La Dame de Monsoreau (61 page)

" But, at least, venire saint-gris, to use your own oath," cried his cross-grained comrade, " get into the litter and say your soft things to madame there. You will run less risk of being recognized there than out here in the open street."

" You are right, Agrippa," said the amorous Gascon. " You see, darling, he is not so bad an adviser as he seems. There, make room for me, my love, if, though you are no longer able to take me on your lap, you will allow me to sit by your side."

" Not only do I permit it, sire, but I ardently desire you to do so."

" Sire ! " murmured Chicot, who, carried away by a thoughtless impulse, raised his head and bumped it painfully against the sandstone bench, " sire ! what does all this mean ? "

But during this time, the happy lover profited by the permission granted, and the creaking of the litter announced an increase of its burden.

Then the sound of a lingering, tender kiss succeeded to the creaking.

" Mordioux ! but man is the stupid animal!" cried his companion, who remained outside the litter.

" Hang me if I understand anything of this ! " muttered Chicot. " But I have only to wait; everything comes to him who knows how to wait."

" Ah ! how happy I am !" exclaimed the person addressed as " sire/' paying not the slightest regard to his friend's im patience, to which he was evidently long accustomed. " Ventre saint-gris, but to-day has been the fine day ; here are my good Parisians, who detest me with all their souls and would kill •me without mercy if they knew where to pounce upon me, here are my Parisians doing their very best to smooth my way to the throne, and I hold in my arms the woman whom I love! Where are we, D'Aubigne ? I wish, when I am king, to erect a statue on this very spot to the genius of the Bearnais."

« Of the Beam "

Chicot came to a standstill. He had just made a second bump by the first one.

" We are in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, sire, and it smells anything but nice," answered D'Aubigne, who was always in ill-humor, and, when he grew tired of finding fault with men, t once set about finding fault with things.

•"It seems.to me," continued Henri— for our readers have already doubtless recognized the King of Navarre — " it seems to me that I have a clear vision of the whole course of my life, that I see myself king, seated on the throne, strong and powerful, but, perhaps, less loved than I am at the present moment, and that my eyes can embrace the future, even to the very hour of my death. Ah! my love, tell me again that you love me, for my heart melts at the sound of your voice ! "

And the Bearnais, yielding to a feeling of melancholy that sometimes took hold of him, sighed profoundly and let his head fall on his mistress's shoulder.

" Good heaven ! " cried the young woman, in alarm, "are you ill, sire?"

" Capital!" said D'Aubigne, " our fine soldier, fine general, and fine king in a fainting-fit! "

" No, darling, do not be frightened," said Henri; " if I were to faint at your side it would be with happiness."

"In good sooth, sire," grumbled D'Aubigne, "I do not

know why you should sign yourself < Henri de Navarre,' you should sign t Ronsard ' or * Clement Marot.' Cordioux ! how is it you cannot get along with Madame Margot when you are both so fond of poetry ? "

" Ah ! D'Aubigne, for mercy's sake do not speak of my wife. Venire saint-yris ! speak of - But you know the proverb. What if we happened to run across her ? "

" Although she is in Navarre, is she not ? "

" Ventre saint-yris ! am I not there, too ? or am I not, at least, thought to be there? Agrippa, you made me shiver all over. Come in liere and let us return."

"By my faith, no," said D'Aubigne; " you go on and I'll follow. I should only bore you, and, what is a 'good deal worse, you would be sure to bore me."

" Well, shut the door, you Bearnais bear, and you can do as you like afterward."

Then, addressing the coachman:

" Lavarenne, you know where ! " said he.

The litter moved away slowly, followed by D'Aubigne, who, though he scolded his friend, was determined to watch over his king.

This departure freed Chicot from a terrible apprehension, for, after such a conversation with Henri, D'Aubigne was not the kind of man to let the imprudent person who heard it live.

" Let us see," said Chicot, creeping on all fours from under his bench, " ought I to tell the Valois of what has just occurred ? "

And Chicot straightened himself up to banish the stiffness that had got hold of his legs.

" And why should he know it ? " continued the Gascon. " Two men in hiding and a woman with child! It would be cowardly. No, I will say nothing ; the important point is that I know it myself, since, after all, it is I who really reign."

And Chicot, quite by himself, indulged in a few merry antics.

" There was something taking about the lovers," Chicot went on. " Still, D'Aubigne is right; for a monarch in part-ibus, this dear Henri de Navarre of mine drops into love quite too often. A year ago he returned to Paris, Madame de Sauve being the attraction. To-day he is followed thither by this charming

little creature, who is addicted to swooning. Who the devil can she be ? La Fosseuse, probably. And then, I think if Henri de Navarre really and truly and seriously aims at the throne, he should give a few of his thoughts to the task of destroying his enemy the Balafre, his enemy the Cardinal de Guise, and his 6nemy my own beloved Due de Mayenne. Well, well, I rather like this Bearnais, and I am pretty sure he will do an ill turn, some day or other, to that odious Lorraine butcher. I have my mind made up; decidedly I am not going to say a word of what I have seen and heard,to-day."

At this moment a band of drunken Leaguers passed, howling : " Hurrah for the Mass ! Death to the Bearnais ! To the stake 'with Huguenots!"

However, the litter was then turning the corner of the wall of the Holy Innocents Cemetery and was soon lost in the Rue Saint-Denis.

" And now," said Chicot, " let me go over what I have seen : I have seen the Cardinal de Guise, I have seen the Due de Mayenne, and I have seen King Henri de Navarre; there is only one other prince lacking in my collection, the Due d'Anjou ; I must search every hole and corner until I find him. Now, venire de biche ! where is my Franqois III. ? I have set my heart on getting a glimpse of that illustrious sovereign."

And Chicot started again on the road to the church of Saint Germain 1'Auxerrois.

Chicot was not the onty one in search of the Due d'Anjou, or the only one disturbed by his absence. The Guises also were seeking for him on every side, but they were not more successful than M. Chicot. M. d'Anjou was not the man to venture on imprudent risks, and we shall see later on what precautions kept him out of the way of his friends.

Once Chicot thought he had come on him in the Rue Bethisy : a numerous group was standing at the door of a wine-seller's shop, and in this group Chicot recognized M. de Monsoreau and M. de Guise.

" Good," said he, " the remoras are here ; the shark ought not to be far off."

Chicot was mistaken. M. de Monsoreau and the Balafre were employed, at the door of a tavern that was gorged with drunkards, in offering bumpers to an orator whose stammering eloquence was being stimulated in this fashion.

This orator was Gorenflot, Gorenflot dead drunk, Gorenflot

relating his journey to Lyons, and his duel in an inn with a horrible emissary of Calvin.

M. de Guise was paying the closest attention; he believed there were certain coincidences between the facts narrated by the speaker and the silence of Nicolas David.

The Rue de Bethisy was at this moment thronged with people. Several gentlemen Leaguers had fastened their horses to a sort of public stable, rather common in most of the streets at this period. Chicot stopped behind the group stationed before this stable and listened.

Gorenflot, tossing backward and forward, incessantly tumbling off Panurge and again steadied in his saddle, Gorenflot speaking only in hiccoughs, but unfortunately speaking all the same, was evidently becoming a plaything in the hands of the duke and M. de Monsoreau, who were drawing out of him scraps of fact, fragments of a confession.

Such a confession filled Chicot with far more terror as he listened than had done the presence of the King of Navarre in the Rue de la Ferronnerie. He felt sure that in another moment Gorenflot would pronounce his name, and that name would light up the entire mystery with a fatal glare. He lost no time, however. In an instant he cut or unfastened the bridles of several horses, and cudgelling a couple of them furiously, sent them galloping and neighing among the crowd, which broke up and scattered in every direction.

Gorenflot was alarmed on account of Panurge ; the gentlemen were alarmed on account of their horses and valises, and many were alarmed on account of themselves. The assembly was soon on the run ; the cry of " fire ! " was raised, repeated by a dozen voices. Chicot passed, quick as lightning, through the different groups, and approaching Gorenflot fastened on him a pair of flaming eyes that almost sobered the monk. He took hold of the bridle of Panurge, and, instead of following the crowd, turned' his back on it, so that there was soon a wide space between Gorenflot and the Due de Guise, a space that was instantly filled by those curious people who always flock where a sensational incident occurs, and generally when it is over.

Then Chicot dragged the monk to the back of a blind alley by the church of Saint Germain V Auxerrois, and propping him and Panurge up against the wall, as a sculptor might have done with a bas-relief, if he desired to incrustate it in stone :

" Ah ! you drunkard ! " he cried, " you pagan ! you traitor and renegade ! you will always prefer, then, a jug of wine to your friend, will you ? "

" Oh ! M. Chicot," stammered the monk. " What! I feed you, you scoundrel ! " continued Chicot, " I liquor you, I fill your pockets and your stomach, and you betray your master ! "

" Oh ! Chicot," said the monk, moved to tears.

" You betray my secrets, wretch !"

« Dear friend." *

" Hold your tongue ; you are but a sycophant, and you deserve to be chastised."

And the monk, vigorous and strong, powerful as a bull, but overcome by repentance, and especially by wine, made no defence, and allowed Chicot to shake him as if he were a balloon full of air.

Panurge alone protested against the violence done his master by kicks which reached no one and which Chicot amply repaid with his stick.

" I chastised ! " murmured the monk, " your friend chastised, dear M. Chicot! "

" Yes, yes," said Chicot, " and you 're going to receive your punishment on the spot."

And in a moment, the Gascon's stick passed from the ass's crupper to the monk's broad and fleshy shoulders.

" Ah! if I were only fasting! " exclaimed Gorenflot, with a gesture of rage.

"You would beat me ! beat me, your friend ! you ingrate !" said Chicot.

" You my friend, M. Chicot, and yet murder me in this way ! "

" Who loveth well, chastiseth well."

" Then, you may as well kill me off at once," cried Gorenflot.

" The very thing I ought to do."

" Oh ! if I were but fasting ! " repeated the monk, with a deep groan.

" You said that before."

And Chicot redoubled the proofs of his friendship for the poor Genevievan, who began to roar with all his might.

" There ! I 'm through now, so you and Panurge come along to the Corne d'Abondance, where you will be put to bed neatly."

" I cannot see my way," said the monk, from whose eyes big tears were running.

"Ah ! " said Chicot, " if you could weep the wine you drank, that might sober you up a little, perhaps. But no ; just as usual, I must act as your guide/'

And Chicot led the ass by the bridle, while the monk, clinging with both hands to the pommel, made every effort to preserve his centre of gravity.

In this way they crossed the Pont aux Meuniers, the Rue Saint-Barthelemy, the Petit-Pont, and ascended the Kue Saint-Jacques, the monk still weeping and the Gascon still tugging at the bridle.

Two waiters, aided by Maitre Bonhomet, on the order of Chicot, helped the monk off his ass and conducted him to the apartment with which our readers are already acquainted.

" It is. done," said Maitre Bonhomet, returning.

" He 's in bed ? " asked Chicot.

" He ? s snoring."

" Splendid! but as he will awake some day or other, remember thaii I do not wish he should know how he came here; not a word of explanation about the matter to him. It would n't be a bad thing even if he were to believe that he has never been outside here since the famous night when he created such a scandal in his convent, and if he took all that has happened in the interval for a dream."

" As you please, Seigneur Chicot," answered the inpkeeper. " What has befallen this poor monk ? "

" A great misfortune. It appears that at Lyons he quarrelled with an agent of M. de Mayenne and killed him."

" Great heavens ! " cried the host, " so that "

" So that M. de Mayenne has sworn that he will have him broken alive on the wheel," answered Chicot.

" You may rest easy, monsieur; I '11 take care he does n't leave here under any pretext whatever."

"Nothing can be better, Maitre Bonhomet— And now," said the Gascon to himself, u that I have nothing to fear about Gorenflot, I must absolutely find the Due d'Anjou, and I must set about it at once, too."

And he took his way to the hotel of his majesty Fran-III.

CHAPTER XLIL

PRINCE AND FRIEND.

As we have seen, Chicot searched vainly for the Due d'An-jou through the streets of Paris 011 the night of the League.

The Due de Guise, it will be remembered, had invited the prince to meet him ; this invitation had disturbed his suspicious highness. Francois had reflected, and, when he reflected, Francois surpassed the serpent in prudence.

However, as his interest required that he should see what took place that evening, he decided at length to accept the invitation, but he was also determined not to put a «foot outside his palace unless he were well and duly attended.

As every man who is afraid appeals for help to his favorite weapon, so the duke sought for his sword; now, his sword was Bussy d'Amboise.

The duke must have been seized by strong apprehensions before making up his mind to take that step. Since his deception of Bussy in regard to M. de Monsoreau, Bussy had kept out of his way, and Franqois acknowledged in his heart that, if he were in Bussy's place and were possessed of Bussy' s courage, he should have felt more than contempt for a prince who had betrayed him so cruelly.

For that matter, Bussy, like all fine natures, felt pain more keenly than pleasure. It is rare that a man, fearless in the presence of peril, cold and calm when confronting fire and sword, does not give way to grief more readily than a coward. Those from whom a woman can draw tears most easily are those who are most to be feared by men.

Bussy was, in fact, paralyzed by his great sorrow. He had seen Diane received at court, recognized as Comtesse de Monsoreau, admitted by Queen Louise into the circle of her ladies of honor. He had seen a thousand curious eyes riveted on her unrivalled beauty, which he had, so to speak, discovered and rescued from the tomb in whrch it lay buried. During the whole evening he had kept his eyes fixed on the young woman, who never raised hers, and, throughout all the splendor of that festival, Bussy, unjust, as is every man who truly loves, Bussy, forgetful of the past and destroying in his own mind all the phantoms of happiness to which that past had

given birth, Bussy never asked himself whether she, too, did not suffer from keeping her eyes thus lowered; she who beheld before her a face clouded with sympathizing melancholy amid all those other indifferent or stupidly inquisitive faces.

" Oh! " said Bussy to himself, seeing that it was useless to expect even a glance from her, " women have cleverness and audacity only when they want to deceive a husband, a guardian, or a mother; they are awkward, or cowardly, when they have simply a debt of gratitude to pay ; they are so much afraid of seeming to love, they attach such an exaggerated value to their slightest favor, that, in order to drive to despair the man who has for them a reverential love, they do not mind breaking his heart, if-the whim seize them. Diane could have said to me frankly : ' I thank you for what you have done for me, M. de Bussy, but I do not love you.' The blow would have either killed or cured me. But no, she prefers letting me love her hopelessly ; but she has gained nothing thereby, for I no longer love her ; I despise her."

And he departed from the royal circle with rage in his heart.

At this moment, his was no longer that noble face which all women gazed on with love, and all men with terror; the brow was dull, the eye false, the smile sinister.

On passing out, Bussy was suddenly confronted by his own reflection in a large Venetian mirror, and was appalled by that reflection.

" I am mad," said he ; " why, for a woman who disdains me, should I render myself odious to a hundred who think well of me ? But why does she disdain me, and for whom ? -

" Is it for that long, livid skeleton, who, always by her side, watches her incessantly with his jealous eyes, and who also feigns not to see me ? If I wished it, I could, in a quarter of an hour, hold him mute and cold under iny knee with ten inches of my sword in his heart; if I wished it, I could splash that white robe with the blood of him who has embroidered it with flowers; if I wished, seeing that I cannot be loved, T might, at least, be feared and hated !