Chapter XVIII: The Two Abbés

Dundrennan, Sir Quintin Home, Raynold Cheyne and I, entered the common hall, or room of the tavern, and after bowing politely to two abbés who were seated in a corner conversing over a stoup of French wine, and reading the columns of the 'Mercury,' we ordered dinner.

'A poor tavern this,' said Sir Quentin, surveying the old gloomy room and worm-eaten furniture.

'True; but our swords are sheathed in leather just now--not crimson velvet,' said the Viscount, pithily.

'That ride from Mailly to-day has given me an appetite,' said Cheyne; 'dinner--dinner, quick!'

'And jovial stoups of your wine of champagne all round,' added Sir Quentin.

'What the deuce, my Laird of Redden!' exclaimed the Viscount, 'thy purse actually rings with the sound of metal; hast thou inherited a fortune?'

'Or been upon the highway?' added Cheyne, in the same tone of banter.

'I have been overmuch upon the highway since I rid myself of yonder English captain in the bounds of Berwick,' replied the Baronet, with a grim smile; 'since that unfortunate day, my purse has usually been the lightest thing about me.'

'Except thy heart, gallant Home,' added Dundrennan.

'Viscount, I thank you.'

'And yet, Sir Quentin,' said I, 'rumour avers that the fair Mademoiselle de Chevreuse views you with favour, and we all know that she has eighty thousand francs per annum.'

'Eighty thousand! Ah, Heaven! think of that!' sighed the poor Baronet; 'if she were tenderly inclined, mademoiselle might make me the happiest man in France, and her paternal coat would look very well when quartered with the lion rampant of Home _argent_ armed and langued _gules_.'

'But think of De Guerchi, whose heart might break, though Chatillon wears her garter.'

'Pshaw! is not one pretty girl as good as another, Viscount?'

'If their purses be of the same weight.'

'Of course, Viscount. Ouf! how mercenary we have become among these Parisians. But beware, gentlemen, we have a couple of abbés here,' said Home, lowering his voice, and to mention my name with that of Mademoiselle de Chevreuse in their hearing might bring upon me the eyes of monseigneur the Archbishop of Paris; and there are certain devilish contrivances in France known as _lettres de cachet_, which lead to an unpleasant place called the Bastille.'

'Ten devils!' said the Viscount; 'don't think of them.'

'The archbishop was a capital swordsman when he was known simply as the little Abbé Gondi; but I have no wish to measure swords or strength with him now.'

'Here comes the dinner at last,' said Dundrennan, flinging aside his belt and gauntlets; 'bravo, maitre d'hôtel! are all these fine children yours?'

'Tush, Viscount, don't ask unpleasant questions,' said Cheyne, still in his spirit of banter; 'they are, at least, the children of his wife, Madame la Comtesse de Champagne, our generous lady of the signboard.'

And so, amid gaiety and laughter, heedless of the two reverend abbés who sat in the corner, we sat down to dinner.

It was then the custom in France, when one was invited to dinner, to send a servant with one's knife, fork, and spoon, as these things were never provided for guests. We all produced our apparatus from our pockets, and attacked the viands, as we would have done the enemy.

The two abbés, who had been quite silent since we entered the room, now began to talk while our jaws were otherwise employed; but as they invariably became silent when any of us spoke, and sat in shadow, with their faces turned from us, I conceived, without knowing why, an instinctive mistrust of their character, and watched them narrowly. One was dark in complexion; the other fair, and ten years younger in face and manner; but the knowledge that the costume of an _abbé_ was then the usual attire, or disguise of French gentlemen when travelling, rendered me wary of drawing attention to their presence, or to their conversation, the scraps of which were somewhat to the following effect.

'She is very lovely, with her violet eyes and golden hair,' said the younger abbé; 'Marie Louise herself is not superior to her!'

'Ah, you know her, then--this Madame de Charost?' asked the elder and darker abbé.

'Too well for my own peace; but you smile.'

'She is one of the most faithful wives in Paris.'

'To her husband?'

'No, to his dear friend----'

'Diable! who is he?'

'Ah, your hand wanders to where your sword should be. There is great wisdom in consigning these tools to the tapster, when we visit a tavern.'

'But who is this friend?'

'The new camp-master of the regiment de Normandie.'

'The Marquis de Toneins, son of the Duke de la Force?'

'Yes.'

'Good,' said the fair abbé, angrily; 'I shall remember that when we meet again. Ah, poor little Charost--she is indeed an innocent!'

'Yes, a pretty innocent, who sings comic operas, and reads romances in Lent,' whispered the older abbé, in his bantering tone.

Deeming this conversation about the gay and divorced Duchess of Charost rather odd in its tenor to be maintained by two churchmen, I now gave all my attention to them.

'Mon Dieu! and so you actually fought a duel with this young spark De Toneins?' exclaimed the dark abbé.

'Yes, because duelling being strictly forbidden in the camp, we fought about everything; even the peccadilloes of the girls at the Hôtel d'Argent, or about who was the best hand with cards, a case of pistols, anything in short. But he fairly ran me through the body.'

'I think you have a luck that way. Ouf! after this, I would have paid a priest to curse him.'

'Bah!' replied the fair abbé, with a bitter smile, 'I can do it cheaper myself.'

'True,' replied the other, and while drumming with his fingers on the table, hummed half-abstractedly--

'Fille d'un simple pelletier,
Elle était gentillette;
Robert en galant chevalier
Vint lui conter fleurette.'

This song, together with the voice, stirred an immediate chord in my memory; and while pretending to examine certain pictures of farriers' shops, riding-houses, and Dutch market-places, by Albert Kuyp, with which the room was decorated, I drew near the two reverend abbés, and observed them more particularly; and despite their perukes, in imitation of the inventor, the absurd Abbé la Rivière, I recognised in the elder and darker, the devil-may-care Chevalier Raoul d'Ische; and in the younger and fair-haired, the Prince of Vaudemont, the son of that Duke of Lorraine, whose territories we were about to enter.

Perplexity and astonishment at the cool daring of these two cavaliers kept me silent; and they continued to converse without observing me.

'You are right,' said the Prince, in reply to some remark of the Chevalier; 'the risks run by Marie Louise, whose beauty and delicacy render her so suspiciously attractive, are a source of great unhappiness to me.'

'But her presence in Paris is as necessary to us, as twenty thousand men upon the frontier,' replied the Chevalier, in the same low, guarded tone. 'The Countess--'

'What Countess?'

'Madame d'Amboise. You have read and destroyed her last despatch from Paris, I hope?'

'Yes, Chevalier; and deposited the answer.'

'Where, M. le Prince?'

'In the place agreed upon; the old oak at the fountain on the highway; 'tis, as usual, in ciphers, which she of course alone can read, having the key. Moreover--'

'Hush, _M. l'Abbé_--we are observed.'

'Then let us retire.'

They rose abruptly and withdrew; but this unguarded conversation convinced me more than ever that the famous Princess Marie Louise of Lorraine was living concealed in Paris; that the mistress of the King was betraying both him and Richelieu, and, being a Lorrainer, was in the interest of Duke Charles and his people.

'Comrades, excuse me for a minute,' said I, and followed these Lorrainers, whom I found in the act of receiving their swords from the tapster, and mounting their horses, which were strong and active nags, accoutred with valises and holster-pistols.

'Monseigneur,' said I, saluting the Prince, 'I have discovered you; indeed I must have been blind or mad, had I failed to do so.'

'Hola! upon my soul, 'tis our very good friend, M. Blane of Garde Ecossais!' said the Chevalier, with as much surprise as if he had not been observing me for an hour past. 'Well, sir?'

'Retire--leave our vicinity; this espionnage is not honourable, and you trust me too far.'

'Ah! you begin to threaten us--eh?'

'If, in one hour hence, I find you near our cantonments, by Heaven, messieurs, I will denounce you both to the Duke de la Lavalette!'

'Mort de tout les diables! he _does_ threaten us, Chevalier,' said the Prince, haughtily. 'Very well, M. Blane, I command my father's troops at Bitche, the first town upon the Alsatian frontier; you will find me there in other guise than that of an abbé.'

'And if you pass Bitche with bones unbroken, and come the length of La Mothe,' added the Chevalier, 'you will find _me_ there, with my helmet on, my young soldier. I shall then be at the head of Duke Charles's old steel crabs, whose claws are sharp enough, believe me--and so till then, adieu, my dear Garde Ecossais.'

'Adieu, messieurs,' said I, and we separated with cold salutes.

They galloped away, and I rejoined my three companions, who were singing vociferously an old Scottish rant, and becoming more jolly than ever, over the sparkling wine of Champagne.