Part 17

A lost soul!--a lost soul! What use was it to call? He had sinned too deeply for aught but damnation, swift and terrible, damnation to which he must turn his shuddering eyes as the hand of Death claimed him. And yet, those eyes which looked into his still spoke their message of hope. She, this angel of purity and goodness, knew all his guilty secrets, and yet--she loved him; her kiss of tender love and forgiveness still lingered on his parched lips. Was it then so impossible that he should find a forgiveness greater than that of earth? His eyes wandered involuntarily from the face above him to the pictured image of a Figure,--a Figure thorn-crowned, suffering, dying,--a Figure of Love incarnate, with wide-stretched Arms which seemed to invite him to Their embrace. The voice of Father Ambrose rose clearer and sweeter, but it was not the Latin prayers which held the dying man's attention, but a Voice, more sweet, more clear than all, which seemed to soothe the tempest of his soul.

Then with a lightning flash another memory stole upon him. Gwennola de Mereac,--the girl he had tried to wrong more cruelly than he had her brother, the innocent girl who perhaps had already suffered the last agony of death through his sin and treachery.

"Gwennola?" he whispered faintly, and the peace which had stolen over him seemed for the moment shaken to its foundation as he listened for the answer.

It was Diane who replied. Slipping from Yvon's side, she knelt beside him, looking gladly into his eyes.

"She is safe," she whispered, with a happy sob. which told the tale of the great joy that deliverance had brought to her; "she is safe!"

Guillaume de Coray's eyes closed. Yes! she was safe, and the golden gates of mercy which he had fancied to see slowly opening were not shut against him by reason of this deadly sin. And so the mocking, cruel voices sank slowly to rest--those voices which cried in his ears that terrible sentence of eternal death. And though the bodily pains grew ever more agonizing, he could smile once more into the beautiful face so close to his.

"Forgiven?" he whispered in a faint, yet awestruck tone, whilst with a last effort he strove to clasp his hands in prayer. "Forgiven?"

He saw her lips move in prayer too, as together they turned to look towards the great crucifix Father Ambrose held aloft. It was growing dark to the dying man--dark and cold; he did not hear the words of absolution which freed his penitent soul from its load of sin; he did not feel the purifying touch of the holy oil. All he saw was the bowed Head of a crucified Saviour; all he heard was the voice of the woman he had loved with so strange and passionate a devotion, as into the Unknown his soul passed forth, with the echo of her words to guide him on his last journey.

"For love's sake, my Guillaume,--for love's sake!"

*CHAPTER XXV*

Dark and gloomy had been those November days to the young Duchess of Brittany. Her defiant reply to her over-bearing Suzerain had brought the banners of France within the sight of the castle walls of her town of Rennes, and great had been not only the terror of Anne herself, but apparently that of her councillors and ladies.

But Charles had seemed strangely disinclined to show any hostilities, but instead had sent a deputation proposing a treaty. To this Anne had perforce to agree, and at the dictation of the King twelve persons were appointed on each side to examine the claims each had on the duchy of Brittany. Meanwhile, the city of Rennes was placed in sequestration, in the hands of the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, to be governed for the time by the Prince of Orange. The King, on this being agreed to, promised to withdraw his troops, and allow passage and safe conduct to the Duchess and ambassadors of Maximilian to Germany, where she might join the husband who had been too impecunious to come in person for his bride.

All arrangements having been thus settled, the King had ordered his troops to retire from Brittany, and had, it was reported, himself returned to Touraine, whilst the Duke of Orleans, as Ambassador-Extraordinary, was despatched to the Duchess to confirm the treaty and compliment her on its conclusion.

Whilst these events of historical interest were occupying the minds of the chief actors in the destiny of Brittany, the lesser destinies of Gwennola de Mereac and Henri d'Estrailles were trembling in the balances.

To ride with his rescued bride to his chateau by the Loire was the first impulse of the young knight; but there is a power stronger even than, love, and duty called him inexorably to his master's side. The Count Dunois was not a man lightly to be disobeyed, and Dunois had bidden him take the Demoiselle de Mereac, if he succeeded in saving her from her threatened fate, to be placed under the care of the Duchess Anne. That in so doing Dunois had his own schemes at work, d'Estrailles did not doubt, for Dunois was one to hold carefully in his hand every thread of the slenderest fibre which might further the weaving of his darling scheme. Debarred by his enormous bulk from following in the warlike footsteps of his gallant father, there was no man in the kingdom of more service to Charles than Francois Dunois, Comte de Longueville, and for the present the heart of Dunois was set upon the uniting of his royal master to the heiress of Brittany, or, in other words, the binding of the refractory duchy by indissoluble bonds to its parent kingdom.

Anne had indeed welcomed to her persecuted little court one whose perils and misfortunes had been, in a different manner, even greater than her own. In former years Gwennola de Mereac had ofttimes stayed with her father and brother at the court of Francis II., and the little Anne had learnt to know and love the playmate who was scarcely three years her senior. Therefore it was with ready and sympathetic ears that she listened to Gwennola's tale of her misfortunes, and promised that when her own affairs gave her leisure she would not spare trouble in clearing her fair subject's fame and bringing to justice the wrongdoers, little knowing that justice had already been administered by a higher Power than even the Duchess of Brittany's.

But the kindly and generous protection of Anne meant for a time separation from her lover, and bitter such separation must needs be, seeing that neither knew when they should again meet; and Gwennola readily mingled her tears with those of the disconsolate Marie, who wept unrestrainedly at the thought of parting from the faithful Marcille. But duty was imperative, and it needs had to be that Henri d'Estrailles and Jean Marcille must follow the retreating lilies of France, vowing to return as soon as it should be possible.

The possibility came sooner, indeed, than it was expected, seeing that Henri d'Estrailles, to his infinite delight, was chosen to accompany the Duke of Orleans himself on his mission to Rennes. Yet another disappointment awaited him, for, to his surprise, he was bidden to remain outside the city walls whilst Louis proceeded alone to his interview.

The Duchess Anne received her Ambassador but coldly, with all the proud haughtiness of one who feels herself to have been treated unjustly and tyrannically. Whatever her feelings were, when Louis of Orleans, apparently ignoring the fact that he had once pleaded his own cause into the same ears, urged with all the persuasive eloquence of which he was so complete a master that she should yield to the King's desire and the wishes of her most trusted councillors in becoming Queen of France, she was outwardly the same cold, inflexible girl who had refused to listen to the pleadings of Dunois and others, finally referring him, with a lofty and indifferent air, to her council, "who," she informed him, "were acquainted with her pleasure."

Seemingly defeated, Louis of Orleans quitted the presence chamber, but not before humbly begging, as a special favour, that his young attendant might have speech with his mistress, the Demoiselle de Mereac. The request was granted, and Louis went on his way more elated than apparently his audience had given him cause for.

That evening two interviews took place in the old Castle of Rennes, one of which only is recorded in history, and even that in so vague a way as to leave its purport and sequel shrouded for ever in mystery. Henri d'Estrailles did not enter the castle gates alone; neither was his companion, whose face was partly concealed by a cloak, the faithful Jean, for whose coming the little Marie looked in vain. And so it chanced that all unexpectedly there appeared before Anne the man whom she had pictured as a monster of cruelty--the man whom she had fondly thought to be in far-off Touraine. It was indeed Charles himself, the gentle, kindly king whom his people had nicknamed "le Petit Roy." Not perhaps the ideal lover to woo a beautiful but refractory maiden. Handsome, Charles was certainly not. His head was large,--as was also his aquiline nose,--with large, prominent eyes, round dimpled chin, thin flat lips, compressed body and long, thin legs; whilst his slow speech, nervous movements, and constantly open mouth added to his appearance of foolishness. His great charm, however, lay in a singularly sweet voice and an expression of gentle amiability which appealed instantly to the generous side of those around him. Such was the royal wooer, the very opposite indeed of the bride he so vainly sought. Scarcely more than a child in years, Anne had already proved herself of a high-spirited, resolute disposition. In outward appearance she was undoubtedly beautiful, with black eyes, well-marked brows, dazzling complexion, dimpled chin, long, black hair, and fine features. Her carriage was majestic in spite of a slight lameness, and her manner somewhat haughty; but in spite of her pride and love of vengeance, she had many fine and noble qualities, being generous, truthful, and faithful to her friends.

Of what passed during that secret interview little has ever transpired; but it would seem that though Anne may have been softened to kindlier feelings towards the man she had formerly hated, she still remained firm in adhering to her resolution in considering her marriage to Maximilian binding, and Charles, perforce, had to retire as unsuccessful as his ambassadors. But the King did not go far; his friends in Rennes were many and powerful, or assuredly he would never have so dared to enter a hostile city practically alone and in disguise.

Meanwhile, the second interview was fraught with more happiness. There was so much that Gwennola had to tell--so much of joy and gladness, for a messenger had arrived from Mereac itself, a messenger who was no other than the faithful Job, who had watched his young mistress ride away through the mists and rain on that winter's day, across the wind-swept landes--away from the dangers and perils which had surrounded her, into safety. And yet the faithful Breton had sometimes misdoubted even that safety, for his jealous heart had rebelled against the fact that the protectors who surrounded her were Frenchmen--for it takes long to convince the obstinate nature of the Breton, whose ideas travel slowly, and all his life Job Alloadec had read "Frenchman" as "enemy." Therefore he had been glad enough to carry Father Ambrose's messages and letter to his mistress, and see how it fared with her and his sister, and whether they were truly safe under the protection of the Duchess. But the coming of Job was of less import to Gwennola than the good news he brought. Her innocence was proved. Diane had confessed, and the guilty brain that had planned all the evil against her and her brother was still for ever from such plots. Then, too, her brother was better,--far better; and though the betrothal between him and Diane de Coray had been cemented afresh by new bonds of a deeper and truer devotion, still there was no more to fear from such a love. Indeed, as Father Ambrose said, the unfortunate girl seemed only too eager to make reparation for the past and plead forgiveness from those she had injured. And so it had come to pass that, owing greatly to her influence, Yvon had given his sanction to his sister's marriage with Henri d'Estrailles.

How happy were the lovers as they sat together whispering of what joy and happiness this good news brought to them both! Yes, the dream was near to realization now; the tempest was past, and the sunshine shone across the path of youth and love without the shadow of a cloud between. But when would the time come when they should ride together, as they had so often done in fancy, and see the grey walls of the Chateau d'Estrailles rise close to the laughing waters of the Loire? Ah! when? Perhaps even sooner than she thought--it was possible. Only, there was one word of whispered counsel for her ears ere he bade her farewell: should the Duchess claim her attendance for a sudden and unexpected journey, she must not hesitate to comply, strange as it might seem;--that was all that he might say. And so, with fresh vows of love, they parted, though Gwennola little guessed that neither lover nor cloaked attendant went so far that night as the city walls.

A deputation of her councillors waited the following morning upon the young Duchess. It would seem that they were filled with anxiety; in fact, truly a new danger appeared to have arisen. That they were cognizant to the secret interview of the night before they made no attempt to hide, pleading that in their Duchess's interests they had permitted it to take place. Finding her inexorable with regard to the French marriage, they apparently yielded to her wishes, yet urged her, by reason of the dangers of her position, to make at least a compromise. Charles was set upon a betrothal, by some means or other; and the councillors hinted that there would be small scruple in taking by force what was not yielded to request. He had sworn to make Anne his bride. The armies of France were at no great distance; Maximilian was far away. What they would suggest was that Anne should in fair seeming yield acquiescence to the importunities of the King and allow herself to be secretly betrothed. Then, his suspicions lulled to rest, Anne would, with the greater ease, escape from her town and fly with a small retinue, including the ambassadors of Maximilian, to her husband's protection. Such craft and duplicity were little suited to Anne's straightforward nature; but, beset as she was with enemies and difficulties, she yielded at length, and that very night, in the utmost secrecy, was celebrated in the church of Notre Dame, this strange and romantic betrothal of the King of France to the Duchess of Brittany, witnessed by the Duchess of Bourbon, the Count Dunois, Philippe de Montauban, and Louis of Orleans, who thus saw consummated the match he had both desired and dreaded.

The betrothal over, Anne retired in haste to her castle, with scant ceremony, there to await the development of events promised her so glibly by her Chancellor and council.

All had impressed on the young Duchess the strict necessity of making her flight secret--so secret, indeed, that it had been communicated to no one; in fact, the Chancellor told her that the ambassadors themselves would only be acquainted with her plans at the last moment.

In due time, however, the hour arrived, and, attended by Gwennola de Mereac, Marie Alloadec, and Madame de Laval, her gouvernante, Anne stole from her castle to commence a journey which she could not but foresee would be both arduous and dangerous; and yet we are told, in minute detail, that the Duchess's travelling dress was of cloth of velvet, trimmed with one hundred and thirty-two sable skins, whilst her palfrey was adorned with three ells of crimson velvet!

But who can tell the anger and terror of this unfortunate girl, to find how craftily she had been duped, and how, instead of the ambassadors of Maximilian, the man who rode at her bridle rein, so closely cloaked and disguised, was no other than King Charles himself!

Morning had broken when the Duchess made the fatal discovery and perceived how hopeless was her case. To return, to explain, would be useless. The midnight betrothal, taken in conjunction with the secret flight, would appear in a light impossible to explain away to the outraged ambassadors of the husband to whom she had thought to go. To the high-spirited Anne even death itself were better than dishonour, and surely to return to Rennes after such an adventure would give rise to countless surmises and ill talking. Moreover, by her side rode one who could well plead his own cause; and though she wept and upbraided both him and the Breton nobles who surrounded her, Anne perforce had to yield to the exigencies of her position. And so forward they rode, a strange bridal party: a weeping bride, and a groom divided, perchance, 'twixt shame and triumph; whilst behind them came the men who had betrayed their mistress for the sake of their country--or for some more ulterior motive, amongst them being the Chancellor de Montauban, the Sieur de Pontbrient, and the Grand-Master Coetquen. A strange party indeed, but four at least of the company heeded it little. Close by the bridle of Gwennola de Mereac rode Henri d'Estrailles, whilst in the background Jean Marcille had already discovered the bright eyes of Marie Alloadec.

The clear, chill dawn of a December day was breaking in the east, as in the distance rose the grey turrets of Langeais, where Anne of Brittany was to become Queen of France.

"Touraine! Touraine!" whispered Henri d'Estrailles, as he bent his dark, handsome face down to meet the fair, flushed one so close beside him. "Welcome, my bride, welcome home!"

The sun rose high, illuminating a cold and cheerless world. Before them lay France and happiness; but above all, shining cloudless and imperishable in their hearts, rose the star of love. It was surely her welcome to his heart that Henri d'Estrailles whispered as their lips met in a lingering kiss.

Printed at The Mercat Press, Edinburgh

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