Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  I had barely arrived at this conclusion when the trampling of hoofs and a sudden closing in of the crowd round the gate announced the King of Navarre’s approach. With a sick heart I drew nearer, feeling that the crisis was at hand; and in a moment he came in sight, riding beside an elderly man, plainly dressed and mounted, with whom he was carrying on an earnest conversation. A train of nobles and gentlemen, whose martial air and equipments made up for the absence of the gewgaws and glitter, to which my eyes had become accustomed at Blois, followed close on his heels. Henry himself wore a suit of white velvet, frayed in places and soiled by his armour; but his quick eye and eager, almost fierce, countenance could not fail to win and keep the attention of the least observant. He kept glancing from side to side as he came on; and that with so cheerful an air and a carriage so full at once of dignity and good-humour that no one could look on him and fail to see that here was a leader and a prince of men, temperate in victory and unsurpassed in defeat.

  The crowd raising a cry of ‘VIVE NAVARRE!’ as he drew near, he bowed, with a sparkle in his eye. But when a few by the gate cried ‘VIVENT LES ROIS!’ he held up his hand for silence, and said in a loud, clear voice, ‘Not that, my friends. There is but one king in France. Let us say instead, “Vive le Roi!”’

  The spokesman of the little group of townsfolk, who, I learned, were from Arcueil, and had come to complain of the excessive number of troops quartered upon them, took advantage of the pause to approach him. Henry received the old man with a kindly look, and bent from his saddle to hear what he had to say. While they were talking I pressed forward, the emotion I felt on my own account heightened by my recognition of the man who rode by the King of Navarre — who was no other than M. de la Noue. No Huguenot worthy of the name could look on the veteran who had done and suffered more for the cause than any living man without catching something of his stern enthusiasm; and the sight, while it shamed me, who a moment before had been inclined to prefer my safety to the assistance I owed my country, gave me courage to step to the king’s rein, so that I heard his last words to the men of Arcueil.

  ‘Patience, my friends,’ he said kindly. ‘The burden is heavy, but the journey is a short one. The Seine is ours; the circle is complete. In a week Paris must surrender. The king, my cousin, will enter, and you will be rid of us. For France’s sake one week, my friends.’

  The men fell back with low obeisances, charmed by his good-nature, and Henry, looking up, saw me before him. In the instant his jaw fell. His brow, suddenly contracting above eyes, which flashed with surprise and displeasure, altered in a moment the whole aspect of his face; which grew dark and stern as night. His first impulse was to pass by me; but seeing that I held my ground, he hesitated, so completely chagrined by my appearance that he did not know how to act, or in what way to deal with me. I seized the occasion, and bending my knee with as much respect as I had ever used to the King of France, begged to bring myself to his notice, and to crave his protection and favour.

  ‘This is no time to trouble me, sir,’ he retorted, eyeing me with an angry side-glance. ‘I do not know you. You are unknown to me, sir. You must go to M. de Rosny.’

  ‘It would be useless sire,’ I answered, in desperate persistence.

  ‘Then I can do nothing for you,’ he rejoined peevishly. ‘Stand on one side, sir.’

  But I was desperate. I knew that I had risked all on the event, and must establish my footing before M. de Turenne’s return, or run the risk of certain recognition and vengeance. I cried out, caring nothing who heard, that I was M. de Marsac, that I had come back to meet whatever my enemies could allege against me.

  ‘VENTRE SAINT GRIS!’ Henry exclaimed, starting in his saddle with well-feigned surprise. ‘Are you that man?’

  ‘I am, sire,’ I answered.

  ‘Then you must be mad!’ he retorted, appealing to those behind him. ‘Stark, staring mad to show your face here! ‘VENTRE SAINT GRIS! Are we to have all the ravishers and plunderers in the country come to us?’

  ‘I am neither the one nor the other!’ I answered, looking with indignation from him to the gaping train behind him.

  ‘That you will have to settle with M. de Turenne!’ he retorted, frowning down at me with his whole face turned gloomy and fierce. ‘I know you well, sir, now. Complaint has been made that you abducted a lady from his Castle of Chize some time back.’

  ‘The lady, sire, is now in charge of the Princess of Navarre.’

  ‘She is?’ he exclaimed, quite taken aback.

  ‘And if she has aught of complaint against me,’ I continued with pride,’ I will submit to whatever punishment you order or M. de Turenne demands. But if she has no complaint to make, and vows that she accompanied me of her own free-will and accord, and has suffered neither wrong nor displeasure at my hands, then, sire, I claim that this is a private matter between myself and M. de Turenne.’

  ‘Even so I think you will have your hands full,’ he answered grimly. At the same time he stopped by a gesture those who would have cried out upon me, and looked at me himself with an altered countenance. ‘Do I understand that you assert that the lady went of her own accord?’ he asked.

  ‘She went and has returned, sire,’ I answered.

  ‘Strange!’ he ejaculated. ‘Have you married her?’

  ‘No, sire,’ I answered. ‘I desire leave to do so.’

  ‘Mon dieu! she is M. de Turenne’s ward,’ he rejoined, almost dumbfounded by my audacity.

  ‘I do not despair of obtaining his assent, sire,’ I said patiently.

  ‘SAINT GRIS! the man is mad!’ he cried, wheeling his horse and facing his train with a gesture of the utmost wonder. ‘It is the strangest story I ever heard.’

  ‘But somewhat more to the gentleman’s credit than the lady’s!’ one said with a smirk and a smile.

  ‘A lie!’ I cried, springing forward on the instant with a boldness which astonished myself. ‘She is as pure as your Highness’s sister! I swear it. That man lies in his teeth, and I will maintain it.’

  ‘Sir!’ the King of Navarre cried, turning on me with the utmost sternness, ‘you forget yourself in my presence! Silence, and beware another time how you let your tongue run on those above you. You have enough trouble, let me tell you, on your hands already.’

  ‘Yet the man lies!’ I answered doggedly, remembering Crillon and his ways. ‘And if he will do me the honour of stepping aside with me, I will convince him of it!’

  ‘VENTRE SAINT GRIS!’ Henry replied, frowning, and dwelling on each syllable of his favourite oath. ‘Will you be silent, sir, and let me think? Or must I order your instant arrest?’

  ‘Surely that at least, sire,’ a suave voice interjected. And with that a gentleman pressed forward from the rest, and gaining a place, of ‘vantage by the King’s side, shot at me a look of extreme malevolence. ‘My lord of Turenne will expect no less at your Highness’s hands,’ he continued warmly. ‘I beg you will give the order on the spot, and hold this person to answer for his misdeeds. M. de Turenne returns to-day. He should be here now. I say again, sire, he will expect no less than this.’

  The king, gazing at me with gloomy eyes, tugged at his moustaches. Someone had motioned the common herd to stand back out of hearing; at the same time the suite had moved up out of curiosity and formed a half-circle; in the midst of which I stood fronting the king, who had La Noue and the last speaker on either hand. Perplexity and annoyance struggled for the mastery in his face as he looked darkly down at me, his teeth showing through his beard. Profoundly angered by my appearance, which he had taken at first to be the prelude to disclosures which must detach Turenne at a time when union was all-important, he had now ceased to fear for himself; and perhaps saw something in the attitude I adopted which appealed to his nature and sympathies.

  ‘If the girl is really back,’ he said at last, ‘M. d’Aremburg, I do-not see any reason why I should interfere. At present, at any rate.’

  ‘I think, sire, M. de Turenne will see reason,
’ the gentleman answered drily.

  The king coloured. ‘M. de Turenne,’ he began —

  ‘Has made many sacrifices at your request, sire,’ the other said with meaning. ‘And buried some wrongs, or fancied wrongs, in connection with this very matter. This person has outraged him in the grossest manner, and in M. le Vicomte’s name I ask, nay I press upon you, that he be instantly arrested, and held to answer for it.’

  ‘I am ready to answer for it now!’ I retorted, looking from face to face for sympathy, and finding none save in M. de la Noue’s, who appeared to regard me with grave approbation. ‘To the Vicomte de Turenne, or the person he may appoint to represent him.’

  ‘Enough!’ Henry said, raising his hand and speaking in the tone of authority he knew so well how to adopt. ‘For you, M. d’Aremburg, I thank you. Turenne is happy in his friend. But; this gentleman came to me of his own free will and I do not think it consistent with my honour to detain him without warning given. I grant him an hour to remove himself from my neighbourhood. If he be found after that time has elapsed,’ he continued solemnly, ‘his fate be on his own head. Gentlemen, we are late already. Let us on.’

  I looked at him as he pronounced this sentence, and strove to find words in which to make a final appeal to him. But no words came; and when he bade me stand aside, I did so mechanically, remaining with my head bared to the sunshine while the troop rode by. Some looked back at me with curiosity, as at a man of whom they had heard a tale, and some with a jeer on their lips; a few with dark looks of menace. When they were all gone, and the servants who followed them had disappeared also, and I was left to the inquisitive glances of the rabble who stood gaping after the sight, I turned and went to the Cid, and loosed the horse with a feeling of bitter disappointment.

  The plan which mademoiselle had proposed and I had adopted in the forest by St. Gaultier — when it seemed to us that our long absence and the great events of which we heard must have changed the world and opened a path for our return — had failed utterly. Things were as they had been; the strong were still strong, and friendship under bond to fear. Plainly we should have shewn ourselves wiser had we taken the lowlier course, and, obeying the warnings given us, waited the King of Navarre’s pleasure or the tardy recollection of Rosny. I had not then stood, as I now stood, in instant jeopardy, nor felt the keen pangs of a separation which bade fair to be lasting. She was safe, and that was much; but I, after long service and brief happiness, must go out again alone, with only memories to comfort me.

  It was Simon Fleix’s voice which awakened me from this unworthy lethargy — as selfish as it was useless — and, recalling me to myself, reminded me that precious time was passing while I stood inactive. To get at me he had forced his way through the curious crowd, and his face was flushed. He plucked me by the sleeve, regarding the varlets round him with a mixture of anger and fear.

  ‘Nom de Dieu! do they take you for a rope-dancer?’ he muttered in my ear. ‘Mount, sir, and come. There is not a moment to be lost.’

  ‘You left her at Madame Catherine’s?’ I said.

  ‘To be sure,’ he answered impatiently. ‘Trouble not about her. Save yourself, M. de Marsac. That is the thing to be done now.’

  I mounted mechanically, and felt my courage return as the horse moved under me. I trotted through the crowd, and without thought took the road by which we had come. When we had ridden a hundred yards, however, I pulled up ‘An hour is a short start,’ I said sullenly. ‘Whither?’

  ‘To St. Cloud,’ he answered promptly. ‘The protection of the King of France may avail for a day or two. After that, there will still be the League, if Paris have not fallen.’

  I saw there was nothing else for it, and assented, and we set off. The distance which separates Meudon from St. Cloud we might have ridden under the hour, but the direct road runs across the Scholars’ Meadow, a wide plain north of Meudon. This lay exposed to the enemy’s fire, and was, besides, the scene of hourly conflicts between the horse of both parties, so that to cross it without an adequate force was impossible. Driven to make a circuit, we took longer to reach our destination, yet did so without mishap; finding the little town, when we came in sight of it, given up to all the bustle and commotion which properly belong to the Court and camp.

  It was, indeed, as full as it could be, for the surrender of Paris being momentarily expected, St. Cloud had become the rendezvous as well of the few who had long followed a principle as of the many who wait upon success. The streets, crowded in, every part, shone with glancing colours, with steel and velvet, the garb of fashion and the plumes of war. Long lines of flags obscured the eaves and broke the sunshine, while, above all, the bells of half a dozen churches rang merry answer to the distant crash of guns. Everywhere on flag and arch and streamer I read the motto, ‘Vive le Roi!’ — words written, God knew then, and we know now, in what a mockery of doom!

  CHAPTER XXXIV. ‘‘TIS AN ILL WIND.’

  We had made our way slowly and with much jostling as far as the principal street, finding the press increase as we advanced, when I heard, as I turned a corner, my name called, and, looking up, saw at a window the face of which I was in search. After that half a minute sufficed to bring M. d’Agen flying to my side, when nothing, as I had expected, would do but I must dismount; where I was and share his lodging. He made no secret of his joy and surprise at sight of me, but pausing only to tell Simon where the stable was, haled me through the crowd and up his stairs with a fervour and heartiness which brought the tears to my eyes, and served to impress the company whom I found above with a more than sufficient sense of my importance.

  Seeing him again in the highest feather and in the full employment of all those little arts and graces which served as a foil to his real worth, I took it as a great honour that he laid them aside for the nonce; and introduced me to the seat of honour and made me known to his companions with a boyish directness and a simple thought for my comfort which infinitely pleased me. He bade his landlord, without a moment’s delay, bring wine and meat and everything which could refresh a traveller, and was himself up and down a hundred times in a minute, calling to his servants for this or that, or railing at them for their failure to bring me a score of things I did not need. I hastened to make my excuses to the company for interrupting them in the midst of their talk; and these they were kind enough to accept in good part. At the same time, reading clearly in M. d’Agen’s excited face and shining eyes that he longed to be alone with me, they took the hint, and presently left us together.

  ‘Well,’ he said, coming back from the door, to which he had conducted them, ‘what have you to tell me, my friend? She is not with you?’

  ‘She is with Mademoiselle de la Vire at Meudon,’ I answered, smiling. ‘And for the rest, she is well and in better spirits.’

  ‘She sent me some message? he asked.

  I shook my head. ‘She did not know I should see you,’ I answered.

  ‘But she — she has spoken of me lately?’ he continued, his face falling.

  ‘I do not think she has named your name for a fortnight,’ I answered, laughing. ‘There’s for you! Why, man,’ I continued, adopting a different tone, and laying my hand on his shoulder in a manner which reassured him at least; as much as my words, ‘are you so young a lover as to be ignorant that a woman says least of that of which she thinks most? Pluck up, courage! Unless I am mistaken, you have little to be afraid of except the past. Only have patience.’

  ‘You think so?’ he said gratefully.

  I assured him that I had no doubt of it; and on that he fell into a reverie, and I to watching him. Alas for the littleness of our natures! He had received me with open arms, yet at sight of the happiness which took possession of his handsome face I gave way to the pettiest feeling which can harbour in a man’s breast. I looked at him with eyes of envy, bitterly comparing my lot with that which fate had reserved for him. He had fortune, good looks, and success on his side, great relations, and high hopes; I stood in instant
jeopardy, my future dark, and every path which presented itself so hazardous that I knew not which to adopt. He was young, and I past my prime; he in favour, and I a fugitive.

  To such reflections he put an end in a way which made me blush for my churlishness. For, suddenly awaking out, of his pleasant dream, he asked me about myself and my fortunes, inquiring eagerly how I came to be in St. Cloud, and listening to the story of my adventures with a generous anxiety which endeared him to me more and more. When I had done — and by that time Simon had joined us, and was waiting at the lower end of the room — he pronounced that I must see the king.

  ‘There is nothing else for it,’ he said.

  ‘I have come to see him,’ I answered.

  ‘Mon dieu, yes!’ he continued, rising from his seat and looking at me with a face of concern. ‘No one else can help you.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Turenne has four thousand men here. You can do nothing against so many?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘The question is, will the king protect me?’

  ‘It is he or no one,’ M. d’Agen answered warmly. ‘You cannot see him to-night: he has a Council. To-morrow at daybreak you may. You must lie here to-night, and I will set my fellows to watch, and I think you will be safe. I will away now and see if my uncle will help. Can you think of anyone else who would speak for you?’

  I considered, and was about to answer in the negative, when Simon, who had listened with a scared face, suggested M. de Crillon.

  ‘Yes, if he would,’ M. d’Agen exclaimed, looking at the lad with approbation. ‘He has weight with the king.’

  ‘I think he might,’ I replied slowly. ‘I had a curious encounter with him last night. And with that I told M. d’Agen of the duel I fought at the inn.