CHAPTER XXVI.

The morning after Eugenie's departure, no small surprise was expressed in the Hotel de Guise at the non-appearance of the priest, who had not only performed the marriage ceremony for the Count d'Aubin, but also rendered the much more important service of communicating to Mayenne the approach of aid from the Duke of Parma. While Mayenne, in his usual slow and deliberate manner, discussed the fact with his sister, and, shrugging his shoulders, declared that if the good father did not choose to come for his reward, he could not help it, the thought crossed his mind that he had not yet seen his own confessor, who had been carried off by the myrmidons of Bussy le Clerc; and although he doubted not that the Chevalier d'Aumale had before this time set the good priest at liberty, he determined to inquire farther: a vague suspicion for the first time crossing his mind that all was not right in regard to the transactions of the preceding evening.

By this time the hand of the dial pointed to the hour of nine; and Eugenie's maid Caroline, who, in order to give as much time to her mistress as possible, had ventured to prolong the period at the end of which she had been directed to present herself at the Hotel de Guise, was even now at the door inquiring for the Duchess of Montpensier. Her message was brought to that lady as she sat by her brother; and although she comprehended not one word thereof, she saw that it in some manner bore upon the point they were discussing, and ordered the girl to be brought into the room.

"He says that Mademoiselle de Menancourt's tire-woman has brought some apparel for her mistress," she repeated, turning to her brother after the attendant who made the announcement had left the room; "what can this mean, Charles?"

"I know not, Kate," he replied with a doubtful smile; "but when the girl comes, make her repeat her message," appearing perfectly unconcerned.

Before he could add more, the tire-woman was in the saloon; and playing her part with a natural talent which none but a French _soubrette_ ever possessed, she approached towards Madame de Montpensier, and with a low and reverent courtesy, and a look of the most perfect simplicity, said, "I have brought all the things, your Highness, that my mistress thought she would require; but in regard to the filigree girdle, as I told her last night, I have not seen it for these two months. It was given into charge to Laure, who was sent away when my old lord died." And she went on into a long story, solely the invention of her own brain for the occasion; but which was so circumstantial and minute, and delivered with so much apparent earnestness and sincerity, that Mayenne looked at Madame de Montpensier, and Madame de Montpensier looked at Mayenne, with eyes in which bewilderment and surprise were then plainly visible.

"And pray what made you think that your mistress was here at all?" demanded the Duchess, at length cutting across the thread of the girl's story, which bade fair otherwise to be interminable.

It was now the maid's turn to be surprised, and most skilfully did she represent the passion of astonishment; standing before Madame de Montpensier in silence, and looking at her without one trace of comprehension in her eyes. "Pray what did your Highness say?" she asked at length; "I did not understand you."

"She demanded what made you think your mistress was here at all?" repeated Mayenne, in a harsh voice.

"Lord bless me, sir! Your Highness! Dear me! What made me think my mistress was here?" cried the girl, with an affectation of wonder and doubt and affright that was perfectly admirable. "Did not her Highness send her own carriage for her last night, with a young abbé and a page, and a billet sealed with green wax?"

The story, as it had been prepared by Beatrice of Ferrara, now came out at full, and the whole Hotel de Guise was soon in agitation and confusion:--Madame de Montpensier alternately laughing and frowning, Mayenne striding up and down the room, and vowing that if it were the Count d'Aubin who had served him such a trick, he would find means to make him rue it; and the maid Caroline weeping as bitterly as if she had lost a lover or a gold necklace, and wringing her hands for her poor mistress with all the phrase and circumstance of sorrow.

In the midst of this scene the Chevalier d'Aumale appeared, informing Mayenne that Bussy le Clerc denied all knowledge of his chaplain, and that the guards at the Bastile were in the same story. Ere Mayenne, however, could include Bussy le Clerc in his denunciations of vengeance against the Count d'Aubin, the confusion of the whole was rendered more confused by the apparition of the confessor himself, who exculpated the demagogue by declaring that he had never been in the Bastille, but, on the contrary, had been carried away by persons he knew not, who, at a certain point, had put him into a carriage, and blindfolded him. They had then lodged him for the night in a small room with nothing but a bed, a crucifix, and a missal. Here, in mortal terror, he had watched and prayed, till the grey of the dawn, when, being again blindfolded, he was led out through a great many streets and turnings, of whose name and nature of which he had not the slightest conception, and at length finding himself free from the hands of those who had held him, he uncovered his eyes, and perceived that he was standing in the midst of the Pont Neuf, by the side of a blind man who was singing detestable melodies to the discordant accompaniment of that most ancient instrument the hurdy-gurdy. Tired, frightened, and bewildered, he had made the best of his way home, without attempting to seek for his ravishers; and after sleeping till he had incurred a penance for forgetting his matins, he had come to add his mite of confusion to that which already existed in the hall of his patron.

His tribute, however, small as it was, aided to perplex the ideas of Mayenne far more than ever. Ere he made his appearance, it had been the natural conclusion of the lieutenant-general and of his sister, that the carrying off of Eugenie de Menancourt had been the work of the Count d'Aubin; and the absence of the confessor had been considered entirely as a thing apart. No sooner, however, were his adventures related, than they instantly connected themselves in the minds of all with the non-appearance of the priest, who had performed the ceremony, and with the absence of Eugenie; and the shrewd intellects of Mayenne and Madame de Montpensier, thus put upon the right track, seemed likely soon to discover no small portion of the truth. Eugenie's tire-woman was again strictly examined, and though she acquitted herself to a wonder, suspicion was roused. "Think you, Kate," demanded Mayenne, "that shrewd plotter, Beatrice of Ferrara, has a hand in this? There was some talk of love--ay! and even of marriage--between her and D'Aubin in the old Queen's time."

"No, no!" replied the Duchess, "that has all gone by, and she now despises him, as every woman of common sense must do. Besides, I saw her at old Madame de Gondi's fete last night at one o'clock! You had better question the other attendants of De Menancourt. You may gain more tidings there."

Mayenne accordingly determined to proceed instantly to Eugenie's dwelling, in order to interrogate the rest of her servants; and he commanded, in a stern and threatening tone, that the girl Caroline should be detained till he returned. As the door was thrown open, however, to give him exit to the court, a gentleman was introduced as the captain of the lansquenets, sent to his aid by the Duke of Parma; and all Mayenne's conclusions were once more deranged, by finding that the intelligence brought him by the priest was genuine.

How Beatrice of Ferrara had obtained that intelligence Mayenne never discovered; but true the news certainly was, and most important were the results to the cause of the League; for what between the auxiliary force which thus joined him, and reinforcements brought in by Bassompierre, Nemours, and Balagny, the army in Paris was soon so strong as not only to justify but to bespeak bold and energetic measures. Mayenne instantly prepared to take the field against the royal army; and ere Henry IV. had been three days before Rouen, the forces of the League were in full march to give him battle. Before he left Paris, however, the Duke used every means not only to discover the retreat of Eugenie, but to ascertain the cause and the manner of her flight. In regard to the first, he was baffled at every point; and so skilful had been the arrangements of Beatrice, that in respect to the second he returned to the conclusion, after long and repeated investigations, that to the Count d'Aubin was to be attributed an act which, under such circumstances, he looked upon as a base breach of faith, approaching to a personal insult. The tidings, therefore, that Eugenie had disappeared from the capital, and was nowhere to be heard of, were conveyed to D'Aubin by a reproachful letter from the Duke of Mayenne; and mad with anger and disappointment, the Count, on his part, gave his mind up to the belief that Mayenne was deceiving him, threw himself on his horse, and travelled with frantic rapidity, till he reached Paris. There finding that the army of the League was already on its march, he followed with all speed, overtook Mayenne at Gournay, and a somewhat vehement altercation was the consequence.

Mayenne, however, could not afford to quarrel with a person of so much importance to his cause; and acting with wisdom and moderation, an explanation soon ensued, which cleared either party in the opinion of the other. As D'Aubin, however, giving way to the natural impetuosity of his disposition, had not waited to put the troops in motion which he had collected in Maine, he returned thither after one day's rest, while Mayenne marched forwards towards Dieppe.

Accompanied by some of the first officers in France, and supported by an overwhelming force, it seemed that the great leader of the League was about to drive the handful of men which opposed him, and their heroic monarch, into that sea which was already bearing to their aid the expected succour from England. Strongly posted, however, and powerful both in courage and in right, Henry IV. calmly awaited the attack of his adversary; and, after several preliminary movements, the day of Arques dawned heavy and dull, without a breath of air to stir the trees or to dispel the autumn fog that obscured the scene of that memorable fight.

It were tedious here to tell all the minute particulars of the glorious day, when, attacked at all points, and assailed in all manners, not only by the arms of the enemy, but by the treason or folly of part of his own troops, Henry IV. defended the hill of Arques against forces more than six times the number of his own.

Every one has heard how, when monarch and soldiers were alike wearied out with sustaining through a long day the unceasing attacks of infinitely superior numbers, when scarcely a horse could bear his rider to the charge, and scarcely a hand could wield a sword, the little band of Royalists beheld the powerful and yet untouched cavalry of the League wheeling round upon their flank, while a light wind springing up tended to clear the air, and showed to both armies the insignificance of the one and the tremendous advantages of the other. But in stricken fields, as in the daily strife of life, the event which seems destined to seal our misfortunes is often but the harbinger of unexpected success. The wind, it is true, rose higher, and rolling the sea-fog, in heavy clouds, away down the valley of Arques, left the few gallant defenders of that long-contested hill exposed, in all their need, to the eyes of the mighty host that swept round them in dreadful array; but, at the same time, the full sunshine poured upon the advancing squadrons of the League as they came on to the charge, and those upon the hill, for the first time during the day, could distinguish clearly the separate masses of friends and foes. The cannon of the castle of Arques opened at once, with tremendous effect, upon the cavalry of Mayenne; the first ranks were swept down as they advanced; the second rolled over their dying comrades; the horses, mad with pain and terror, broke through the ranks behind; and the charge of a few hundred men, at that critical moment, put all the gallant array into irremediable flight. Mayenne saw that the day was not for him; and withdrawing his masses in slow and soldierly order, he retreated for several miles, and left the field of Arques to the glory of Henry IV.