La Dame de Monsoreau (37 page)

" Because the color of the feathers is at present very fashionable at court and the ruff is a new invention. Now, the dyeing of such plumes comes too high and the starching of such ruffs requires too much care to suit the pockets or the tastes of gentlemen belonging to the country whose fat pullets Chicot is so great an admirer of. Whip and spur, Jeanne ; that cavalier looks to me to be the ambassador of the King, my august master."

" Yes, let us get on as fast as we can," said the young woman, who trembled at the idea of being separated from her husband.

But this was easier saying than doing. The trees were so thick as to form in front of them a wall of branches, and the soil was so sandy that the horses sank deep in it at every step.

Meanwhile, the horseman was coming on at a rattling pace, and they could hear his horse's gallop on the slope of the mountain.

" Good heavens! it 's now clear that he 's making for us," cried the young woman.

" By my faith ! " said Saint-Luc, halting, " if that is the case, we may as well see what he wants, for, as it is, he could easily reach us on foot."

" He has stopped," said Jeanne.

" More than that; he has dismounted and is entering the wood, and by my soul, though he be the devil himself, I '11 have a talk with him."

" Wait," said Jeanne, holding him back, " wait. I think he 's calling to us."

She was right. The stranger, after tying his horse to a fir on the outskirt, entered the wood, shouting :

" Hullo ! young gentleman ! Devil take it, man, don't run away in that fashion. I 'm bringing you something you lost."

" What is he saying ? " asked the countess.

" Faith," answered Saint-Luc, "he says we lost something."

" I say, little gentleman," continued the stranger, " you lost a bracelet in the hostelry at Courville. And a woman's portrait, too ! Such an article should not be lost that way, above all, a portrait of the respectable Madame de Cosse. In the name of that venerated parent, do not keep me running after you."

" Why, I know that voice ! " cried Saint-Luc.

" And he is speaking of my mother."

" Then you lost a bracelet, darling ? "

" Yes, unfortunately ; I only missed it this morning, and could not remember where I had left it."

" It 's Bussjr, beyond a doubt," exclaimed Saint-Luc.

" The Comte de Bussy ! " returned Jeanne, with feeling, — " our friend ? "

" Certainly, it is our friend," said Saint-Luc, running with as much eagerness to meet the gentleman as he had lately shown to avoid him.

" Saint-Luc ! I was not mistaken," cried Bussy, in his ringing voice, and, with a bound, he was beside the lovers.

" Good-day, madame," he continued, laughing heartily and offering the countess the portrait she had really forgotten in the hostelry at Courville, where it will be remembered our travellers spent a night.

" Have you come to arrest us by order of the King, M. de Bussy ? " inquired Jeanne, smiling.

" I ? Faith, no, I am not on sufficiently good terms with his Majesty for him to charge me with a confidential mission. No, when I found your bracelet at Courville, it occurred to me that you were on the road before me. Then I clapped spurs to my horse, saw two travellers, suspected they were you, and have chased you, though without wishing to do so. You forgive me ? "

" So then," asked Saint-Luc, with a lingering suspicion, " it was chance that made you take the same road we did ? "

" Chance," answered Bussy, " or, now that I have met you, I will rather say Providence."

All Saint-Luc's suspicions were overcome by the bright face and sincere smiles of the brave Bussy.

" So you are travelling? " said Jeanne.

" Yes," replied Bussy, leaping into the saddle.

" But not as we are ? "

" No, unfortunately."

" I mean in disgrace. Where are you going ? "

" In the direction of Angers. And you ? "

" In the same direction."

" Ah, I understand. Brissac is about a dozen leagues from here, between Angers and Saumur, and you are naturally seeking a refuge in the paternal mansion, like hunted doves. It is

delightful, and I should envy your happiness, if envy were not such an abominable fault."

" Ah, M. de Bussy," said Jeanne, with a look of gratitude, " get married and you will be as happy as we are. It is so easy to be happy when you are loved."

And she turned her eyes on Saint-Luc with a smile, as if appealing to his testimony.

" Madame," answered Bussy, " I am rather distrustful of that sort of happiness. Every one is not as lucky as you have been in marrying by special license of the King."

" Oh, nonsense ! a man like you, loved everywhere ! "

" When a man is loved everywhere," said Bussy, with a sigh, " it is the same as being loved nowhere."

" Well," said Jeanne, with a look of intelligence at her husband, " let me marry you; in the first place, that would set many husbands I know at their ease, and, besides, I promise you that you will make acquaintance with that happiness which you believe does not exist."

"I do not deny that happiness exists, madame," said Bussy, sighing; " I only deny that it can exist for me."

" Will you let me marry you ? " repeated the countess.

" If you marry me according to your taste, no ; if according to mine, yes."

" You say that like a man wedded to single blessedness."

" Perhaps."

" Why, then, you must be in love with some woman you cannot marry ? "

" Count," pleaded Bussy, " be merciful and beg Madame de Saint-Luc not to plunge a thousand daggers into my heart."

" Aha ! Bussy, you had better look out, or I '11 believe it 's my wife you are in love with."

" In that case you will agree that as a lover I am full of delicacy, and that husbands have no reason to be jealous of me."

" Truer word was never spoken," answered Saint-Luc, remembering that it was Bussy who brought his wife to the Louvre. " But no matter, confess that some one has captured your heart."

" I confess it."

" A real love or only a fancy ? " asked Jeanne.

" A passion, madame."

" I will cure you."

" I do not think so,"

" I '11 find you a wife."

" I doubt it."

" I will render you happier than you deserve to be."

" Alas ! madame, at present my only happiness is to be unhappy."

" I warn you I am very obstinate," said Jeanne.

" And I also."

" Count, you will surrender."

" By the way, madame," said the young man, ft had we not better get out of this sand pit ? Then you might make for that charming village which you see shining yonder in the sunlight, and lodge there for the night."

" Just as you like."

" Oh, I have no preference in the matter ! "

" Then you '11 keep us company ? "

" As far as the place where I am going ; that is, if you have no objection."

" Not the least; quite the contrary. But why not come the whole way with us to where we are travelling ? "

" And where are you traveling to ? "

« To the Castle of Meridor."

Bussy's face flushed and then paled. In fact, his face became so livid that it was all over with his secret if Jeanne had not happened to be looking then at her husband with a smile.

While the two lovers were talking in the language of the eyes, Bussy had time to recover his self-control.

"To the Castle of Meridor, madame ' said he, when he found sufficient strength to enable him to utter that name ; "and what place is that?"

" It is the estate of one of my best friends," answered Jeanne.

" Of one of your best friends — and " - continued Bussy, " to whom does it belong ? "

" Why," answered Madame de Saint-Luc, who was entirely ignorant of the events that had occurred at Meridor two months before, " is it possible you never heard of the Baron de Meridor, one of the wealthiest noblemen in Poitou, and"

" And ? " repeated Bussy, seeing that Jeanne paused.

" And of Diane de Meridor, the baron's daughter, and the most beautiful woman in the world ? "

" No, madame," answered Bussy, almost choking from emotion.

And, while Jeanne was still gazing on her husband with a singular expression, this fine gentleman was wondering at the extraordinary good fortune that enabled him to meet on that road people who spoke of Diane — who echoed the only thought that held possession of his heart. Was it taking advantage of his credulity ? that was not probable. Was it a snare ? that was almost impossible. Saint-Luc was already far from Paris when he himself had made the acquaintance of Madame de Monsoreau and learned that her name was Diane de Mevidor.

" And is this castle very far from here, madame ? " asked Bussy.

u About seven leagues, I think; and I would offer to wager that it is there, and not in your little village shining in the sunlight, — in which, by the way, I have not the least confidence, — where we shall lodge this evening. You are coming, are you not ? "

" Yes, madame."

" I ? m glad of it. That is already a step toward the happiness I promised you."

Bussy bowed and kept near the young couple, who showed their gratitude by the delight they took in his company. For some time they were all silent. At length, Bussy, who had many things yet to learn, ventured to put a question. It was the privilege of his position, and he was determined to use it.

" And what sort of a man," he asked, " is this Baron de Meridor, whom you spoke of as being the wealthiest man in Poitou ? "

" A perfect gentleman, a hero of the days of yore; a knight who, if he had lived in the days of King Arthur, would certainly have occupied a seat at the Round Table."

" And," again asked Bussy, controlling the muscles of his face and the emotion of his voice, " to whom is his daughter married ? "

u His daughter married ? "

" So I have asked."

" Diane married ? "

" What is there extraordinary in that ? "

" Nothing; but Diane is not married ; certainly, I should be the first to be informed of it, if she were."

Bussy's heart swelled almost to bursting, and a painful sigh struggled to his throat and was strangled on its passage.

" Then," said he, " Mademoiselle de Meridor is in the castle with her father ? "

" We have strong hopes she is," answered Saint-Luc, emphasizing his words to prove to his wife that he shared her ideas and associated himself with all her plans.

There was a moment's silence, during which each pursued a separate line of thought.

" Ah! " cried Jeanne, suddenly, rising in the stirrup, " yonder are the turrets of the castle. Look, look, M. de Bussy; you can catch a glimpse of them rising up from the middle of those leafless woods that will be so beautiful in another month. Do you see the slated roof ? "

" Oh, yes, certainly," replied Bussy, with an emotion that astonished himself — for that brave heart had been, until a short time ago, somewhat insensible — " Yes, I see. So that is the Castle of Meridor ? "

And by a natural mental reaction, at the aspect of this country, so rich and beautiful even when nature is most joyless, at the aspect of that lordly palace, he remembered the poor prisoner buried in the fogs of Paris and in the stifling retreat in the Rue Saint-Antoine.

And he sighed anew, but not altogether from sorrow. By promising him happiness, Madame de Saint-Luc had given him hope.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE BEREAVED FATHER.

MADAME DE SAINT -Luc was not mistaken : in two hours they were in front of the Castle of Meridor. Ever since the last words interchanged by the travellers, Bussy was considering whether he should not confide to the good friends he had just met the story of the adventure which kept Diane away from Meridor. However, if he once began his revelations, he should not only have to tell what every one would soon know, but also what he alone knew, and was not inclined to tell anybody. He naturally recoiled, therefore, before a disclosure that would give rise to too many interpretations and questions.

And, moreover, Bussy wished to enter Meridor as a perfect stranger. He wanted to take M. de Meridor unawares, to hear him speak of M. de Monsoreau and the Due d'Anjou; he wanted, in a word, to be convinced, not that the story of Diane was true, —he did not for a moment suspect that angel of purity of a falsehood, — but that she herself had not been deceived on some point or other, and that the narrative which had interested him so powerfully was a faithful interpretation of events.

Bussy, as will be seen, was actuated by two sentiments that, ever amid the aberrations of passion, enable the superior man to preserve his empire over himself and others : these two sentiments were his prudent circumspection in the presence of strangers and the profoundest reverence for the beloved object.

And so, Madame de Saint-Luc, deceived, in spite of her feminine clearsightedness, by Bussy 's perfect self-control, was persuaded that the young man had now heard for the first time the name of Diane, and that, as this name could not awaken within him either remembrance or hope, he no doubt expected to meet at Meridor some awkward country girl, who would be quite embarrassed in presence of her new guests.

Consequently, she looked forward to the pleasure of extracting a good deal of amusement from his astonishment.

But one thing surprised her: it was that when the guard blew a blast on his horn to announce visitors, Diane had not run at once to the drawbridge, as was her invariable custom in such cases.

Instead of Diane, a stooping old man, leaning on a staff, was seen advancing through the principal porch of the castle.

He had on a large green velvet coat faced with fur, and at his belt shone a silver whistle near a little bunch of keys.