La Dame de Monsoreau (41 page)

" Ungrateful ! " said the young gentleman, in a tone of mild reproach.

" Oh, yes," answered the baron, " yes, you are right, for this is a moment which repays me for all my sorrows. Oh, Diane ! Diane ! my darling ! " he continued, drawing his daughter's head to his lips with one hand and offering the other to Bussy.

Then suddenly drawing himself up, as if a painful memory or a new fear had penetrated to his heart in spite of the armor of joy, which, if we may use the expression, had just enveloped him, he said :

" But what was that you were saying, M. de Bussy, about going to see Madame de Monsoreau ? Where is she ? "

" Alas ! father," murmured Diane.

Bussy collected all his strength.

" She is before you," said he " and the Comte de Monsoreau is your son-in-law."

" Eh ? what ? " stammered the old man, " M. de Monsoreau my son-in-law, and everybody, — even you yourself, Diane, — has left me in ignorance of it."

" I dreaded writing to you, father, for fear the letter should fall into the prince's hands. Besides, I thought you knew everything."

" But what is the meaning of it all ? Why all these strange mysteries ? "

" Yes, father," cried Diane, " why has M. de Monsoreau allowed you to think I was dead ? Why has he left you in ignorance of the fact that he was my husband ? "

The baron, trembling, as if he feared to sound the depths of this dark secret, looked inquiringly, but timidly, into his daughter's sparkling eyes, and then at the keen, melancholy face of Bussy.

During all this time they had been moving slowly to the drawing-room.

." M. de Monsoreau my son-in-law! " the baron continued to repeat, utterly bewildered.

" That should not surprise you," answered Diane, in a tone of gentle reproach; " did you not order me to marry him, father?"

" Yes, if he saved you."

" Well! he has saved me," said Diane, in a hollow voice, falling back on a seat near her prie-Dieu ; " if not from misfortune, at least from shame."

" Then why did he let me believe you dead, when he knew how bitter was my grief ? " repeated the old man. " Why did he let me die of despair, when one word, yes, a single word, would have restored me to life ? "

" Oh ! there is some treacherous snare hidden beneath all this," cried Diane, " But you will not leave me, father ? You will protect me, M. de Bussy, will you not ? "

" Alas ! madame," answered Bussy, bowing, " it is no longer possible for me to enter into your family secrets. In view of the strange manoeuvres of your husband, it was my duty to find you a protector you could acknowledge. In search of that protector, I went to Meridor. You are now with your father; I withdraw."

" He is right," said the old man, sadly.

" M. de Monsoreau was afraid of the Due d'Aiijou's anger, and M. de Bussy is afraid of it now."

Diane flashed a glance at the young man, and this glance signified:

"Are you whom they call ' the brave Bussy' afraid, like M. de Monsoreau, of the Due d'Anjou ? "

Bussy understood that glance and smiled.

" M. le Baron," said he, " excuse, I beg, this singular question I am about to ask, and you, madame, pardon me, in consideration of my desire to render you a.service."

Father and daughter exchanged a look and waited.

" M. le Baron," resumed Bussy, " I will entreat you to ask Madame de Monsoreau " —

And he emphasized the last three words in a way that drove the color from the young woman's cheek. Bussy saw Diane's distress, and continued :

" Ask your daughter if she be happy in the marriage she contracted in obedience to your orders."

Diane wrung her hands and sobbed. It was the only reply she could give to Bussy. It is true, however, that no other reply could be so positive.

The eyes of the old baron filled with tears. He was at last aware that his too hasty friendship for Monsoreau was the chief cause of his daughter's unhappiness.

"Now," said Bussy, "is it true, M. le Baron, that, enforced by treachery or violence, you gave your daughter's hand to M. de Monsoreau ? "

" Yes, if he saved her."

" And he did save her. Then it is needless for me to ask, monsieur, if you intend to keep your promise ? "

" To keep a promise is a law for all, but especially for gentlemen, as you must know better than anybody else, M. de Bussy. M. de Monsoreau has, by her own admission, saved my daughter's life; then my daughter must belong to M. de Monsoreau."

" Ah ! " murmured the young woman, " would I were dead ! "

" Madame," said Bussy, " you see I was right and have nothing further to do here. M. le Baron promised you to M. de Monsoreau, and you yourself also promised him your hand whenever you saw your father again safe and well."

" Ah ! M. de Bussy, do not rend my heart," said the young woman, approaching the count ; " my father does not know that I fear this man; my father does not know that I hate him ; my father persists in regarding this man as my savior, and I, enlightened by my instincts, regard him as my executioner."

" Diane ! Diane ! " cried the baron, " he saved you ! "

" Yes," exclaimed Bussy, whom prudence and delicacy had restrained until now, "yes, but what if the danger were less great than you supposed ? what if this danger were unreal ? what if — but what do we know, really ? Listen, baron, there is some mystery in all this which requires to be dispelled, and which I will dispel. But I protest to you that if I had had the happiness of standing in M. de Monsoreau's place, I would have saved your beautiful and innocent daughter from dis-

honor, and, by the God who hears me, I never should have dreamed of exacting from her a price for such a service."

" He loved her," said M. le Baron, who, nevertheless, saw how odious had been M. de Monsoreau's conduct, " and many things done for the sake of love may be excused."

" And what about me! " cried Bussy, " may not I ! "

But frightened at the thought of what was about to escape from his heart, Bussy stopped; however, the thought that sparkled in his eyes completed the phrase that had been interrupted on his lips.

Diane read it there, read it more clearly than if it had been spoken.

" Well !" she said, blushing, " you have understood me, have you not ? Friend, brother! — two titles you have claimed and which I freely grant — ah ! my friend and brother, can you do anything for me ? "

" But the Due d'Anjou ! the Due d'Anjou !" murmured the old man, who considered the wrath of a royal prince to be fully as dangerous as a thunderbolt.

" I am not one of those who fear the anger of princes, M. le Baron," replied the young man ; " and I am very much mistaken if we have to dread any such anger. If you wish, M. de Meridor, I will make you and the prince such friends that he will protect you against M. de Monsoreau, from whom comes, believe me, the real danger, a danger unknown but certain, invisible but, perhaps, inevitable."

" But if the duke learns Diane is alive all is lost," said the old man.

" Well, well, then," said Bussy, " T see, notwithstanding what I have said, your belief in M. de Monsoreau is stronger than your belief in me. It is useless to talk of the matter further; you may reject my offer, M. le Baron, you may fling away the powerful protection I can summon to your aid, and throw yourself into the arms of the man who has so well justified your confidence. As I have said before, I have accomplished my task, I have nothing further to do here. Adieu, monseigneur, adieu, madame, you will never see me more."

" Oh!" cried Diane, taking the young man by the hand, " have you ever.seen me waver for an instant ? have you ever seen me give way to him ? No. I beg you on my knees, M. de Bussy, do not forsake me, do not abandon me."

Bussy seized the beautiful, beseeching hands, and all his

anger melted as melts the snow on the mountain crest beneath the ardent gaze of the sun.

" Then be it so, madame, I am well content ! " said Bussy. " Yes, I accept the sacred mission you have confided to me, and in three days — for I must have time to join the prince, who is said to have gone on a pilgrimage to Chartres along with the King — in three days you shall see me again, or the name of Bussy shall never again be spoken."

Then, intoxicated by his feelings, and with naming eyes, he drew near Diane and whispered:

" We are allied against this Monsoreau ; remember it was not he who brought you back your father, and be faithful."

With one parting clasp of the baron's hand, he hurried out of the apartment.

CHAPTER XXVI.

HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT AWOKE AND HOW HE WAS RECEIVED IN HIS CONVENT.

WE left our friend Chicot ecstatically admiring Brother Gorenflot's unbroken sleep and superb snoring; he made a sign to the innkeeper to retire and carry the light with him, after warning him not to say a word to the worthy brother of his departure at ten last evening, and his return at three in the morning.

Now, Maitre Bonhomet had noticed that, whatever might be the relation between the monk and the jester, it was always the jester who paid, and so he naturally held the jester in great respect, while, on the contrary, he held the monk in but slight esteem.

Consequently, he promised not to let a single syllable cross his lips about the events of the night, and retired, leaving the two friends in darkness, as he had been ordered.

Chicot soon became aware of a fact that aroused his admiration : Brother Gorenflot snored and spoke at the same time, which phenomenon argued, not as might be supposed, a conscience stung with remorse, but a stomach overladen with creature comforts.

The words uttered by Gorenflot in his sleep, when tagged

together, formed a frightful mixture of sacred eloquence and bacchanalian maxims.

However, Chicot saw it would be almost impossible, in such palpable darkness, to restore Gorenflot his belongings and at the same time keep him from suspecting anything when he awoke; he might step imprudently, during the operation, on some one of the monk's four limbs, for he could not discern their exact position, and so might startle him out of his lethargy.

Chicot, then, blew on the coals in the brazier to light up the room a little.

At the sound of that blowing, Gorenflot stopped snoring and murmured :

" Brethren, this is a mighty wind; it is the wind of the Lord, it is his breath inspiring me."

And he betook himself to snoring again.

Chicot waited a moment for sleep to resume its sway, and . then set to work divesting the monk of his wrappers.

" My stars ! " said Gorenflot, " but this is a cold day ! I 'm afraid it will hinder the grapes from ripening."

Chicot stopped in the midst of his work, which he resumed a moment later.

" You know my zeal, brethren," continued the monk, " for the Church and the Due de Guise."

" You beast! " interjected Chicot.

" You know what my opinions are," resumed Gorenflot, " and it is certain " —

" What is certain ? " asked Chicot, as he raised up the monk to put on his frock.

" It is certain that man is stronger than wine. Brother Gorenflot has wrestled with wine as Jacob wrestled with the angel, and Brother Gorenflot has overcome the wine."

Chicot shrugged his shoulders.

This untimely movement made the monk open his eyes. He saw Chicot's face, which, in that weird light, looked wan and sinister.

" Ah ! " said the monk, " I won't have any ghosts or hobgoblins !" as if he were remonstrating with some familiar demon who was not keeping his engagements.

" He is dead drunk," said Chicot, getting the frock on him at last and pulling the cowl over his head.

" Aha ! " grumbled the monk, " the sacristan has closed the door of the choir and the wind has stopped blowing in."

" Whether you keep awake or go to sleep now," said Chicot, " is all one to me."

" The Lord has heard my prayer," murmured the monk, " and the north wind which he sent to freeze the vines is changed to a gentle zephyr."

" Amen ! " said Chicot.

And making a pillow of the napkins and a sheet of the table-cloth, after arranging the empty bottles and dirty dishes as they would naturally be scattered about, he lay down to sleep beside his companion.

The strong sunlight that beat upon his eyelids, and the echo of the shrill voice of the innkeeper scolding the scullions in the kitchen, at length pierced the thick vapor which had paralyzed the senses of Gorenflot.

He turned, and with the aid of his own two hands, managed to settle down on that part which prescient nature hath given to man to be his principal centre of gravity.

Having achieved this result triumphantly, though not without difficulty, Gorenflot's eyes rested contemplatively on the significant disorder in which lay plates and dishes and bottles, then on Chicot, one of whose arms was gracefully flung over his eyes in such a manner that he saw everything and did not lose a single movement of the monk, while the perfectly natural way in which he snored did honor to that talent of his for mimicry to which we have already done justice.

" Broad daylight!" cried the monk; "corbleu! broad daylight ! Why, I must have spent the night here ! "

Then, collecting his ideas :

" And the abbey ! " said he ; « oh ! oh ! "

He began tightening the cord of his frock, a task Chicot had not thought he was obliged to attend to.

" Well, well," he muttered, " what a queer kind of dream I had! I thought I was dead and wrapped in a shroud stained with blood."

Gorenflot was not entirely mistaken.

When but half awake, he had taken the table-cloth in which he was bundled up for a shroud and the spots of wine on it for drops of blood.

" Luckily, it was but a dream," said Gorenflot, with another glance around the room.

During this inspection his eyes again rested on Chicot, who, feeling the eyes of the monk on him, snored with redoubled force.

" Is n't a drunkard a splendid creature ! " said Gorenflot, admiringly.

" How happy he must be to sleep so soundly!" he added. "Ah! he's not in such a pickle as I'm in!"

And he sighed as loudly as Chicot snored, so that, if the jester had been really asleep, it must have wakened him.

" What if I were to rouse him up and ask his advice ?" thought the monk. " He is a man of good counsel."

Chicot exerted all his powers, and his snores, which had attained the pitch of an organ diapason, swelled to a thunder roar.

" No," resumed Gorenflot, " he 'd have the upper hand of me ever after, and I ought to be able to invent a decent lie myself."

" But whatever lie I invent," continued the monk, " it will be no easy thing for me to escape the dungeon, and the bread and water that will follow. If I even had a little money to bribe the brother jailer ! "

Which hearing, Chicot adroitly drew a rather well-filled purse from his pocket and slipped it under his back.

The precaution was not useless; with a longer face than ever, Gorenflot approached his friend and murmured these melancholy words:

" If he were awake he would not refuse me a crown; but his repose is sacred to me and must not be disturbed — I '11 take it."

And thereupon, Brother Gorenflot fell on his knees, leaned over Chicot, and softly felt the sleeper's pockets.

Chicot did not think it a time to follow the example of his companion and appeal to his familiar demon; he let him search at his ease in both pockets of his doublet.

" Strange ! " said the monk, " nothing in the pockets ! — ah! in the hat, perhaps."

While the monk was investigating the hat, Chicot emptied the purse into his hand, and then slipped it into his breeches' pocket.

" Nothing in the hat!" exclaimed Gorenflot, " that amazes me. My friend Chicot, who is a most sagacious fool, never goes out without money."

" Oho! I have it! " said he, with a smile that distended his mouth from ear to ear, " I was forgetting the breeches."

And, thrusting his hand into Chicot's breeches, he drew out the empty purse.

" Jesus ! " he murmured, " and who is to settle the score ? "

This thought must have impressed the monk deeply, for he was on his legs in a moment, and, with a somewhat tipsy but rapid step, he made for the door, crossed the kitchen, refusing to enter into talk with the innkeeper, notwithstanding the latter's advances, and fled.