CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC WHILE WAITING FOR GASTON.
"What, monseigneur, you here!" cried Dubois, entering the room of thehouse in the Rue du Bac, and finding the regent seated in the same placeas on the previous day.
"Yes; is there anything wonderful in that? Have I not an appointment atnoon with the chevalier?"
"But I thought the order you signed would have put an end to theseconferences."
"You were mistaken, Dubois; I wish to have another interview with thisyoung man. I shall make one more effort to induce him to renounce hisplans."
"And if he should do so?"
"Then all will be at an end--there will be no conspiracy--there willhave been no conspirators. I cannot punish intentions."
"With any other I should not allow this; but with him I say, as youplease."
"You think he will remain firm?"
"Oh! I am quite easy. But when he has decidedly refused, when you arequite convinced that he persists in his intention of assassinating you,then you will give him over to me, will you not?"
"Yes, but not here."
"Why not here?"'
"Better to arrest him at his hotel."
"There, at the Muids d'Amour, with Tapin and D'Argenson'speople--impossible, monsieur. Bourguignon's affair is still ineverybody's mouth in that quarter. I am not sure that they even quitebelieve in the attack of apoplexy, since Tapin now gives strict measure.It will be much better to arrest him as he leaves here, monseigneur; thehouse is quiet; four men could easily do it, and they are already here.I will move them, as you insist on seeing him; and, instead of arrestinghim as he enters, it must be done as he leaves. At the door a carriageshall be ready to take him to the Bastille; so that even the coachmanwho brings him here shall not know what has become of him. No one butMonsieur de Launay shall know; and I will answer for his discretion."
"Do as you please."
"That is my usual custom."
"Rascal that you are!"
"But I think monseigneur reaps the benefit of the rascality."
"Oh, I know you are always right."
"But the others?"
"What others?"
"The Bretons, Pontcalec, Du Couedic, Talhouet, and Montlouis?"
"Oh, the unfortunates; you know their names."
"And how do you think I have passed my time at the hotel Muids d'Amour?"
"They will know of their accomplice's arrest."
"How?"
"Having no letter from Paris, they will fear that something is wrong."
"Bah! Is not Captain la Jonquiere there to reassure them?"
"True; but they must know the writing?"
"Not bad, monseigneur, you are improving; but you take uselessprecautions, as Racine says. At this moment, probably, they arearrested."
"And who dispatched the order?"
"I. Pardieu! I am not your minister for nothing. Besides, you signedit."
"I! Are you mad?"
"Assuredly, these men are not less guilty than the chevalier; and inauthorizing me to arrest one, you authorized me to arrest all."
"And when did the bearer of this order leave?"
Dubois took out his watch.
"Just three hours ago. Thus, it was a poetical license when I said theywere all arrested; they will not be till to-morrow morning."
"Bretagne will be aroused, Dubois."
"Bah! I have taken measures."
"The Breton tribunals will not condemn their compatriots."
"That case is foreseen."
"And, if they should be condemned, none will be found to execute them.It will be a second edition of the affair at Chalais. Remember, it wasat Nantes that _that_ took place, Dubois. I tell you, Bretons areunaccommodating."
"This is a point to settle with the commissioners, of whom this is alist. I will send three or four executioners from Paris--men accustomedto noble deeds--who have preserved the traditions of the Cardinal deRichelieu."
"Good God!" cried the regent; "bloodshed under my reign--I do not likeit. As to Count Horn, he was a thief, and Duchaffour a wretch; but I amtender, Dubois."
"No, monseigneur, you are not tender; you are uncertain and weak; I toldyou so when you were my scholar--I tell you so again, now that you aremy master. When you were christened, your godmothers, the fairies, gaveyou every gift of nature--strength, beauty, courage, and mind: onlyone--whom they did not invite because she was old, and they probablyforesaw your aversion to old women--arrived the last, and gave youweakness--that spoiled all."
"And who told you this pretty tale? Perrault or St. Simon?"
"The princess palatine, your mother."
The regent laughed.
"And whom shall we choose for the commission?" asked he.
"Oh, monseigneur, people of mind and resolution, be sure; notprovincials; not very sensitive to family scenes; men old in the dust oftribunals, whom the Breton men will not frighten with their fierce eyes,nor the Breton women seduce with their beautiful languid ones."
The regent made no reply.
"After all," continued Dubois, "these people may not be as guilty as wesuppose. What they have plotted let us recapitulate. Bah! mere trifles.To bring back the Spaniards into France, what is that? To call Philipthe Fifth king, the renouncer of his country; to break all the laws ofthe State--these good Bretons."
"Dubois, I know the national law as well as you."
"Then, monseigneur, if you speak truly, you have only to approve thenomination of the commissioners I have chosen."
"How many are there?"
"Twelve."
"Their names?"
Dubois gave in the list.
"Ah, you were right--a happy choice; but who is to preside over thisamiable assembly?"
"Guess, monseigneur."
"Take care; you must have an honest man at the head of these ravagers."
"I have one."
"Who is it?"
"An ambassador."
"Cellamare, perhaps."
"Ma foi! I think if you would let him come out of Blois he would notrefuse you even the heads of his accomplices."
"Let him stop at Blois. Who is to preside?"
"Chateau-Neuf."
"The ambassador from Holland, from the great king. Dubois, I do notgenerally compliment you, but this time you have done wonders."
"You understand, monseigneur: he knows that these people wish to make arepublic; and he, who is brought up to know none but sultans, and whohas a horror of Holland through the horror of Louis XIV. for republics,has accepted with a good grace. We shall have Argram for prosecutor.Cayet shall be our secretary. We go to work quickly and well,monseigneur, for time presses."
"But shall we at least have quiet afterward?"
"I believe so. We may sleep all day and all night; that is to say, whenwe have finished the war in Spain."
"Oh!" cried the regent, "why did I strive for the regency? I shouldlaugh to see M. de Maine freeing himself with his Jesuits and hisSpaniards! Madame de Maintenon and her politics, with Villeroy andVillars, would drive away the spleen; and Hubert says it is good tolaugh once a day."
"Apropos of Madame de Maintenon," replied Dubois; "you know,monseigneur, that she is very ill, and that she cannot live afortnight."
"Bah!"
"Since the imprisonment of Madame de Maine and the exile of her husband,she says that decidedly Louis XIV. is dead, and that she goes weeping torejoin him."
"Which does not trouble you, eh?"
"Oh! I confess that I hate her cordially; it was she who made the kingopen his eyes so wide when I asked for the red hat at your marriage;and, corbleu! it was not an easy thing to arrange, monseigneur, as youknow. If you had not been there to redress my wrongs, she would havespoiled my career. If I could but have crammed her M. de Maine into thisBretagne affair; but it was impossible--the poor man is half dead withfear, so that he says to every one he meets, 'Do you know there has beena conspiracy against the government of the king and against the
personof the regent? it is a disgrace to France. Ah! if all men were only likeme!'"
"No one would conspire--that is certain," said the regent.
"He has disowned his wife," added Dubois, laughing.
"And she has disowned her husband," said the regent, laughing also.
"I should not advise you to imprison them together--they would fight."
"Therefore I have placed one at Doulens, and the other at Dijon."
"From whence they bite by post."
"Let us put all that aside, Dubois."
"Ah, monseigneur! you have, I see, sworn the loss of the blood of LouisXIV.; you are a true executioner."
This audacious joke proved how sure Dubois felt of his ascendency overthe prince.
The regent signed the order naming the tribunal, and Dubois went out toprepare for Gaston's arrest.
Gaston, on his return to the Muids d'Amour, found the same carriage andthe same guide awaiting him that had before conducted him to the Rue duBac. Gaston, who did not wish Helene to alight, asked if he couldcontinue his route in the hired carriage in which he had just arrived;the man replied that he saw no objection, and mounted on the box by thedriver, to whom he told the address.
During the drive, Gaston, instead of displaying the courage which Helenehad expected, was sad, and yet gave no explanation of his sadness. Asthey entered the Rue du Bac, Helene, in despair at finding so littleforce of character in him on whom she leaned for protection, said:"Gaston, you frighten me."
"Helene, you shall see before long if I am acting for your good or not."
The carriage stopped.
"Helene, there is one in this house who will stand in the place of afather to you. Let me go first, and I announce you."
"Ah!" cried Helene, trembling, she knew not why; "and you are going toleave me here alone?"
"You have nothing to fear, Helene; besides, in a few minutes I willreturn and fetch you."
The young girl held out her hand, which Gaston pressed to his lips; thedoor opened; the carriage drove into the courtyard, where Gaston feltthat Helene ran no danger; the man who had come to the hotel to fetchhim opened the carriage door; Gaston again pressed Helene's hand,alighted, ascended the steps, and entered the corridor, when his guideleft him as before.
Gaston, knowing that Helene waited his return, at once tapped at thedoor of the room.
"Enter," said the voice of the false Spaniard.
Gaston knew the voice, entered, and with a calm face approached the Ducd'Olivares.
"You are punctual, monsieur," said the latter; "we named noon, and it isnow striking."
"I am pressed for time, monseigneur; my undertaking weighs on me; I fearto feel remorse. That astonishes and alarms you, does it not,monseigneur? But reassure yourself; the remorse of a man such as I amtroubles no one but himself."
"In truth, monsieur," cried the regent, with a feeling of joy he couldnot quite conceal, "I think you are drawing back."
"Not so, monseigneur; since fate chose me to strike the prince, I havegone steadily forward, and shall do so till my mission is accomplished."
"Monsieur, I thought I detected some hesitation in your words; and wordsare of weight in certain mouths, and under certain circumstances."
"Monsieur, in Bretagne we speak as we feel, but we also do as wepromise."
"Then you are resolved?"
"More than ever."
"Because, you see," replied the regent, "there is still time--the evilis not yet done."
"The evil, you call it, monseigneur," said Gaston; "what shall I call itthen?"
"It is thus that I meant it," replied the regent; "the evil is for you,since you feel remorse."
"It is not generous, monseigneur, to dwell on a confidence which Ishould not have made to any person of less merit than yourself."
"And it is because I appreciate your worth, monsieur, that I tell youthere is yet time to draw back; that I ask if you have reflected--if yourepent having mixed yourself with all these--" the dukehesitated--"these audacious enterprises. Fear nothing from me--I willprotect you, even if you desert us; I have seen you but once, but Ithink I judge of you as you deserve--men of worth are so rare that theregrets will be for us."
"Such kindness overwhelms me, monseigneur," said Gaston, who, in spiteof his courage, felt some indecision. "My prince, I do not hesitate; butmy reflections are those of a duelist, who goes to the ground determinedto kill his enemy, yet deploring the necessity which forces him to rob aman of life. But here the interest is so great, so superior to theweaknesses of our nature, that I will be true to my friendship if not mysympathies, and will conduct myself so that you shall esteem in me eventhe momentary weakness which for a second held back my arm."
"Well," said the regent, "how shall you proceed?"
"I shall wait till I meet him face to face, and then I shall not use anarquebuse, as Paltrot did, nor a pistol, as Vitry did. I shall say,'Monseigneur, you are the curse of France--I sacrifice you to hersalvation;' and I shall stab him with my poniard."
"As Ravaillac did," said the duke, with a serenity which made Gastonshudder; "it is well."
Gaston did not reply.
"This plan appears to me the most secure, and I approve of it; but Imust ask you one other question: suppose you should be taken andinterrogated?"
"Your excellency knows what men do in such cases--they die, but do notanswer; and since you have quoted Ravaillac, I think, if my memoryserves me, that was what he did--and yet Ravaillac was not a gentleman."
Gaston's pride did not displease the regent, who had a young heart anda chivalric mind; besides, accustomed to worn-out and time-servingcourtiers, Gaston's vigorous and simple nature was a novelty to him; andwe know how the regent loved a novelty.
"I may then reckon," said he, "that you are immovable?"
Gaston looked surprised that the duke should repeat this question.
"Yes," said the regent; "I see you are decided."
"Absolutely, and wait your last instructions."
"How? _my_ instructions?"
"Certainly; I have placed myself body and soul at your disposal."
The duke rose.
"Well," said he, "you must go out by that door, and cross the gardenwhich surrounds the house. In a carriage which awaits you at the bottomyou will find my secretary, who will give you a pass for an audiencewith the regent; besides that, you will have the warranty of my word."
"That is all I have to ask on that point, monseigneur."
"Have you anything else to say?"
"Yes; before I take leave of you, whom I may never see again in thisworld, I have a boon to ask."
"Speak, monsieur, I listen."
"Monsieur," said Gaston, "do not wonder if I hesitate a moment, for thisis no personal favor and no ordinary service--Gaston de Chanlay needsbut a dagger, and here it is; but in sacrificing his body he would notlose his soul; mine, monseigneur, belongs first to God and then to ayoung girl whom I love to idolatry--sad love, is it not, which hasbloomed so near a tomb? To abandon this pure and tender girl would be totempt God in a most rash manner, for I see that sometimes he tries uscruelly, and lets even his angels suffer. I love, then, an adorablewoman, whom my affection has supported and protected against infamousschemes; when I am dead or banished, what will become of her? _Our_heads fall, monseigneur; they are those of simple gentlemen; but you area powerful adversary, and supported by a powerful king; _you_ canconquer evil fortune. I wish to place in your hands the treasure of mysoul. You will bestow on her all the protection which, as an accomplice,as an associate, you owe to me."
"Monsieur, I promise you," replied the regent, deeply moved.
"That is not all, monseigneur; misfortune may overtake me, and find menot able to bestow my person upon her; I would yet leave her my name. IfI die she has no fortune, for she is an orphan. On leaving Nantes I madea will wherein I left her everything I possessed. Monseigneur, if I die,let her be a widow--is it possible?"
"Who opposes it?"
&n
bsp; "No one; but I may be arrested to-morrow, this evening, on putting myfoot outside this house."
The regent started at this strange presentiment.
"Suppose I am taken to the Bastille; could you obtain for me permissionto marry her before my execution?"
"I am sure of it."
"You will use every means to obtain this favor for me? Swear it to me,monseigneur, that I may bless your name, and that, even under torture,nothing may escape but a thanksgiving when I think of you."
"On my honor, monsieur, I promise you that this young girl shall besacred to me; she shall inherit in my heart all the affection which Iinvoluntarily feel for you."
"Monseigneur, one word more."
"Speak, monsieur; I listen with the deepest sympathy."
"This young girl knows nothing of my project; she does not know what hasbrought me to Paris, nor the catastrophe which threatens us, for I havenot had the courage to tell her. You will tell it to her,monseigneur--prepare her for the event. I shall never see her again, butto become her husband. If I were to see her again at the moment ofstriking the blow which separates me from her, my hand might tremble,and this must not be."
"On my word of honor, monsieur," said the regent, softened beyond allexpression, "I repeat, not only shall this young girl be sacred to me,but I will do all you wish for her--she shall reap the fruits of therespect and affection with which you have inspired me."
"Now," said Gaston, "I am strong."
"And where is this young girl?"
"Below, in the carriage which brought me. Let me retire, monseigneur,and only tell me where she will be placed."
"Here, monsieur; this house, which is not inhabited, and which is verysuitable for a young girl, shall be hers."
"Monseigneur, your hand."
The regent held out his hand, but hearing a little dry cough, heunderstood that Dubois was becoming impatient, and he indicated toGaston that the audience was over.
"Once more, monseigneur, watch over this young girl; she is beautiful,amiable and proud--one of those noble natures which we meet but seldom.Adieu, monseigneur, I go to find your secretary."
"And must I tell her that you are about to take a man's life?" asked theregent, making one more effort to restrain Gaston.
"Yes, monseigneur," said the chevalier; "but you will add that I do itto save France."
"Go then, monsieur," said the duke, opening a door which led into thegarden, "and follow the directions I have given you."
"Wish me good fortune, monseigneur."
"The madman," thought the regent; "does he wish me to pray for successto his dagger's thrust? Ma foi, no!"
Gaston went out, the gravel, half-covered with snow, creaked under hisfeet--the regent watched him for some time from the window of thecorridor--then, when he had lost sight of him--
"Well," said he, "each one must go his own way. Poor fellow!"
And he returned to the room, where he found Dubois, who had entered byanother door, and was waiting for him.
Dubois's face wore an expression of malicious satisfaction which did notescape the regent, who watched him some time in silence, as if tryingto discover what was passing through the brain of this secondMephistopheles.
Dubois was the first to speak.
"Well, monseigneur, you are rid of him at last, I hope."
"Yes," replied the duke; "but in a manner which greatly displeases me--Ido not like playing a part in your comedies, as you know."
"Possibly; but you might, perhaps, do wisely in giving me a part inyours."
"How so?"
"They would be more successful, and the denouements would be better."
"I do not understand--explain yourself, and quickly, for I have some onewaiting whom I must receive."
"Oh! certainly, monseigneur, receive them, and we will continue ourconversation later--the denouement of this comedy has already takenplace, and cannot be changed."
And with these words, Dubois bowed with the mock respect which hegenerally assumed whenever, in the eternal game they played against eachother, he held the best cards.
Nothing made the regent so uneasy as this simulated respect; he held himback--
"What is there now?" asked he; "what have you discovered?"
"That you are a skillful dissimulator, peste!"
"That astonishes you?"
"No, it troubles me; a few steps further, and you will do wonders inthis art--you will have no further need of me; you will have to send meaway to educate your son, whom, it must be confessed, requires a masterlike myself."
"Speak quickly."
"Certainly, monseigneur; it is not now, however, a question of your son,but of your daughter."
"Of which daughter?"
"Ah! true; there are so many. First, the Abbess of Chelles, then Madamede Berry, then Mademoiselle de Valois; then the others, too young forthe world, and therefore for me, to speak of; then, lastly, the charmingBretagne flower, the wild blossom which was to be kept away fromDubois's poisoning breath, for fear it should wither under it."
"Do you dare to say I was wrong?"
"Not so, monseigneur: you have done wonders; not wishing to haveanything to do with the infamous Dubois, for which I commend you,you--the archbishop of Cambray being dead--have taken in his place thegood, the worthy, the pure Noce, and have borrowed his house."
"Ah!" said the regent, "you know that?"
"And what a house! Pure as its master--yes, monseigneur, you are full ofprudence and wisdom. Let us conceal the corruptions of the world fromthis innocent child, let us remove from her everything that can destroyher primitive naivete; this is why we choose this dwelling for her--amoral sanctuary, where the priestesses of virtue, and doubtless alwaysunder pretext of their ingenuousness, take the most ingenuous but leastpermitted of positions."
"Noce told me that all was proper."
"Do you know the house, monseigneur?"
"Do I look at such things?"
"Ah! no; your sight is not good, I remember."
"Dubois!"
"For furniture your daughter will have strange couches, magic sofas; andas to books, ah! that is the climax. Noce's books are good for theinstruction and formation of youth; they would do well to go with thebreviary of Bussy-Rabutin, of which I presented you a copy on yourtwelfth birthday."
"Yes; serpent that you are."
"In short, the most austere prudery prevails over the dwelling. I hadchosen it for the education of the son; but monseigneur, who looks atthings differently, chose it for the daughter."
"Ah, ca! Dubois," said the regent, "you weary me."
"I am just at the end, monseigneur. No doubt your daughter was wellpleased with the residence; for, like all of your blood, she is veryintelligent."
The regent shuddered, and guessed that some disagreeable news was hiddenunder the long preamble and mocking smile of Dubois.
"However, monseigneur, see what the spirit of contradiction will do; shewas not content with the dwelling you chose for her, and she is moving."
"What do you mean?"
"I am wrong--she _has_ moved."
"My daughter gone!" cried the regent.
"Exactly," said Dubois.
"How?"
"Through the door. Oh, she is not one of those young ladies who gothrough the windows, or by night--oh, she is of your blood, monseigneur;if I had ever doubted it, I should be convinced now."
"And Madame Desroches?"
"She is at the Palais Royal, I have just left her; she came to announceit to your highness."
"Could she not prevent it?"
"Mademoiselle commanded."
"She should have made the servants close the doors: they did not knowthat she was my daughter, and had no reason to obey her."
"Madame Desroches was afraid of mademoiselle's anger, but the servantswere afraid of the sword."
"Of the sword! are you drunk, Dubois?"
"Oh, I am very likely to get drunk on chicory water! No, monseigneur; ifI am drunk, it is with
admiration of your highness's perspicacity whenyou try to conduct an affair all alone."
"But what sword do you mean?"
"The sword which Mademoiselle Helene disposes of, and which belongs to acharming young man--"
"Dubois!"
"Who loves her!"
"Dubois! you will drive me mad."
"And who followed her from Nantes to Rambouillet with infinitegallantry."
"Monsieur de Livry?"
"Ah! you know his name; then I am telling you nothing new, monseigneur."
"Dubois, I am overwhelmed."
"Not without sufficient cause, monseigneur; but see what is the resultof your managing your own affairs, while you have at the same time tolook after those of France."
"But where is she?"
"Ah! where indeed--how should I know?"
"Dubois, _you_ have told me of her flight--I look to you to discover herretreat. Dubois, my dear Dubois, for God's sake find my daughter!"
"Ah! monseigneur, you are exactly like the father in Moliere, and I amlike Scapin--'My good Scapin, my dear Scapin, find me my daughter.'Monseigneur, I am sorry for it, but Geroute could say no more; however,we will look for your daughter, and rescue her from the ravisher."
"Well, find her, Dubois, and ask for what you please when you have doneso."
"Ah, that is something like speaking."
The regent had thrown himself back in an armchair, and leaned his headupon his hands. Dubois left him to his grief, congratulating himselfthat this affection would double his empire over the duke. All at once,while Dubois was watching him with a malicious smile, some one tapped atthe door.
"Who is there?" asked Dubois.
"Monseigneur," said an usher's voice at the door, "there is in thecarriage which brought the chevalier a young woman who wishes to know ifhe is coming down soon."
Dubois made a bound toward the door, but he was too late; the regent, towhom the usher's words had recalled the solemn promise he had made toGaston, rose at once.
"Where are you going, monseigneur?" asked Dubois.
"To receive this young girl."
"That is my affair, not yours--you forget that you abandoned thisconspiracy to me."
"I gave up the chevalier to you, but I promised him to be a father tothis girl whom he loves. I have pledged my word, and I will keep it;since through me she loses her lover, I must at least console her."
"I undertake it," said Dubois, trying to hide his paleness andagitation under one of his own peculiar smiles.
"Hold your tongue and remain here," said the regent.
"Let me at least speak to her, monseigneur."
"I will speak to her myself--this is no affair of yours; I have taken itupon myself, have given my word as a gentleman. Silence, and remainhere."
Dubois ground his teeth; but when the regent spoke in this tone, he knewhe must obey: he leaned against the chimney-piece and waited.
Soon the rustling of a silk dress was heard.
"Yes, madame," said the usher, "this way."
"Here she is," said the duke, "remember one thing, Dubois: this younggirl is in no way responsible for her lover's fault; consequently,understand me, she must be treated with the greatest respect;" then,turning to the door, "Enter," said he; the door was hastily opened, theyoung girl made a step toward the regent, who started backthunderstruck.
"My daughter!" murmured he, endeavoring to regain his self-command,while Helene, after looking round for Gaston, stopped and curtseyed.
Dubois's face would not be easy to depict.
"Pardon me, monseigneur," said Helene, "perhaps I am mistaken. I amseeking a friend who left me below, who was to come back to me; but, ashe delayed so long, I came to seek for him. I was brought here, butperhaps the usher made a mistake."
"No, mademoiselle," said the duke, "M. de Chanlay has just left me, andI expected you."
As the regent spoke, the young girl became abstracted, and seemed asthough taxing her memory; then, in answer to her own thoughts, shecried--
"Mon Dieu! how strange."
"What is the matter?" asked the regent.
"Yes: that it is."
"Explain!" said the duke, "I do not understand you."
"Ah! monsieur," said Helene, trembling, "it is strange how your voiceresembles that of another person."
"Of your acquaintance?" asked the regent.
"Of a person in whose presence I have been but once, but whose accentslive in my heart."
"And who was this person?" asked the regent, while Dubois shrugged hisshoulders at this half recognition.
"He called himself my father," replied Helene.
"I congratulate myself upon this chance, mademoiselle," said the regent,"for this similarity in my voice to that of a person who is dear to youmay give greater weight to my words. You know that Monsieur de Chanlayhas chosen me for your protector?"
"He told me he would bring me to some one who would protect me from thedanger--"
"What danger?" asked the regent.
Helene looked round her, and her glance rested uneasily on Dubois, andthere was no mistaking her expression. Dubois's face inspired her withas much distrust as the regent's did with confidence.
"Monseigneur," said Dubois (who did not fail to notice this expression),in an undertone to the regent, "I think I am de trop here, and hadbetter retire; you do not want me, do you?"
"No; but I shall presently; do not go away."----"I will be at yourorders."
This conversation was too low for Helene to hear; besides, she hadstepped back, and continued watching the doors, in the hope of seeingGaston return.
It was a consolation to Dubois to know she would be disappointed.
When Dubois was gone, they breathed more freely.
"Seat yourself, mademoiselle," said the duke; "I have much to tell you."
"Monsieur, one thing before all. Is the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay inany danger?"
"We will speak of him directly, but first of yourself; he brought you tome as a protector. Now, tell me against whom I am to protect you?"
"All that has happened to me for some days is so strange, that I do notknow whom to fear or whom to trust. If Gaston were there--"
"Yes, I understand; if he authorized you to tell me, you would keepnothing back. But if I can prove to you that I know nearly allconcerning you?"
"You, monsieur!"
"Yes, I; are you not called Helene de Chaverny? Were you not brought upin the Augustine convent between Nantes and Clisson? Did you not one dayreceive an order to leave the convent from a mysterious protector whowatches over you? Did you not travel with one of the sisters, to whomyou gave a hundred louis for her trouble? At Rambouillet, did not aperson called Madame Desroches await you? Did she not announce to you avisit from your father? The same evening, did not some one arrive wholoved you, and who thought you loved him?"
"Yes, yes, monsieur, it is all true," said Helene, astonished that astranger should thus know the details of her history.
"Then the next day," continued the regent, "did not Monsieur de Chanlay,who followed you under the name of De Livry, pay you a visit, which wasvainly opposed by Madame Desroches?"
"You are right, monsieur, and I see that Gaston has told you all."
"Then came the order to leave for Paris. You would have opposed it, butwere forced to obey. You were taken to a house in the Faubourg St.Antoine; but there your captivity became insupportable."
"You are mistaken, monsieur; it was not the captivity, but the prison."
"I do not understand you."
"Did not Gaston tell you of his fears, which I laughed at at first, butshared afterward?"
"No, tell me what did you fear?"
"But if _he_ did not tell you, how shall _I_?"
"Is there anything one cannot tell to a friend?"
"Did he not tell you that this man whom I at first believed to be myfather--?"
GASTON ROSE HASTILY, AND MET D'ARGENSON WITH A LAWOFFICER.--Page 514.]
"Believ
ed!"
"Yes; I swear it, monsieur. Hearing his voice, feeling my hand pressedby his, I had at first no doubt, and it almost needed evidence to bringfear instead of the filial love with which he at first inspired me."
"I do not understand you, mademoiselle; how could you fear a man who--tojudge by what you tell me--had so much affection for you?"
"You do not understand, monsieur; as you say, under a frivolous pretext,I was removed from Rambouillet to Paris, shut in a house in the FaubourgSaint Antoine, which spoke more clearly to my eyes than Gaston's fearshad done. Then I thought myself lost--and that this feigned tendernessof a father concealed the wiles of a seducer. I had no friend butGaston--I wrote to him--he came."
"Then," said the regent, filled with joy, "when you left that house itwas to escape those wiles, not to follow your lover?"
"Oh, monsieur, if I had believed in that father whom I had seen butonce, and then surrounded by mysteries, I swear to you that nothingwould have led me from the path of duty."
"Oh, dear child!" cried the duke, with an accent which made Helenestart.
"Then Gaston spoke to me of a person who could refuse him nothing--whowould watch over me and be a father to me. He brought me here, saying hewould return to me. I waited in vain for more than an hour, and atlength, fearing some accident had happened to him, I asked for you." Theregent's brow became clouded.
"Thus," said he, "it was Gaston's influence that turned you from yourduty--his fears aroused yours?"
"Yes; he suspected the mystery which encircled me, and feared that itconcealed some fatal project."
"But he must have given you some proof to persuade you."
"What proof was needed in that abominable house? Would a father haveplaced his daughter in such a habitation?"
"Yes, yes," murmured the regent, "he was wrong; but confess that withoutthe chevalier's suggestions, you, in the innocence of your soul, wouldhave had no suspicion."
"No," said Helene, "but happily Gaston watched over me."
"Do you then believe that all Gaston said to you was true?" asked theregent.
"We easily side with those we love, monsieur."
"And you love the chevalier?"
"Yes; for the last two years, monsieur."
"But how could he see you in the convent?"
"By night, with the aid of a boat."
"And did he see you often?"
"Every week."
"Then you love him?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"But how could you dispose of your heart, knowing that you were not yourown mistress?"
"For sixteen years I had heard nothing of my family; how could I supposethat all at once it would reveal itself, or rather, that an odiousmaneuver should take me from my quiet retreat to my ruin?"
"Then you still think that that man lied, when he called himself yourfather?"
"I scarcely know what to think, and my mind becomes bewildered incontemplating this strange reality, which seems so like a dream."
"But you should not consult your mind here, Helene," said the regent;"you should consult your heart. When you were with this man, did notyour heart speak to you?"
"Oh!" said Helene, "while he was there I was convinced, for I have neverfelt emotion such as I felt then."
"Yes," replied the regent, bitterly; "but when he was gone, this emotiondisappeared, driven away by stronger influence. It is very simple, thisman was only your father; Gaston was your lover."
"Monsieur," said Helene, drawing back, "you speak strangely."
"Pardon me," replied the regent, in a sweet voice; "I see that I allowedmyself to be carried away by my interest. But what surprises me morethan all, mademoiselle," continued he, "is that, being beloved as youare by Gaston, you could not induce him to abandon his projects."
"His projects, monsieur! what do you mean?"
"What! you do not know the object of his visit to Paris?"
"I do not, monsieur. When I told him, with tears in my eyes, that I wasforced to leave Clisson, he said he must also leave Nantes. When I toldhim that I was coming to Paris, he answered, with a cry of joy, that hewas about to set out for the same place."
"Then," cried the regent, his heart freed from an enormous load, "youare not his accomplice?"
"His accomplice!" cried Helene, alarmed; "ah, mon Dieu! what does thismean?"
"Nothing," said the regent, "nothing."
"Oh, yes, monsieur; you have used a word which explains all. I wonderedwhat made so great a change in Gaston. Why, for the last year, wheneverI spoke of our future, his brow became dark. Why, with so sad a smile,he said to me, 'Helene, no one is sure of the morrow.' Why he fell intosuch reveries, as though some misfortune threatened him. That misfortuneyou have shown me, monsieur. Gaston saw none but malcontentsthere--Montlouis, Pontcalec. Ah! Gaston is conspiring--that is why hecame to Paris."
"Then you knew nothing of this conspiracy?"
"Alas, monsieur! I am but a woman, and, doubtless, Gaston did not thinkme worthy to share such a secret."
"So much the better," cried the regent; "and now, my child, listen tothe voice of a friend, of a man who might be your father. Let thechevalier go on the path he has chosen, since you have still the powerto go no further."
"Who? I, monsieur!" cried Helene; "I abandon him at a moment when youyourself tell me that a danger threatens him that I had not known! Oh,no, no, monsieur! We two are alone in the world, we have but eachother: Gaston has no parents, I have none either; or if I have, theyhave been separated from me for sixteen years, and are accustomed to myabsence. We may, then, lose ourselves together without costing any one atear--oh, I deceived you, monsieur, and whatever crime he has committed,or may commit, I am his accomplice."
"Ah!" murmured the regent, in a choking voice, "my last hope fails me;she loves him."
Helene turned, with astonishment, toward the stranger who took so livelyan interest in her sorrow. The regent composed himself.
"But," continued he, "did you not almost renounce him? Did you not tellhim, the day you separated, that you could not dispose of your heart andperson?"
"Yes, I told him so," replied the young girl, with exaltation,"because at that time I believed him happy, because I did not knowthat his liberty, perhaps his life, were compromised; then, myheart would have suffered, but my conscience would have remainedtranquil; it was a grief to bear, not a remorse to combat; butsince I know him threatened--unhappy--I feel that his life is mine."
"But you exaggerate your love for him," replied the regent, determinedto ascertain his daughter's feelings. "This love would yield toabsence."
"It would yield to nothing, monsieur; in the isolation in which myparents left me, this love has become my only hope, my happiness, mylife. Ah! monsieur, if you have any influence with him--and you musthave, since he confides to you the secrets which he keeps from me--inHeaven's name, induce him to renounce these projects, of which youspeak; tell him what I dare not tell him myself, that I love him beyondall expression; tell him that his fate shall be mine; that if he beexiled, I exile myself; if he be imprisoned, I will be so too; and thatif he dies, I die. Tell him _that_, monsieur; and add--add that you saw,by my tears and by my despair, that I spoke the truth."
"Unhappy child!" murmured the regent.
Indeed, Helene's situation was a pitiable one. By the paleness of hercheeks, it was evident that she suffered cruelly; while she spoke, hertears flowed ceaselessly, and it was easy to see that every word camefrom her heart, and that what she had said she would do.
"Well," said the regent, "I promise you that I will do all I can to savethe chevalier."
Helene was about to throw herself at the duke's feet, so humbled wasthis proud spirit by the thought of Gaston's danger; but the regentreceived her in his arms. Helene trembled through her whole frame--therewas something in the contact with this man which filled her with hopeand joy. She remained leaning on his arm, and made no effort to raiseherself.
"Mademoiselle," said the regent, watching her
with an expression whichwould certainty have betrayed him if Helene had raised her eyes to hisface, "Mademoiselle, the most pressing affair first--I have told youthat Gaston is in danger, but not in immediate danger; let us then firstthink of yourself, whose position is both false and precarious. You areintrusted to my care, and I must, before all else, acquit myselfworthily of this charge. Do you trust me, mademoiselle?"
"Oh, yes; Gaston brought me to you."
"Always Gaston," sighed the regent, in an undertone; then to Helene hesaid:
"You will reside in this house, which is unknown, and here you will befree. Your society will consist of excellent books, and my presence willnot be wanting, if it be agreeable to you."
Helene made a movement as if to speak.
"Besides," continued the duke, "it will give you an opportunity to speakof the chevalier."
Helene blushed, and the regent continued:
"The church of the neighboring convent will be open to you, and shouldyou have the slightest fear, such as you have already experienced, theconvent itself might shelter you--the superior is a friend of mine."
"Ah, monsieur," said Helene, "you quite reassure me; I accept the houseyou offer me--and your great kindness to Gaston and myself will everrender your presence agreeable to me."
The regent bowed.
"Then, mademoiselle," said he, "consider yourself at home here; I thinkthere is a sleeping-room adjoining this room--the arrangement of theground-floor is commodious, and this evening I will send you two nunsfrom the convent, whom, doubtless, you would prefer to servants, to waiton you."
"Ah, yes, monsieur."
"Then," continued the regent, with hesitation, "then you have almostrenounced your--father?"
"Ah, monsieur, do you not understand that it is for fear he should notbe my father."
"However," replied the regent, "nothing proves it; that house alone iscertainly an argument against him but he might not have known it."
"Oh," said Helene, "that is almost impossible."
"However, if he took any further steps, if he should discover yourretreat and claim you, or at least ask to see you?"
"Monsieur, we would inform Gaston, and learn his opinion."
"It is well," said the regent, with a smile; and he held out his hand toHelene, and then moved toward the door.
"Monsieur," said Helene, in a scarcely audible voice.
"Do you wish for anything?" asked the duke, returning.
"Can I see him?"
The words seemed to die away on her lips as she pronounced them.
"Yes," said the duke, "but is it not better for your sake to do so aslittle as possible?" Helene lowered her eyes.
"Besides," said the duke, "he has gone on a journey, and may not be backfor some days."
"And shall I see him on his return?"
"I swear it to you."
Ten minutes after, two nuns and a lay sister entered and installedthemselves in the house.
When the regent quitted his daughter, he asked for Dubois, but he wastold that, after waiting half an hour, Dubois had returned to the PalaisRoyal.
The duke, on entering the abbe's room, found him at work with hissecretaries; a portfolio full of papers was on the table.
"I beg a thousand pardons," said Dubois, on seeing the duke, "but as youdelayed, and your conference was likely to be prolonged greatly, I tookthe liberty of transgressing your orders, and returning here."
"You did rightly; but I want to speak to you."
"To me?"
"Yes, to you."
"To me alone?"
"Alone."
"In that case, will monseigneur go into my cabinet, or into your ownroom?"
"Let us go into your cabinet."
The abbe made a respectful bow and opened the door--the regent passed infirst, and Dubois followed when he had replaced the portfolio under hisarm. These papers had probably been got together in expectation of thisvisit.
When they were in the cabinet, the duke looked round him.
"The place is safe?" asked he.
"Pardieu, each door is double, and the walls are two feet thick."
The regent sat down and fell into a deep reverie.
"I am waiting, monseigneur," said Dubois, in a few minutes.
"Abbe," said the regent, in a quick decided tone, as of a man determinedto be answered, "is the chevalier in the Bastille?"
"Monseigneur," replied Dubois, "he must have been there about half anhour."
"Then write to M. de Launay. I desire that he be set free at once."
Dubois did not seem surprised; he made no reply, but he placed theportfolio on the table, opened it, took out some papers, and began tolook over them quietly.
"Did you hear me?" asked the regent, after a moment's silence.
"I did, monseigneur."
"Obey, then."
"Write yourself, monseigneur," said Dubois.
"And why?"
"Because nothing shall induce this hand to sign your highness's ruin,"said Dubois.
"More words," said the regent, impatiently.
"Not words, but facts, monseigneur. Is M. de Chanlay a conspirator, oris he not?"
"Yes, certainly! but my daughter loves him."
"A fine reason for setting him at liberty."
"It may not be a reason to you, abbe, but to me it is, and a most sacredone. He shall leave the Bastille at once."
"Go and fetch him, then; I do not prevent you."
"And did you know this secret?"
"Which?"
"That M. de Livry and the chevalier were the same?"
"Yes, I knew it. What, then?"
"You wished to deceive me."
"I wished to save you from the sentimentality in which you are lost atthis moment. The regent of France--already too much occupied by whimsand pleasures--must make things worse by adding passion to the list. Andwhat a passion! Paternal love, dangerous love--an ordinary love may besatisfied, and then dies away--but a father's tenderness is insatiable,and above all, intolerable. It will cause your highness to commit faultswhich I shall prevent, for the simple reason that I am happy enough notto be a father; a thing on which I congratulate myself daily, when I seethe misfortunes and stupidity of those who are."
"And what matters a head more or less?" cried the regent. "This DeChanlay will not kill me, when he knows it was I who liberated him."
"No; neither will he die from a few days in the Bastille; and there hemust stay."
"And I tell you he shall leave it to-day."
"He must, for his own honor," said Dubois, as though the regent had notspoken; "for if he were to leave the Bastille to-day, as you wish, hewould appear to his accomplices, who are now in the prison at Nantes,and whom I suppose you do not wish to liberate also, as a traitor andspy who has been pardoned for the information he has given."
The regent reflected.
"You are all alike," pursued Dubois, "you kings and reigning princes; areason stupid enough, like all reasons of honor, such as I have justgiven, closes your mouth; but you will never understand true andimportant reasons of state. What does it matter to me or to France thatMademoiselle Helene de Chaverny, natural daughter of the regent, shouldweep for her lover, Monsieur Gaston de Chanlay? Ten thousand wives, tenthousand mothers, ten thousand daughters, may weep in one year for theirsons, their husbands, their fathers, killed in your highness's serviceby the Spaniard who threaten you, who takes your gentleness forweakness, and who becomes emboldened by impunity. We know the plot; letus do it justice. M. de Chanlay--chief or agent of this plot, coming toParis to assassinate you--do not deny it, no doubt he told you sohimself--is the lover of your daughter; so much the worse--it is amisfortune which falls upon you, but may have fallen upon you before,and will again. I knew it all. I knew that he was beloved; I knew thathe was called De Chanlay, and not De Livry; yes, I dissimulated, but itwas to punish him exemplarily with his accomplices, because, it must beunderstood that the regent's head is not one of those targets which anyone
may aim at through excitement or ennui, and go away unpunished ifthey fail."
"Dubois, Dubois, I shall never sacrifice my daughter's life to save myown, and I should kill her in executing the chevalier; therefore noprison, no dungeon; let us spare the shadow of torture to him whom wecannot treat with entire justice; let us pardon completely; no halfpardon, any more than half justice."
"Ah, yes; pardon, pardon; there it is at last; are you not tired of thatword, monseigneur; are you not weary of harping eternally on onestring?"
"This time, at least, it is a different thing, for it is not generosity.I call Heaven to witness that I should like to punish this man, who ismore beloved as a lover than I as a father; and who takes from me mylast and only daughter; but, in spite of myself, I stop, I can go nofarther; Chanlay shall be set free."
"Chanlay shall be set free; yes, monseigneur; mon Dieu! who opposes it?Only it must be later, some days hence. What harm shall we do him?Diable! he will not die of a week in the Bastille; you shall have yourson-in-law; be at peace; but do act so that our poor little governmentshall not be too much ridiculed. Remember that at this moment theaffairs of the others are being looked into, and somewhat roughly too.Well, these others have also mistresses, wives, mothers. Do you busyyourself with them? No, you are not so mad. Think, then, of the ridiculeif it were known that your daughter loved the man who was to stab you;the bastards would laugh for a month; it is enough to revive LaMaintenon, who is dying, and make her live a year longer. Have patience,monseigneur; let the chevalier eat chicken and drink wine with DeLaunay. Pardieu! Richelieu does very well there; he is loved by anotherof your daughters, which did not prevent you from putting him in theBastille."
"But," said the regent, "when he is in the Bastille, what will you dowith him?"
"Oh, he only serves this little apprenticeship to make him yourson-in-law. But, seriously, monseigneur, do you think of raising him tothat honor?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! at this moment I think of nothing, Dubois, but that I donot want to make my poor Helene unhappy; and yet I really think thatgiving him to her as a husband is somewhat derogatory, though the DeChanlays are a good family."
"Do you know them, monseigneur? Parbleu! it only wanted that."
"I heard the name long ago, but I cannot remember on what occasion; weshall see; but, meanwhile, whatever you may say, one thing I havedecided--he must not appear as a traitor; and remember, I will not havehim maltreated."
"In that case he is well off with M. de Launay. But you do not know theBastille, monseigneur. If you had ever tried it, you would not want acountry house. Under the late king it was a prison--oh, yes, I grantthat, but under the gentle reign of Philippe d'Orleans, it is a house ofpleasure. Besides, at this moment, there is an excellent company there.There are fetes, balls, vocal concerts; they drink champagne to thehealth of the Duc de Maine and the king of Spain. It is you who pay, butthey wish aloud that you may die, and your race become extinct. Pardieu!Monsieur de Chanlay will find some acquaintances there, and be ascomfortable as a fish in the water. Ah, pity him, monseigneur, for he ismuch to be pitied, poor fellow!"
"Yes, yes," cried the duke, delighted; "and after the revelations inBretagne we shall see."
Dubois laughed.
"The revelations in Bretagne. Ah, pardieu! monseigneur, I shall beanxious to know what you will learn that the chevalier did not tell you.Do you not know enough yet, monseigneur? Peste! if it were me, I shouldknow too much."
"But it is not you, abbe."
"Alas, unfortunately not, monseigneur, for if I were the Duc d'Orleansand regent, I would make myself cardinal. But do not let us speak ofthat, it will come in time, I hope; besides, I have found a way ofmanaging the affair which troubles you."
"I distrust you, abbe. I warn you."
"Stay, monseigneur; you only love the chevalier because your daughterdoes?"
"Well?"
"But if the chevalier repaid her fidelity by ingratitude. Mon Dieu! theyoung woman is proud, monseigneur; she herself would give him up. Thatwould be well played, I think."
"The chevalier cease to love Helene! impossible; she is an angel."
"Many angels have gone through that, monseigneur; besides, the Bastilledoes and undoes many things, and one soon becomes corrupted there,especially in the society he will find there."
"Well, we shall see, but not a step without my consent."
"Fear nothing, monseigneur. Will you now examine the papers fromNantes?"
"Yes, but first send me Madame Desroches."
"Certainly."
Dubois rang and gave the regent's orders.
Ten minutes after Madame Desroches entered timidly; but instead of thestorm she had expected, she received a smile and a hundred louis.
"I do not understand it," thought she; "after all, the young girl cannotbe his daughter."
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