La Dame de Monsoreau (95 page)

He came to a resolution, and acted on it at once; he took up his quarters in the worst inn in the street. After seeing that his horse was taken care of, for he was more anxious about the beast's comfort than about his own, especially as he might have to rely on his strength before long, he took his station behind the linen rag. that did duty for a curtain on the window of his room.

Bussy's choice of this low tavern as a temporary resting-place was determined by the fact that it was opposite the principal hotel in the town, at which he was pretty certain of Monsoreau stopping.

Bussy's anticipation turned out correct. About four in the afternoon a courier arrived and halted in front of the hostelry.

Half an hour later came the whole party. It consisted of the count and countess, Gertrude and Remy, and of eight bearers who had taken the place of eight other bearers about nine miles from the village.

The courier's business was to recruit peasants for these relays.

Now, as Monsoreau was too jealous not to be liberal, he found no difficulty in travelling in this rather singular fashion.

The principal persons of the company entered the hotel, one after the other. Diane was the last to go in, and Bussy fancied that she looked anxiously around. His first impulse was to show himself, but he had the courage to check it; any imprudent act on his part might ruin them.

Night came on. Bussy hoped that, after it was dark, lierny

might come out or Gertrude appear at a window. He wrapped his cloak about him and mounted guard in the street.

He waited till nine ; at nine the courier left the hotel.

Five minutes later eight men approached the door and four of them entered.

" I wonder," thought Bussy, " will they travel by night. If M. de Monsoreau take such an idea into his head, it will please me well."

Everything, in fact, showed the probability of the party doing so. It was a mild night and the sky was lit up by innumerable stars. One of those soft breezes that seem the very breathings of a rejuvenated earth swept through the balmy air, caressing everything it touched.

The litter passed out first.

Then came Diane, Remy, and Gertrude on horseback.

Diane gazed eagerly around her ; but the count summoned her and she had to ride beside the litter.

Four of the peasants lit torches and marched in twos on each side of this litter.

" Good," said Bussy. " If I had the arrangement of the journey myself I could not have managed things better."

And he returned to the tavern, saddled his horse, and followed the party.

This time he could neither mistake the road nor lose sight of them : the torches showed the way clearly.

Monsoreau scarcely allowed Diane to move from his side.

He talked with her, or rather scolded her.

The visit to the greenhouse served as a text for endless commentaries and for a crowd of venomous questions.

Remy and Gertrude were both out of temper, or, to speak more correctly, Remy was in a brown study and Gertrude was out of temper with Remy.

The cause of her ill-humor could be easily explained: now that Diane was in love with Bussy, Remy no longer saw any reason why he should be in love with Gertrude.

The party, then, moved along, some quarrelling, others sulking, when Bussy, who had for a time lost sight of the cavalcade, warned Remy of his presence.by a whistle. For this purpose he used a silver whistle which served his turn when he had to summon his servants in the hotel in the Rue de Grenelle Saint-Honore.

It had a shrill, vibrating sound, which could be heard in any part of the mansion and its appurtenances.

Men and beasts ran up when they heard it 1 .

We say men and beasts, for Bussy, like all strong natures, took great pleasure in training bellicose dogs, refractory horses, and wild falcons.

Now, whenever he blew this whistle, the dogs would start in their kennels, the horses in their stables, and the falcons on their perches.

Remy recognized it at once. Diane was troubled, and looked at the young man, who made an affirmative sign.

Then he rode round to the left and said, in an undertone:

" It is he."

" What is the matter ? " asked Monsoreau, " and who is speaking to you, madame ? "

" To me, monsieur ? Nobody."

" Oh, yes, there is. I saw a shadow near you, and I heard a voice."

"The voice was M. Remy's; are you jealous also of M. Remy ? "

" No, but I like those around me to speak aloud ; it diverts my attention."

" There are some things, however, which it would be as well M. le Comte should not hear," said Gertrude, coming to the rescue of her mistress.

".Why so?"

" For two reasons."

" What are they ? "

" The first reason is that what is said might not interest M. le Comte; the second is that it might interest him :<><> much."

" Arid to which class belong the things said to madame by M. Remy ? "

" To the class of things that might interest M. le Comte too much."

" What was Remy saying to you, madame ? I insist on knowing."

" I was saying, monsieur, that if you go on as you are doing, you '11 be dead before we have gone a third of the journey."

The face of Monsoreau, seen in the sinister glare of the torches, became as pale as that of a corpse.

Diane was pensive and agitated, but silent.

" He is behind," said Remy to Diane, in a voice scarcely intelligible. " Bide more slowly and he will come up with you."

Remy had spoken so low that Monsoreau heard only a murmur. With a great effort he turned his head round and saw that Diane was following him.

" Another movement like that, M. le Comte," said Remy, " and you are sure to have a return of your haemorrhage."

Diane had now grown very courageous. From her love had sprung that audacity which, in every woman truly enamoured, ordinarily transcends reasonable limits. She turned back and waited.

At the same moment Remy alighted, gave the reins to Gertrude to hold, and approached the litter with the view of distracting the count's attention.

" Let me feel your pulse," said he, " I would wager we are feverish."

Five minutes after, Bussy was by her side.

They had no need of speech to understand each other 5 for some moments they were locked in a tender embrace.

The first to break silence was Bussy. " You see," said he, " that where you go I follow."

" Oh ! how beautiful will be my days, Bussy, how sweet my nights, if I know you are ever thus near me! "

" But by day he will see us."

" No, you will follow us from afar, and I alone will see you, my Louis. At the turn of some road, from the summit of some hill, the plume in your hat, the embroidery on your cloak, the fluttering of your handkerchief, will all speak in your name, will tell me I am loved. When the sun is declining, when azure mists are floating over the plain, let me but see your dear and ghostlike form gently bend as you waft to me the sweet kiss of eventide, and I shall be happy, oh ! so happy !"

" Speak on, speak ever, beloved Diane, you are yourself unaware of all the music your sweet voice holds."

" And when we march by night, which we shall often do, for Remy has told him the coolness of evening is good for his wounds ; then as now, from time to time, I will stay behind, from time to time I shall be able to clasp you in my arms and to tell you, in a quick pressure of the hand, all that I shall have thought of you during the day."

"Oh ! how I love you! how I love you !" murmured Bussy.

" Do you know," said Diane, " I believe our souls are so closely united that, though far apart, though never seeing each other, never speaking with each other, we can be happy in our thoughts."

" Yes ! yes ! but to see you, to hold you in my arms, — oh ! Diane ! Diane ! "

And the horses came close together and disported themselves as they -shook their silver bridles, and the two lovers forgot the world in a lingering embrace.

Suddenly was heard a voice that made both tremble, Diane with fear, Bussy with rage.

" Madame Diane,' 7 it cried, " where are you ? Madame Diane, answer."

This cry pierced the air like some funereal shriek.

" Oh ! 't is he ! 't is he ! I had forgotten him," murmured Diane. " It is he. I have been dreaming ! Oh, sweet dream ! Oh, horrible awaking ! "

" Listen," cried Bussy, " listen, Diane, we are now together. Say but the word and nothing can ever separate us again. Diane, let us fly. What can prevent us from flying ? Look : before us are space, happiness, liberty ! A word, and we are gone, a word, and lost to him, you belong to me for eternity."

And the young man gently held her back.

" And my father ? " said Diane.

" But when the baron knows how I love you," he murmured.

"Ah ! he is a father," said Diane. " How does a father feel when his daughter acts as you would have me act ? "

These words recalled Bussy to himself. •

" I will not force you, my darling," said he; " order, and 1 obey."

" Listen," answered Diane, offering him her hand, " our destiny is yonder. Let us be stronger than the demon who persecutes us. Fear nothing and you shall see if I know how to love."

" Great heavens! and must we, then, part ?" murmured Bussy.

"Countess ! countess ! " cried Monsoreau, " answer, or, though I kill myself, I will leap from this'infernal litter."

" Adieu, Bussy, adieu," said Diane; " he would do as he says : he would kill himself."

« You pity him ? "

" Jealous! " said Diane, in her charming voice and with her adorable sirile.

And Bussy let her go.

In a moment she was at the litter 5 the count was almost unconscious.

" Stop ! " he murmured, " stop ! "

" Morbleu ! " said Remy, " do not stop! he is mad ; if he want to kill himself, he can do so."

And the litter continued its course.

" But whom are you calling to ? " cried Gertrude ; " my lady is by my side. Pray, answer him, madame ; I 'in afraid M. le Comte is delirious."

Diane uttered not a word, but at once entered the space lit up by the torches.

"Ah ! " said Monsoreau, feebly, " where were you ?"

" Where should I be if not behind you, monsieur ? "

" Beside me, madame, beside me; do not leave me."

Diane had no further reason for staying in the rear ; she knew that Bussy was following her. If there had been moonlight, she could have seen him.

At last they came to the stopping-place.

After a few hours' rest, Monsoreau started again.

He was in a hurry, not to reach Paris, but to get away as far as possible from Angers.

The scenes we have just related were renewed at intervals.

Reiny said to himself :

" If rage should choke him, the physician's honor is saved."

But Monsoreau did not die. On the contrary, when he arrived in Paris, after a ten days' journey, there was a sensible improvement in his condition.

Remy was a wonderfully skilful doctor, far more skilful than he would have wished in the present case.

During these ten days Diane had conquered all Bussy's pride by means of the tenderness she lavished on him.

She had persuaded him to visit Monsoreau and turn the latter's friendship for him to their mutual advantage.

The health of the count would afford a pretext for numerous visits. t

Remy took care of the husband and brought his master love-letters from the wife.

" ^Esculapius and Mercury," said he. " I am beginning to hold more offices than one."

CHAPTER LXXV.

THE ARRIVAL OF M. D ? ANJOU's AMBASSADOR AT THE LOUVRE AND HIS RECEPTION THEREIN.

HOWEVER, neither Catharine nor the Due d'Anjou reappeared at -the Louvre, and the reports of dissensions between the brothers increased every day in extent and importance.

Tne King had received no message from his mother, and, instead of concluding according to the proverb : " No news is good news," he said, on the contrary, with a shake of the head : " No news is bad news."

The minions added :

" Francois, badly advised, has detained your mother."

" Francois, badly advised" In fact, the whole policy of this singular reign and of the three preceding reigns might be reduced to these two words : badly advised.

Charles IX. had been badly advised when he authorized the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, if he did not actually sign an edict in its favor. FraiiQois I. had been badly advised when he ordered the massacre of Amboise.

Henri II., the father of a perverse race, had been badly advised when he burned so many heretics and conspirators, before being killed by Montgomery, and the latter, too, it was said, was badly advised when he allowed the shaft of his lance to penetrate the visor of the King's helmet.

No one ventured to say to a king :

" Your brother has bad blood in his veins ; acting according to the traditions of your family, he is trying to dethrone, tonsure, or poison you. He wishes to do to you what you did to your eldest brother, what your eldest brother did to his, what your mother taught you to do to one another."

No, a king at that period, a king of the sixteenth century, would have taken such remarks as insults ; for a king was then a man ; it is civilization alone that has made him a facsimile of God, like Louis XIV., or an irresponsible myth, like a constitutional king.

The minions said to Henri III., then :

" Sire, your brother is badly advised."