Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “He did not, madame.”

  “He did, sir!” she retorted, firing up. “Or if he did not, prove it — prove it! And, by the way,” she continued, lowering her voice again, and reverting to her former tone of spiteful badinage, “how is the dear queen? I heard that she was indisposed yesterday, and kept the King in attendance all day. So unfortunate, you know, just at this time.” And her eyes twinkled with malicious amusement.

  “Madame,” I said, “may I speak plainly to you?”

  “I never heard that you could speak otherwise,” she answered quickly. “Even his friends never called M. de Rosny a wit; but only a plain, rough man who served our royal turn well enough in rough times; but is now growing—”

  “Madame!”

  “A trifle exigeant and superfluous.”

  After that, I saw that it was war to the knife between us; and I asked her in very plain terms If she were not afraid of the queen’s enmity, that she dared thus to flaunt the King’s favours before her.

  “No more than I am afraid of yours,” she answered hardily.

  “But if the King is disappointed in his hopes?”

  “You may suffer; very probably will,” she answered, slowly and smiling, “not I. Besides, sir — my child was born dead. He bore that very well.”

  “Yet, believe me, madame, you run some risk.”

  “In keeping what the King has given me?” she answered, raising her eyebrows.

  “No! In keeping what the King has not given you!” I answered sternly. “Whereas, what do you gain?”

  “Well,” she replied, raising herself in the bed, while her eyes sparkled and her colour rose, “if you like, I will tell you. This pleasure, for one thing — the pleasure of seeing you there, awkward, booted, stained, and standing, waiting my will. That — which perhaps you call a petty thing — I gain first of all. Then I gain your ruin, M. de Rosny; I plant a sting in that woman’s breast; and for his Majesty, he has made his bed and may lie on it.”

  “Have a care, madame!” I cried, bursting with indignation at a speech so shameless and disloyal. “You are playing a dangerous game, I warn you!”

  “And what game have you played?” she replied, transported on a sudden with equal passion. “Who was it tore up the promise of marriage which the King gave me? Who was it prevented me being Queen of France? Who was it hurried on the match with this tradeswoman, so that the King found himself wedded, before he knew it? Who was it — but enough; enough!” she cried, interrupting herself with a gesture full of rage. “You have ruined me, you and your queen between you, and I will ruin you!”

  “On the contrary, madame,” I answered, collecting myself for a last effort, and speaking with all the severity which a just indignation inspired, “I have not ruined you. But if you do not tell me that which I am here to learn — I will!”

  She laughed out loud. “Oh, you simpleton!” she said. “And you call yourself a statesman! Do you not see that if I do not tell it, you are disgraced yourself and powerless, and can do me no harm? Tell it you? When I have you all on the hip — you, the King, the queen! Not for a million crowns, M. de Rosny!”

  “And that is your answer, madame?” I said, choking with rage. It had been long since any had dared so to beard me.

  “Yes,” she replied stoutly; “it is! Or, stay; you shall not go empty-handed.” And thrusting her arm under the pillow she drew out, after a moment’s search, a small packet, which she held out towards me. “Take it!” she said, with a taunting laugh. “It has served my turn. What the King gave me, I give you.”

  Seeing that it was the missing key to the cipher, I swallowed my rage and took it; and being assured by this time that I could effect nothing by staying longer, but should only expose myself to fresh insults, I turned on my heel, with rudeness equal to her own, and, without taking leave of her, flung the door open and went out. I heard her throw herself back with a shrill laugh of triumph. But as, the moment the door fell to behind me, my thoughts began to cast about for another way of escape — this failing — I took little heed of her, and less of the derisive looks to which the household, quickly taking the cue, treated me as I passed. I flung myself into the saddle and galloped off, followed by Maignan, who presently, to my surprise, blurted out a clumsy word of congratulation.

  I turned on him in amazement, and, swearing at him, asked him what he meant.

  “You have got it,” he said timidly, pointing to the packet which I mechanically held in my hand.

  “And to what purpose?” I cried, glad of this opportunity of unloading some of my wrath. “I want, not the paper, but the secret, fool! You may have the paper for yourself if you will tell me how Madame got it.”

  Nevertheless, his words led me to look at the packet. I opened it, and, having satisfied myself that it contained the original and not a copy, was putting it up again when my eyes fell on a small spot of blood which marked one corner of the cover. It was not larger than a grain of corn, but it awoke, first, a vague association and then a memory, which as I rode grew stronger and more definite, until, on a sudden, discovery flashed upon me — and the truth. I remembered where I had seen spots of blood before — on the papers I had handed to Ferret and remembered, too, where that blood had come from. I looked at the cut now, and, finding it nearly healed, sprang in my saddle. Of a certainty this paper had gone through my hands that day! It had been among the others; therefore it must have been passed to Ferret inside another when I first opened the bag! The rogue, getting it and seeing his opportunity, and that I did not suspect, had doubtless secreted it, probably while I was attending to my hand.

  I had not suspected him before, because I had ticked off the earlier papers as I handed them to him; and had searched only among the rest and in the bag for the missing one. Now I wondered that I had not done so, and seen the truth from the beginning; and in my impatience I found the leagues through the forest, though the sun was not yet high and the trees sheltered us, the longest I had ridden in my life. When the roofs of the chateau at length appeared before us, I could scarcely keep my pace within bounds. Reflecting how Madame de Verneuil had over-reached herself, and how, by indulging in that last stroke of arrogance, she had placed the secret in my hands, I had much ado to refrain from going to the King booted and unwashed as I was; and though I had not eaten since the previous evening. However, the habit of propriety, which no man may lightly neglect, came to my aid. I made my toilet, and, having broken my fast standing, hastened to the Court. On the way I learned that the King was in the queen’s garden, and, directing my steps thither, found him walking with my colleagues, Villeroy and Sillery, in the little avenue which leads to the garden of the Conciergerie. A number of the courtiers were standing on the low terrace watching them, while a second group lounged about the queen’s staircase. Full of the news which I had for the King, I crossed the terrace; taking no particular heed of anyone, but greeting such as came in my way in my usual fashion. At the edge of the terrace I paused a moment before descending the three steps; and at the same moment, as it happened, Henry looked up, and our eyes met. On the instant he averted his gaze, and, turning on his heel in a marked way, retired slowly to the farther end of the walk.

  The action was so deliberate that I could not doubt he meant to slight me; and I paused where I was, divided between grief and indignation, a mark for all those glances and whispered gibes in which courtiers indulge on such occasions. The slight was not rendered less serious by the fact that the King was walking with my two colleagues; so that I alone seemed to be out of his confidence, as one soon to be out of his councils also.

  I perceived all this, and was not blind to the sneering smiles which were exchanged behind my back; but I affected to see nothing, and to be absorbed in sudden thought. In a minute or two the King turned and came back towards me; and again, as if he could not restrain his curiosity, looked up so that our eyes met. This time I thought that he would beckon me to him, satisfied with the lengths to which he had already carried his displeasur
e. But he turned again, with a light laugh.

  At this a courtier, one of Sillery’s creatures, who had presumed on the occasion so far as to come to my elbow, thought that he might safely amuse himself with me. “I am afraid that the King grows older, M. de Rosny,” he said, smirking at his companions. “His sight seems to be failing.”

  “It should not be neglected then,” I said grimly. “I will tell him presently what you say.”

  He fell back, looking foolish at that, at the very moment that Henry, having taken another turn, dismissed Villeroy, who, wiser than the puppy at my elbow, greeted me with particular civility as he passed. Freed from him, Henry stood a moment hesitating. He told me afterwards that he had not turned from me a yard before his heart smote him; and that but for a mischievous curiosity to see how I should take it, he would not have carried the matter so far. Be that as it may — and I do not doubt this, any more than I ever doubted the reality of the affection in which he held me — on a sudden he raised his hand and beckoned to me.

  I went down to him gravely, and not hurriedly. He looked at me with some signs of confusion in his face. “You are late this morning,” he said.

  “I have been on your Majesty’s business,” I answered.

  “I do not doubt that,” he replied querulously, his eyes wandering. “I am not — I am troubled this morning.” And after a fashion he had when he was not at his ease, he ground his heel into the soil and looked down at the mark. “The queen is not well. Sillery has seen her, and will tell you so.”

  M. de Sillery, whose constant opposition to me at the council-board I have elsewhere described, began to affirm it. I let him go on for a little time, and then interrupted him brusquely. “I think it was you,” I said, “who nominated Ferret to be one of the King’s clerks.”

  “Ferret?” he exclaimed, reddening at my tone, while the King, who knew me well, pricked up his ears.

  “Yes,” I said; “Ferret.”

  “And if so?” Sillery asked, haughtily. “What do you mean?”

  “Only this,” I said. “That if his Majesty will summon him to the queen’s closet, without warning or delay, and ask him in her presence how much Madame de Verneuil gave him for the King’s cipher, her Majesty, I think, will learn something which she wishes to know.”

  “What?” the King cried. “You have discovered it? But he gave you a receipt for the papers he took.”

  “For the papers he took with my knowledge — yes, sire.”

  “The rogue!” Sillery exclaimed viciously. “I will go and fetch him.”

  “Not so — with your Majesty’s leave,” I said, interposing quickly. “M. de Sillery may say too much or too little. Let a lackey take a message, bidding him go to the queen’s closet, and he will suspect nothing.”

  The King assented, and bade me go and give the order. When I returned, he asked me anxiously if I felt sure that the man would confess.

  “Yes, if you pretend to know all, sire,” I answered. “He will think that Madame has betrayed him.”

  “Very well,” Henry said. “Then let us go.”

  But I declined to be present; partly on the ground that if I were there the queen might suspect me of inspiring the man, and partly because I thought that the rogue would entertain a more confident hope of pardon, and be more likely to confess, if he saw the King alone. I contrived to keep Sillery also; and Henry giving the word, as he mounted the steps, that he should be back presently, the whole Court remained in a state of suspense, aware that something was in progress but in doubt what, and unable to decide whether I were again in favour or now on my trial.

  Sillery remained talking to me, principally on English matters, until the dinner hour; which came and went, neglected by all. At length, when the curiosity of the mass of courtiers, who did not dare to interrupt us, had been raised by delay to an almost intolerable pitch, the King returned, with signs of disorder in his bearing; and, crossing the terrace in half a dozen strides, drew me hastily, along with Sillery, into the grove of white mulberry trees. There we were no sooner hidden in part, though not completely, than he threw his arms about me and embraced me with the warmest expressions. “Ah, my friend,” he said, putting me from him at last, “what shall I say to you?”

  “The queen is satisfied, sire?”

  “Perfectly; and desires to be commended to you.”

  “He confessed, then?”

  Henry nodded, with a look in his face that I did not understand. “Yes,” he said, “fully. It was as you thought, my friend. God have mercy upon him!”

  I started. “What?” I said. “Has he—”

  The King nodded, and could not repress a shudder. “Yes,” he said; “but not, thank Heaven, until he had left the closet. He had something about him.”

  Sillery began anxiously to clear himself; but the King, with his usual good nature, stopped him, and bade us all go and dine, saying that we must be famished. He ended by directing me to be back in an hour, since his own appetite was spoiled. “And bring with you all your patience,” he added, “for I have a hundred questions to ask you. We will walk towards Avon, and I will show you the surprise which I am preparing for the queen.”

  Alas, I would I could say that all ended there. But the rancour of which Madame de Verneuil had given token in her interview with me was rather aggravated than lessened by the failure of her plot and the death of her tool. It proved to be impenetrable by all the kindnesses which the King lavished upon her; neither the legitimation of the child which she soon afterwards bore, nor the clemency which the King — against the advice of his wisest ministers extended to her brother Auvergne, availing to expel it from her breast. How far she or that ill-omened family were privy to the accursed crime which, nine years later, palsied France on the threshold of undreamed-of glories, I will not take on myself to say; for suspicion is not proof. But history, of which my beloved master must ever form so great a part, will lay the blame where it should rest.

  VI.

  THE MAN OF MONCEAUX.

  In the month of August of this year the King found some alleviation of the growing uneasiness which his passion for Madame de Conde occasioned him in a visit to Monceaux, where he spent two weeks in such diversions as the place afforded. He invited me to accompany him, but on my representing that I could not there — so easily as in my own closet, where I had all the materials within reach — prepare the report which he had commanded me to draw up, he directed me to remain in Paris until it was ready, and then to join him.

  This report which he was having written, not only for his own satisfaction but for the information of his heir, took the form of a recital of all the causes and events, spread over many years, which had induced him to take in hand the Great Design; together with a succinct account of the munitions and treasures which he had prepared to carry it out. As it included many things which were unknown beyond the council, and some which he shared only with me — and as, in particular, it enumerated the various secret alliances and agreements which he had made with the princes of North Germany, whom a premature discovery must place at the Emperor’s mercy — it was necessary that I should draw up the whole with my own hand, and with the utmost care and precaution. This I did; and that nothing might be wanting to a memorial which I regarded with justice as the most important of the many State papers which it had fallen to my lot; to prepare, I spent seven days in incessant labour upon it. It was not, therefore, until the third week in August: that I was free to travel to Monceaux.

  I found my quarters assigned to me in a pavilion called the Garden House; and, arriving at supper time, sat down with my household with more haste and less ceremony than was my wont. The same state of things prevailed, I suppose, in the kitchen; for we had not been seated half an hour when a great hubbub arose in the house, and the servants rushing in cried out that a fire had broken out below, and that the house was in danger of burning.

  In such emergencies I take it to be the duty of a man of standing to bear himself with as much dignity as
is consistent with vigour; and neither to allow himself to be carried away by the outcry and disorder of the crowd, nor to omit any direction that may avail. On this occasion, however, my first thought was given to the memorial I had prepared for the King; which I remembered had been taken with other books and papers to a room over the kitchen. I lost not a moment, therefore, in sending Maignan for it; nor until I held it safely in my hand did I feel myself at liberty to think of the house. When I did, I found that the alarm exceeded the danger; a few buckets of water extinguished a beam in the chimney which had caught fire, and in a few moments we were able to resume the meal with the added vivacity which such an event gave to the conversation. It has never been my custom to encourage too great freedom at my table; but as the company consisted, with a single exception, of my household, and as this person — a Monsieur de Vilain, a young gentleman, the cousin of one of my wife’s maids-of-honour — showed himself possessed of modesty as well as wit, I thought that the time excused a little relaxation.

  This was the cause of the misfortune which followed, and bade fair to place me in a position of as great difficulty as I have ever known; for, having in my good humour dismissed the servants, I continued to talk for an hour or more with Vilain and some of my gentlemen; the result being that I so far forgot myself, when I rose, as to leave the report where I had laid it on the table. In the passage I met a man whom the King had sent to inquire about the fire; and thus reminded of the papers I turned back to the room; greatly vexed with myself for negligence which in a subordinate I should have severely rebuked, but never doubting that I should find the packet where I had left it.

  To my chagrin the paper was gone. Still I could not believe that it had been stolen, and supposing that Maignan or one of my household had seen it and taken it to my closet, I repaired thither in haste. I found Maignan already there, with M. Boisrueil, one of my gentlemen, who was waiting to ask a favour; but they knew nothing of the report, and though I sent them down forthwith, with directions to make strict but quiet inquiry, they returned at the end of half an hour with long faces and no news.