidently beenridden hard and far, standing smoking in the yard. Inquiring whose itwas, I learned that a man believed by the grooms to be from Blois hadjust arrived and was closeted with the baron. An event so far out ofthe ordinary course of things naturally aroused my wonder; butdesiring to avoid any appearance of curiosity, which, if indulged, isapt to become the most vulgar of vices, I refrained from entering thehouse, and repaired instead to the yew-walk. I had scarcely, however,heated my blood, a little chilled with riding, before the page came tome to fetch me to his master.

  I found M. de Rosny striding up and down his room, his manner sodisordered and his face disfigured by so much grief and horror that Istarted on seeing him. My heart sinking in a moment, I did not need tolook at Madame, who sat weeping silently in a chair, to assure myselfthat something dreadful had happened. The light was failing, and alamp had been brought into the room. M. de Rosny pointed abruptly to asmall piece of paper which lay on the table beside it, and, obeyinghis gesture, I took this up and read its contents, which consisted ofless than a score of words.

  'He is ill and like to die,' the message ran, 'twenty leagues south ofLa Ganache. Come at all costs. P. M.'

  'Who?' I said stupidly--stupidly, for already I began to understand.'Who is ill and like to die?'

  M. de Rosny turned to me, and I saw that the tears were tricklingunbidden down his cheeks. 'There is but one he for me,' he cried. 'MayGod spare that one! May He spare him to France, which needs him, tothe Church, which hangs on him, and to me, who love him! Let him notfall in the hour of fruition. O Lord, let him not fall!' And he sankon to a stool, and remained in that posture with his face in hishands, his broad shoulders shaken with grief.

  'Come, sir,' I said, after a pause sacred to sorrow and dismay; 'letme remind you that while there is life there is hope.'

  'Hope?'

  'Yes, M. de Rosny, hope,' I replied more cheerfully. He has work todo. He is elected, called, and chosen; the Joshua of his people, as M.d'Amours rightly called him. God will not take him yet. You shall seehim and be embraced by him, as has happened a hundred times. Remember,sir, the King of Navarre is strong, hardy, and young, and no doubt ingood hands.'

  'Mornay's,' M. de Rosny cried, looking up with contempt in his eye.

  Yet from that moment he rallied, spurred, I think, by the thought thatthe King of Navarre's recovery depended under God on M. de Mornay;whom he was ever inclined to regard as his rival. He began to makeinstant preparations for departure from Rosny, and bade me do so also,telling me, somewhat curtly and without explanatio
n, that he had needof me. The danger of so speedy a return to the South, where the fullweight of the Vicomte de Turenne's vengeance awaited me, occurred tome strongly; and I ventured, though with a little shame, to mentionit. But M. de Rosny, after gazing at me a moment in apparent doubt,put the objection aside with a degree of peevishness unusual in him,and continued to press on his arrangements as earnestly as though theydid not include separation from a wife equally loving and beloved.

  Having few things to look to myself, I was at leisure, when the hourof departure came, to observe both the courage with which Madame deRosny supported her sorrow, 'for the sake of France,' and the unwontedtenderness which Mademoiselle de la Vire, lifted for once aboveherself, lavished on her. I seemed to stand--happily in one light, andyet the feeling was fraught with pain--outside their familiarrelations; yet, having made my adieux as short and formal as possible,that I might not encroach on other and more sacred ones, I found atthe last moment something in waiting for me. I was surprised as I rodeunder the gateway a little ahead of the others, by something small andlight falling on the saddle-bow before me. Catching it before it couldslide to the ground, I saw, with infinite astonishment, that I held inmy hand a tiny velvet bow.

  To look up at the window of the parlour, which I have said was overthe archway, was my first impulse. I did so, and met mademoiselle'seyes for a second, and a second only. The next moment she was gone. M.de Rosny clattered through the gate at my heels, the servants behindhim. And we were on the road.