Part 15

"The worst of it all is," said the Italian, "that there is so short a time. It is to take place in the castle chapel; so there will be no going through the streets. To find him alone will be a matter of difficulty; and though I went over the passages, thinking it might come to this, yet I saw no one place, but at the door of the room called the revestry, where one could strike easily."

"I have seen the place," said the Abbé, "long ago; but I do not remember it so perfectly as to give you any aid. I know that the window of the room you mention looks into the court and gardens, and under the garden wall shall be a swift horse to bear you away. That is all I can do for you."

"I must do the rest for myself," replied the man, "and will find some means, depend upon it. Perhaps he may not wait for the other if he be eager, but may come first by himself, and then it will be easily done. However, I will now go and get the dagger ready, and I can undertake that the least scratch shall not leave an hour's life in him."

The Abbé de Boisguerin nodded his head and smiled as the other departed. "They know not," he said to himself, "they know not the man they have to deal with. These mighty men, these haughty Guises, may find that every man of strong determination and unflinching courage may thwart, if he cannot master, them; may destroy their plans, if he cannot accomplish his own. But there is another still to be dealt with. There is this proud, unfeeling, contemptuous girl; she who has been rejoicing in the reappearance of this crafty fair-faced boy.--There is now no going back; and why should I not risk life to win her too, and gratify both my love and my revenge?--Yet that seems scarcely possible," he continued. "Closely watched within the castle, never going out but strongly accompanied, she is put, it would seem, entirely out of my power, now that Villequier has fallen off from me.--And yet," he continued meditating, "and yet, there is nothing impossible to the dauntless and the daring.--Could I not bring her to the postern gate of the garden an hour before this marriage is to take place, and then, with swift horses and a carriage ready, convey her once more far away?--We have done as bold and difficult a feat before; and methinks, if I could tell her that I have news to give her concerning her uncle's safety--for rumours of his danger must have reached her ears--she will not fail to come, and come alone.--Oh! if I once more get her in my power, she shall find no means to fly again, till, on the contrary, she shall be more inclined to kneel at my feet, and beseech that I would wed her.--So it shall be! I will write to her that, if at ten o'clock she will be alone at the postern gate of the castle, she will hear news that may save her uncle's life. Then, with the swiftest horses we can find, a few hours will take us far from pursuit!--I will carry her into Spain! Epernon is with me and the way open!--It shall be done!" he said aloud; "it shall be done! But, then, this boy's death is scarcely needful! Why should I mind his living?--It will be but the greater torture to him to know that she is mine!--And yet, it were better he should die. All the tidings, and the rumours, and the bustle of his violent death in the castle will too much occupy the minds of men to let them notice our flight; so that we shall gain an hour or two. There is an eager and a daring spirit, also, within him--a keen and active mind--which might frustrate me once more in the very moment of hope. He must die! I have set my own life upon the chance; and what matters it whether one or two others are swept away before me? He must die! and then, without protection, she is mine. Once into Tourraine, and I am safe!--Ha! you are back again quickly, my good friend Orbi. Is all ready?"

"Everything, sir," replied the man; "and if I could but get into the château, and stumble upon the youth alone, I might be able to accomplish the matter to-night. Could you not furnish me with a billet to this Villequier, or some one? It matters not what; any empty words, just to make them admit me at the gates."

"Not to Villequier," said the Abbé; "not to Villequier. But I will write a few words to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut herself."

"That will do well! that will do well!" replied the man. "I am more likely to find him hanging about her apartments than any where else; and then one slight blow does the deed."

"Bring me paper and pens from the next room," cried the Abbé. "It shall be done this moment." And as soon as implements for writing were procured, he wrote a subtle epistle to Marie de Clairvaut, beseeching her to speak for a moment, at the postern gate of the château gardens early on the following day, to a person who would communicate something to her, which might save the life of her guardian the Duke of Guise. It was written in a feigned hand, and under the character of an utter stranger to her. Some mistakes too were made in the orthography of her name, and in regard to other circumstances, for the purpose of rendering the deception complete. When this was concluded and sealed, he placed it in the hands of Orbi, and after a few more words they parted.

While the Abbé busied himself in causing a carriage to be bought for the proposed enterprise of the following day, and in ordering the swiftest horses that could be found, to be obtained--not from the royal post, by which his course might have been tracked, but from one of the keepers of _relais_, as the irregular posting houses were called, which were then tolerated in France; the Italian proceeded on his task, with feelings in his heart which might well have been received as a reason for abating the price of the deed he was about to perform.

To tell the truth it might be considered fully as much his own act as that of the Abbé, for the same malevolent feelings were in the hearts of each; and he went not there merely as the common hired assassin, to do the work of his trade, as a matter of course; but he went also to avenge a long remembered blow, which still rankled in his heart, with the same bitterness that he had felt at the moment that it was received.

He met with some difficulty in obtaining entrance to the château at so late an hour of the night; but the letter addressed to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut enabled him to effect that object at length, and he was directed towards the suite of apartments assigned to the Duke of Guise and his family. When he had once passed the two first gates, he met with no obstruction, but wandered through the long dimly lighted corridors, scarcely encountering a waking being on his way, and certainly none who seemed inclined to speak to him.

When he had reached that part of the building to which he had been directed, he looked round for some one to give him farther information, not absolutely intending to seek the apartments of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, and deliver the note, but merely to obtain a general knowledge of how the different chambers were allotted. After passing on some way, without meeting any one or hearing a sound, he saw a door half open, with the light streaming out, and quietly approaching he looked in.

There was a boy in the dress of a page, sitting before a large Christmas fire reading a book; but though he walked stealthily, the first step which the Italian took in the room caught the youth's quick ear, and starting up he showed the Italian the face of his former bondman, Ignatius Marone. The man started when he saw him; but recovering himself instantly, he went up and endeavoured to soothe the boy with fair and flattering words.

"Ah, my little Ignati," he said, "here thou art then, and doubtless well off with this young Lord of thine."

"I _am_ well off, Signor Orbi," was the boy's brief reply; and seeing that the man paused and kept gazing round him, the boy added, "But what is your business here?"

"I am only looking about me," replied the man in somewhat of a contemptuous tone, which he could not smother, although it was his full intention to cajole the boy into giving him all the information he wanted, and perhaps even to induce him unconsciously to aid his purpose.

"Come, come, Signor Orbi," replied the boy, "I know you well, remember; and I know, that though you may have changed your doublet, you cannot have changed what is within it. If you do not say immediately what you want, I will call those who will make you." And he approached one of the other doors which the room displayed, and raised his hand towards the latch.

"Hist, hist, Ignati!" cried the Italian. "By Heavens! if you do, you shall never hear what I have got to tell you,--something that would make your heart beat with joy if you knew it."

"And what is that?" said the boy, still standing near the door, and looking at his fellow-countryman with a face of scorn and doubt.

"Come hither, and I will tell you," said the Italian; but the boy shook his head, and Orbi added in a low tone, "You know who your mother was, Ignati; but do you know your father?"

The boy gazed at him bitterly and in silence, without making any further answer; and the man added, "He is now in Blois."

Ignati instantly sprang forward towards him, exclaiming, "Where? Where? Where can I find him? I have still the letter from my dead mother. I have still all the proofs given me by the Marone. Where is he? where is he?"

"Come, let us sit down by the fire," said the man, "and I will tell thee more;" and finding the boy now quite willing to do what he wished, the man sat down by the fire with him, calculating the various results of particular lines of conduct open before him, but without suffering any one good principle or feeling to mingle at all with his considerations.

He had spoken the words which had called Ignati to him simply as a matter of impulse, and the first question he asked himself was, whether he should tell the boy more of the truth or not. Various considerations, however, induced him to go on, for he had a little scheme in his head which rendered it expedient for him to embarrass the proceedings of the Abbé de Boisguerin, on the following morning after the deed proposed was done, as much as possible.

"You know, Ignati," he said, "that I always loved you, my good youth."

"You gave me bitter proofs of it," replied Ignati.

"Nay, nay; it was my way," replied the Italian. "If you had been my own son, it would have been the same."

"I dare say," replied Ignati, "you would have murdered your own son almost as readily as you tried to murder me."

"Nay, boy, I tried not to murder thee," rejoined the man. "I was not such a fool; that would never have answered my purpose."

"You did it by halves," said the boy. "But come, Master Orbi, tell me more about this matter you spoke of; and tell me too what brings you here? Where is my father to be found, if, as you say, he is here?"

"He is to be found," said Orbi, "in the great house by the church of St. Sauveur. I remember him well, for when your mother fled out of Rome before you were born, and was glad to get what assistance she could, she sent me three times back into the city to speak with the Abbé of Laurans, as he was then called."

"And what is he called now?" exclaimed Ignati eagerly. "What is he called now?"

"He is called the Abbé de Boisguerin," replied the man, "or the Seigneur de Boisguerin, as it now is."

"Then I have seen him," cried Ignati. "Then I have seen him; and he called her----" But the boy suddenly checked himself, "And now, what is it you want here?" he said.

"No harm, Master Ignati," replied the man, with a look half sneering, half dogged. "You seem as grateful as any one else, and as soon as you get all you want, you turn upon one. I suppose you are waiting for your young master coming back from some gay revel, for the whole place seems as silent as if every body were gone to bed but you."

"Oh, no," answered Ignati. "There are six of the Duke's men sitting up in the next room; and all I fear is, that the gentlemen who are with the Duke himself should come out and find you here."

"Then, I suppose, your master is with them," said the Italian.

The boy smiled. "My master is with them," he said, "for my master is the Duke of Guise; but if you mean the young Count who took me from you, he has been gone to bed an hour ago. Ay, Master Orbi, and has two stout men sleeping across his door. I hav'n't forgot that he struck you a blow one day; nor you either, it seems."

"You are out there, Sharp-wits," said the Italian. "I bear the boy no grudge. I got his money, if he gave me a blow into the bargain; so we are quits."

"I doubt you," muttered Ignati to himself; but the man went on without attending to him, saying, "No, no; what I came for really, if you want to know, was to give a letter to a young lady here, from an old gentleman at the other side of the castle. Here it is! Ma'mselle de Clairvaut is the name."

"Ay, she is gone to bed long ago too," replied the page. "Let me look at the letter."

"It is of no great consequence, I believe," replied the Italian, who fancied the letter a mere pretext. "It is of no great consequence; all about a Persian cat, I believe. So you may take it and give it her to-morrow, if she is gone to bed now. There it is. But how is it you are not with the young Count now? The Duke of Guise!--Page to the Duke of Guise! Why, that is a step, indeed!"

"Hush!" cried Ignati, hearing the door of the Duke's cabinet open behind the arras. "Hush! get you gone with all speed! They are coming out; and if they find you here, I would not answer for your ears, or my own either."

The man started up, and ran out of the door by which he had entered, as fast as possible. But he had scarcely made his escape, when the tapestry which covered the doorway into the Duke's cabinet was drawn aside, and the Cardinal de Guise, with the Archbishop of Lyons, and the rest of Leaguers, came forth from their conference with the Duke.

CHAP. XIII.

It is now necessary to turn to other apartments in the château of Blois: namely, a suite inhabited by the King himself. It comprised--besides several others both above and below--the King's bed-room, into which opened four doors--one communicating with the Monarch's private staircase, which we have already spoken of--one to the right entering into a small dressing-room--one to the left, which gave admittance to a chamber called the old cabinet--and one communicating by a short and narrow passage with the large chamber, which, during the residence of the King at Blois, was employed as a council-room. The walls of the council-room were bare; but those of the King's chamber and the two cabinets were lined throughout with rich old tapestry.

Before five o'clock on the morning of the 23d of December, Henry had risen from his bed and dressed himself in haste, and as soon as his toilet was completed, one of his valets was dispatched with all speed to bear a message, which had already been entrusted to him. The King then passed out of his dressing-room into his bed-chamber, holding a light in his hand, and approached the door which led to the private staircase. There was eagerness and much anxiety in his countenance, and his eyes were fixed upon the top of the stairs with an intense gaze, which seemed to strain them from their orbits.

At length a heavy foot was heard ascending, and then several more, and in a moment after the head and shoulders of an armed man, carrying a light, appeared at the mouth of the staircase.

"Ah, Laugnac, this is well!" cried the King, as soon as he saw him. "You are punctual and prepared, I see. Whom have you with you?"

"Nine of my most determined fellows, Sire," replied Laugnac. "There is not one, indeed, of the Forty-five that would not shed his life's blood for your Majesty. But these gentlemen I know well for men who would kill the devil himself, I believe, if you were to bid them."

As he spoke, half a dozen steps behind him appeared, man after man, nine of the Gascon band, called the "Quarante-cinq," in whose countenances might be read that sort of remorseless determination, which was suited to the moment and the deed, and whose frames displayed the strength requisite to execute whatever violent act was entrusted to them.

"This is well; this is well," said the King, as they entered. "But where is Larchant, Laugnac?"

"He remained behind, Sire," replied the other, "as it will be necessary to secure the doors of the council-chamber. Whenever the enemy has entered, he will come round and join your Majesty."

"I should like to have some one with me in the cabinet," said the King. "Run and tell Ornano, Bonnivet, and la Grange, to come to me," he continued, speaking to a valet. "Bring them by the back staircase."

The valet went away with a pale countenance, feeling all the agitation which such events might well produce; and while he was gone, the King, after asking Laugnac if he had explained to his companions what was the task in which they were about to be employed, addressed them all in a short speech, not without eloquence and fire.

When he had concluded, he made Laugnac open one of the large chests which formed the window-seats of his bed-room, and taking thence a number of long, sharp, and well-pointed knives, he gave them with his own hands to the assassins, saying, "Here, gentlemen, are the avengers of your liberty and mine! and I command and authorise you to use them for the punishment of the greatest criminal in my kingdom. Every law, divine and human, requires his death; and where power prevents the ordinary course of justice from taking place, it is a right and a privilege of the sovereign to execute judgment by any means that present themselves! Now, follow me, gentlemen!" And leading them on to the other side of the chamber, he posted them himself,--the principal part of them in the old cabinet, and the rest behind the arras round the door of the bed-room itself. Most of those even who were in the cabinet were concealed also behind the arras near the entrance, and the door was left open.

By the time this had been arranged a page had entered the King's bed-room, and now informed him that the gentlemen he had sent for had arrived, adding, "Monsieur de Nambu is there also, Sire, saying you told him last night to come at this hour."

"I did, I did," said the King. "Bid them all come up;" and greeting the others briefly, he took Nambu by the arm and led him into the passage which conducted to the council-chamber. Through the door which led thither voices were heard speaking beyond.

"Stay there, Nambu," he said in a whisper, "and let no one pass without my especial order. The council cannot have begun its sitting yet, for it is still dark, I see."

"As I passed by I saw into the room," said Nambu, "and there were none but ushers and such people: but I heard that the Duke had been sent for according to the commands your Majesty gave last night."

The King then left him, and returned into his room, where he found Laugnac and the rest of the gentlemen, whom he led towards the door of his dressing-room.

"I have taken off my head-piece and cuirass, Sire," said Laugnac, "as I intend to remain here at the door of your Majesty's dressing-room till the matter is settled, and the sight of arms might scare the prey."

"Right, right, Laugnac!" replied the King. "Bid the page send for Revol by the back staircase. We shall want him to fetch the Duke." And, this said, he retired into his cabinet.

The page ran round at once to the door of the council-chamber, where he found Revol just about to enter; and whispering a word to him, the Secretary of State gave the bag of papers which he had in his hand to one of the ushers, bidding him hold it till he returned, and followed the King's domestic, forbidding the servants, who had accompanied him thither, to go any farther. The spot where they remained was the large open space at the top of the great staircase, and a number of other persons were there collected, while the company of the King's guard might be seen at the foot of the staircase, not, indeed, under arms, or drawn up in regular order, but waiting apparently for the arrival of some one to give them directions.

After the departure of Revol, the statesmen who had been summoned to the council arrived rapidly one after the other. The Cardinal of Vendôme was amongst the first, and then followed the Marshals de Retz and d'Aumont. Some other members of the council came next, and then the Archbishop of Lyons. But still neither the Cardinal de Guise nor the Duke had made their appearance. Time was now wearing on, and occasionally a page, or valet-de-chambre, known to belong to the King, was seen to come and speak with some of the people at the top of the staircase, and then return suddenly.

While this was going on, a boy, bearing the habiliments of a page of the Duke of Guise, passed along at the foot of the staircase; and, seeing a number of archers of the guard collected there, he ran lightly up the steps and mingled with the various persons collected. He passed rapidly along from one to another, as if he was looking for some person, spoke to two or three of those whose faces he knew, and then hurrying away down the stairs, passed with a step of light to the apartments of the Duke of Guise. He found that Prince just quitting his cabinet and entering the antechamber. A number of gentlemen and officers followed him, but the boy advanced straight towards him with a degree of familiarity, neither insolent nor ungraceful, and kissing his hand said, with his slight Italian accent, "May so humble a being as I am detain your Highness for one moment?"

"What is it, Ignati? Speak!" said the Duke of Guise, "I am already late for the council, my good boy."

"Your Highness promised to grant me any favour I asked," replied the boy, "and as the greatest at this moment, I ask to speak with your Highness alone."

"What is it?" said the Duke somewhat impatiently; "what is it?" And he drew him a little on one side, motioning the rest to remain.

"My Lord," said Ignati, "there is danger going forward, I am sure. All the archers of the guard are at the foot of the staircase; there are many strange faces, not usually seen at the door of the council-chamber. Twice I saw a servant of the King's come and speak to Henville, and hearing you had not arrived, go round again, as if by the back staircase, to the King's apartments. I am sure, sir, there is something wrong."

The Duke smiled, but it was somewhat thoughtfully. "Thank you, my good boy," he said. "I know rumours often precede the act; but I cannot pause to consider such things now."

"Oh, sir, think!" the boy ventured to exclaim; "think how the welfare of the State and the welfare of a thousand individuals depend entirely upon your safety. What would become of me? What would become of the young Count and his bride, if----"

"Ay, well bethought," replied the Duke. "Bring me here paper and the ink-horn;" and when the boy brought them, Guise bent down over a large coffer that stood near, and wrote a few lines.

"Take that to the Count," he said, as soon as he had finished writing. "Quick, Ignati: but, after all, these warnings are but nonsense. There is nobody in France dares do it. Look, I have delayed too long. Here comes a messenger from the King."

"As I find your Highness coming," said the usher, approaching the Duke, "it is needless, perhaps, to deliver the King's message: but I was directed to say to your Highness that the council waited, and that His Majesty was extremely anxious that the business of the day should go on, as he wished to proceed to Clery in time for dinner. If your Highness were not well, he said, perhaps you would not object to the council being held without you."

"You see!" said the Duke in a low voice, turning towards Ignati with a smile, "you see!" And following the usher, he walked on upon his way towards the council-chamber.