CHAPTER XVII.

Leaving St. Real to meditate over the effects which his candour and honesty had produced, and to strengthen himself in his integrity against the bitterness of undeserved suspicion and reproach, we must follow the Count d'Aubin to his dwelling, and be his companion for the next few hours. Springing from his charger, he threw the reins to one of his attendants, ordered fresh horses to be saddled in the stable, a change of dress to be instantly brought him, and eagerly demanded if no packet had arrived from Paris. The answer was in the negative; but still the count proceeded to change his dress, apparelling himself with no small care and splendour, brushing the dust from his dark curling locks, and adding the fine essences that were then held a part even of the simplest toilet. Ere he had done, there was a sharp knock at the door of his chamber, and the next moment the dwarf Bartholo stole in, bearing a packet in his hand.

"I saw the messenger straying about the town," he said, "and knowing you would want this, I hastened to bring it hither."

"You see into my thoughts, and anticipate my wishes, good Bartholo," replied D'Aubin, breaking open the packet, and running his eye over the words of a regular safe-conduct from the Duke of Mayenne. "It is all right," he added, "though they limit me to four and twenty hours; but say, have you aught to tell me, Bartholo; for the day wears, and I am ready to set out. There seems matter in that face of thine. Speak, man! speak boldly. We know each other well."

"Your lordship is kind," replied the dwarf, with one of his sardonic grins. "I would fain give your lordship a piece of advice; but knowing from sweet experience how advice is relished in this wise world, I wish to know whether you have any appetite for it?"

"Yes, yes; speak boldly," replied D'Aubin; "I am as hungry for good advice as a famished wolf, and I am inclined to believe thee, just now, seeing that the hint you gave me not long since concerning my simple-seeming cousin has proved but too true. He would act in all honour as yet, it seems; but we all know with what tiny footsteps love begins the course, that he determines, ere the end, to stride over like a giant. Not that I think," he added, giving a glance to the mirror, and marking there as handsome features as ever that crowning invention of personal vanity reflected to the self-satisfied eyes of man--though the countenance he beheld might be somewhat worn with the strife of passions, it is true--"not that I think that, were it come to rivalry, I should have to fear the result. But I would fain put it beyond all chances; so speak your advice, good Bartholo. If it suit me, I will take it; and if not--why it is but empty air."

"Ay, ay," replied the dwarf, "empty air, and dust and ashes! Those few words are the history of the whole world--man's fame, and wisdom, and wit, and eloquence, and power, and strength, and beauty--empty air, and dust and ashes, are the whole!--so that brings me to my tidings, and to my advice;" he continued, resuming his ordinary tone. "You have heard of the king's wound, my lord. Now, do not you be one of the fools who deceive themselves, and think he will recover! Take my word for it, he will die!"

"Nay; but the surgeons say," replied D'Aubin, "that he is already far better, and give many shrewd reasons to show that he is nearly well."

"Let them give what reasons they will," answered the dwarf, "do not you believe them. Why, my good lord, do you think that your fair friend, the Duchess of Montpensier, or any of the holy and devout men of the Catholic union, are such fools in grain as to trust to a simple bit of smooth innocent iron to do the work of their hatred, while they have our dearly beloved Rene Armandi at hand, to smear the edge and the point with some of his blessed contrivances for shortening pain and making the work sure? No, no! my lord. Not more than two days ago, I was hanging about the gate of that very Jacobin convent from which this foul monk came forth, and I saw three people arrive to lay their heads together with the very reverend and respectable Father Prior, whose meeting told its own tale, whereof this morning's butchery is but the comment. First came Armandi the poisoner, next came the Duchess of Montpensier, and then came Wolfstrom the rogue; so be you sure, my lord, that the king will die; and this very night make your bargain so firm that no one will dare to break it. To-night," he added, his lips curling with more cynical bitterness than ever, "to-night you may dispose of your assistance and co-operation at what rate you like; but if you wait till tomorrow, your merchandise will fall a hundred per cent., for the market will be overstocked."

The manner in which the dwarf put his counsels was certainly not the most agreeable; but D'Aubin was accustomed to his bitterness, and was willing enough to cull wholesome advice for the direction of his own plans and purposes from amongst the gall and wormwood wherewith good Bartholo seldom failed to savour his discourse. "I believe thou art right, Bartholo," he replied; "and as I am determined sooner to lose life itself than to be foiled, and made a laughing-stock and held up to the scorn of all my companions by this fair-faced country-girl, I must even make the most of my time, and bind Mayenne to his promises by ties that he cannot shake off. Thanks, then, good Bartholo, for your advice; I will be back before dawn to-morrow, and will reward you better than by thanks. In the meantime, keep a wary eye on all that is going forward here; and, both for ancient love, and for future advancement, bring me, as often as may be, a hint of other men's doings. And now, fare thee well--away to thy lord, lest he miss thee. But hark I there are the horses, and I go."

Thus saying, he threw on his hat and plume, cast a wrapping cloak round his shoulders to keep his apparel as much as possible from the dust; and, springing down the stairs, mounted his horse, which stood saddled at the door. Bartholo watched him, as making a sign for his usual train of attendants to follow, he struck his spurs into his charger's flank, and galloped away at full speed towards Paris. A grim smile hung upon the dwarf's lips as he saw him depart, and muttering--"Ay, there he goes! to seek an unwilling bride, and for pure vanity to marry, neither loving nor beloved: but it matters not--my end is gained!"--he turned back towards the abode of St. Real.

In the mean time, D'Aubin galloped on hastily, giving the word as he passed any of the posts of the royal army, till at length, having got beyond the precincts of his own camp, he was challenged by the outmost sentinel of the League. Occupied with other thoughts, and giving way to the vehement impatience of his nature, the Count spurred on without reply; and the man, presenting his matchlock, fired without further ceremony. The ball whistled past D'Aubin's head; but, merely shaking his clenched hand at the sentinel, he pursued his rapid way, till at length he was encountered by a body of Mayenne's horse, who again challenged him, and obliged him to display his pass. More than once, ere he was permitted to enter the town, the same ceremony was observed; and, what between one delay and another, the evening sky grew deep purple, and then faded into grey, as he rode along, at a more cautious pace, through the streets of the capital.

Directing his course by the shortest way, he passed through many of the narrow gloomy lanes of the Faubourg, and, crossing one of the bridges which joined the island in the middle of the Seine to the shore, he plunged in amongst that dingy accumulation of tall, dark, small-windowed houses, which lie behind the great cathedral of Notre Dame. In these streets, at the hour of which we speak, the twilight, which would have still been seen in the open country, existed not; and all was darkness, except where, here and there, citizens returning from their shops to their dwelling-houses, or persons of a higher class going on some expedition of pleasure or business, were seen finding their way along, preceded by a lantern or a torch; and also where, before the hotel of some of the old nobles of the court, who still lingered in that quarter, were to be seen a few torches fixed in sockets at the door. It was to none of these more lordly dwellings, however, that D'Aubin took his way; but, at a door which stood open in a tall, unlighted, gloomy-looking house; he sprang to the ground, and after giving his servants directions to take up their temporary abode in an inn, where he should find them in case of necessity, and some money wherewithal to provide themselves their evening meal, he entered the house, followed by his page and one armed attendant, and began mounting, in utter darkness, the long, steep, narrow stair.

At the second story D'Aubin stopped, and by the little light that found its way from a lamp through a small lattice upon the staircase, he struck several hard blows with the hilt of his dagger against a massive unshapely oaken door, which stood on one side of the landing-place. Immediately after, a sound was heard within, and, the door opening, the Count was admitted, shading his eyes from the sudden glare of light, into a small ante-room or vestibule, where, stretched on benches or settles, were ten or eleven stout attendants, together with one of those large sort of vehicles which we are accustomed to call sedan-chairs, wherein the ladies of Paris were very much accustomed, at that time, to go from house to house, and one of which we have already described.

The person who opened the door was a trim-looking serving-man, dressed somewhat in the garb of an inferior burgher of the town; and, conducted by this personage, D'Aubin was led on, leaving his groom behind him, but followed by the page. The next chamber into which he was led presented a different aspect, being a small octagon room, with the ceiling of black oak exquisitely carved, the walls beautifully painted and gilt, and the furniture as rich and elegant as the art and taste of that day could produce.

Here D'Aubin was met by no less a personage than Armandi the perfumer, who, bowing low and reverently, welcomed him to his house, and then led him on through several chambers, each more tastefully decorated than the other, into one where eastern luxury itself was outdone, and where Madame de Montpensier was waiting the guest she had invited there to supper. Strange as it may seem that the highest and noblest in such a capital as Paris should abandon their own convenient and splendid dwellings, to make these little parties at the houses of inferior, and often of very base and dishonourable persons, yet the custom was not restricted to this period of French history, but even in the succeeding reigns the monarch himself was frequently known thus to indulge; and the custom, which was begun probably with political views, or for the sake of a temporary relaxation from the fetters of state, was found to be too convenient for a debauched court to be readily abandoned.

"True to your appointment, most noble Count," said the Duchess, in a light tone. "I augur from your punctuality, that all goes well and happily with the heretics and tyrants beyond the walls, so that they can spare the services of so gallant a cavalier as the Count d'Aubin."

"The fact is, most beautiful Lady Catherine," replied D'Aubin, whose plan was already fixed, "that their majesties are waiting till the day after to-morrow, ere they begin serious operations against the city; for, first, with that brilliant forgetfulness which characterises great men, they did not remember till yesterday that fifteen hundred cannon-balls are hardly enough to begin a regular bombardment; and, secondly, they wished that my worthy cousin should bring up his troops on the side of St. Denis, in order to straiten you a little in your diet, as they are resolved, absolutely, to try whether your stomachs are not like that of the ostrich, and capable of digesting mere iron in default of other food. They must therefore wait a day to give time for casting bullets and marching men."

D'Aubin spoke with so much of his ordinary levity, that he left Madame de Montpensier still doubtful whether he spoke in earnest or in jest--whether he was saying what was really the case, or from some particular motive was endeavouring to deceive her.

"You seem in a mood for revelations to-night," she said. "Thank you for your warning, Monsieur d'Aubin, we shall be upon our guard; but whether the two kings will thank you for telling us, remains to be proved."

"I care very little whether they thank me or not," replied D'Aubin; "besides, what I have said can do you no good, and them no harm, otherwise I should not have told it. You are here in a net, fair lady; and you must employ some other means to get yourself free than those you have hitherto employed, or depend upon it, the fisherman will put in his hand and take you."

"He may find that he has a shark in the net," replied Madame de Montpensier, "and be glad enough to let it escape ere it devour him."

"Well, we shall see," replied D'Aubin--"we shall see. But oh! by the Lord, I had nearly forgot to compliment your Highness on your exploits of this morning. Has none of the Dominican come back to you yet?

"None of the Dominican!" exclaimed Madame de Montpensier, with evident astonishment--"none of the Dominican! What do you mean, D'Aubin?"

"I simply mean," replied the Count, "that by this time I thought your Highness might at least have got a leg, or an arm, or a foot, or a little finger of your martyr, to make a relic of; for it could scarcely be more than two o'clock when he was torn to pieces by the four horses. No, it could not be more than two; for as soon as ever he attempted to stab the king, La Guesle ran his sword through him, and, almost immediately after, casting him out of the window, they tied him to the horses' heels, and tore him to pieces, in the little square down by the end of the bridge."

"_Attempted_ to kill the king!" said Madame de Montpensier, but ill concealing, in her desire to hear more, her previous knowledge of the act that had been perpetrated--"attempted! Then he _did not_ kill him."

"Oh, no," replied D'Aubin, gaily, and purposely affecting to laugh at her disappointment. "You do not think Henry is such a fool as to let himself be killed by a bungling Dominican. You should have sent our friend in the next room there, Armandi, or some other skilful, delicate, dexterous personage. Besides, dear lady, when you and Armandi and good father Bourgoin were consulting together, surely three such shrewd heads as yours might have fallen upon some better and more politic plan of getting rid of a bad king than that of trusting the execution of the act to an ignorant, clumsy, timid friar. Good faith! I should have thought that you might have even acted Judith yourself, and have delivered the land of our worthy Holofernes of St. Cloud with your own hand."

Madame de Montpensier turned pale, and red, and pale again; and there was a quivering of her fine lip, and a flashing of her proud dark eye, which showed D'Aubin at length that he was urging her too far. As soon as he perceived it, he dropped the sarcastic irony which he had been using; and drawing nearer to her, he took her fair, soft, jewelled hand in his, and raised it to his lips. "Forgive me," he said, "for teasing you. I love not Henry of Valois more than you do--as you well know; and though I will not say that I regret your attempt has failed, yet I do believe that all knowledge of the share you had in it rests with me alone, and, believe me, my lips are and shall ever be sealed by this kiss upon this hand--except towards yourself."

Madame de Montpensier gazed on him in no small surprise. "You assume things, sir," she said with some hesitation, "which you have no right to assume."

"Nay, nay," replied D'Aubin, "say not a word, dear lady. I know the whole as well as if I had been one of your triumvirate at the Jacobins the day before yesterday, all the means employed, the vision of the angel, and all----"

"Either some one has betrayed me, or you deal in magic, D'Aubin!" cried the Duchess.

D'Aubin smiled to see her consternation; for although, by combining the information he had received from St. Real with the hints that had been given him by the dwarf, and adding thereunto his own knowledge of the parties, he had been able to form a very correct guess at the truth--and although he knew the effect which vague hints of greater knowledge than one possesses, supported by one or two distinct facts, will produce upon a mind loaded with a heavy secret and apprehensive of discovery, yet he had hardly calculated upon so completely deceiving such a shrewd intriguer as Madame de Montpensier, in regard to the extent of his information. "No one has betrayed you," he replied; "nor do I deal in magic; but I have far greater means of knowing things that pass both in the city and in the camp than you suppose. What I have said just now I said but to tease you; and, indeed, fair lady, you deserve somewhat worse at my hands."

"Wherefore, wherefore? How so?" demanded Madame de Montpensier; "how have I offended you, D'Aubin?"

"Why, I do think," replied D'Aubin, "that considering all the old friendships which had existed between us, it should not have been you who attempted to mar my fortunes, and thwart my purposes. Did you not only last night propose to my cousin St. Real to bestow on him the hand of my promised bride?"

"I did," replied Madame de Montpensier, boldly, recovering in a moment all her composure--"I did, and I will tell you why I did so, Philip d'Aubin. I saw, by your conversation of the day before, that you had irretrievably attached yourself to the party of the tyrant; and I consider the interests of our cause far before any private interests or friendships. I am resolved, and so I know also is Mayenne, that the hand of Mademoiselle de Menancourt shall never be given to any but a member of the union; and it was therefore that I offered her hand to your cousin, if he would bring his forces to our side."

"Ah! but, lady," replied D'Aubin, "how could you venture on such an offer, when your own brother, the very morning before, had made the same to me, and left me a certain time to deliberate and act?"

"Nay, of that I know nothing," replied Madame de Montpensier. "Had I been aware of that, of course I should have acted differently."

"But if you and your brother will play at cross purposes," said D'Aubin, "what surety is there that the promises of either will be kept? And observe the consequences of this sort of dealing! My cousin at once determined to join the forces of the king, told me the story, and thus well-nigh changed all my views and purposes, unsettled my designs, and nearly determined me to take an oath of perpetual service to the kings."

"Nay, nay," replied the Duchess, giving him her hand, "but join us at this moment of our need, and Eugenie shall be yours."

"Ay," said D'Aubin; "but I must have some better security than mere promises."

"Surely you do not doubt me," said Madame de Montpensier, "when I most solemnly declare----"

"Declare nothing, dear lady," answered D'Aubin; "I doubt nobody, but my resolution is taken. The hand of Eugenie de Menancourt must be promised to me this night, under the hand and seal of his Highness of Mayenne, as lieutenant-general of the kingdom; or when I return to the camp to-morrow, I pledge myself, in the most solemn terms, to serve the Kings of France and Navarre, till there is no such thing as a Holy League and Union in France. And more, I assure you most solemnly, that I will instantly send an order unto Maine to cut down remorselessly every acre of my old forests, in order to raise another regiment for the service of the state. Now, mark me, lady!--mark me well! In doing this, I know what I am doing; for, if you cannot obtain this written promise for me, it will be evident your brother does not intend that the hand of Eugenie should be mine, and I have no other means to obtain it, but the capture of Paris and the destruction of the League. It will be therefore well worth my while to sacrifice everything to swell the ranks of the royal forces, in order to insure success."

"Well, well, say no more, say no more," replied Madame de Montpensier; "the promise you shall have, if I have any influence with Mayenne; and besides, you say he voluntarily made it himself, and therefore he will not hesitate to write it. But tell me what are the terms in which this promise is to be couched--you mean him to promise you her hand, if she herself consents?"

"No, no," replied D'Aubin; "I will leave no hold for after tampering and intrigue by any party. But," seeing a cloud come over the brow of Madame de Montpensier at his intemperate words, "I mean not any offence to you, dear lady. Others may tamper--there are others may intrigue, and may delay her consent and our union so long that my views in favour of the League itself may be overthrown. The moment that the hand of Eugenie is mine, I will raise for the service of the Duke all the retainers of the house of Menancourt who are now either lying idle, or swelling the ranks of the royalists. What I demand then is, that your brother--acting as lieutenant-general of the kingdom, as well as calling himself so, and consequently considering himself as the lawful guardian of all wards of the crown--shall promise me, without other condition than that in three days I subscribe the Union and join my forces to his, the hand of Eugenie de Menancourt, which was promised to me by her own father."

Madame de Montpensier mused for a moment; and then rising, she replied, "It shall be done, D'Aubin; it shall be done. The world--which Mayenne fears more than he will acknowledge--can say nothing against this act, for it is but a ratification of her father's promise by him who now stands in her father's place. Here," she cried aloud, ringing a small silver bell that stood on the table before her, and which was instantly answered by the appearance of Armandi, "bring me ink and paper, René. You shall write down the promise as you would have it, D'Aubin, and I will get my brother to sign it before you go; but make haste, for every moment I expect Wolfstrom to make our third at supper."

"I, too, must be speedy," replied D'Aubin; "for I must be back in the camp long before dawn, lest there be any tampering with my troops. They are all fresh, and new-arrived, so that I can do with them what I will at present; but there is many a shrewd head both amongst the Huguenots and royalists, and, not being too sure of my attachment, they may think to make sure of my soldiers."

With his swift and gliding step Armandi soon re-appeared, bearing the writing materials which had been demanded, and D'Aubin proceeded to put down the brief promise which he required from Mayenne; but scarcely had he finished, when the leader of the reitters made his appearance, and seemed somewhat surprised at the grave and business-like faces by which he was received.

"What is the hour, sir Albert?" demanded Madame de Montpensier. "Has it yet struck nine?"

"The light, or rather the darkness, says that it is nearer ten," replied the German; "and I heard the nine o'clock bell near an hour ago."

"Then I shall not find Mayenne till eleven," replied the Duchess. "His clock-work habits have, at all events, the advantage of letting one know when and where he is to be met with. Come, Armandi, is the table ready? We may as well fill the moments with something more real than poor thought."

In a moment Armandi re-appeared, and with soft and courtly words informed the Duchess that the best refreshments which his poor house and inferior artists could prepare waited her gracious presence. Catherine of Guise and her two companions followed where he led; and, proceeding into another small cabinet, they found a table covered with what might well have merited the name of _cates divine_, if ever anything can be so called which is destined to pamper the most animal propensity of our nature.

Placing himself beside the Duchess's chair--while his own lacqueys and the pages of the guests served and carved the dishes, and poured out the wine--Armandi, in his low, sweet tone, mingled in the conversation, descanted upon the merits of the various kinds of food, and read one of those lectures upon the mysterious art of cookery which persons addicted to the pleasures of the table are always well pleased to hear during their meals--stimulating their appetite for the good things before them, by exciting their _eating imagination_ with pictures of unseen delicacies.

The exquisite fare, however, which was placed before them, the choice and delicious wines that flowed amongst them like water, and even the culinary eloquence of Armandi, did not seem capable of rousing either Madame de Montpensier or D'Aubin from the thoughtful seriousness into which their preceding conversation had thrown them. Albert of Wolfstrom, indeed, ate and drank, and enjoyed to the uttermost, and showed his white teeth in many a grin at the thoughts of all the rare ragouts and savoury sauces which the perfumer described; but his companions were grave and abstinent, and when the dessert was placed upon the table the Duchess rose.

"I leave you, gentlemen," she said, "for half an hour, trusting you can amuse yourselves, at least for that time, without a woman's presence. D'Aubin," she added, turning to the Count, and marking a certain degree of stern anxiety upon his brow--"D'Aubin, it shall be done!"

Thus saying she quitted them; and Wolfstrom looked to D'Aubin with inquiring eyes, as if for information regarding what was passing. But D'Aubin's countenance replied nothing; and the German, filling high a glass with sparkling Burgundy, exclaimed, "Come, come, Count, think no more of your mysteries with the lovely Duchess! Let us have the dice, and pass her half hour's absence pleasantly."

"With all my heart," replied D'Aubin; and there shot through his own bosom one of those strange dreams of superstition which are felt even in the present time, but which were much more common then. "I have cast my last great stake already," he thought; "but the dice will soon show me whether fortune favours me to-night or not!"

The dice were brought, a small table placed beside them, and Wolfstrom and D'Aubin shook the accursed boxes, and cast throw after throw. Fortune, however, _did_ favour D'Aubin: he won invariably; and though the sums for which they played at that time were too small to make the gain or loss a matter of any consequence, yet the fancy which had taken possession of him made him rejoice more at the winning of a few hundred crowns than if he had acquired a fortune. His lip smiled, his eye sparkled, his cheek glowed; and though the time of Madame de Montpensier's absence was nearly double that which she had anticipated, D'Aubin found it not tedious, even under expectation.

At length she returned; and, without a word, laid down a paper on the table before the Count. D'Aubin ran his eye over the promise he had himself drawn up; and there assuredly, at the bottom of the page, stood Mayenne's name in his own handwriting, together with the broad seal of his arms.

What arguments she had used, what reasons she had assigned, what motives she had called into action, to obtain that signature, the Duchess did not tell, but gazed for a moment with a look of triumph upon the Count; and then, as her eye caught the dice upon the table, she turned with an air of gay indifference to Wolfstrom, demanding--"Well, sir Albert! have you won the Royalist's gold!"

"Good faith, no!" cried the German, throwing the dice into a water-jar of rock-crystal that stood upon the supper-table; "those little demons have played me false, and he has won six hundred of as good crowns of the League as ever were squeezed from a heretic Huguenot."

"Well, well!" replied Madame de Montpensier, "if the dice forsake you, turn again to the wine, Sir Albert; there is a resource for you in all time of trouble. Fill me yon Venice glass too; and you, D'Aubin, give me that sweet manchet--for, to tell the truth, the thoughts of this encounter I was about to undergo in your behalf, sir Count, kept me from supper."

D'Aubin gracefully spoke his thanks, taking care, however, to veil, in the circumlocutory ornaments employed in that day, all direct allusion to the nature of the service for which he expressed his gratitude. The conversation became gay and animated for half an hour; roamed to a thousand indifferent subjects, touching each with a momentary light--like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds of a windy autumn day, and skipping from point to point in the landscape as the vapours are hurried on before the gale--and then, drooping for a moment, paused as if to breathe the wits of the gay little coterie. Madame de Montpensier took advantage of that minute to rise and depart; and D'Aubin, bidding his male companion "Good night," proceeded to call together his attendants and return to the camp.

A more strict watch was kept in the night than in the day; and, what between one halt and another, the dawn was beginning to purple the eastern verge of the sky, when the Count arrived at the spot where his troops were quartered. As he was dismounting from his horse, however, some one whispered a word in his ear; and, springing again at once into the saddle, he turned his horse's head, and galloped on to his lodgings at St. Cloud.