CHAPTER III.

The personage concerning whom the last sentences were spoken, and who now entered the hall, was not more than three feet six inches in height,[1] but perfectly well formed in every respect, except that the head, as is very usual with persons of his unfortunate description, was somewhat too large for the size of the body it surmounted. His former lord had spoken of his ugliness; but although his face was certainly by no means handsome, yet there was nothing in it approaching deformity. Between "the human face divine" and that of the monkey, our great original, there are a thousand shades and varieties of feature; and the countenance of the dwarf, it must be admitted, was at the very far extreme of the chain, and at the end nearest the ape. A pair of sparkling black eyes, and two rows of very fine white teeth, however, rendered the rest of his features less disagreeable, but by no means diminished his resemblance to the animal. Whether from a consciousness of this likeness, and a desire to hide it as far as possible, or from a sort of conceited foppery not uncommon, the dress of this small man was as scrupulously elegant as the taste of that day would admit. His beard and mustachios, which were soft and silky, were most accurately trimmed. His hair, thrust back from his face, exposed his large and somewhat protuberant forehead; while his pourpoint, composed of deep blue cloth, was slashed with primrose silk, to favour a somewhat dingy complexion. Sword and dagger he wore at his girdle; and all the chronicles of those days bear witness that he well knew how to use--and to use fearlessly--the weapons intrusted to his small hands.

His whole appearance produced a strange and not pleasant effect upon those who saw him. The want of harmony between his size and his form was constantly forcing itself upon attention. Could one have magnified him, he would have appeared a very well-dressed cavalier, according to the fashions of the times; and, had there not been something in his whole form and air that bespoke manhood, one might have looked upon him as a smart child; but, as it was, one felt inclined to smile as soon as the eye fell upon him, though there was in his demeanour but few of those absurdities by which many of his class of beings render themselves ridiculous. He had neither strut nor swagger, smirk nor simper; and the only thing which in any degree tended to render his aspect peculiar, besides the fact of his diminutive form, was a certain cynical smile which ever hung more or less about his lips, as if, from a consciousness of superior talent or superior cunning, he scorned the race which, for their superior corporeal qualities, he hated; or rather, perhaps, as if he were ever prepared to encounter their contempt for his inferior size by contempt for their inferior acuteness.

He entered the hall with ease, if not with grace; but, perhaps, with more of what may be termed boldness than either. To St. Real, as his actual master, he bowed low, and to the Count d'Aubin still lower, accompanying the inclinations of his head, in this instance, with a keen and significant glance, which, had the Chevalier de St. Real been of a suspicious nature, might have made him place but little confidence in an attendant of his cousin's recommending. But he himself had nothing to conceal, and, as yet, feared not that any one should see his inmost thoughts; for he was one of those few men who know no other use for words than to express their feelings.

"Why did you blow the horn so loud, Bartholo?" demanded St. Real, "when you well knew that my father lies so ill?"

"I did it, noble sir," replied the dwarf, "lest the cooks, and the pages, and the concierge at the door should lose a jest and fit of laughter--rare things in the castle of St. Real. I knew full well that some one would cry out, 'Hear what a great sound can be made by a little body!' and it would be unjust to disappoint the poor fools in the offices, for fear of disturbing the rich gallants in the hall. But, by my faith, I had another reason, too, which is worth looking to. There was a traveller came with me, and an ass, and an ass's burden."

"Was it the surgeon for whom I sent you?" asked St. Real, eagerly; "the new surgeon from Tours?"

"Seeing that my eyes and the surgeon are innocent of all intercourse," replied the other, "I cannot tell you, noble sir, whether it be he or not. The man was not in his dwelling when I reached it, so I left my message, and rode further; and, as I came back, what should I see, half a mile hence, but the white feather of this man's hat waving in the dark night, and not knowing its way to the chateau of St. Real. I asked him what party he was of, whither he was going, and if he had passport or safe conduct. He answered, short enough, that he belonged to his own party, had no passport but his sword and his right hand, and was coming hither. So, whether he were surgeon or not, let those judge that are wise! I asked no further, but brought him hither, and left him in the green arras room, as he seemed no way dangerous, and wished to see either the Marquis or the Marquis's son in private."

"It is either a reitter seeking service, or a quack-salver seeking the sick," cried the Count d'Aubin. "Go to him--go to him quick, Huon! He will whip you the gold lace off the hangings, either for his pocket or his crucible. So go to him, and leave me the dwarf to jest withal."

With the quick and impatient step which anxiety produces in the young and active, St. Real bent his steps towards the chamber to which he had been directed by the dwarf, hoping, notwithstanding the description which had been given of the person who awaited him, that he might prove the surgeon who had been sent for in aid of the ordinary medical assistance attending upon his father.

The room which he now entered was a small one, hung with arras of a dark-green hue, that served to absorb the greater part of the light afforded by a single lamp. The stranger had cast himself into a large chair at the farther end of the chamber, and, in the half obscurity, his person and features were but faintly seen; but nearer, and in the full light, sat the youth whom we first found washing his feet in one of the neighbouring streams. He seemed fatigued with journeying, and leaning listlessly against a small table under the lamp, suffered his head to rest upon his hand, showing a profusion of jetty curls falling thick round his brow, while the cap and feather which he had worn without was now thrown upon the ground beside him. The person whom he had accompanied, however, retained his hat and high white plume, and made no movement to rise as St. Real entered.

The eyes of the young noble first rested upon the boy; but immediately turning towards the elder of his two visitors, he advanced towards him, without noticing the apparent incivility of his demeanour. When he had taken two steps forward, however, St. Real paused; and then, with an exclamation of surprise, was again advancing, when the stranger rose, saying, "Ha, Monsieur St. Real, I did not know you at first. Ventre Saint Gris! I had forgot that ten years makes a boy a man."

"If I am not mistaken, I see his Majesty of Navarre," said the Chevalier; "and only grieve that my father is not capable of bidding him welcome, with all the goodwill that we entertain towards himself and his royal house."

"Henry of Navarre, indeed!" replied the monarch; "as poor a King as lives, St. Real, but one who grieves sincerely at your father's illness. I trust that it is not dangerous, however, and that I shall yet see him ere I depart; for to that purpose I have been forced to steal me a path amidst bands through which I should have found it hard to cut me a way, and to do that singly which I dared not attempt with many a stout soldier at my back."

"My father sleeps, my lord," replied St. Real; "'tis the first sleep that he has known for many a day, and I would fain----"

"Wake him not--wake him not for me!" interrupted the King. "To-morrow I must hie me back to Tours; but in the meanwhile I can well wait his waking, and will crave some refreshment for myself and this good youth, who has guided me hither, and who seems less able to bear hunger and long riding than Henry of Navarre."

"I will order such poor fare as our house affords to be placed before your Majesty directly," replied St. Real, "though I fear me much that the two surgeons and a priest, together with a _gentilhomme serjent_ from La Fleche, are even now busy in despatching all that is already prepared."

"Let us join them! let us join them by all means!" cried the King; "by my faith I would never choose to dine where better cheer is usually to be found, than in company with surgeons and with priests. The first are too much accustomed to the care of other people's bodies to neglect their own; and the others, though they limit their special vocation to the preparation of souls for the other world, are not without care for the preservation of the corporeal part in this. But our horses, St. Real--they stand in the court-yard: that is to say, my horse, and this good youth's more humble charger in the shape of an ass."

St. Real turned his eyes upon the youth while the King spoke; and after having replied that he would give instant orders for Henry's equipage of all kinds to be attended to, added, still looking at the boy, "Your Majesty's page, I suppose?"

"If so, but the page of a day," replied the King; "but, nevertheless, though of so short an acquaintance, I can say that he seems as good a boy as ever lived, has guided me here through many dangers, with more wit and more courage too than most would have shown, and is by far too wise to prefer the service of a poor king to that of a rich lord. In short, St. Real, it seems that he was coming here when I met with him; and as his sole guerdon for the pains he has taken, he required me to advocate his cause with your father, to have him received as a page in your household."

"My father," said St. Real, in reply, "has a mortal aversion to pages, ever since the Queen was here with more than half a score, and will only suffer two in his household--his own stirrup page, and mine, a dwarf given me by my cousin Philip."

"Nay, nay, you must not refuse my first request, St. Real," said the King; "for I have many another to make ere I have done, and if I halt at the first step, I shall never be able to walk through the rest of the list."

"Oh! I never dreamed of refusing your Majesty so trifling a thing," replied the other; "but we must give him some other name than page. What will you be, my boy? You are too young and too gay-looking for a valet in such a dull house as this."

"And too noble," added the youth, "or too proud, if you will. I seek not, sir, to take wages of any man; but I seek to pass a time in some house where the hearts are as noble as the blood they contain, where old feelings are not forgot in new follies; and I would fain that that house were the chateau of St. Real."

"You speak well, good youth, and more like a man than a boy; but somewhat too haughtily too," replied St. Real.

"I will speak more humbly when I am your follower," answered the youth, colouring a good deal; "to those who would raise me up, I can be as humble as the dust, and to those who would cast me down, as proud as a diamond. I sought to be your father's page, my lord," he added, in a softer tone; "because I heard much of him, and because all that I did hear showed him as a man blending so equally in his nature goodness and nobility, that love and reverence must be his followers wherever he bend his steps."

Something very like a tear rose in St. Real's fine clear eye, and the youth proceeded. "I am grieved that aught should have grieved you, sir, on his account; but still let me beseech you to take me into his service. You know not," he added, eagerly, "how kindly I can tend those I love; how I can amuse the weary hours of sickness, and while away the moments of pain. I can read him stories from ancient lore, and from many a language that few pages know. I can tell him tales of other lands, and describe places, and things, and nations that he has never seen. I can sing to him sweet songs in tongues that are all music, and play to him on the lute as none in this land can play."

"Enough! enough!" cried Henry; "by my life, St. Real, if you do not conclude your bargain with the boy quickly, I will step in and try to outbid you in your offers; for if he but perform his undertaking with you as well as he has done with me, you will have a page such as never was since this world began."

"He was ours, my lord, from the first moment that your Majesty expressed a wish that he should be so," replied St. Real. "There is my hand, good youth, and it shall ever give you aid and protection at your need. But tell me, what is your name? for although, as in the old times, we let our guests come and go in the chateau without question; yet, of course, I must know what I am to call _you_."

"Leonard," answered the youth; "Leonardo, in my own land; but here in France, men call me Leonard de Monte."

"I thought I heard a slight Italian accent on your lips," said St. Real; "but tell me, have I not seen you as one of the pages of Queen Catherine's court?--a court," he added, almost regretting that he had yielded to the King's request, "a court, not the best school for----" But there again he paused, unwilling to hurt the feelings of any one, and seeing a flush come over the boy's face, as if he already anticipated the bitter censure that court so well deserved. The youth's answer made him glad that he had paused.

"I know what are in your thoughts, sir," he replied; "but I beseech you speak no evil of a mistress who is now dead, and who was ever kind to me. Let her faults lie in the grave where she lies, and let men forget them as soon as they forget virtues. As for myself, I may have faults too; but they have never been those of the persons amongst whom I mingled; I have neither learned to lie, nor to flatter, nor to cheat, nor to run evil messages, nor give sweet hints. If, then, I have lived amidst corruption and come out pure----"

"You are gold tried in the fire," rejoined St. Real, laying his hand upon his shoulder; "and I will trust you, my good youth, as much convinced by the tenderness of your speech towards her who is no more, as by your defence of yourself----. But this matter has kept your Majesty too long," he added, "and by your permission I will now conduct you to the lesser hall, where these four persons are at supper; though I cannot but think that you had better suffer me to order you refreshments here."

"Nay, nay, I will sup with chirurgeons by all means," replied Henry, laughing, "and we will forget that there is such a thing as a king, if you please, St. Real; for I would not have it blazed abroad that I am wandering about without an escort, or I might soon find myself in the castle of Amboise. Call me Maitre Jacques, if you please, for the present time, and let us make haste; for if I am to gauge the appetite of those worthy doctors by my own, they will have devoured the supper ere we reach the hall."

"Permit me, then, to show the way," replied St. Real; "seek out my dwarf, Bartholo, good youth," he added, turning to the page, "and bid him find you lodging and refreshment, as he values my favour. But I will see more to your comfort myself shortly; for the villain is sometimes insolent, and may be spiteful too, like most of his race, though I never have marked it."

The youth bowed his head without other reply, and St. Real proceeded to conduct Henry of Navarre, afterwards so well known as the frank and gallant "Henri Quatre," along the many long and dimly lighted passages of the chateau of St. Real, towards a small hall in one of the farthest parts of the building.

"Maitre Jacques! remember I am Maitre Jacques!" said Henry, as the young noble laid his hand upon the lock; "and you must not only make your words call me so, but your demeanour also, St. Real."

"Fear not! fear not!" answered St. Real, in a low tone; "I will be as disrespectful as you can desire, sire."

Thus saying, he opened the door, exposing to view the interior of what was called the little hall, which presented a scene whereon we may dwell for a single instant; for, though the picture which it displayed of the callous indifference of human nature to the griefs and sufferings of others, is not an agreeable one, it was not new enough even then to excite wonder, and is not old enough now to be omitted. The master of the house was dying, and his family full of sorrow at the approaching loss of one who had been a father to all who surrounded him; but there, in the little hall, was collected, in the persons of the surgeons, the priest, and the lawyer, attendant upon the dying man, as merry a party as it had ever contained. The hall, though it was called little, was only so comparatively; for its size was sufficient to make the table at which the feasters sat look like a speck in the midst. Nevertheless, it was well lighted; and St. Real and his royal companion, as they entered, could plainly see the man of law holding up a brimming Venice glass of rich wine to one of his two shrewd eyes, while the hall was echoing to some potent jest that he had just cast forth amongst his companions. Even the carver at the buffet, and the serving man who was filling up the wine for the rest, were shaking their well-covered sides at the joke; and the priest, though repressing as far as possible the outward signs of merriment, was palating the _bon mot_ with a sly smile, and had perhaps a covert intention of using it himself secondhand, whenever he could find occasion. For a minute or two the party at the table did not perceive the entrance of any other persons, or concluded that those who did enter were servants; and their conversation went on in the same light tone which had evidently predominated up to that moment.

As soon, however, as St. Real and his guest appeared, matters assumed a different aspect; and solemn ceremony and respect took the place of merriment. Seats were soon placed; and Henry, while engaged in satisfying the hunger that a long day's journey had occasioned, failed not by some gay and sportive observations to bring back a degree of cheerfulness: but the natural frank liveliness of the King's heart was controlled, or rather oppressed, by many an anxious thought for himself, and by feelings of kindly and sincere sympathy with the young noble who sat beside him. St. Real, on his part, did not affect to feel aught but deep anxiety; and, after their entrance, the merriment of the party in the hall was very much sobered down from its previous elevated tone, giving way, indeed, in the breasts of the lawyer and the surgeons, to many a shrewd conjecture in regard to the profession and object of their new comrade Maitre Jacques.

In the meantime, the page stood where St. Real and the King had left him, supporting himself against the table in an attitude of much grace, but one which spoke deep and somewhat melancholy thought. His head leaned upon his bosom, his hand fell listlessly by his side, his eyes strained with the deep and intense gaze of anxious meditation upon one unmeaning spot of the marble floor; and thus, without the slightest motion, he continued so long in the same position, that he might have been taken for some fanciful statue tricked out in the gay dress of that time, had not every now and then a deep sigh broke from his bosom, and evinced the conscious presence of life and all its ills.

Near a quarter of an hour elapsed without his taking the slightest notice of the lapse of time. The steps of his new master and the prince had long ceased to sound through the passages, other noises had made themselves heard and died away again; but the youth remained apparently unconscious of everything but some peculiar and absorbing facts in his own situation. His reverie was, however, at length disturbed, but apparently not unexpectedly, though the stealthy step and silent motions with which the dwarf Bartholo advanced into the room in which the youth stood, had brought him near before the other was aware of his presence. For a moment after their eyes had met neither spoke, though there was much meaning in the glance of each; and at length the youth made a silent motion of his hand towards the door. The sign was obeyed at once; and the dwarf, closing the door cautiously, returned with a quick step, suddenly bent one knee to the ground, and kissed the hand the boy extended towards him.

"So, Bartholo," he said, receiving this somewhat extraordinary greeting as a thing of course, "so! you see that I am here at length!"

"I do," replied the dwarf, rising; "but for what object you are come I cannot conceive."

"For many objects," answered the youth; "but one sufficient to myself, is that I am near those that I wish to be near; and can watch their actions--perhaps see into their thoughts. If I could but make myself sure that St. Real really loves the girl! that were worth all the trouble."

"But the risk! the risk!" exclaimed the dwarf.

"The risk is nothing, if my people are faithful to me," answered the youth sharply; "and woe be to them if they are not! Why came you not as I commanded, but left me to wait and wander in the neighbourhood of Beaumont, and nearly be taken by a party of reitters, in the pay of Mayenne?"

"I could not come," answered the dwarf; "for I was sent to seek a chirurgeon from Tours for the old man, who lies at the point of death. I made what haste I could; but missed you, and could not overtake you till you had nearly reached the chateau."

"And is the old Marquis, then, so near the end of a long good life?" asked the youth. "There are some men whose deeds are so full of immortality, that we can scarce fancy even their bodies shall become food for worms. But so it must be with the best as well as with the worst of us."

"Even so!" answered the dwarf; "but as to this old man, I have not seen him with my own eyes for this many a day; but the report runs in the castle that he cannot long survive."

"His death would come most inopportunely for all my plans," replied the youth; "it would place me in strange circumstances: and yet I would dare them, for I have passed through still stranger without fear. I feel my own heart strong--ay, even in its weakness; and I will not fear. Nevertheless, see you obey my orders better. You should have sent some other on your errand, and not have left me to the mercy of a troop of reitters."

"Crying your mercy," said the dwarf, with a significant grin, "I should have thought that your late companion might have proved as dangerous."

"Dare you be insolent to me, sir?" cried the youth, fixing his full dark eye sternly on the dwarf. "But, no; I know you dare not, and you know me too well to dare. But you are wrong. Whatever may be the faults of Harry of Navarre--all reprobate heretic as he is--nevertheless he is free from every ungenerous feeling; and although I might think I saw a glance of recognition in his eyes, yet I harbour not a fear that he will betray me or make any ill use of his knowledge, even if he have remembered me."

"Are you aware, however," asked the dwarf, lowering his voice and dropping his eyes--"are you aware that the Count d'Aubin is here?"

"No, no!" cried the youth, starting. "No, no! Where--where do you mean? I know that he is in Maine, but surely not here."

"In this very house," answered the dwarf--"in the great hall, not a hundred yards from the spot where we now stand."

"Indeed!" said the other, musing. "Indeed! I knew that he was near, and that we should soon meet; but I did not think to find him here. Look at me, Bartholo! look at me well! Think you that he would recognise me? Gold, and embroidery, and courtly fashions, are all laid aside; and I might be taken for the son of a mechanic, or, at best, for the child of some inferior burgher."

"I knew you at once!" answered the page emphatically.

"Yes, yes; but that is different," replied he whom we shall take the liberty of calling by the name he had given himself, although that name, it need scarcely be said, was assumed; "but that is different," replied Leonard de Monte. "You were prepared to know me; but I think that I am secure with all others. Why, when I look in the mirror, I hardly know myself."

The dwarf gazed over the person of him who was evidently his real master, however he might, for some unexplained purposes, affect to be in the service of others--and after a moment, he replied, with a shrug of the shoulders, "It may be so indeed. Dusty, and travel-soiled, and changed, perhaps he would not know you; and were you to put on a high fraise, instead of that falling collar, it would make a greater difference still in your appearance."

"Quick! get me one, then" cried the youth; "I will pass before him for an instant this very night, that his eye may become accustomed to the sight, and memory be lulled to sleep. See, too, that all be prepared for me to lodge as you know I would."

"I have already marked out a chamber," answered the dwarf, "and have curried favour with the major-domo, so that he will readily grant it to the new page at my request."

"Where is it?" demanded the youth. "You know I am familiar with the house."

"It is," replied the dwarf, "one of the small chambers, with a little ante-chamber, in the garden tower."

"Quick, then! Haste and ask it for me," exclaimed Leonard de Monte. "The young lord bade me apply to you for what I needed; so you can plead his order to the master of the chambers. Then bring me the fraise speedily, ere I have time to think twice, and to waver in my resolutions."

With almost supernatural speed the dwarf did his errand, and returned, bearing with him one of those stiff frills extended upon whalebone which are to be seen in all the portraits of those days. The youth instantly took it from his hand; and, concealing the falling collar of lace, which was for a short period the height of the fashion at the court of Henry III., and which certainly did not well accord with the simplicity of the rest of his apparel, he tied the fraise round his neck, and advanced to a small mirror in a silver frame that hung against the arras. "Yes, that does better," he exclaimed--"that does better. Now, what say you, Bartholo?"

"That you are safe," answered the page--"that I should not know you myself, did I not hear your voice."

"Well, then, lead through the hall, if Philip of Aubin be there." replied the youth; "and when I am in my chamber, bring me a wafer and a cup of wine; for I am weary, and must seek rest."

The dwarf opened the door, and led the way, conducting his young companion across the great hall, up and down which the Count d'Aubin was pacing slowly and thoughtfully.

"Who have you there, Bartholo?" demanded the young noble as they passed.

"Only a page, my lord," replied the dwarf; and they walked on. The Count looked at the page attentively; but not the slightest sign of recognition appeared on his face; and, though the youth's steps faltered a little with the apprehension of discovery, he quitted the hall, satisfied that his disguise was not seen through. As soon as they reached the door of the small chamber, which was to be thenceforth his abode, Bartholo left him, to bring the refreshment he had ordered; and as the dwarf passed by the door of the hall once more, and heard the steps of the Count pacing up and down, he paused an instant, as if undecided. "Shall I tell him?" he muttered between his teeth, "shall I tell him, and blow the whole scheme to pieces? But no, no, no; I should lose all, and with him it might have quite the contrary effect. I must find another way;" and he walked on.