Chapter III: Part 3

Although Charles of Montsoreau judged rightly that the abode of Vincennes, to the high and pure-minded girl whom he sought, could only have been one of horror, he could not conceive any thing in her situation which should have proved embarrassing to the King, and he answered bluntly, "Then your Majesty of course has caused her to be escorted in safety to the Duke of Guise, as the means of relieving yourself from all embarrassment concerning her."

"Not so, not so, Monsieur de Logeres," replied the King. "Young diplomatists and young greyhounds run fast and overleap the game. It so happens that there are various claims regarding the wardship of this young Lady. She has many relations, as near or nearer than the Duke of Guise. The care and guidance of her, too, under the authorisation of the Duke himself, has been claimed by a young nobleman whom you may have heard of, called the Marquis of Montsoreau;" and he fixed his eyes meaningly upon the young Count's face. "All these circumstances rendered the matter embarrassing; and as I was not called upon to decide the matter judicially; and the Lady, if not quite of an age by law to judge for herself, being very nearly so, I thought it far better to leave the whole business to her own discretion, and let her take what course she thought fit, offering her every assistance and protection in my power, which, however, she declined. You may therefore assure the Duke of Guise, on my part, that she is not at Vincennes, and that I am unacquainted with where she is at this moment. I now think, therefore, that all your questions are answered, and the business is at an end."

"I fear I must intrude upon your Majesty still farther," replied the young Count; "for besides the letter from the Duke of Guise, which I have had the honour of delivering to your Majesty, he has also furnished me with this document, giving me full power and authority to inquire, seek for, and require, at the hands of any person in whose power she may be, the young Lady whom he claims as his ward. He has directed me to request your Majesty's approbation of the same, expressed by your signature to that effect, giving me authority to search for her in your name also, and to require the aid and assistance of all your officers, civil and military, in executing the said task."

Henry looked both agitated and angry; and Villequier spoke for a moment to Epernon behind the King's back.

"Monsieur de Logeres," exclaimed the latter, taking a step forward, "this is too much. I can hardly suppose that his Highness the Duke of Guise has authorised you to make such a demand."

"My Lord Duke of Epernon," replied the Count, "were it not that I hold in my hand the Duke's authority for that which I state, I would call upon you to put your insinuation in plainer terms, that I might give it the lie as plainly as I would do any other unjust accusation."

The Duke turned very red; but he replied, "And you would be treated, sir Count, as a petty boy of the low nobility of this realm deserves, for using such language to one so much above yourself."

"There is no one in France so much above myself, sir," replied the Count, gazing on him sternly, and with a look of some contempt, "as to dare to insult me with impunity; and though you be now High-admiral of France, Colonel-general of Infantry, Governor of half the provinces of this country, Duke, Peer, and hold many another rich and honourable office besides, I tell you, John of Nogaret, that when the Baron de Caumont dined at my father's table, he sat nearer the salt than perhaps now may suit the proud Duke of Epernon to remember."

"Silence!" exclaimed the King, rousing himself for a moment from his effeminate apathy, while, for a brief space, an expression of power and dignity came over his countenance, such as that which had distinguished him while Duke of Anjou. "Silence, insolent boy! Silence, Epernon! I forbid you, on pain of my utmost displeasure, to take notice, even by a word, of what this young man has said. You were yourself wrong to answer for the King in the King's presence. The Duke of Guise shall have no just occasion to complain of us," he added, the brightness which had come upon him gradually dying away like the false promising gleam of sunshine which sometimes breaks for a moment through a rainy autumnal day, and fades away again as soon, amidst the dull grey clouds; "the Duke of Guise shall have no occasion to complain of us. We will give this young man the authority which he has so insolently demanded, to seek for Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, and having found her--if she have not joined the Duke of Guise long before--to escort her in safety to our cousin's care. But, Monsieur de Logeres, you show your ignorance of every custom of the court and state, by supposing that the King of France can write down at the bottom of the powers given you by the Duke of Guise his name in confirmation of the same, like a steward at the bottom of a butcher's bill. The authority which we give you must pass through the office of our secretary of state, and it shall be drawn out and sent to you as speedily as possible. I think that Monsieur de Villequier already knows where to send this authority. You may now retire; and rest assured that it shall reach you as soon as possible. At the same time we pardon you for your conduct in this presence, which much needs pardon, though it does not merit it."

Charles of Montsoreau bowed low, and retired from the King's presence, fully convinced that Henry was deceiving him; that he knew, or, at all events, had every means of judging, where Marie de Clairvaut was; and that he had not the slightest intention of sending him the authorisation he had promised, unless absolutely driven to do so.

The moment that the young Count had quitted the presence, the King turned angrily to Villequier, exclaiming, "Are you mad, Villequier, to risk bringing that fiery and ambitious pest upon us? 'Tis but four days ago he was within ten miles of Paris!"

"Pshaw, Sire!" replied Villequier; "there is not the slightest chance of his coming. Did I not tell you when he was at Gonesse that I would find means to make him run like a frightened hare back again to Soissons? I fear your Majesty has ruined all our plans by promising this authority to that malapert youth, who doubtless already knows, or easily divines, that he is deceived."

"I have not deceived him," said the King: "I told him the girl was not at Vincennes; nor is she. I told him that I did not know where she is at this moment; nor do I; for she may be three miles on this side of Meulan, or three miles on that, for aught I know. It depends upon the quickness of the horses, and the state of the roads. I promised him the authority to seek her; and he shall have it in good due form, if he live long enough, and wait in Paris a sufficient time."

"If he have it not within three days," replied Villequier, "be you sure, Sire, that he will write to the Duke of Guise."

"But, Villequier," said the King in a soft tone, "could you not find means to prevent his making use of pen and ink to such bad purposes? In short, friend Rene, it is altogether your affair. You seem to think that the fact of this girl falling into our hands is quite the discovery of a treasure which may fix on our side this young Marquis of Montsoreau and the crafty Abbe that you talk of, and I don't know how many more people besides. Now I told you from the beginning that you should manage it all yourself: so look to it, good Villequier; look to it."

"He has let me manage it all myself, truly!" said Villequier, in a low tone, "But I wish to know more precisely, your Majesty," he added aloud, "what am I to do with this youth and the girl? Is he to have the authorisation, or not? Am I, or am I not, to give her up when he demands her?"

"Now, good faith," replied the King, "would not one think, Epernon, that our well-beloved friend and minister here was a mere novice out of a convent of young girls, a tender and scrupulous little thing, thinking evil, in every stray look or soft word addressed to her. He who has dealt with so many in his day, diplomatists and warriors and statesmen, has not wit enough to deal with a raw boy, whom, doubtless, our fair and crafty cousin of Guise has sent upon a fool's errand to get him out of the way."

"Certainly," replied the Duke of Epernon, "our wise friend Villequier seems to be somewhat prudent and cautious this morning. The young lady is in your hands, I think, Villequier; is she not? and you have sent her off into Normandy, I think you told me, with an escort of fifty of your archers. She goes there, doubtless, as his Majesty has said, with her own will and consent, and by her own choice, for there is a soft persuasiveness in fifty archers which it is very difficult for a woman's heart to resist; and, doubtless, by the same cogent arguments, you will induce her to marry whom you please. Come, tell us who it is to be; the hand of a rich heiress to dispose of, may be made a profitable thing, under such management as yours, Villequier."

"I have not discovered the philosopher's stone, like you, Monsieur d'Epernon," replied the other.

The King laughed gaily, for Epernon's extraordinary cupidity was no secret even to the monarch that fed it. But the Duke was proof to all jest upon that score; and looking at Villequier with the same sort of musing expression which he had before borne, he repeated his question, saying, "Come, come, disinterested chevalier, tell us to whom do you intend to give her?"

"Perhaps to my own nephew," replied the other. "What think you of that, Monsieur le Duc?"

The brow of Epernon grew clouded in a moment. "I think," he said, "that you will not do it, for two reasons: in the first place, you destine your nephew for your daughter Charlotte."

"Not I," replied the Marquis; "I never dreamt of such a thing. She shall wed higher than that, or not at all. But what is your second reason, Monsieur d'Epernon?"

"Because you dare not," replied the Duc d'Epernon: and he added, speaking in a low tone, "You dare not, Villequier, mingle your race with that of Guise. The moment you do, your object will be clear, and your ruin certain."

"It is a curious thing, Sire," said Villequier, turning to the King with a smile, "it is a curious thing to see how my good Lord of Epernon grudges any little advantage to us mean men. However, to set his Grace's mind at ease, I neither destine Mademoiselle de Clairvaut for one nor for the other; but I think she may prove a wonderful good bait for the wild young Marquis of Montsoreau. By the promise of her hand, as far as my interest and influence is concerned, he will not only be bound to your Majesty's cause on every occasion, but will exert himself more zealously and potently for that, than any other inducement could lead him to do. Even if he should fail in the trial--for we must acknowledge that he shows himself somewhat unstable in his purposes--he will, at all events, have so far committed himself as to give your Majesty good cause for confiscating all his land, cutting down all his timber, and seizing upon all his wealth. However, I must think, in the first place, of how to deal with this brother of his."

"No very difficult task, I should judge," said the Duke of Epernon, "for one so practised in the art of catching gudgeons as you, Villequier."

"I don't know that," answered Villequier; "I would fain detach that youth, also, from the Guises. You see, most noble Duke, I am thinking of the King's interest all the time, while you are thinking of your own. However, I must find a way to manage him, for, as their wonderful friend and tutor, this wise Abbe de Boisguerin, admitted to me last night, there are three means all powerful in dealing with our neighbours--love, interest, and ambition; and we might thus exemplify it,--the King would do any thing for the first, the Duke of Epernon any thing for the second, and his Highness of Guise any thing for the third."

"There are two other implements frequently used, which I wonder Monsieur de Villequier did not add," said the Duke, "as I rather expect he may have to use one or other of them on the present occasion; and men say he is fully as skilful in using them as in employing love, interest, or ambition, for his ends."

"Pray what are those?" demanded Villequier, somewhat sharply.

"Vicenza daggers," replied the Duke of Epernon, "and wine that splits a Venice glass!"

"Come, come, Epernon," cried the King, "you and Villequier shall not quarrel. Come away from him, come away from him, or you will be using your daggers on each other presently:" and, throwing his arm familiarly round his neck, he drew the Duke away.

CHAP. V.

Charles of Montsoreau rode homeward in painful and anxious thought: he had flattered himself vainly, before he had proceeded to Vincennes, that the redoubted name of Henry of Guise would be found fully sufficient immediately to cause the restoration of Marie de Clairvaut to him, who had naturally a right to protect her. It less frequently happens that youth fails to reckon upon the fiery contention it is destined to meet with from adversaries, than that it miscalculates the force of the dull and inert opposition which circumstances continually offer to its eager course, throwing upon it a heavy, slow, continual weight, which, like a clog upon a powerful horse, seems but a nothing for the moment, but in the end checks its speed entirely. None knew better than Henry III. that it is by casting small obstacles in the way of impetuous youth, that we conquer and tame it sooner than by opposing it; and such had been his purpose with Charles of Montsoreau.

In his idle carelessness he cared but little what became of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, or into whose hands she fell. He was willing to countenance and assist the politic schemes of his favourite Villequier; and cared not, even in the slightest degree, whether that personage employed poison or the knife to rid himself of the young Count of Logeres, provided always that he himself had nothing to do with it. The only part that he was inclined to act was to thwart the Duke's young envoy by obstacles and long delays; and this he had suffered to become so far evident to Charles of Montsoreau, that he became angry and impatient at the very prospect before him. He doubted, however, whether it would be right to send off a courier with this intelligence immediately to the Duke of Guise, or to wait for two or three days, in order to see whether the powers promised him were effectually granted; and he was still pondering the matter, while riding through the streets of Paris, when, in passing by a large and splendid mansion in one of the principal streets, he caught a glimpse of two figures disappearing through the arched portal of the building. The faces of neither were visible to him; their figures only for a moment, and that at a distance. But he felt that he could not be mistaken--that all the thoughts and feelings and memories of youth could not so suddenly, so magically, be called up by the sight of any one but his brother,--and if so, that the other was the Abbe de Boisguerin.

"Whose is that house?" he exclaimed aloud, turning to his attendants.

"That of Monsieur Rene de Villequier," replied the page instantly; and, springing from his horse at the gate, the young Count knocked eagerly for admission. The portals were instantly thrown open, and a porter in crimson, with a broad belt fringed with gold, appeared in answer to the summons.

"I think," said the young Count, "that I saw this moment the Marquis de Montsoreau and the Abbe de Boisguerin pass into this house."

The porter looked dull, and shook his head, replying, "No, sir; nobody has passed in here but two of my noble Lord's attendants--the old Abbe Scargilas, and Master Nicolas Prevot, who used formerly to keep the Salle d'Armes, opposite the kennel at St. Germain."

Although Charles of Montsoreau knew the existence and possibility of such a thing as the lie circumstantial, yet the coolness and readiness of the porter surprised him. "Pray," he said, after a moment's pause, "is there any such person as either Monsieur de Montsoreau or the Abbe de Boisguerin dwelling here at present?"

"None, sir," replied the man. "There is no one here but the attendants of my Lord, who is at present absent with the King."

Charles of Montsoreau would have given a good deal to have searched the house from top to bottom; but as it would not exactly do to storm the dwelling of Rene de Villequier, he rode on, no less convinced than ever that his brother was at that moment in the dwelling of the minister.

This conviction determined his conduct at once. That his brother was in Paris, and in the hands of the most dangerous and intriguing man of that day, he had no doubt; and it seemed to him also clear, that schemes were going on and contriving, of which the obstacles and delays thrown in his way might be, perhaps, a part. To what they tended he could not, of course, tell directly; but he saw that the only hope of frustrating them lay in exertion without the loss of a moment, and he accordingly dispatched his faithful attendant Gondrin to Soissons as soon as he reached the inn.

We must follow, however, for a moment, the two persons whom the young Count had seen enter the hotel of Villequier, and accompany them at once into the chamber to which they proceeded after passing the portal. It was a splendid cabinet, filled with every sort of rare and costly furniture, which was displayed to the greater perfection by the dark but rich tapestry that covered the walls. Another larger room opened beyond, and through the door of that again, which was partly open, a long suite of bed-rooms and other apartments were seen, with different rich and glittering objects placed here and there along the perspective, as if for the express purpose of catching the eye.

Into one of the large arm-chairs which the cabinet contained, the Marquis of Montsoreau threw himself as if familiar with the scene. "Villequier is long," he said, speaking to the Abbe. "He promised to have returned before this hour."

"Impatience, Gaspar, impatience," replied the Abbe, "is the vice of your disposition. How much have you lost already by impatience? Was it not your impatience which hurried me forward to represent his own situation and that of yourself, to your brother Charles, which drove him directly to the Duke of Guise? Was it not your impatience which made you speak words of love to Marie de Clairvaut before she was prepared to hear them, drawing from her a cold and icy reply? Was it not your impatience that made us leave behind at Provins all the tired horses and one half of the men, rather than wait a single day to enable them to come on with us; and did not that very fact put us almost at the mercy of the reiters, and give your brother an opportunity of showing his gallantry and skill at our expense?"

"It is all true, my friend; it is all true," replied the Marquis. "But in regard to my speaking those fiery words to Marie de Clairvaut, how could I help that? Is it possible so to keep down the overflowing thoughts of our bosom as to prevent their bursting forth when the stone is taken off from the fountain, and when the feelings of the heart gush out, not as from the spring of some ordinary river, but, like the waters of Vaucluse, full, powerful, and abundant even at their source."

"It was that I wished you to guard against," replied the Abbe. "Had you appeared less to seek, you would have been sought rather than avoided. It may be true, Gaspar, what authors have said, that a woman, like some animals of the chase, takes a pleasure in being pursued; but depend upon it, if she do so, she puts forth all her speed to insure herself against being caught. Unless you are very sure of your own speed and strength, you had better steal quietly onward, lest you frighten the deer. Had she heard much from my lips, and from those of her good but weak friend Madame de Saulny, of your high qualities, and of all those traits in your nature calculated to captivate and attract such a being as herself, while you seemed indifferent and somewhat cool withal, every thing--good that is in her nature would have joined with every thing that is less good--the love of high qualities and of manly daring would have combined with vanity and caprice to make her seek you, excite your attention, and court your love."

"I have never yet seen in her," said the young Marquis, "either vanity or caprice; and besides, good friend, such things to me at least are not matters of mere calculation. I act upon impulses that I cannot resist. Mine are feelings, not reasonings: I follow where they lead me, and even in the pursuit acquire intense pleasure that no reasoning could give."

"True," replied the Abbe, bending down his head and answering thoughtfully. "There is a great difference between your age and mine, Gaspar. You are at the age of passions, and at that period of their sway when they defeat themselves by their own intensity. I had thought, however, that my lessons might have taught you, my counsel might have shown you, that with any great object in view it is necessary to moderate even passion in the course, in order to succeed in the end."

"But there is joy in the course also," exclaimed Gaspar de Montsoreau. "Think you, Abbe, that even if it were possible to win the woman we love by another's voice, we could lose the joy of winning her for ourselves--the great, the transcendant joy of struggling for her affection, even though it were against her coldness, her indifference, or her anger?"

"I think, Gaspar," replied the Abbe, "that if to a heart constituted as yours is, there be added a mind of equal power, nothing--not even the strongest self-denial--will be impossible for the object of winning her you love. But I am not a good judge of such matters," he continued with a slight smile curling his lip--a smile not altogether without pride. "I am no judge of such matters. The profession which I have chosen, and followed to a certain point, excludes them from my consideration. All I wish to do in the present instance is to warn you, Gaspar, against your own impetuosity in dealing with this Villequier. Be warned against that man! be careful! Promise him nothing; commit yourself absolutely to nothing, unless upon good and sufficient proof that he too deals sincerely with you. He is not one to be trusted, Gaspar, even in the slightest of things; and promise me not to commit yourself with him in any respect whatsoever."

"Oh, fear not, fear not," replied the Marquis. "In this respect at least, good friend, no passions hurry me on. Here I can deal calmly and tranquilly, because, though the end is the same, I have nothing but art to encounter, which may always be encountered by reason. When I am with her, Abbe, it is the continual strife of passion that I have to fear; at every word, at every action, I have to be upon my guard; and reason, like a solitary sentinel upon the walls of a city attacked on every side, opposes the foes in vain at one point, while they pour in upon a thousand others."

While he was yet speaking, a servant with a noiseless foot entered the room, and in a low sweet tone informed the Marquis, that Monsieur de Villequier had just returned from Vincennes, and desired earnestly to speak with him, for a moment, _alone_ in his own cabinet. The word "alone" was pronounced more loud than any other, though the whole was low and tuneful; for Villequier used to declare that he loved to have servants with feet like cats and voices like nightingales.

The Abbe marked that word distinctly, and was too wise to make the slightest attempt to accompany his former pupil. The Marquis, however, did not remark it; and, perhaps a little fearful of his own firmness and skill, asked his friend to accompany him. But the Abbe instantly declined. "No, Gaspar," he said, "no; it were better that you should see Monsieur Villequier alone. I will wait for you here;" and, turning to the table, he took up an illuminated psalter, and examined the miniatures with as close and careful an eye as if he had been deeply interested in the labours of the artist.

He saw not a line which had there been drawn; but after the Marquis had followed the servant from the room he muttered to himself, "So, Monsieur de Villequier, you think that I am a mean man, who may be over-reached with impunity and ease? You know me not yet, but you shall know me, and that soon." And laying down the psalter, he took up another book of a character more suited to his mind at the moment, and read calmly till his young friend returned, which was not for near an hour.

In the mean time the Marquis had proceeded to the cabinet of Villequier, who, the moment he saw him, rose from the chair in which he had been seated busily writing, and pressed him warmly by the hand.

"My dear young friend," he said, "one learns to love the more those in whose cause one suffers something; and, since I saw you, I have had to fight your battle manfully."

"Indeed! and may I ask, my Lord, with whom?" demanded the young Marquis.

"With many," answered Villequier. "With the King,--with Epernon,-with your own brother."

"With my brother?" exclaimed Gaspar of Montsoreau, while the blood rushed up in his face. "Does he dare to oppose me after all his loud professions of disinterestedness and generosity? But where is he, my Lord? Leave me to deal with him. Where does he dwell? Is he in Paris?"

Villequier smiled, but so slightly, that it did not attract the eyes of his companion. That smile, however, was but the announcement of a sudden thought that had passed through his own mind.

Shrewd politicians like himself, fertile in all resources, and unscrupulous about any, feel a pride and pleasure in their own abundance of expedients, which makes the conception of a new means to their end as pleasant as the finding of a diamond. On the present occasion the subtle courtier thought to himself with a smile, as he saw the angry blood mount into the cheek of the young Marquis of Montsoreau at the very mention of his brother's name,--"Here were a ready means of ridding ourselves, were it needful, of one if not both of these young rash-headed nobles, by setting them to cut each other's throats."

It suited not his plan however at the moment to follow out the idea, and he consequently replied, "No, no, Monsieur de Montsoreau. I should take no small care, seeing how justly offended you are with your brother, to prevent your finding out his abode, as I know what consequences would ensue. But in all probability, by this time, he has gone back to the Duke of Guise, having with difficulty been frustrated, for the King was much inclined to yield to his demands."

"What did he demand?" exclaimed the Marquis vehemently. "What did he dare to demand, after the professions he made to me at La Ferte?"

"That matters not," answered Villequier. "Suffice it that his demands were such as would have ruined all your hopes for ever."

"But why should the King support his demands," said the Marquis, "when well assured of how attached he is to the great head of the League that tyrannises over him?"

"Hush, hush!" said Villequier. "The League only tyrannises so long as the King chooses. Henry wields not the sword at present, but the sword is still in his hands to strike when he thinks fit. But to answer your question, my young friend. The King knows well, as you say, that your brother is attached to the Duke of Guise: but you must remember at the same time, Monsieur de Montsoreau, that as yet he is not fully assured that you are attached to himself. Nay, hear me out, hear me out! The King's arguments, I am bound to say, were not only specious but reasonable. He had to consider, on the one hand, that the Duke of Guise, with whom it is his strongest interest to keep fair, demands this young lady as his ward, which, according to the laws of the land, Henry has no right to refuse. Your brother, on the Duke's part, threatens loudly; and what have I to oppose to a demand to which it seems absolutely necessary in good policy that the King should yield? Nothing; for, on the other hand, Henry affirms that he can be in no degree sure of yourself; that your family for long have shown attachment for the House of Guise; that you yourself were upon your march to join the Duke, when this lady, falling into the hands of the King's troops, induced you to abandon your purpose for the time; but that the moment he favours your suit, or gives his consent to your union with her, you may return to your former attachments, and purchase the pardon and good will of the Duke of Guise by returning to his faction."

"I am incapable of such a thing!" exclaimed the Marquis vehemently: but the recollection of his abandonment of the Duke's party came over him with a glow of shame, and he remained for a moment or two without making any farther reply, while Villequier was purposely silent also, as if to let what he had said have its full effect. At length he added:

"I believe you are incapable of it, Monsieur de Montsoreau, and so I assured the King. He, however, still urged upon me that I had no proof, and that you had taken no positive engagement to serve his Majesty. All the monarch's arguments were supported by Epernon, who, I believe, wishes for the hand of the young lady for some of his own relations, in order to arrange for himself such an alliance with the House of Guise as may prove a safeguard to him in the hour of need." And again Villequier smiled at his own art in turning back upon the Duke of Epernon the suspicion which the Duke had expressed in regard to himself.

The warning of the Abbe de Boisguerin, however, at that moment rang in the ears of Gaspar of Montsoreau, and he roused himself to deal with Villequier not exactly as an adversary, but certainly less as a friend.

"In fact, Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "his Majesty wishes that I should devote my sword and fortune to his service; and I am to understand, through you, that he holds out to me the hope of obtaining the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut in return. Now, it was not at all my purpose to take any part in the strifes that are agitating the country at this moment. I am neither Leaguer nor Huguenot, nor Zealot nor Moderate; and, though most loyal, not what is called Royalist. I was merely conducting Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, with a very small force, not the tenth part of what I can bring into the field at a week's notice, when the events took place which brought me to Paris. Now, Monsieur, if the King does not rest satisfied with my expressions of loyalty, and desires some express and public engagement to his service, I see no earthly reason why I should rest satisfied with mere vague hopes of obtaining the hand of the lady I love; and though, of course, I cannot deal with his Majesty upon equal terms, yet I must demand some full, perfect, and permanent assurance that I am not to be disappointed in my hopes, before I draw my sword for one party or another."

Villequier gazed thoughtfully in his face for a moment or two, biting his under lip, and saying internally, "The Abbe de Boisguerin--this comes from him." His next thought was, "Shall I endeavour to pique this stripling upon his honour, and generosity, and loyalty, and all those fine words?" But he rejected the idea the moment after thinking. "No; that would do better with his brother. When a man boldly leaps over such things, it is insulting him to talk about them any more."

And after a moment's farther thought, he replied, "It is all very fair, Monsieur de Montsoreau, that you should have such assurances; though, if we were not inclined to deal straightforwardly with you in the matter, we might very very easily refuse every thing of the kind, and leave you not in the most pleasant situation."

"How so?" demanded the Marquis with some alarm. "How so?"

"Easily, my dear young friend," replied Villequier. "Thus: by informing you that the King could give you no such assurance--which, indeed, is nominally true, though not really--and by showing you, at the same time, that as the young lady is in his Majesty's hands, and he is determined not to give her up to the Duke of Guise or to any body else, but some tried and faithful friend, the only means by which you can possibly obtain her is by serving the King voluntarily, in the most devoted manner. Suppose this did not suit you, what would be your resource? If you go to the Duke of Guise, you find the ground occupied before you by your brother, and the Duke accuses you of having betrayed his young relation into the hands of the King--perhaps sends you under a guard into Lorraine, and has you tried, and your head struck off. Such things have happened before now, Monsieur de Montsoreau. At all events, not the slightest chance exists of your winning the fair heiress of Clairvaut from him. But, even if you did gain his consent, she is still in the hands of the King, who would certainly not give her up to one who had proved himself a determined enemy."

Gaspar of Montsoreau looked down, with somewhat of a frowning brow, upon the ground. He saw, indeed, that the alternative was one that he could not well adopt; and, from the showing of Villequier, he fancied himself of less power and consequence in the matter than he really was. He resolved, however, not to admit the fact if he could help it.

"Suppose, Monsieur de Villequier," he said, "that the League were to prevail, and to force his Majesty to concede all the articles of Nancy, think you not that one thing exacted from him might well be, to yield Mademoiselle de Clairvaut to her lawful guardian?"

"It might," answered Villequier immediately. "But then I come in. The question of guardianship has never been tried between the Duke and myself. I stand as nearly related to her as he does; and I should instantly bring the cause before the Parliament, demanding that the young lady should remain in the hands of the King as suzerain till the cause is decided, which might be this time ten years."

"I did not know," said the young nobleman, "that the relationship was so near, though I was aware that Clairvaut is the family name of Villequier. However, sir, there is yet another alternative. Suppose I were to keep the sword in the sheath, and retire once more to Montsoreau."

"Why there, then," replied Villequier with a slight sneer, "you might happily abide, watching the progress of events, till either the royalist party or the League prevailed; and then, as chance or accident might will it, see the hand of the fair Lady rewarding one of the King's gallant defenders, or bestowed by the Duke of Guise upon his brave and prudent partisan, the Count of Logeres."

He paused for a moment or two, to let all he said have its full effect, and then added, in a familiar tone, "Come, come, Monsieur de Montsoreau, see the matter in its true light. There is no possible chance of your obtaining the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, except by attaching yourself to the King's service, and defending the royal cause with the utmost zeal. If you persist in doing so simply as a voluntary act to be performed or remitted at pleasure, be you sure that as you make the King depend upon your good will for your services towards him, so will you be made to depend upon his good will, his caprices if you like, for the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. If, however, on the contrary, you frankly and generously determine to take service with the King, and bind yourself irrevocably to his cause, I do not scruple to promise you, under his hand, his full consent to your union with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. I will give you the same consent under mine, assuming the title of her guardian. Your marriage cannot, of course, take place till the great struggle that is now impending is over. In a few months, nay, in a few weeks, the one party or the other--who are now directing their efforts against each other, instead of turning, as they ought, their united forces against the common enemies of our religion--must have triumphed over its adversary. I need not tell you which I feel, which I know, must be successful; but your part will now be, to exert yourself to the utmost, to traverse the country with all speed to Montsoreau, to raise every soldier that you can, and to gather every crown that you can collect, to join the King with all your forces, wherever he may be, and, by your exertions, to render that result certain, which is, indeed, scarcely doubtful even as it is; remembering that upon the destruction of the Duke of Guise's party, and upon the overthrow of his usurped and unreasonable power, depends not only the welfare of your King and master, but the realisation of your best and sweetest hopes."

"You grant all that I demand, Monsieur de Villequier," replied Gaspar of Montsoreau. "All I wish is the King's formal consent in writing, and yours, to my marriage with Marie de Clairvaut, as the condition of my absolute and public adhesion to the royal cause."

"I know," replied Villequier, "that I grant all you demand, and I was prepared to do so from the first, only we were led into collateral discussions as we went on. You will, of course, take an oath to the King's service, and confirm it under your hand."

"We will exchange the papers, Monsieur de Villequier," replied the Marquis, thinking himself extremely cautious. "But now, pray tell me, how ended the discussion with my brother?"

"The only way that it could end," replied Villequier, "when all parties were determined to evade his demand. The King, you may easily suppose, was not inclined to give the young heiress of Clairvaut to any of the partisans of an enemy. Epernon knew well that if the hand of a Guise were upon her shoulder, the ring of a La Valette would never pass upon her finger; and I, when last we met, had half given my promise to you, and was, at all events, determined that the question of wardship should be settled before I parted with her. The King, therefore, evaded the demands of the young Count, though he was not a little inclined to yield to them at one time, in order to pacify the Duke of Guise. However, I took the brunt of the business upon myself, and underwent the hot indignation of your brother, who thought to find in me an Epernon, or a Montsoreau, who would measure swords with him for an angry word."

"They had better be skilful as well as brave," said the young Marquis thoughtfully, "who measure swords with my brother Charles."

"Indeed!" said Villequier, "is he then so much a master of his weapon?"

"The most perfect I ever beheld--ay, more skilful now, than even our friend the Abbe de Boisguerin; though I have heard that, some years ago, when the Abbe was studying at Padua, he challenged the famous Spanish sword-player, Bobez, to display his skill with him in the schools, in single combat, and hit him three times upon the heart without Bobez touching him once."

"I remember, I remember!" cried Villequier. "The master broke the buttons from the swords in anger, and the student ran him through the body at the first pass, whereof he died within five minutes after in the Deacon's chamber."

"I never heard that he died," replied the Marquis with some surprise.

"He did indeed, though," replied Villequier with a meditative air. "And so this was the Abbe de Boisguerin. One would have thought the army, rather than the church, would have called such a spirit to itself."

"I know not," replied the young Marquis, "but in all things he is equally skilful; and, doubtless, you know he has taken but the first step towards entering the church, pausing as it were even on the threshold."

"Do you think," said Villequier, "that he is as skilful in conveying intelligence as in other things?"

"What do you mean, my Lord?" exclaimed his young companion.

"Nay, I mean nothing," replied the politician, satisfied with having sown the first seed of suspicion in the young nobleman's mind, without, perhaps, any definite design, but simply for the universal purpose of making men doubt and distrust each other, with a view of ruling them more easily. "Nothing, except a mere question concerning his skill. I have no latent meaning, I assure you."

The brow of the Marquis grew clear again, and Villequier saw that he believed the latter assertion more fully than he had intended. He let the subject pass, however, and spoke of many other things, giving his own account of various matters which had occurred during the Count de Logeres's audience of the King, and urging Gaspar de Montsoreau to set off with all speed to raise his forces in his native province. Then abruptly turning the conversation, he demanded, "You or the Abbe told me, I think, that you suspected your brother of having communicated your march to the reiters. Is it like his general character so to act? I'm sure, if it be his custom to do such things, I would much rather that he was upon the opposite party than our own."

The Marquis bent down his head, and gazed sternly upon the ground for two or three moments. He then answered, with a deep sigh, "No, Monsieur de Villequier; no, it is not like Charles's character. He has all his life been frank and free as the summer air, open, and generous. I fear I did him wrong to suspect him. We are rivals where no man admits of rivalry: but I must do him justice. If he have done such a thing, his nature must be changed, changed indeed--changed, perhaps, as much as my own."

"I thought," replied Villequier, "that he seemed frank and straightforward enough, bold and haughty as a lion; gave the King look for look; bearded Epernon, and threatened to bring him to the field; and spared not me myself, whom men don't for some reason love to offend. But he did not seem a man likely to betray his friend, or practise treachery upon his brother. It is a very strange thing, too," he continued in an easier tone, "that Colombel and the other officers of the King's troops at Chateau Thierry should have received news of your coming a day before you did cross the Marne, together with the information that the reiters might attack you near Gandelu. Was not this strange?"

"Most strange," replied the Marquis, knitting his brows, and setting his teeth hard. But Villequier, now seeing that he had said quite enough, again turned the conversation; and after letting it subside naturally to ordinary subjects, he told the young Marquis that he would immediately write to the King, and obtain his signature to the paper required, before bed-time. "It is late already," he said; "I think even now I see a shade in the sky, so I must about my work rapidly. But remember, Monsieur de Montsoreau, nine is my supper hour exactly; and then, care and labour being past, we will sit down and enjoy ourselves, though I fear the accommodation which I can offer you in my poor dwelling must seem but rude in your eyes."

The Marquis said all that such a speech required, and then withdrew.

When he was gone, Villequier applied himself for some time to other things; but when they were concluded, he rose from his chair, and walked once or twice thoughtfully across the cabinet.

"I had better," he said to himself at length, "I had better deal with him at once, and then I can ascertain what are his demands, and how to treat them."

Thus saying, he took up his bell and rang it, directing the servant who appeared to see if he could find the Abbe de Boisguerin alone, in which case he was to invite him to a conference. "He will be alone," thought the wily courtier, "for I have sown seeds of those things which will not suffer them to be long together."

The Abbe, however, was absent from the house, much to the surprise of Villequier; and another hour had well nigh passed before he made his appearance. The moment that he did so, he advanced towards Villequier with his mild and graceful calmness, saying that he understood his Lordship had sent for him. Villequier pressed his hand tenderly, and with soft and courtly words assured him that, in sending for him, he had only sought to enjoy the pleasure of his unrivalled conversation for a few minutes before supper.

The Abbe replied exactly in the same tone; that he was profoundly grieved to have lost even a moment of the society of one who fascinated from the first, and sent away every one charmed and delighted.

A slight and bitter smile curled the lip of each as he ended his speech, like a seal upon a treaty, the confirmation and mockery of a falsehood.

The Abbe, however, added to his speech a few words more, saying that he should have been back earlier, but that his conversation at the White Penitent's had been so interesting that he could not withdraw himself earlier from her Majesty the Queen-mother.

Villequier started. "Are you acquainted with the Queen?" he said. "What a surprising-being Catherine is!"

"She is indeed," answered the Abbe. "My long sojourn at Florence some years ago made me fully acquainted with every member of the House of Medici, and I now bring you this letter on her part, Monsieur de Villequier."

Villequier took the paper that the Abbe handed to him, and read apparently with some surprise. "Her Majesty," he said, "knows that I am her devoted slave, but at the same time she cannot doubt, knowing as she does so well your high qualities, that I will do every thing to serve and assist you, and prevent all evil machinations against you."

"Oh, she doubts it not; she doubts it not," replied the Abbe. "She doubts it not, Monsieur de Villequier, any more than I do; and has written this note only in confirmation of your good intentions towards me. However, there is one thing I wish you to do for me, Monsieur de Villequier."

"Name it, my dear friend," exclaimed the Marquis; "but give me an opportunity of making myself happy in gratifying your wishes."

"The fact is, Monsieur de Villequier," replied the Abbe, "that some malicious person has been endeavouring to persuade the young Marquis de Montsoreau, my friend, and formerly my pupil, that it was I who intimated to the reiters the course we were pursuing to meet the Duke of Guise, and who also intimated the facts to the King's troops at Chateau Thierry, that they might have an opportunity of coming up to rescue us and bring us hither--though they showed no great activity in doing the first. Now, doubtless, the person who did this, if there were any one, had the King's service solely in view, and deserved to be highly rewarded, as he probably will be; but----"

"Doubtless," replied Villequier with a sneering smile. "But surely he could not object to such honourable service being known."

"Of course not," replied the Abbe; "nor that he had given intimation of the facts to, and taken his measures with, her Majesty the Queen-mother; by an order, under whose hand the troops at Chateau Thierry acted, and at whose suggestion Monsieur de Montsoreau and his friends threw themselves into the hands of Monsieur de Villequier.--All this her Majesty declares he did; and he could not, of course, object to any of these things being known, except as it is contrary to good policy and to the wishes of the Queen-mother: and more especially contrary to every wise purpose, if he be a person possessed of much habitual influence with the young Marquis."

"Monsieur de Boisguerin," said Villequier, seeming suddenly to break away from the subject, but in truth following the scent as truly as any well-trained hound, "the bishopric of Seez is at present vacant. I know none who would fill it better than the Abbe de Boisguerin."

The Abbe drew himself up and waved his hand. "You mistake me entirely, Monsieur de Villequier," he said. "I take no more vows. I have taken too many already; and those, by God's grace and the good will of our holy father the Pope, I intend to get rid of very speedily. I have nothing to request of your Lordship at present. I know, see, and understand your whole policy, and think you quite right in every respect. The promises which you and the King are to give to Monsieur de Montsoreau concerning the hand of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut can of course be broken, changed, or modified in a moment at any future time."

"We have no intention of breaking them," replied Villequier. "We are acting in good faith, I can assure you."

"Doubtless," replied the Abbe, "doubtless: but they can be broken?"

"Of course," replied Villequier; "of course any thing on earth can be broken."

"That is sufficient," replied the Abbe. "It is quite enough, Monsieur de Villequier: I only desire to know, whether you and the King consider it as a final arrangement, that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is to marry the young Lord of Montsoreau, or whether the matter is not now as much unsettled and within your own power and grasp as ever."

"Why," replied Villequier thoughtfully, "it is, as I dare say you well know, Monsieur l'Abbe, a very difficult thing indeed to devise any sort of black lines, which, written down upon sheep skin, will prove sufficiently strong to bind the actions of kings, princes, or common men, at a future period. But it seems to me, Monsieur l'Abbe, that the time is come when we had better be frank with each other! What is it that you aim at? You seem not displeased to think the arrangement doubtful or contingent; and yet I, who am not accustomed to guess very wrongly in such matters, have entertained no doubtful suspicion that you prompted the demand for a definite and conclusive bargain."