La Dame de Monsoreau (100 page)

" You cannot," said he.

" And why, if you please, M. le Docteur ? "

" Because a grand huntsman of France must hold receptions, must keep up a great train of attendants, must have any number of equipages. No one will wonder if he have a palace for his dogs — but a kennel for himself ! impossible ! "

" Hum !" muttered Monsoreau, in a tone that said plainly : « That is true."

" And then," continued Remy, " for I am a doctor of the mind as well as of the body, — it is not your staying here that troubles you."

" What is it, pray ? "

" It is madame's staying here."

« Well ? "

" Well, send the countess away."

" Part from my wife ! " cried Monsoreau, in a voice in which there was certainly more anger than love.

" Then part from your office, resign your post as grand

huntsman. I think it would be wise ; you will either fulfil your duties or you will not; if you do not, you displease the King; if you"

" I will do what I have to do, but I will not leave the countess," said Monsoreau, from between his closed teeth.

No sooner were the words spoken than a great uproar, made by horses and the voices of their riders, was heard from the courtyard.

Monsoreau shuddered.

" The duke again! " he murmured.

" Yes," said Remy, who had gone to the window, " it is he."

The young man had not finished, when, thanks to the privilege princes have of entering unannounced, the duke entered the apartment.

Monsoreau was on the watch; he saw that the first glance of Francois had been for Diane.

The obtrusive gallantries of the prince enlightened him still further.

He brought to Diane one of the inimitable masterpieces that used to be made by those illustrious artists who spent a lifetime in fashioning two or three marvels, marvels that, in spite of the slowness of production, were much more common then than now.

It was a poniard with a handle of chased gold; this handle was a sort of vinaigrette ; the engravings on the blade represented, with surpassing genius, a hunt, in which dogs, horses, hunters, game, trees, sky, all were mingled in such harmonious confusion that the ravished beholder found it hard to take his eyes away from this miracle of azure and gold.

" Let me look at it," said Monsoreau, who feared there might be a note concealed in the handle.

The prince relieved him of this fear by separating it into two parts.

" The blade is for you, you are a hunter," said he; " the handle is for the countess. Good day, Bussy ; I see you are quite an intimate friend of the count now."

Diane blushed.

But Bussy kept his self-control. . •

" Monseigneur," said he, " your highness seems to forget that you ordered me this morning to inquire after M. de Mon-soreau's health. I have obeyed your orders, as I always do."

" It is true," said the duke.

Then he sat down near Diane, and spoke with her in an undertone.

After a few seconds :

" Count," said he, " it is awfully hot in this sick-chamber. I see that the countess is stifling, and I am going to offer her my arm for a turn in the garden."

The husband and the lover exchanged wrathful looks.

The prince invited Diane to descend; she rose and took his arm.

" Give me your arm," said Monsoreau to Bussy.

And Monsoreau descended behind his wife.

" Why ! " exclaimed the duke, " you are quite recovered, are you not ? "

" Yes, monseigneur, and I hope to be soon able to accompany Madame de Monsoreau everywhere she goes."

" I am glad of that. But, meanwhile, take care not to overexert yourself."

Monsoreau himself felt that the duke's warning was not to be neglected. He sat down in a spot where he could have a good view of the pair.

" By the way, count," said he to Bussy, " unless it would be trespassing on your kindness, I would ask you to escort Madame de Monsoreau to my little hotel near the Bastile. I should feel more easy in my mind if she were there. Having torn her from the vulture's claws at Meridor, I do not want to have her devoured at Paris."

"No, no, monsieur," said E-emy to his master, "no, you cannot accept."

"And why not? " asked Monsoreau.

" Because he belongs to M. d'Anjou, and M. d'Anjou would never forgive him for helping M. de Monsoreau to play such a trick upon him."

" What do I care ? " the impetuous young man was about to cry, when a glance from llemy told him to keep silence.

Monsoreau was reflecting.

" Remy is right," said he; " I ought not to demand such a service from you. I will conduct her there myself. In a day or two the house will be ready."

"It is madness," said Bussy, "you would lose your office."

" Possibly," answered the count ; " but I shall keep my wife."

And the words were accompanied by a frown that made Bussy sigh.

However, not on the next day, but that very evening, the count went with his wife to the house at Les Tournelles with which our readers are so well acquainted.

Remy assisted in rendering the convalescent comfortable.

Then, as he was a man of transcendent devotion, and as he saw that in such an out of the way locality Bussy would have great need of his help amid the dangers that now menaced his relations with Diane, he made advances to Gertrude, who began by beating and ended by forgiving him.

Diane took her old room in the front, overlooking the porch, the room with the bed of white and gold damask.

Nothing but a corridor separated this chamber from that of the Comte de Monsoreau.

Bussy tore his hair out in handfuls.

Saint-Luc maintained that rope-ladders had now attained the very highest degree of perfection and ought to take the place of staircases.

Monsoreau rubbed his hands and smiled, for he thought of the disappointment and rage of the Due d'Anjou.

CHAPTER LXXX.

A VISIT TO THE HOUSE AT LES TOURNELLES.

IN some men excessive excitement is a substitute for real passion, just as hunger gives to wolves and hyenas an appearance of true courage.

It was under the influence of some such sentiment that M. d'Anjou, whose rage was indescribable when he no longer found Diane at Meridor, had returned to Paris; he was now almost in love with this woman, and for the simple reason that she had escaped him.

As a consequence, his hatred for Monsoreau, a hatred dating from the day he learned the count had betrayed him, had changed into a sort of fury, a fury the more dangerous that, having already had experience of the grand huntsman's resolute character, he determined to strike surely, and yet incur no risk himself.

On the other hand, he had not renounced his political hopes — quite the contrary ; and the assurance he felt of his

own importance was now greater than ever. On his return to Paris, he resumed his dark and subterranean machinations.

The moment was favorable.

A large number of persons, belonging to that class of wavering conspirators always devoted to success, were affected by the seeming triumph the weakness of the King and the astuteness of Catharine had given to the Angevines, and eagerly rallied round the duke, uniting by imperceptible but powerful threads the cause of the prince to that of the Guises, who remained prudently in the background, observing a silence which alarmed Chicot excessively.

As for Bussy, the duke no longer confided to him any of his political plans, but was more effusive in his hypocritical demonstrations of friendship than ever. The prince was vaguely troubled by Bussy's position in Monsoreau's household, and he harbored malice against the young man on account of the confidence which the grand huntsman, so distrustful of others, seemed to feel in him.

He took fright also at the joy so apparent in Diane's face, a joy which had painted her cheeks with those rosy tints that rendered her now as desirable as she had before been adorable.

The prince knew that flowers get their color and perfume only from the sun, and women only from love. Diane was visibly happy, and to the prince, always malevolent and moody, the happiness of others was a personal offence.

Born a prince, become powerful by dark and tortuous methods, determined to make use of force to gratify his love as well as his revenge, and well served by Aurilly besides, the duke deemed it a shameful thing that he should be arrested in his desires by such ridiculous obstacles as a husband's jealousy or a wife's repugnance.

One morning, after he had slept badly and passed a night filled with hideous dreams, he felt in the humor for beginning operations and ordered his suite to accompany him on a visit to Monsoreau.

Monsoreau, as we know, had already set out for Les Tour-nelles.

The prince smiled at this information.

It was the afterpiece following the comedy of Meridor.

He inquired, but merely for form's sake, where the house was situated ; he was told it was in the Place Saint-Antoine. Turning then to Bussy, who was in attendance on him :

" Since he has gone to Les Tournelles, let us go there too," said he.

The escort resumed its march, and the entire quarter was soon in commotion on the appearance of these twenty-four fine gentlemen, who composed the ordinary suite of the prince, and who had each two lackeys and three horses.

The prince knew the house and the door well ; Bussy 's knowledge of them was as accurate as that of the prince.

Both stopped in front of the door, entered the alley, and went upstairs together. The prince entered the apartments; Bussy remained on the landing.

It resulted from this arrangement that the prince, who seemed to be the privileged person, saw only Monsoreau, who was lying on a sofa, while Bussy was received by Diane and tenderly clasped in her arms, Gertrude keeping watch.

Monsoreau, naturally pale, grew livid at the sight of the prince. It was for him a terrible vision.

" Monseigneur! " he exclaimed, quivering with anger. " Monseigneur in my poor house ! Really, it is too much honor for such an insignificant person as myself."

The irony was evident, for the count scarcely took the trouble to disguise it.

However, the prince paid no attention to it, and, approaching Monsoreau, smilingly :

" Wherever a suffering friend of mine goes," said he, " I go also to inquire after his health."

" I believe your highness said the word f friend,' or I am mistaken ? "

" So I did, my dear count; how are you ? "

" Much better, monseigneur, I can already walk about, and in a week I shall be quite well."

" Was it your doctor that prescribed the air of the Bastile for you ? " inquired the prince, apparently with the utmost frankness.

" Yes, monseigneur."

" Did you not find the Rue des Petits-Peres healthful ? "

" No, monseigneur, I had to receive too much company there, and they made too much noise."

The count uttered these words in a tone of firmness that did not escape the prince; and yet he did not appear to pay it the slightest attention.

" But you don't seein to have any garden here," said he.

" The garden did me harm, mon seigneur," answered Mon-soreau.

The prince bit his lips and fell back on his chair.

" Do you know, count," said he, after a momentary silence, " that many people are asking the King for your office of grand huntsman ? "

" And under what pretext, monseigneur ? "

" They claim that you are dead."

" Monseigneur, you can answer that I am not, and I am sure you will."

" Really, I don't see that I can make any answer. You bury yourself here ; therefore you must be dead."

It was now Monsoreau's turn to bite his lips.

" Well, be it so, monseigneur," said he, " if I have to lose my office, I must lose it."

" You don't care, then ? "

" No, there are some things I prefer to it."

" You are a singularly disinterested man, Monsoreau," said the prince.

" I am so by character, monseigneur."

" If you are so by character, you will not mind the King's knowing your character."

" Who is to tell him ? "

"Why, if he question me about the matter, I must, of course, repeat our conversation."

" By my faith, monseigneur, if everything were repeated to the King that is said in Paris, he would require more than two ears to listen to all that he would hear."

" And what, pray, is said in Paris, monsieur ? " said the prince, turning round toward the count as quickly as if a serpent had stung him.

Monsoreau perceived the conversation had assumed a somewhat too serious aspect for a convalescent who could not yet be said to have much freedom of action. He suppressed the wrath which was seething in the depths of his soul, and, assuming an air of indifference :

" How should such a poor paralyzed creature as I know ? " said he. " Events pass by me, and I scarcely discern their shadows. If the King is angry at seeing his work done badly by me, he is wrong."

" Why so ? "

" Because, undoubtedly, my accident "

« Well ? "

" Was, to a certain extent, caused by him."

" Explain yourself."

" Explain myself ! Is not M. de Saint-Luc, who wounded me, one of the dearest friends of the King? It was the King who showed him the secret lunge by means of which he ran me through the breast, and how do I know it was not the King who quietly sent him for the purpose of doing it."

The Due d'Anjou made a gesture that almost meant assent.

" You are right," said he; " but, after all, the King is the King."