Part 13

D'Aumont turned somewhat pale as he listened; his brows knit, and a certain degree of wildness came into his eyes; but he answered, the moment the King had done, "I have not rightly understood your Majesty. But it seems to me, that the only way a sovereign can deal with rebellious subjects and traitors, is to cause them to be arrested, and deliver them over to their natural judges, to be tried according to law."

Henry waved his hand with a look of contemptuous disappointment, and then added, looking fixedly in D'Aumont's face, "You will be silent!"

"On my honour, Sire," replied D'Aumont; and bowing low, but with a face still pale, he quitted the chamber.

Without noticing the other gentlemen who were standing at the farther corner of the room, Henry called to a page, and descended by the staircase into the gardens. He looked up for a moment at the bright and cheerful sunshine, and then upon the clear wintry scene around; but the sight seemed only to plunge him in deeper gloom than ever; and turning to the boy he said, "Run back to the hall, and bid Monsieur Crillon come here alone."

He then stood with his arms crossed upon his chest, gazing upon the ground beneath his feet, and when Crillon approached he took him by the arm, and walked slowly on with him to the other side of the gardens. He was silent for some moments; but then turning to Crillon he said, "You are colonel of my French guards, Crillon, and there is a service which I want you and them to perform."

"Speak, Sire," replied Crillon with his bluff manner. "If there be any thing that a soldier and a man of honour can do for you, I am ready to do it."

"Are not kings the highest magistrates in their realm, Crillon?" said the King, gazing in his face; "and have they not a right to judge their own subjects, and pass sentence upon them?"

"I wish to Heaven I were a lawyer, Sire," replied the old soldier, "and then I would give your Majesty an answer. But on my honour, at present, I have not considered the subject."

"Well then, Crillon," continued the King, "to put it in another shape: I have a subject who is more king than myself; who stands between me and the sun; who grasps at all the power in the realm; and who, day by day, is increasing in ambition and insolence."

"Your Majesty means the Duke of Guise," said Crillon; "I know him in a minute by the description."

"You are right," said Henry. "But this must not continue long, Crillon. Methinks a small body of my guards, with a brave and determined commander, might rid me of this enemy, of this viper. The most learned lawyers of my realm have assured me that law and justice and right authorise me to cause this deed to be done. Will you undertake it, Crillon?"

"Sire," replied Crillon, "I beg your Majesty's pardon for reminding you, that there is a public executioner appointed by law, and I must not interfere with any other man's office. As to my becoming an assassin, that your Majesty does not conceive possible for a moment."

Henry looked bitterly down upon the ground, and then said, in a tone between wrath and anguish, "My friends desert me!"

"No, Sire, they don't," replied Crillon. "There is a way of settling the matter, which your Majesty has forgotten, but which suits my feelings and habits better than any other way. I will now humbly take leave of your Majesty, and going up to the cabinet of his Highness of Guise, I will insult him before his people, tell him that he has wronged his King and his country, and bid him accompany me to the field with equal arms. The Duke, bad as he is, is not a man to refuse such an invitation; and I think I can insure your Majesty, that you shall not be troubled with the Duke of Guise for a long time to come."

The King smiled; "Alas! Crillon," he said, "you deceive yourself. You forget what you undertake. Remember, you purpose to strive with, hand to hand, the most powerful man in Europe--the most dexterous and skilful in the use of every weapon upon the face of the earth,--the most fearless, the most active, the most prompt, whose hand never trembles, whose eye never winks, whose foot never slips. He would slay thee, Crillon; he would slay thee in a moment."

"I know it, Sire," replied Crillon calmly; "but not before I have slain him. If I choose to make my body a sheath for his sword, I will make his body a sheath for mine, while my hand holds tight against my breast the hilt of his weapon, to keep in my own spirit till I see his fled. This can be done, Sire, and it shall be done within these two hours. I give your Majesty good day, for there is no time to spare."

"Stay, Crillon, stay!" said the King, "I command you not to think of it. If you attempt it, you will ruin all my plans. I thank you for your willingness. I owe you no ill-will for your refusal. You will find the page at the door: tell him to send Monsieur de Laugnac to me--Montpizat Laugnac, you know."

"Oh, I know him, Sire," replied Crillon. "He is a man of small scruples. I will tell the page as your Majesty bids me." And he retired from the presence of the King with a quick step.

The manner in which the King dealt with Laugnac formed a strange contrast with his manner towards Crillon. The moment that the former, who was first gentleman of his chamber, and captain of the famous band of Quarante-cinq, joined him in the garden, the King seized him by the hand, saying, "Laugnac, the Duke of Guise must die!"

"Certainly, Sire," replied Languac, as if it were a thing perfectly natural. "I have thought so some time."

"Will you undertake it, Laugnac," demanded the King. "You and your Quarante-cinq?"

"I must have more help than that, Sire," said Laugnac, "if it is to be done out in the streets, in the open day, which I suppose must be the case, as he is seldom out at night."

"Oh no, no, no! that will never do!" exclaimed the King. "We must have no rashness, Laugnac. He never rides but with a train, which would set you at defiance; and, besides, the town is filled with Guisards. You would have men enough upon you to slay you all in five minutes. We must put him off his guard; we must lull him into tranquillity, and then draw him to some private place, where you and your good fellows, posted behind the arras, can strike him to the heart before he is aware."

"It is an excellent good plan, Sire," exclaimed Laugnac enthusiastically. "I will speak with my good friend, Larchant, who is a bold man and strong, a mortal enemy of the Guise, and a most devoted servant of your Majesty. We will soon arrange a plan together which cannot fail."

"Swear him to secrecy," cried the King; "and remember to-morrow must not pass without its being done. If you can find Villequier too, who ought to be returned by this time, for we have much to do together to-morrow, consult with him, for in a matter of poisoning or of the knife you know, Laugnac, he has not his equal in France."

The King smiled, and Laugnac smiled too, at the imputation which they cast on another of the dark deeds exactly similar to those they were both plotting themselves.

"Do you not think, your Majesty," said the latter, "that it could be done just about the time of the Duke's coming to the Council tomorrow?"

"Excellent, good," said the King, "for that will cut him off, just ere this marriage that is talked of. But go quick, Laugnac, and make all the arrangements, and let me know the plan to-night; for look where the very man comes:" and he pointed down the alley that led to the château, where the Duke of Guise was seen approaching alone.

"He is alone," said Laugnac. "Could it not be done now? I and another could make sure of it, if your Majesty would detain him here till I seek aid."

"On no account," said the King, grasping his wrist tight. "On no account, Laugnac. You forget all the windows of the château see us. The rest of his creatures would escape, and I must have not a few of them in prison. No! we will be tender with him. He shall be our sweet cousin of Guise, our well-beloved counsellor and friend. Greet him gracefully as you pass by him, and tell the page to seek, high and low, for Villequier, and bring him to me."

Laugnac bowed low, and walked away, and as he went he left the Duke of Guise the whole of the path, pulling off his hat till the plumes almost swept the ground, but without speaking. Guise bowed to him graciously; but, evidently in haste, passed on towards the King, whom he saluted with every demonstration of respect, and on whom in return Henry smiled with the most gracious expression that he could assume.

"What seeks our fair cousin of Guise?" said the King. "I know this is a busy hour with him in general, and therefore judge that it must be matter of some importance brings him now."

"Not exactly so, Sire," replied the Duke. "There is but little business of importance stirring now, when so many of the multitude, lately collected in Blois, have returned to their own homes for the approaching festival. I came, however, to beseech your Majesty to grant me permission to absent myself for a few days on the same joyful occasion. All business for the time ceasing, my presence will not be necessary."

"Assuredly, assuredly!" replied Henry, turning pale at the very idea of the Duke escaping from his hands. "But do you go soon, fair cousin. I thought that you proposed the marriage of your fair ward for to-morrow; indeed, I heard that every thing was prepared, and I myself intended to be one of the guests."

"We have not forgotten your Majesty's gracious promise," replied the Duke. "Every thing is prepared, and half an hour before high mass we shall all be waiting for your Majesty in the revestry of the chapel. Never yet have I seen two young beings so happy in their mutual love; and as we have broken through some cold forms, in consideration of the many services which the lover has rendered to his future bride, they are always together, and clinging to each other, as if they fancied that something would yet separate them."

Henry smiled, but there was a certain mixture in it, which rendered it difficult to say whether the expression was gracious or ironical. "Well then, good cousin," he said, "as you have such mighty business toward, we had better hold our council as early as possible to-morrow, and not wait till the usual hour. Let it be as near day-break as possible. The god of day does not open his eyes too soon at this season of the year. And yet I fear that the business of various kinds, that we have before us, will occupy more time than one council can afford. Thus we may be obliged to detain you at Blois, fair cousin, longer than you expect, I fear."

"I did not intend to go, Sire," replied the Duke, "till somewhere about twelve on Christmas-day, which would give me the opportunity of being present at two councils; and I shall be also absent so short a space of time--certainly not longer than three whole days--that the interruption will not be great."

"Well, be it so; be it so," replied the King. "We know that your activity makes rapidly up for time lost. As to the marriage, I will sign the contract in the revestry, where I meet you; and I think that, notwithstanding the poverty of my treasury, I have a jewel yet of some price to give the bride."

"I beseech your Majesty think not of it," replied the Duke of Guise. "She and her good husband will be equally devoted to your service without such a mark of your condescension."

After a few more words of the same kind, the Duke took leave, and Henry remained in the garden walking to and fro, and growing every moment more and more impatient for the arrival of Villequier.

"Where can he be?" he muttered to himself. "He promised to be back before nine o'clock this morning. What can detain him? By Heavens! he will lose the best part of our enterprise if he stays. Can he have met with some mishap by the way--or has some lady poisoned him with champignons or with Cyprus wine--or tried cold steel upon him--or shot him with a silver bullet in honour of his great master. No steel would touch him, I should think, if all tales are true. But here he comes; here he comes, alive and well, with the eye of a wolf and the footfall of a cat.--He is a handsome animal notwithstanding, even now, if he would but paint his lips a little, for they are too pale. Something has gone wrong. He seems agitated; and to see Villequier moved by any thing is indeed a wonder. Why, how now, dear friend? What is it that affects you? I declare your lip quivers, and your cheek is red. What is the meaning of this?"

"Why, Sire," replied Villequier, "I just met the Duke of Guise in the hall of the château, and he not only tells me that the marriage of his niece goes forward, but that your Majesty has promised to sign the contract, and to be present at the ceremony. How you intend to withdraw yourself, I do not know: but to throw, at least, some obstacle in the way, I said that my signature had not been asked; and while my application was before the Parliament of Paris, the marriage could not take place without that signature. He answered haughtily, Sire, not by requesting, but by commanding, me to be in the revestry of the chapel at the hour of half-past eleven; and he added, with a significant tone, that he would teach me the use of pen and ink."

Henry showed no wrath: his mind was made up to his proceedings; his dark determination taken; and utterly remorseless himself, he sported in his own imagination with the idea of Guise's death, and only smiled at his conduct to Villequier, as the skilful angler sees amused the large trout dash at the gilded fly, knowing that a moment after he will have the tyrant of the stream upon his own hook, and panting on the bank.

"You shall be in the revestry, Villequier," said the King; "you shall sign the marriage contract, for the King commands you as well as the Duke of Guise; and surely two such potent voices must be obeyed."

Villequier paused for a minute or two ere he replied, calculating what might be the King's motives in his present conduct. He knew Henry well, and knew his vacillating changeable disposition; and he suspected that he was determined to violate his promise to Gaspar de Montsoreau upon some inducement, either of hope or fear, held out to him by the Duke of Guise. He was well aware, however, that if the means taken had been disagreeable, the King, though he might have endured them smilingly in the presence of the Duke, would have burst forth into passion, almost frantic, when conversing with him. He therefore replied straightforwardly, "I suppose, Sire, the younger brother has outbid the elder."

"Wrong, wrong, good friend," replied the King. "Your hawk has missed its stroke, Villequier. The Duke of Guise wills it so! Is not that quite sufficient in France?"

"I hope it will not be so long, Sire," replied Villequier, now beginning, though indistinctly, to catch the King's meaning. "I hope it will not be so long."

"Ha, René! Do you understand me now?" said Henry. "Hark ye! Are you not this girl's guardian beyond all doubt, were the Duke out of the way?"

"Indubitably," answered Villequier; "for the only thing that affects my right, even now, is her father's will, appointing this same Henry, Duke of Guise to be her guardian: the other brothers are not named."

"Well then," said Henry, "have a contract of marriage in due and proper form drawn out, this very night, in the names of Marie de Clairvaut and Gaspar, Marquis of Montsoreau. Be in the revestry at the hour named, and bring with you your gay bridegroom with all his golden crowns. You shall sign the contract, and I will sign the contract, and we will find means I think to make the fair Lady sign the contract too, while the Duke of Guise's bridegroom discovers his way into a dungeon of the château. You have been so long absent, I feared you would not come in time to hear all this."

"Why, Sire," replied Villequier, "I was forced to be absent; for although your Majesty seems to have forgotten a certain paper given to the Abbé de Boisguerin, I have not."

"Ha!" said the King, "I had forgotten indeed. We must suppress that, Villequier; we must suppress that, if he will not consent to our plans; which, I see by your face, it is not your opinion that the worthy Abbé will do. You must get it from him and suppress it."

Villequier smiled at the very thought. "He will never give it up to be suppressed, Sire," replied the Marquis. "Your Majesty little knows the man."

"Well, then, suppress him!" said the King with a laugh; "suppress him, Villequier, and the paper with him. Under the great blaze made by this business of the Guise, his affair will be but as one of the wax tapers that a country girl, with a sore eye, buys for half a denier to hang up before St. Radigonde. Suppress him, Villequier; suppress him. I know no one so capable of sweeping the window clear of such flies."

"Yes, Sire," replied Villequier; "but he is a wasp, not a fly. He has antidotes for poison, and sureties against the knife. He has, besides, more powerful friends, it seems, than any of us believed, or at least more powerful means of gaining them. The Pope has been induced to set him free of his vows. I find, too, that Epernon sent for him immediately after that business of the attempt upon his life at Augoulême, and they are now sworn friends and comrades, levying forces together, holding counsel every other hour; and here is the former Abbé now disporting himself as Seigneur de Boisguerin; and, just like a butterfly that has cast its slough, he arrives in Blois last night in gilded apparel, with a train of twenty horse behind him, and a number of sumpter mules. I saw him in his gay attire near Augoulême, and find that he aspires to the hand of the fair heiress himself."

"But what is to be done, Villequier?" said the King smiling. "It seems to me that all the world are seeking her. Suppose we send for an auctioneer, and set her up _aux enchères_. But, to speak seriously, what will you do with this cidevant Abbé?"

"I have done with him something already," replied Villequier, "that with all his art he could not prevent nor know. I found this young Marquis of Montsoreau somewhat stubborn to counsel. He loved not the plan of coming and lying concealed at Blois. Though he is politic and artful at seasons himself, yet now he was all passion and fury. Nothing would serve him but he must come to Blois in open day, with a hundred lances at his back. He would fight his brother, it seemed, and cut his throat. He would beard the Guise; and he would compel your Majesty and me to fulfil our promise to the letter. That the girl had escaped he attributed to my connivance; and, by Heavens! I almost feared he would have laid violent hands upon me. In short, Sire, by a little skilful teazing, I found that this same Abbé de Boisguerin, whose credit I had once greatly shaken, had resumed the mastery, and was urging on his former pupil to every sort of rash and violent act, probably with the hope of getting him killed out of his way. I soothed the good youth down, however, and told him I would give him proof of his friend's regard. I hid him where he could hear all that passed, and then entrapped the Abbé into talking of the paper that we had signed for him. I told him that the person for whom your Majesty and I destined this fair Helen, was the young Marquis of Montsoreau. I reminded him that he had obtained that paper with an absolute and direct view to that marriage; at least, that he had told me so; and I asked him immediately to sign his consent to the alliance. Your Majesty may imagine his answers; and the youth's rage was such that most assuredly he would have broken in upon us, if I had not stationed two men to stop him. However, he became afterwards as docile as a lamb, was convinced, by what passed, that we had throughout been dealing sincerely with him, and will be ready at the hour to-morrow. When the good Abbé, perhaps, hears that the whole affair is concluded, that Guise is gone, and your Majesty powerful, he may judge it more wise to be silent and resigned. We can tempt him, first, with some post; we can alarm him, if that will not do, with some peril; and lastly, if we fail in both, then we must find some way of putting an end to the matter altogether."

"That will be easily done," replied the King, his mind reverting to the Duke of Guise. "But come, Villequier, let us go and consult with Laugnac. I told him, before you came, to seek for you and consult with you. We must trust as few as possible in this business, and I must see to the whole myself, for this is a step on which, if we but slip, we fall to inevitable perdition."

CHAP. XI.

Was the Duke of Guise unconscious of the dangers that surrounded him? Was he unaware that the power which he assumed, and the power which the States also put upon him, could not but render him obnoxious in the highest degree to the King, who, though weak and indolent, was jealous of that authority which he failed himself to exercise for the benefit of his people? Was the Duke ignorant that the Monarch was as treacherous as feeble, was as remorseless as vicious? Was it unknown to him, that to all the creatures who surrounded the King he was an object of hatred and jealousy; and that there were ready hands and base hearts enough to attempt any thing which the royal authority might warrant?

He was not so ignorant, or so unaware: he had been warned sufficiently, days and weeks before; but even had that not been the case, on that very night he received sufficient intimations of his danger to put him on his guard.

He had presided at the supper-table as Grand Master of the King's household, and he had received his guests with easy courtesy. The meal was over somewhat sooner than usual; and, the business of the State being considerably slackened, in consequence of the approaching festival of Christmas, he sat in his cabinet with Charles of Montsoreau and Marie de Clairvaut only, enjoying an hour of refreshment in calm and tranquil conversation upon subjects, which, however agitating to them, was merely a matter of pleasant interest to him.

Charles of Montsoreau sat by his side making some notes of various little things that the Duke told him, and Marie de Clairvaut was seated on a stool at his feet, while he looked down upon her, from time to time, with the sort of parental tenderness which he had displayed towards her from her infancy.

A pleasing sort of melancholy had come over him,--a sadness without grief, and mingling even occasionally with gaiety. It was that sort of present consciousness of the emptiness of all worldly things, which every man at some moment feels, even the ambitious, the greedy, the zealous, the passionate. Perhaps that which had brought such a mood upon him, was the contrast of all the arrangements for his fair ward's marriage and the deep and intense feelings which that event excited in the bosom of herself and Charles of Montsoreau, with the eager and fiery struggles in which he had been lately taking part, while engaged in the dark fierce strife of ambition, or tossed in the turbid whirlpool of political intrigue. And thus he sat, and thus he talked with them of their future prospects and their coming happiness, sometimes speaking seriously, nay gravely--sometimes jesting lightly, and smiling when he had made Marie cast down her eyes.

As he thus sat there was a tap at the door of his cabinet, and the Duke knowing it to be the page, bade him enter; when the boy Ignati appearing, informed him that the Count de Schomberg was without.