CHAPTER XXIV.

Taking Eugenie by the arm to give some support to her tottering frame, Beatrice hurried on, and they reached the end of the street in safety. As they were turning into another, however, a man who was walking slowly on the other side of the way paused to mark them in their advance towards him, and seemingly attracted by a certain degree of agitation as well as haste in their demeanour, crossed over and accosted them:--

"What now, my young rovers!" he exclaimed. "Whither away so fast? Some intrigue, I warrant!"

"What is it to you?" demanded Beatrice, turning towards him fiercely, while she still hurried on, holding up the trembling form of her timid friend. "If no one meddles with your intrigues, meddle you with no one's either."

"What is it to me!" cried the stranger. "Do you not perceive that I am the captain of the quarter? and I doubt you have been about some notorious evil, by your haste and this young lad's trembling;" and, as he spoke, he laid a somewhat rude grasp upon Eugenie's arm.

"By the blessed Union, and the holy catholic faith!" exclaimed Beatrice, in a tone that made the man start back, "if you hold his arm another moment, I will drive my dagger into you, twice as far as Saint Jacques Clement did the other day into the tyrant at St. Cloud;" and, without hesitation, she drew the weapon out of its sheath, and brought the gleaming blade so near the man's breast that he dropped Eugenie's arm, and laid his hand upon his sword.

Bursting into a loud laugh, Beatrice taunted him with his fright; and putting up her dagger, hurried on, diverting the stranger's attention by raillery, till at the corner of another street, Eugenie saw her raise her two fingers in the moonlight, and the next moment a man sprang out from a gateway on the dark side of the way; and running forward as fast as possible, as if intending to pass them, he rushed full against their undesired companion, and laid him prostrate in the gutter in the middle of the street. Then taking the first word of quarrel, he stopped and turned to abuse the fallen man for not getting out of his way, while Beatrice and her companion hurried on, and were soon at a distance from the scene of strife.

"Matthew managed that well!" exclaimed Beatrice, when she thought herself at a sufficient distance to pause and take breath; "I must promote that fellow to some better office for his skill."

"Then that was one of your own people?" said Eugenie, with her confidence in the success of their endeavour somewhat strengthened by every new proof of the foresight and precaution which her fair companion had used to ensure support. "But what if the captain of the quarter calls up the guard, and takes him into custody?"

"Captain of the quarter!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, "and did you believe that? Do you not know that, in these times, every one assumes what name he pleases? Captain of the quarter, indeed! Rather some _filou_ or some _escroc_, who seeing two youths fresh from an idle scrape, as he thought, fancied he could lay a tribute on their purse as the price of his silence and departure."

Still hurrying on, Beatrice of Ferrara led the way through a number of streets towards the gates of the city; but, warned by their late adventure, she no longer proceeded at such a rapid pace. Assuming, on the contrary, somewhat of a swagger in her air, yet still holding Eugenie firm by the arm, she walked along, displaying no bad imitation of the vastly important demeanour of some noble page, who, just liberated from his mother's careful eye, overlays the inexperienced timidity of youth with affected self-confidence.

More than once quitting the quieter and less frequented streets, Beatrice was obliged to lead the way into others, through which the human tide that rarely ebbs entirely in the city of Paris, was still flowing on, though the hour was approaching to midnight. Eugenie's heart beat quick at every fresh group that they encountered, and many a pang crossed her bosom, and many an unseen blush passed over her cheek, at some of the scenes that she thus for the first time witnessed in the streets of the metropolis. Twice as they walked along, Beatrice paused for a moment to speak a single word to persons who seemed to be common passengers, and Eugenie, whose timid glance was frequently cast behind, remarked that the men to whom her companion spoke turned and followed at the distance of a few paces. At length, as they approached the extremity of the Faubourg St. Germain, Beatrice whispered in her ear, "It will be impossible to pass the gates at this hour of the night, and, therefore, we must take shelter till the morning begins to dawn in a place of refuge which I have prepared."

Eugenie expressed her willingness to do anything her companion thought fit; and in a few moments Beatrice stopped opposite to a small house in the suburb, and pushing the door which was open, led the way in. All was darkness within; and Eugenie, though she had the most perfect confidence in her friend, felt her terror increased at the aspect of the place. Taking her hand, however, Beatrice led her on, up a narrow staircase, and through a still narrower passage, to a door at which she knocked for admittance. It was instantly opened, and the next moment Eugenie found herself in a neat, plainly furnished room, where two of Beatrice's women, whom she had frequently seen before, stood ready to receive them. The moment they had entered, Beatrice cast her arms round her; and kissing her tenderly, exclaimed, "Now, my sweet friend, I trust we are safe; to-morrow morning, I think, we shall be able to pass the gates without obstruction, and the rest of our expedition will be easy."

"Thank God!" cried Eugenie, sinking down into her seat. "Thank God! and next to him, Beatrice, I have to thank you!"

"Spare your thanks to me, Eugenie," cried her companion, "till we have reached the end of our journey. I will then try to hear them with patience. But now, I dare say, you will think it strange that I have not taken you to my own house, instead of bringing you here. But I have three sufficient reasons for not doing so. First, because on many accounts they might suspect you of flying to me; secondly, because we are here much nearer to the gate, and, thirdly, for a reason, Eugenie, that you would scarcely suspect, which is, that I did not choose any of the gossiping fraternity should say they had seen two gay-looking youths enter the house of Beatrice of Ferrara at night, and remain there till morning shone. So you see, Eugenie, that I, even I, am not without fears of scandal; I who have not scrupled, when my purpose served, to go disguised as I am now, and live disguised in the house of a strange man. Ay, Eugenie I do not look so horrified, for I was as safe there as in my own chamber. I was surrounded by own attendants, whom I had contrived by one means or another to force into his service. He was too simple and unsuspicious to suspect me, and even had he discovered me, was too noble-minded to have misused his advantage."

"You do not mean," exclaimed Eugenie, "you do not mean surely the----"

"Not the Count d'Aubin!" exclaimed Beatrice, with a blush that spread like lightning over her cheek, and forehead, and temples; "not the Count d'Aubin! I would not have trusted myself within his gates in this guise for millions of kingdoms. No, not to have obtained a century of the brightest happiness that ever yet shone upon the path of mortal!"

"I did not mean him," replied Eugenie, smiling; "I meant the Marquis of St. Real."

"Then you have divined more shrewdly than I thought you would," replied Beatrice. "But I will tell you all that story another time," she added, quitting suddenly a subject on which she evidently wished to speak, but did not know well how to proceed. "What was I saying? Oh! that I feared to have two gay-looking youths seen to enter my house at this hour; but the fact is, Eugenie, I have found that by caution and propriety, and determination in certain things, I have acquired, as it were, a right prescriptive to be as wild, and as daring, and as unhesitating as I like in all others,--but now, my fair friend, let us think of the present moment. You have four good hours to rest yourself ere we set out. In yonder room you will find a bed; and one of my girls shall sit by you, while you lie down to repose, if you are afraid of sleeping in a strange apartment. Yet stay, I must have those delicate shoes of yours; for ere we set out to-morrow, we shall need a pair more conformable to your dress, and must send a model to my own shoemaker, who perhaps may have some that will fit. He is accustomed to my whims; and will not mind being roused out of his bed to serve me. In the meantime, I must change my dress and hasten away; for I am determined to show myself, if but for an hour, at the fete given to-night by old Madame de Gondi, so as to turn away all suspicion from the right direction. I will be back long ere it be time to set out to-morrow."

Exhausted with all she had gone through, grief, terror, mental exertion, and corporeal fatigue, Eugenie de Menancourt gladly availed herself of the opportunity of repose. Casting off her upper robe, but without undressing herself farther, she lay down to rest. She did not refuse, however, the attendance of one of Beatrice's women; for danger and terror, instead of losing their effect on her mind by custom, had only rendered her more timid and apprehensive.

For more than an hour, agitation prevented Eugenie from sleeping; but towards two o'clock weariness prevailed, and she sunk into profound slumber. It seemed scarcely a moment, however, ere she was roused by some one touching her arm; and she found Beatrice standing beside her, while the grey light that found its way into the room through the open window showed that she had slept longer than she imagined.

"It is time for us to depart, Eugenie," said her friend, "and unwillingly I must break your short repose; but I see the market carts coming in; showing both that the gates are open, and that the siege of Paris is not only raised in name but in reality. We must make the best of our time, Eugenie; for in five hours more your absence may be discovered."

Eugenie de Menancourt needed no admonitions to haste. Her dress was soon resumed, her shoes tried on and found to fit tolerably, her hair re-arranged so as to conceal its length; and once more taking Beatrice's arm, she proceeded down the narrow staircase to the door of the house, where, stretched upon some benches in the passage, lay two or three men in different costumes, who instantly started upon their feet as the two maskers approached.

"Do not come out," said Beatrice, stopping to speak with them, "but look forth from the side window where you can see the gate. If I hold up my handkerchief, run up to help us; and, good faith, you must even risk a hard blow or two, should need be; but if you see Andrew join us, or if I do not hold up my handkerchief, be sure that all is safe, and return home with the women."

The men bowed and made way; and Eugenie, accompanying her companion through the doorway, found herself once more in the street in the cool, clear light of the early morning. During the former part of her flight, she had thought the very darkness increased her terror; but now as she walked on, with faltering steps, in an unwonted garb, and fancying that every passing eye must penetrate her disguise, she would have given worlds for night once more to afford her the covering of its dull obscurity.

The gate lay at the distance of not more than a hundred yards before them; and Beatrice whispering, "Do not be surprised or alarmed at anything you see or hear, for I expect a confederate here," led the way with a quick step.

Not to be alarmed, however, was out of Eugenie's power; for even the great interests she had at stake, though they prompted to exertion, were without effect in giving birth to courage: nor was the sight of the gate at that moment calculated to remove her fears, for although the siege was, as Beatrice said, absolutely at an end, and the royal army already many leagues from Paris, yet sentinels were to be seen in every direction, and a number of the fierce-looking soldiers of the League still hung about the gates, some examining the market carts as they entered the city, some jesting with the countrywomen who accompanied them.

Beatrice advanced boldly, however, her confidence and presence of mind appearing to increase as the dangers became more imminent, and gliding between two carts which stood in the archway, she was leading Eugenie on, when the _lanceprisade_ of the guard darted out of the gate-house, and caught her by the arm.

"Ha, ha! my young truant," he exclaimed, "whither away so fast? none passes here without question: this is not the door of a church, young man!"

Beatrice shook off the man's hold without showing the slightest symptom of alarm or agitation; and ever ready with a reply, she answered, "Not the door of a church! Is it the door of a Huguenot _prêche_ then? and are you a _maheutre_ minister? Come, come! what do you stop us for? They told me that the Bearnois and his beasts were gone, and that we could go out in safety and see where the Huguenots roasted their apples."

"You have more malice in your heads than that, my good youths, I have a notion," replied the soldier. "We must have your names at least. Give us your name, my good boy."

"Mine is Monseigneur le Duc du Petit Chatelet," replied Beatrice, laughing; "so put that down in your book."

The soldier shook his finger at her good-humouredly enough. "You are a wild one," he said, "and will break many a country wench's heart, I'll warrant you, ere you be done with it. But what is your name, my pretty little abbé, that stand there holding by the cart and blushing like a girl of fifteen?"

Eugenie hesitated, and blushed a thousand times more deeply than before; but Beatrice instantly came to her aid, exclaiming, "Do not tell him your real name, silly boy; have you not wit to make one? What has he to do with your real name? Monsieur le Soldat, or better still, Monsieur le Lanceprisade, this gentleman here present is called L'Abbé des Ponts et Chaussees,--so put that down in your book also!"

"Very well, I will," replied the man; "but before I let you go farther, I must know whether these are your real names or not, and I think we have one within there who can tell us."

Eugenie's heart sunk, and even Beatrice's confidence seemed a little shaken, while the soldier, turning to some of his companions, exclaimed, "send out the old man there, and we shall soon see if he recognises these two pretty youths!"

The moment after, an elderly man, dressed much in the costume of a major-domo belonging to some old family of distinction, came forth from the gate-house and approached them, holding up his hands and eyes, as if in horror and astonishment. Eugenie looked to Beatrice, to see what was to come next; but a suppressed smile upon the countenance of her fair friend re-assured her, although the words that accompanied that smile tended to a contrary effect. "We are caught now, Eugene," she exclaimed aloud, "we are caught now, that is clear!"

At the same time the old man advanced, crying, in a lamentable tone, "Ah! young gentlemen, young gentlemen! how could you play such a trick? There's my Lord the Marquis been storming like mad, and your lady-mother crying her eyes out, ever since you left the chateau. We thought you must have fallen into the hands of the Huguenots, and there has been nothing but fear and anxiety through the whole household. You, Monsieur Leonard, your father said he could understand your running away, for you are always in mischief, but how you could persuade Monsieur l'Abbé here to accompany you, he could not understand!"

"I am sure if my father be in such a rage," replied Beatrice, in the tone of a spoilt boy, caught in some trick more outrageous than ordinary, "I am sure if my father be in such a rage, I shall not go back till he is cool again; and so you may go and tell him, good Master Joachim!"

"Oh, let us go! let us go!" said Eugenie in a low tone; and now comprehending her companion's scheme, but anxious to bring the scene to an end as speedily as possible, "Oh, let us go! it is useless to delay."

"That is right! Monsieur l'Abbé, that is right!" cried the old man; "but you need be under no fear of your father either, Master Leonard, for good Father Philip has made him promise that nothing shall be said if you do but come home quietly. There is the carriage, as you see, standing ready, with Jean the lackey, and nothing shall be said I promise you; but if you will not go peaceably, of your own will, I must make you go whether you will or not, and these good gentlemen of the guard will help me."

"Ay, that we will," cried the lanceprisade. "Two young truants! If ye were not two such pretty boys, I should feel tempted to make your backs so well acquainted with the staff of my halbert, that you would jump into the carriage fast enough, I will answer for it!"

"We will not give thee the trouble, most redoubtable hero," answered Beatrice, in a mocking tone. "But, as we must go, there is a crown for you and your pot companions to drink to the health of the Duc du Petit Chatelet and the Abbé des Ponts et Chaussees."

The man laughed and took the money; and Beatrice, with the same gay and swaggering air, marched forward through the gate, followed by Eugenie; while the old man came after; the lanceprisade of the guard taking care to whisper in his ear, with a knowing look ere he went, "You had better look sharp to them, or that young chap will give you the slip yet; he is as full of mischief as a loaded cannon."

"Ay! ay! I will look to them," said the old man, with a solemn shake of the head; "I will look to them, sir Lanceprisade, and many thanks for your kind help and assistance in taking them."

Thus saying, he followed Beatrice to the side of the carriage or rather _chaise-roulante_, and having assisted her and Eugenie in, took his seat in one of the boots. The lackey, who had waited with the carriage, now closed the leathern curtain, which served the purpose of a door, and then springing up beside the driver, who sat ready in his seat, gave the signal for putting the whole in motion. The short whip cracked, the two strong horses darted forward, and, after drawing to its full extension the complication of ropes, leather straps, and iron rings, which formed the harness, started the heavy carriage from the spot where it rested in the full force of its _vis inertiæ_; and in a moment, Eugenie, with a heart palpitating with joy, felt herself rolling away from the gates of Paris, over roads which were rough, indeed, with the recent passage of waggons and artillery, but every step of which seemed to her hopes to conduct to safety and to peace.

For her part, Beatrice cast herself back in the carriage; her lightness, her gaiety, her air of daring passed away; and for some minutes she remained with her hands clasped over her eyes, as if exhausted with all the exertion she had made. When she looked up, she was still grave, and there was a languor about her which spoke plainly that all the ease, and the courage, and the unconcernedness which she had displayed through the difficult scenes just passed, had been, in fact, the triumph of a ready and determined mind over the weakness of a frame as delicate as that of the most timid of her sex.

"We are safe, Eugenie!" she said, "we are safe! and now give me credit. Have I not played my part well? But it has almost been too much for me. When by myself I can go through anything, but I was alarmed and agitated for you; I feared not only lest you would be overtaken, but lest you should sink under the trial. But now I trust you are safe, dear Eugenie, for these horses go fast. We have nearly five hours before us ere Mayenne will be up; ere he will be well awake, and his eyes rubbed, and his boots pulled on, we shall have an hour more; then to discover the whole, to think which way we are gone, and to cross-examine your servants, will bring him to dinner time: the poor man must eat, you know; and what with other business, and the time required to give orders, and mount horsemen, and consult with his sister, the day will be done, so that we may well calculate upon its being to-morrow morning ere any one sets out to seek us. Therefore, my Eugenie, with God's help, you are safe!"

"Thanks! thanks, Beatrice! A thousand thanks, my sister, my more than sister!" cried Eugenie. "Well, indeed, as you say, and skillfully have you played your part. But you would say I have not played mine badly either, if you knew all that I have suffered, especially when we were stopped at the gate. If you had told me, however, that you had got such a comedy ready for our deliverance, I should have been better prepared."

"But I knew no more than yourself," replied Beatrice, "what was to come next; I had only time after your letter reached me to take general measures. Luckily I had a number of my own people around me without the walls of Paris. I bade Joachim have a carriage and horses prepared this morning, and to hang about as near as possible, telling whatever story he thought fit, if questioned. Thus, when the soldier spoke to me, I took great care not to say a word that could contradict my confederate's story, whatever it was; but kept to general nonsense, which could signify nothing under any circumstances. As to the comedy which you talk of, between Joachim and myself, it was like one of those mysteries which people play in the convents, where the names of the different characters, and some general idea of the story, is all that is given, and the actors fill up the speeches as they think best at the time. But my good major-domo played his part admirably too, and shall not have reason to repent of it when we come to speak of rewards."

"And, now, whither are we going?" demanded Eugenie; "for this does not seem to me to be the road towards Maine."

"The road towards Maine!" exclaimed Beatrice--"why, my dear, simple girl, that would be going into the lion's den, indeed. They will seek you there in the first instance, and we must give time to let their search be fully over ere we think of going near to Maine. At present we are following, as fast as ever we can, the march of the king's army, and I hope to pass the rear-guard to-night."

"But may not that be dangerous?" demanded Eugenie. "We have no pass from them; and if any of the parties of soldiers meet us, we may be taken and discovered, and perhaps maltreated."

"No fear of that," answered Beatrice; and then added, with a smile that called the warm blood up into Eugenie's cheek, "we can send for the Marquis of St. Real, you know, Eugenie. But, no, no! Do not be afraid of that, or anything else. I have orders and safe-conducts in the king's own hand. In short, Eugenie, I do not think that there is one thing, which can tend to your safety, that has been forgotten by Beatrice of Ferrara."