CHAPTER XII.

It was late in the morning when St. Real awoke; and so profound had been his slumbers during the latter hours of their course, that the door of his chamber had been opened without his knowing it; and, on looking round, he found the young Dominican sitting at the farther end of the room, employed, as usual, in turning over busily the leaves of his breviary. In his eye there was more wild and gloomy fire than St. Real had remarked on the preceding evening; and the young noble, who could not help connecting the monk with the trick that had been played off upon him during the night, resolved to speak upon the subject at once, in the hope of discovering what was the real object of the friars.

"Good morrow, father!" he said, as their eyes first met; "I trust you have slept more soundly than I have."

"Why should _you_ sleep unsoundly?" demanded the Dominican in return. "You have no mighty thoughts! you have no heavenly calling! you have no glorious revelations to keep you waking! Why should you sleep unsoundly?"

"Simply, because foolish people took the trouble to disturb me," replied St. Real. "Heard you not the singing, and saw you not the light?"

"Foolish people!" cried the friar, with his grey eyes gleaming: "call you the angels of Heaven foolish people? Yes, profane man, I saw the light, and I heard the singing; and that you heard and saw it too, shows me that it was no dream, but a blessed reality! But you saw not what I saw! you heard not what I heard! You saw not the winged angel of the Lord that entered my cell, bearing the sword of the vengeance of God! you heard not the message of Heaven to poor Jacques Clement, bidding him go forth in the power of faith, and smite the Holofernes at St. Cloud--the oppressor of the people of the Lord, the enemy and contemner of the will of the Highest!"

"No, indeed!" answered St. Real, "I neither heard nor saw any of these things; but I now perceive, father, that the vision was addressed to you, not to me, as at first I believed it to be. But tell me, good father, you surely are not simple enough to take all this that you have seen for--"

Ere St. Real could conclude his sentence, the door, which the Dominican had left ajar, was thrown wide open, and the Prior of the convent entered the room, and approached the bed where the young gentleman had remained resting on his arm while he maintained this brief conversation with Father Clement. "Good morrow, my son!" said the Prior. "What! still abed! Brother Clement, thou mayst withdraw."

The friar immediately obeyed; and the superior went on: "I bring you tidings, my son, which you will be glad to hear. The lieutenant-general of the kingdom has been informed of your arrest; and, notwithstanding some circumstances of a suspicious kind which justified that measure, trusts so much to your good faith and honour, that he has ordered your liberation, and recognises the validity of your safe-conduct. Some of his officers wait below; your own attendants are now collected in the court; and all is prepared in order that you may immediately visit him. In the meantime, however, while you rise and dress yourself, I would fain speak a few words of warning and advice."

"Willingly will I attend, reverend father," replied St. Real, who was disposed to show every sort of respect to the teachers of his religion, although he could not but believe that there was a good deal of double-dealing, even in the very speech by which the Prior announced the tidings of his liberation. "Happy am I to hear that the Duke of Mayenne, however he may have learned my detention, is more awake to a sense of his own honour, than that detention itself seemed to imply. But let me hear: what is it you would say, good father?"

"As a vowed teacher of the true faith, and a preacher of the holy Gospel," replied the Dominican, "I would warn you, my son, against any hesitation in those particulars where your eternal salvation is concerned. In matters of faith, as in matters of virtue, there can be but one right and wrong: there is no middle course in religion; and, if you are a true Catholic, holding the doctrines of the apostolic church, and reverencing that authority which the Saviour of mankind transferred to blessed St. Peter and his successors, you must hold the enemies of that church, who oppose its doctrines, and strive for its overthrow, as blasphemous and sacrilegious heretics, whose existence is an ulcer in the state, whose very neighbourhood is dangerous, and whose companionship is a pest. You must hold those who, pretending to be apostolic Catholics, support, maintain and consort with the enemies of that religion, as even worse than those enemies themselves, inasmuch as they add hypocrisy and falsehood to heresy and sacrilege; and when you perceive that every vice which can degrade human nature characterises those who are thus apostates to the church, and protectors of heresy, you will see the natural consequences which fall upon such as disobey the injunctions of the church they acknowledge, and the punishment that will attend all those who uphold a foul and evil cause,--disgrace, dishonour, loss of their own esteem, crimes that they once regarded with horror; in this life infamy, misfortune, and reverse; speedy death; and then eternal condemnation."

In the same strain the Prior proceeded for some time, enlarging, and not without eloquence, upon all the common topics with which the preachers of the League were accustomed to stir up the fanatical spirit of their auditors. He touched also upon St. Real's own situation, his power of choosing, at that moment, between good and bad: he spoke of the unquestionable honour and high repute of many of the leaders of his faction; he painted in the most dark and terrible colours the vices and the crimes that stained the court of Henry III.; and he artfully glossed over, or passed in silence, all that could be detrimental to his own party in the opinion of an honourable and an upright gentleman. He said nothing of the ambition, the rapacity, the debauchery, the prostitution of feeling, honour, virtue, patriotism, to the basest party purposes and the most sordid self-interests, which disgraced the faction of the League.

While he proceeded, St. Real went on with the occupations of his toilet, and, somewhat to the annoyance of the Dominican, heard his oration in favour of the League with a degree of calmness that set all his powers of penetration at defiance. He expressed neither assent nor dissent; neither wonder at all the charges which the Prior brought against the King and his minions, nor admiration of the characters which he attributed to the leaders of the League. He listened, but he did not even take advantage of any pause to answer; and, when the Prior had completely concluded, he merely said, "Well, father, I shall soon see all these things with my own eyes, and shall then determine."

Somewhat piqued to find that all his oratory had produced so small an effect, the Prior rose, and, with an air of stern dignity, moved towards the door. As he approached it, he turned, drew up his tall figure to its full height, and, lifting his right hand, with the two first fingers raised, he said, in an impressive tone, while he fixed his keen eyes upon the figure of the young Marquis, "Remember, my son, what Christ, your Saviour himself, has said: 'He that is not for me, is against me;'" and, without waiting for a reply, he turned and quitted the room.

Unmoved by what he considered, rightly, a piece of stage effect, St. Real soon followed, and found the door of the corridor left open; while the servant, who had been suffered to accompany him to the convent, was seen in the little ante-room beyond, speaking with some persons in rich military dresses, with whose faces St. Real was unacquainted. The moment he approached, however, one stepped forth from the rest, and addressed him by his name.

"I am commanded, Monsieur de St. Real, to greet you on the part of his Highness the Duke of Mayenne, lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and to inform you that the arrest under which you have suffered, took place without either his knowledge or consent, by a mistake on the part of a body of reitters, who seem to have confounded you in some way with the troops attached to Monsieur de Longueville. I am further directed to conduct you to the presence of his Highness, who will explain to you more at large how these events have occurred. Your own attendants and horses are already prepared below: and, if it suits your convenience, we will instantly set out."

"At once, if it so please you, sir," replied St. Real. "I am so little used to imprisonment, that every minute of it is tedious to me."

Proceeding, therefore, to the door of the ante-chamber, at which stood one of the Dominican friars, St. Real and his companions were led down to the court, and there mounted their horses. As he was turning his rein towards the gate, however, his eye fell upon the form of the Prior, standing at an oriel window above; and, raising his hat, he bowed with all becoming reverence. The Prior spread his hands, and gave his blessing in return, adding--"May God bless thee, my son, and give thee light to see thy way aright!"

On the present occasion, there appeared to be not only dignity, but even sincerity, in his tone. Nor, indeed, did St. Real doubt the purity of his intentions throughout; but, in the wars and factions that had preceded the time of which we now speak, the young noble had, as we have said, acted the part of a looker-on; and thus he had learned many a lesson in the art of appreciating the character of such men as Prior Edmé Bourgoin--men who, devotedly sincere themselves in their attachment to the party they espouse, and convinced by passion's eloquent voice of the justice of their cause, think every means justifiable to attain its objects, or to bring over converts to its tenets. St. Real felt sure that the Prior entertained not a doubt of the rectitude of his own motives, and the propriety of everything he did in behalf of the League; but he felt equally sure, that the Dominican would think right and just a thousand means and stratagems, to obtain his purposes, which he, St. Real, would look upon as base, dishonourable, and even impious. Whatever end, therefore, had been sought by confining him in the Jacobin convent, the effect had been anything rather than increased affection for the League; and, as he rode away from its gates towards the Hotel de Guise, his only reflection was, "Well, if such be the means by which the League is supported, and such the stratagems by which its adherents are gained, I, at least, will not be one of the crowd of fools whereof its followers must be composed."

At the Hotel de Guise a different scene awaited him, and different means of attraction were played off in order to win him to the faction. All that had passed at the Jacobins had apparently been minutely reported to Madame de Montpensier; and, with a profound knowledge of human nature, and a perfect command of art, she at once read the principal points of St. Real's character, and adapted her own behaviour to suit it. The mistakes which she committed, as we shall presently see, were not from misapprehending the traits of his disposition, but from not perceiving their depth.

On alighting from their horses, the young officers who had conducted St. Real from the Dominican convent, led him at once towards the audience chamber of the Duke of Mayenne. At the door, however, they were informed by an attendant that the Duke was busy on matters of some deep importance, but that he would be at leisure in a few minutes. Another attendant then stepped forth to usher him to some waiting-room; and, ere he was aware of it, St. Real was in the presence of two beautiful women,--the Duchess of Guise, and the Duchess of Montpensier,--who appeared busy with the ordinary morning occupations of ladies of that day, and seemed surprised at the intrusion; though it need scarcely be said, that the whole man[oe]uvre had been conducted upon their own positive orders. The attendant, who led the young cavalier thither, seemed also surprised to find that chamber engaged; and, begging St. Real to follow him again, was retiring, with many profound reverences and apologies to the two ladies, when Madame de Montpensier demanded the gentleman's name; and, glancing her eye over his person, with a smile not at all unnatural, added, before the man could answer, that, as all the other chambers were occupied, the stranger might, if he so pleased, remain there till her brother was disengaged, as he did not seem so ferocious a person as to make war upon a bevy of women, though Henry of Valois had shown that even the sacred robe of the church was sometimes no protection.

St. Real's name was then given by the attendant; who, without further question, retired, leaving the young cavalier to play his part with the two artful women in whose society he was placed, as best he might. The Marquis, however, did not play that part ill. Graceful by nature and by education, his manners were embarrassed by no kind of bashfulness; for although his acquaintance with society was but limited, yet there were two feelings in his bosom which gave him ever perfect self-possession without presumption. The first of these feelings was a slight touch of the pride of birth, which taught him, when in company with the high or the proud, never to forget that he was himself sprung from the noblest of the land; the second, was the consciousness of perfect rectitude in every thought, feeling, and purpose. Besides all this, the St. Reals had been, as I have said, from age to age, a chivalrous race; and their representative had strong in his own bosom that species of chivalrous gallantry, which made him look upon woman's weakness as a constant, undeniable claim to deference, to courtesy, and to those small attentions, which give greater pleasure very often than even greater services.

Madame de Montpensier was surprised and pleased; and the Duchess de Guise, perhaps, inwardly determined to add St. Real to her train of admirers. At all events, both bent their efforts, in the first place, to gain him for the League; and the sister of the haughty house of Lorraine pursued her plan with the calm and steady purpose of a great diplomatist. In her communion with the young Marquis, she scrupulously avoided aught of coquetry--she suffered not a touch even of levity to be apparent in her manner--she put a guard upon her tongue and upon her eyes, and suffered not even an idle jest to pass those lips with which such things were so familiar. At first, affecting even a degree of distant coldness, she suffered the softer and more blandishing manners of the Duchess of Guise to smooth away all the difficulties of an accidental introduction; and then, as the conversation proceeded, she affected to become more interested, spoke wisely and cautiously, and assumed the tone of virtue and deep feeling, which she knew would harmonise with his principles; though, if all tales be true, that tone was the most difficult for her to affect.

She soon contrived to discover a fact, of which she seemed to be ignorant till St. Real told her; namely, that he was the cousin of the Count d'Aubin; and then, acting upon one of those vague intuitions, which women are occasionally gifted with in regard to matters of the heart, she turned the conversation suddenly and abruptly to Mademoiselle de Menancourt, and the subject of her detention in Paris. St. Real was taken by surprise: there had been some warring in his bosom too, of late, in regard to the fair girl, who had been the companion of his early youth: it was the only point on which his thoughts were not as free and light as the sunshine on the waters; and, at the name of Eugenie de Menancourt, so suddenly pronounced, the blood mounted for a moment into his cheek, and glowed upon his brow.

Madame de Montpensier saw, without seeming to see; and instantly understood the whole: but she fancied even more than she understood. Even though the purity of St. Real's nature forced itself upon her conviction, the evil and subtlety of her own character affected the impression which his left upon her mind, and changed it from its natural appearance. It was like a beautiful face seen in a bad mirror--the traits the same, and yet the aspect changed. She fancied that she saw in the feelings of St. Real towards Eugenie de Menancourt the secret of his hesitation between the League and the Royalists: not, indeed, that she believed that he wished to bargain for his services, as so many had done, or that he designed to attempt to deprive his cousin of the hand of her he loved; but she imagined that secret, and perhaps unconscious, hopes of some fortuitous circumstance, proving favourable to his wishes, might be the cause of a lingering tendency towards the party who could bestow the hand of Eugenie de Menancourt, when his political feelings led him to support the royal cause. Upon these suppositions she shaped her plans, and proceeded to speak of the young heiress with all the tenderness and consideration of a sister. She commiserated her situation, she said,--promised by her father to a man that she could not love, and then left an orphan in the midst of such troublous times. It was happy, indeed, she added, that the young lady had fallen into the hands of one in every respect so noble and considerate as the Duke of Mayenne; for Monsieur d'Aubin must, by this time, have learned, that the lieutenant-general, endeavouring to exercise his power for the happiness of all, would not suffer any restraint to be put upon the inclination of Mademoiselle de Menancourt, but would bestow her hand upon any one that she could really love, provided his rank and station, presented no invincible obstacles.

St. Real was, for a moment, silent; but he at length replied, that he could not conceive upon what ground Mademoiselle de Menancourt's present objections to a union with the Count d'Aubin could be founded. During her father's lifetime, he said, she had not apparently opposed the alliance; and, as far as he had heard, D'Aubin had given her no new cause of offence.

The subject was one on which St. Real found it difficult to speak, not from any feelings he might experience towards Eugenie de Menancourt--for, by a strong sense of honour, and a great command over his own mind, he crushed all sensations of the kind as soon as he found them rising in his breast,--but his difficulty proceeded from a consciousness that D'Aubin was to blame, and from a wish to say as much as possible in favour of his cousin, without deviating from that rigid adherence to truth, which was the constant principle of his heart. What he said was true, indeed. Eugenie de Menancourt had evinced no strenuous opposition to the proposed alliance, so long as her father lived; and yet it was during his lifetime that St. Real had principally remarked those errors in the conduct of his cousin which he thought most calculated to give offence to that cousin's future bride. He did, therefore, wonder what new motive had given such sudden and strong determination to one whom he had always remarked as gentle and complying; and, although he doubted not he should find Eugenie in the right, he did long to hear from her own lips the reasons upon which her conduct was founded.

Madame de Montpensier remarked the restraint under which he spoke, but attributed it to wrong motives, and shaped her answer accordingly. "Perhaps," she said, with a significant smile, "Mademoiselle de Menancourt may have perceived that there are other people, more worthy of her heart; and, as soon as she finds that her duty to her father no longer requires obedience, she may yield to her own inclinations, especially where she finds they are supported by reason."

"I do not think that, madam," replied St. Real. "I do not think Eugenie de Menancourt is one to love easily; though, where she did love, she would love deeply."

There was a degree of simplicity and unconsciousness in this reply, that somewhat puzzled Madame de Montpensier, and put her calculations at fault. She did not choose to let the subject drop, however; and she replied--"You seem to know this young lady well, Monsieur de St. Real: have you been long acquainted?"

"I know her as if she were my own sister," replied St. Real. "We have been acquainted since our infancy; and, indeed, we are distantly related to each other."

"Not within the forbidden degrees, I hope?" said the Duchess or Guise, with a smile.

"She will scare the bird from the trap with her broad jests!" thought the more cautious Catherine de Montpensier, as she saw the colour come up again to St. Real's cheek; but he replied, with his usual straightforward simplicity, "I really do not know, madam: I never considered the matter; but the relationship is, I trust, sufficiently near to justify me in asking his Highness of Mayenne to grant me an interview with Mademoiselle de Menancourt, as I wish to see whether I cannot remove any false impression she may have formed of my cousin, and induce her to fulfil an engagement on which his happiness depends."

Madame de Montpensier gave a sharp eager glance towards the Duchess of Guise, to prevent her from pressing St. Real too hard; and she herself replied, "My brother will doubtless grant you the interview, Monsieur de St. Real; but I am afraid you will be unsuccessful. One thing, however, you may be sure of, that Mayenne himself will in no degree press Mademoiselle de Menancourt to such a union, for he is fully convinced that her objections are but too well founded: and although, perhaps, the party that we espouse might be benefited by holding out to your cousin the prospect of our support in this matter, yet it can in no degree be granted, unless some great change takes place in the feelings of Mademoiselle de Menancourt herself."

As St. Real was about to reply, an attendant again appeared, and announced that Mayenne was, for a few moments, free from those weighty affairs with which the situation of his party overwhelmed him. The young Marquis rose to obey the summons: but Madame de Montpensier was not at all inclined to abandon her unconcluded schemes to the chances of a private interview between her more candid brother and the object of her wiles. That which had at first been the mere desire of gaining a powerful acquisition to her party, and of depriving the Royalists of a strong support, had now become, under the opposition and difficulties she had met with, the eager struggle of compromised vanity. Her reputation for skill and policy were even dearer to her, at that moment, than her reputation for beauty and wit had ever been; and, at the mere apprehension of missing her stroke in a matter where she had risked so much, and employed such means, she called up before the eyes of imagination the calm, half-sneering smile with which Mayenne would mark her failure, and the galling compassion with which all her dear friends and favourite counsellors would commiserate her disappointment.

"I have a petition too to present to my all-powerful brother," she said, rising at the same time; "and, therefore, with your good leave, Monsieur de St. Real, I will accompany you to his high and mighty presence." St. Real, perhaps, would have preferred to see Mayenne alone, but no choice was left him; and, offering his hand, he led her through the long galleries and corridors of the Hotel de Guise to the audience-chamber of the lieutenant-general.