Part 16

At the bottom of the staircase he found Larchant and the whole body of archers of the guard, who now pressed round him somewhat closely.

"What is it, Larchant? what is it, my good friend?" said the Duke. "Your presence here is unusual, I think."

"We are here, your Highness," replied Larchant, "to solicit in a body your mediation with the King. You promised me yesterday, my Lord, that you would present our petition to his Majesty, and advocate our cause in the council. These poor fellows have not received any pay for months; I might almost say years."

"I did advocate your cause, yesterday," said the Duke, "and his Majesty graciously sent an order upon the treasurer by one of the ushers."

"But the treasurer ungraciously told us, sir, that there was not a sous in his coffers," replied Larchant; and the Duke taking the paper out of his hand, began to mount the stairs, saying, "I will see to it, Larchant; I will see to it."

Larchant and the archers followed him up the steps, still pressing close upon him; and he heard a low deep voice say from the midst of them, "Look to yourself, my Lord Duke, there are bad men abroad!"

The Duke passed on, however, without notice and entered the hall of the council, the ushers drawing back with low bows as he appeared, and throwing open the doors for him to go in. The moment after those fatal doors had closed behind him, the archers drew up across them at the head of the stairs. Larchant hurried away towards the chamber of the King, and Villequier, passing rapidly by, said in a low voice to one of the attendants, "Go down to Monsieur de Crillon, at the Corps de Garde; tell him to shut and guard the gates, as the Duke has gone in."

Though he spoke low, he seemed little to heed who listened to the words; and they were heard by the boy Ignati, who, with the painful conviction that some great evil was about to befall the Duke, had followed him step by step to the council-chamber. The boy put his hand to his brow with a look of painful anxiety, and darted away once more towards the apartments of the Duke of Guise. The first person he met with there was Pericard, the Duke's secretary; and grasping his arm, he exclaimed, "They will murder him! they will murder him! They are closing the gates of the castle and guarding them!"

Pericard rushed to one of the windows that looked out into the court. "Too true, indeed!" he exclaimed. "Too true, indeed! It may be yet time to save him though. Run quick, Ignati, and get one of the Duke's handkerchiefs while I write." And with a rapid hand he wrote down,--"My Lord, your death is resolved. They are barring and guarding the gates. I beseech you come out from the hall of the council to your own apartments. We can make them good against all the world, till the town rises to protect you."

Before he had done, the boy was back again with the handkerchief; and enveloping the note therein, Pericard gave it to him, exclaiming, "Fly, fly with that to the door of the council-chamber, Ignati. The ushers will let you in, surely, to give it to the Duke, if you say that he has forgotten his handkerchief."

"They have let me in before," said Ignati; "but I doubt it now. I will try and make my way at all events."

Again he flew to the top of the staircase, and, as if a matter of course, pushed up towards the door, endeavouring to force his way through the archers.

"Stand back, saucy spright," cried one of the men; "you cannot pass here."

"But I must pass," cried the boy, turning upon him with a fierce air of authority. "I am the Duke of Guise's page, and bring him his handkerchief, which he forgot. Make way, saucy archer, or I will teach you to whom you speak."

"Listen to the insolence of these Guisards," said the man. "But their day is over. Stand back, fool, or I'll knock you down with my partisan."

The boy laid his hand upon his dagger, still striving to push forward; and the man, without further words, struck him a blow over the head with the staff of his halbert, which laid him prostrate upon the ground. For a moment he seemed stunned, but then, starting up, he turned away, and went down the stairs, bursting into tears ere he reached the bottom, not with the pain of the blow he had received, but with the bitter conviction that the last effort had failed, and the fate of Guise was sealed.

In the meantime the Duke of Guise entered the council-room, carrying in his hand the petition of the guards. Every one rose at his approach; and as the greater part of those present were personally friendly towards him, he went round and spoke to them with his usual grace and suavity, and then laying the petition on the table, approached the fire, saying, "It is awfully cold this morning! Has not his Majesty yet appeared?"

"Not yet," replied the Cardinal de Guise, "though we expected him before, for he sent down to hasten our coming. But what is the matter with your Highness? there is blood trickling over your mustachio."

"The cold has made my nose bleed twice this morning," replied the Duke, and putting his hand in his pocket he said, "My people have been negligent; they have forgotten to give me a handkerchief. St Prix," he continued, turning his head to one of the King's valets-de-chambre, who stood on the inside of the door communicating with the King's apartments. "I wish you would send to my rooms for a handkerchief. You will find some of my people at the door."

"There are plenty, my Lord, belonging to the King," replied St. Prix, "in this little cabinet:" and crossing the hall of the council, he took one out and gave it to the Duke, who thanked him graciously, and still sitting by the fire fell into a deep fit of thought. Suddenly, however, he turned pale; his eyes assumed the same expression as they had done the night before, when he had fancied he saw a figure in the room with him, and taking a small silver bonbonnière from his pocket, he opened it, as if seeking for something that it usually contained, saying at the same time, "I feel very faint!--My people have neglected every thing," he added, "this morning."

Several members of the council gathered round him, and St. Prix, the valet, brought him from the cabinet where the handkerchief had been found, some of the dried plums of Brignolles, which were then held as a restorative. The Duke took one of them and ate it, and placed the others in the bonbonnière. After a little, his colour returned, and he said, "I am better now. How strange these attacks are, and how fortunate that one never feels them on occasions of battle or danger!"

A moment or two after, he took a turn or two up and down the room, and seemed perfectly recovered; and as he was about to resume his seat, the door of the passage leading to the King's chamber was opened, and the Secretary of State, Revol, entered, saying, "Monseigneur, his Majesty wishes to speak a word with your Highness before the business of the council commences. You will find him in the old cabinet to the left."

Revol was as pale as death. But the Duke of Guise took not the slightest notice; and, passing through the door, which St. Prix held open for him and closed after him, he advanced towards the chamber of the King.

On entering it he saw Laugnac seated upon the coffer at the farther end of the room; and he remarked, with an angry frown, that the King's attendant did not rise when he entered. He said nothing, however, but turned towards the door of the old cabinet, which was too low to suffer him to pass without bowing his head. He accordingly stooped for the purpose; and, raising the tapestry with his left hand, while he held his hat in the right, he passed on.

He had scarcely taken a step into the cabinet, however, when he at once saw several men in arms standing round. At the same moment there was a sound close to him; and, springing from behind the arras, a fierce and powerful man, named St. Malines, rushed upon him.

The Duke dropped his hat, and moved his hand towards his sword; but at the same moment some one seized the hilt with both hands, and St. Malines struck him a blow with a knife over the left shoulder, burying the weapon in his bosom.

Another and another blow succeeded from the hands of those around him: the blood rushed up into his mouth and throat; but still, with prodigious power, he seized two of those who were assailing him, and dashed them headlong to the ground, exclaiming at the same time, "Ah, traitors!"

Rushing towards the door, he dragged another along with him into the chamber of the King; and seeing Laugnac still there, and marking him as the instigator of his murder, with a brow awful in the struggle of the strong spirit against the power of death, with hands clenched, and teeth set, he darted towards him.

Ere he had taken two steps, however, his brain reeled, his eyes lost their sight, and Laugnac starting up saw, by the fearful swimming of those visionless orbs, that the terrible deed was fully accomplished, that the life of Guise was at an end; and though the Duke still rushed forward upon him with the convulsive impulse of his last sensation, the Captain of the Quarante-cinq did not even unsheath his sword, but merely struck him a light blow with the weapon in the scabbard, and Guise fell headlong on the carpet by the King's bedside.

The sound of that deep heavy fall was enough, and Henry, coming forth from his cabinet, gazed for several minutes earnestly upon the dead man, while the dark blood rushed forth, and formed a pool round the Monarch's feet.

The countenance of every one there present, lips and cheek alike, were as white as parchment; and for two or three minutes not a word was spoken, till at length the King exclaimed, "What a height he was! He seems to me taller even dead than living!"

Then setting his foot upon the dead man's neck, he cruelly repeated the cruel words which Guise himself had used at the death of Coligny, "Venomous beast, thou shalt spit forth no more poison!"

CHAP. XIV.

From the door of the council-chamber the boy Ignati flew back to the apartments of the Duke of Guise, and the tidings which he brought spread confusion and terror through the whole of the Duke's domestics: but Ignati was of a clinging and affectionate disposition, and after the Duke, his master, his next thoughts turned to Charles of Montsoreau. To his apartments then the boy proceeded with all possible speed, having in his hand the note from the Duke of Guise, which he had almost forgotten in the agitation of the late events. He found the young nobleman already dressed, and concluding with his attendants various arrangements for his approaching union with her he loved--an union, indeed, entirely dependent upon the life of him who was at that very moment falling under the blows of assassins.

With the natural hopefulness of youth and of high courage, Charles of Montsoreau, though still somewhat anxious, had nearly forgotten the apprehensions of the night before. But the terrified countenance of Ignati, and the cut upon the boy's brow from the blow he had received, showed the young Count at once that something had gone wrong; and demanding what was the matter, but without waiting for an answer, he opened the billet of the Duke of Guise, and read.

The words which he found there written were as follows:--

"I have had many warnings, Logères, which personally, it does not become me to attend to. However, should these warnings prove to have been justly given, and you see Henry of Guise no more, take your fair bride with you at once; fly to my brother of Mayenne; be united as soon as possible, without waiting for any ceremony but the blessing of the priest; and, to the best of your power, avenge the death of him who was your friend to the last."

"Where is the Duke, Ignati?" demanded the young Count, eagerly. "Has he yet gone to the council?"

"He is gone! he is gone!" replied the boy; "and he will never return!" And in a rapid manner he told him all that had taken place, as far as he himself yet knew it.

"Fly to the apartments of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut instantly," said the Count. "Ask if I can speak with her, and give her that note. If she is not in her own apartment, she is in that of the Duchess of Nemours, which is by the side of it. Quick, Ignati; tell her there is not a moment to be lost."

The boy sped away. The Count then gave a few rapid orders to Gondrin, bidding him discover if there was any means of issuing forth from the castle; and then turned his steps, as speedily as possible, towards the chamber of Marie de Clairvaut.

In the narrow passage, however, which led towards the apartments of the Duchess of Nemours, he was passed by Pericard, the Duke's secretary, who slackened not his pace for an instant, but said, "Fly, sir! Fly! The Duke is dead!" and rushed on. The next moment, Charles met the fair girl herself, coming towards him with as swift a pace as his own, and followed by the boy Ignati, who from time to time turned back his head, as if to see that they were not pursued. Marie was as pale as death.

"Oh, Charles," she said, "I fear we cannot obey my uncle's commands. What has happened to him, I know not; but the guards have just arrested the Duchess de Nemours and my poor cousin Joinville. It is impossible to pass in that direction, and I fear all the gates are guarded."

"Run to the chapel," said the boy. "Run to the chapel by the back staircase and the little corridor behind the Duke's room. There will be no one in the chapel in this time of confusion, and there is a way from the chapel into the gardens. The postern may be left unguarded."

"Excellently bethought," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "Speed on, Ignati; speed on before us, and see that there is no one on the watch. If you find Gondrin, send him to the chapel without a moment's delay. We must fly, sweet Marie; we must fly, as your uncle has ordered. It is clear--though it is terrible to say--it is clear that he is dead. They would not have dared to arrest his son and mother had he been living. But we must find you some cloak or covering, sweet girl. You cannot go forth in all this bridal array."

Marie bent down her head and wept, for though she had suffered much within the last few months, it had not been with that withering kind of suffering which dries up the fountain of our tears. She hurried on with her lover, however, and in his apartments a mantle was speedily found to cover the bright and happy attire which she had that morning put on with feelings of hope and joy. In few but distinct words Charles of Montsoreau told the two servants, whom he found there, to get out, if possible, by any means into the town, and to bring round the rest of his train and his horses to the farther side of the gardens; and then hurrying on by the way which the boy had suggested, he led Marie de Clairvaut towards the chapel, where they were to have been united.

The little corridor which they followed entered at once into a small room, called the revestry, by the side of the chapel itself, and as Charles of Montsoreau approached, he heard voices and paused to listen. He then plainly distinguished the tones of Gondrin and the page; and though another deep voice was also heard, he hurried on, feeling certain that they would have come to give him warning had there been danger.

The door was partly open, and throwing it back, the Count beheld a scene which made all his blood run cold, while the fair girl whom he was leading forward recoiled in terror and dismay.

Stretched upon the floor, with his sword half drawn from the sheath, and a deep wound in his left breast, lay Gaspar de Montsoreau. A pool of blood surrounded him, and the expression of his whole countenance showed in a moment that the spirit had departed some time. Scattered--some upon the ground, some upon the table in the midst of the room, some even in the midst of the blood itself--were a number of pieces of gold; and two leathern bags, one open and half empty of its contents, were seen upon the ground.

At the further side of the room, near the door leading into the chapel, was standing Gondrin, with his sword naked, and his foot upon the chest of the Italian Orbi; while the boy Ignati knelt beside the assassin, and with his drawn dagger held over him, seemed putting to him some quick and eager questions.

"I tell you true," answered the man, as Charles of Montsoreau entered; "I tell you true. It was he who set me on and paid me: the Abbé de Boisguerin, and no one else."

The boy sprang up and moved away on the young Count's appearance; and a few words from Gondrin explained to him, that coming from the gardens--where he had found all solitary, the key in the lock of the postern gate, and the way clear--he had heard a low cry from the side of the chapel, and on entering that room had discovered the unhappy Marquis de Montsoreau weltering in his blood, and the Italian Orbi gathering up some of the gold pieces, which seemed to have fallen to the ground in a brief struggle between him and the Marquis.

During this account, Marie de Clairvaut, pale as death and terribly agitated, supported herself by one of the high-backed chairs, and turned her eyes from the horrible sight which that room exhibited; and Charles of Montsoreau gazed for a moment on the dead form of his brother, with those feelings of fraternal love which no unkindness or ill treatment had been able to banish.

Every instant, however, was precious; and recovering himself as speedily as possible, he turned to Gondrin, bidding him disarm the Italian who had still his sword, though the weapon with which he had committed the murder had been dropped beside the dead body.

"Shall I kill him, sir?" said Gondrin, pressing the man down more firmly with his foot, as he found him make a slight effort to escape.

"Oh, in pity, in pity, Charles," cried Marie, clasping her hands towards him, "do not; do not!"

"No, no!" replied Charles of Montsoreau; "cut that rope from the window, Ignati. Bind him hand and foot, Gondrin, and leave him to the justice of those who come after."

It was done in a moment; and Charles of Montsoreau only pausing once more for a moment to gaze on his brother's corpse, exclaimed with sincere sorrow, "Alas, poor Gaspar!" and then with a quick step led Marie de Clairvaut from that terrible chamber into the gardens and towards the postern gate.

All was clear, and Charles of Montsoreau turned the key and threw the gate back. The moment that it was opened, two men darted forward from the other side, as if to seize the person coming out, and in one of them, though entirely changed in dress and appearance, Charles instantly recognised the Abbé de Boisguerin, who, before he saw that any one had accompanied Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, had caught her violently by the arm.

The memory of a thousand wrongs flashed upon the young Count's mind in a moment; his sword sprung from the sheath, glittered for a single instant in the air, and then passed through the body of the base man before him, piercing him from side to side.

The Abbé uttered a shrill and piercing cry, and, when the Count withdrew his weapon, fell instantly back upon the ground, quivering in the agonies of death. The other man who had stood beside the Abbé fled amain; but on the road, about fifty yards from the garden wall, stood a carriage with six horses and their drivers, with a group of some nine or ten men on horseback.

On the Abbé's first cry the horsemen began to ride towards the spot, but the appearance of Gondrin coming through the low door behind the Count, and then the page, made them pause, hesitate, and seem to consult. In another moment or two the sound of horses coming from the side of the town caused them to withdraw still farther from the spot; and with joy that is scarcely to be expressed, Charles of Montsoreau saw his own colours in the scarfs of the horsemen that approached. In a moment after, he was surrounded by at least twenty of his own armed attendants: led horses, too, were there in plenty; and he now whispered words of hope that he really felt to Marie de Clairvaut, who clung almost fainting to his arm.

"Stop the carriage, Gondrin!" he exclaimed, seeing the drivers in the act of mounting, as if to hasten away after the horsemen, who, on their part, had taken flight at the first sight of the young Count's followers. "We must make use of it, whether they will or not; but promise them large rewards. There is a mystery here I do not understand; but it is evidently some new villany. Come, dear Marie, come; we must not pause." And leading her forward to the carriage, he spoke to the drivers himself.

One of them was the master of the horses which the Abbé had hired, and he was found not at all unwilling to enter into any arrangement that the Count chose to propose. Marie de Clairvaut was placed in the carriage, the horsemen surrounded it, and Charles himself was about to mount his horse, when he perceived that the boy Ignati had not followed him, but remained kneeling by the side of the Abbé de Boisguerin. Turning quickly back, to his utter surprise he found the youth weeping bitterly; and when he urged him to rise and come with the carriage, Ignati shook his head saying, "No, no! I cannot leave him like dead carrion for the hawks and ravens.--He was my father! Go on, my Lord Count, and God speed you!--I must see him buried, and masses said for his soul!"

The Count was moved, but he could not remain; and giving the boy some money, he said, "Spend that upon his funeral, Ignati; and then follow me with all speed to Lyons. I grieve for you, my boy, though I understand not how this can be."

Only one more difficulty existed, which was, to pass through that part of the town leading to the bridge over the Loire. But the servants who had made their escape from the castle, and brought round their fellows to his assistance, assured the Count that the news of the Duke of Guise's murder had already spread through the city, and that every thing was in such a state of confusion and dismay, he might pass with the greatest security.

Such he found to be the case; all the guard of the King was within the walls of the château; the gates of the bridges, and of the town itself, were in the hands of the faction of the League; and no questions were asked of one who was known to have been the dear and intimate friend of the murdered Duke.

Taking his way through a part of the country devoted to the League, Charles of Montsoreau and his fair companion found no difficulty in reaching Lyons, where the history of all that had taken place was soon told to the Duke of Mayenne, and the last lines which the hand of Henry of Guise ever traced were shown to him, who was destined thenceforth to be the great head of the League.

Had the words and the wishes of his brother not been sufficient for Mayenne, the necessity of binding to his cause for ever one whose aid was so important as that of Charles of Montsoreau, would have been enough to decide the Duke's conduct towards him: and as soon as possible, after all the anguish, difficulty, and danger, which they had undergone together, the fate of the young Count of Logères and Marie de Clairvaut was united for ever.

In regard to them it need only be said that they loved each other to the last hours of life.

The boy Ignati followed the young Count to Lyons, but he would not remain with the man who had taken his father's life. He subsequently devoted himself to the church, and in the end rose high, by the great interest that was exercised on his behalf.