La Dame de Monsoreau (52 page)

" Well, well," said Henri, " so my torment has returned, to be a thorn in my side as usual, and I had such peace for the last three weeks ! "

" Bah !" retorted Chicot, " you are always complaining ; devil take me but you are as bad as your subjects, who, at least, have some reason for it. And now, Harry mine, what have you been doing in my absence ? Have we been governing our fair realm of France in our usual comical way ? "

"M. Chicot!"

" Do our people still make faces at us ? "

" You rascal! "

" Have we hanged any of these little curled darlings ? Ah ! I beg your pardon, M. de Quelus, I did not see you."

" Chicot, we 're going to have a quarrel."

" And, above all, my son, is there any money still left in our coffers or in those of the Jews ? I hope there is; venire de biche ! life is such a bore we must have some diversion ! "

And thereupon he made away with the last meat pie on the silver-gilt dish.

LA DAME DE MONSOREAU.

The King burst out laughing, his usual way of ending their disputes.

" Come, now," said he, " tell me what you have been doing during your long absence ?"

" I have," answered Chicot, " been concocting the plot of a little procession in three acts :

" First Act. — Penitents, in shirt and breeches only, wind along from the Louvre up to Montmartre, abusing one another like pickpockets all the time.

" Second Act. — Same penitents, stripped to the waist and flogging one another with rosaries that have their beads sharpened to a point, descend from Montmartre to the Abbey of St. Genevieve.

" Third Act. — Same penitents, entirely naked, beat one another black and blue, tear one another's hides with cat-o'-nine-tails, scourges, etc., on their return from the Abbey of St. Genevieve to the Louvre.

" I had thought at first of having them all pass through the Place de Greve, where the executioner would have burned every mother's son of them — it would have been a thrilling and unexpected catastrophe; but then I thought again: the Lord has still a little sulphur of Sodom and a little pitch of Gomorrha up yonder, and I do not wish to deprive him of the pleasure of grilling them, himself. And so, gentlemen, while waiting for that great day, let us have as much fun as we can in the meantime."

" Yes, but all that does not tell me what had become of you," said the King. " Do you know I had every brothel in Paris searched for you ? "

" Then you rummaged the Louvre thoroughly ? "

" Next, I feared some of your highwaymen friends had got hold of you."

" That could not be, Henri, it is you that have got hold of all the highwaymen ; they are here."

" Then I was mistaken ? "

" Egad ! yes, as you always are about everything."

" Perhaps you '11 tell us you were doing penance for your sins."

" You have it at last. I stayed awhile in a convent to find out what it felt like. Faith, I made some surprising discoveries, and I'm through with the monks."

Just then M. de Monsoreau entered and saluted the King with the deepest respect.

" Ah ! it is you, M. le Grand Veneur," said Henri j " when are we going to have some good hunting ? "

" Whenever your Majesty pleases. I have just been told that boars are numerous in Saint-Germain-en-Laye."

" He is a parlous beast, your boar," said Chicot. " King Charles IX., if my memory fail me not, had a very narrow escape from a boar when he was hunting. And then, the spears are hard and raise blisters on our little hands j do they not, my son ? "

M. de Monsoreau looked askance at Chicot.

" Hold ! " said the Gascon to Henri, " your grand huntsman must have met a wolf not so very long ago."

"Why so?"

" Because like the Clouds in the play of Aristophanes, he has taken the form of one, in the eye especially ; ? t is startling."

M. de Monsoreau grew pale, and, turning around :

" M. Chicot," said he, " I have but a limited knowledge of buffoons, having seldom frequented the court, and I warn you that I do not propose to tolerate your jeers in presence of my King, particularly when they relate to my office."

" Oh, indeed, monsieur ! " said Chicot. " How different you are from us courtiers ! Why, we are still laughing at the last piece of buffoonery."

" And what may this piece of buffoonery be ? " asked Monsoreau.

" Making you grand huntsman ; you see, then, that this dear Harry of mine, though inferior to me as a buffoon, is far a greater fool than I am."

The glance Monsoreau flashed at the Gascon was terrible.

" Come, come," said Henri, who dreaded a quarrel, " let us talk of something else, gentlemen."

" Yes," returned Chicot, " let us speak of the merits of Our Lady of Chartres."

" Chicot, no impiety," said the King, severely.

" I impious, I ? " said Chicot. " I leave impiety to the men of the church ; I am a man of war. On the contrary, I was going to show you it is you who have acted impiously."

« How ? "

" By not uniting the two chemises, instead of separating them. If I were in your place, Henri, I should have brought

them together, and then there would have been some chance of a miracle."

This rather coarse allusion to the separation of the King and Queen occasioned a fit of merriment among the King's friends, in which Henri himself joined after a time.

" For once the fool is right enough," said he.

And he changed the conversation.

" Monsieur," said Monsoreau, in a low voice to Chicot, " may I ask you to wait for me in the recess of that window, acting as if nothing was the matter ? "

" Why, of course, monsieur ! " answered Chicot, " with the greatest pleasure."

" Well, then, let us draw our "

" Let us draw anywhere you like, monsieur, in some lonely spot in a wood, if that suit you."

"No more jests, if you please ; they are useless, for there is no one here to laugh at them," said Monsoreau, coming up to Chicot, who had gone before him to the window. " Now that we are alone, we must have an understanding, Monsieur Chicot, Monsieur the Fool, Monsieur the Buffoon. A gentleman — try and understand the meaning of that word — a gentleman forbids you to laugh at him ; he also requests you to reflect seriously before you make any arrangements for meetings in woods ; for in the woods to which you have just invited me there grow plenty of cudgels and other such things ; so you see it would be very easy to complete M. de Mayenne's work by giving you another thrashing."

" Ah!" returned Chicot, apparently unmoved, although there was a sombre gleam in his dark eyes. " You remind me of all I owe M. de Mayenne ; so you would wish me to become your debtor as I am his, to write you down on the same sheet in my memory, and reserve for you an equal share in my gratitude ? "

" It would seem, monsieur, that among your creditors you forget the chief one."

"That surprises me, monsieur, for I am rather proud of my memory. Will you allow me to ask you who is this creditor ? "

" Maitre Nicolas David."

" Oh, I assure you you are wrong," answered Chicot, with a sinister laugh, " I owe him nothing, he is paid in full."

At this moment, a third gentleman came to take part in the conversation.

It was Bussy.

" Ah! M. de Bussy," said Chicot, " give me a little help, if you please. M. de Monsoreau, as you see, has tracked me; he would hunt me as if I were nothing more or less than a stag or roebuck. Tell him he is entirely in error, M. de Bussy ; tell him he has to do with a boar, and that the boar sometimes turns on the hunter."

" M. de Chicot," said Bussy, " I believe you are not doing justice to M. de Monsoreau in thinking that he does not credit you .to be what you are, namely, a gentleman of good family. Monsieur," continued Bussy, addressing the count, " I have the honor to inform you that M. le Due d'Anjou desires to speak with you."

" With rne ? " inquired Monsoreau, uneasily.

" With you, monsieur," said Bussy.

Monsoreau looked intently at him as if he would sound the very depths of his soul, but the serene smile and steady eyes of Bussy baffled his penetration.

" Do you accompany me, monsieur ? " asked Monsoreau.

"No, monsieur, I go before you, while you are taking leave of the King, to apprise his highness that you are about to obey his orders."

And Bussy returned as he came, gliding with his usual address through the throng of courtiers.

The Due d'Anjou was in his study, reading for the second time the letter with which our readers are already acquainted. Hearing the rustling of the hangings, he thought it was Monsoreau who was entering, and hid the letter.

Bussy appeared.

" Well ? " said the duke.

" Well, monseigneur, he is coming."

" Does he suspect anything ? "

" And what if he did ? what though he were on his guard ? " answered Bussy. " Is he not your creature ? Have you not raised him from obscurity ? Can you not plunge him back into the obscurity from which you have raised him ? "

" I suppose so," said the duke, with that absent-minded air which always distinguished him at the approach of events calling for the display of some energy.

" Do you think him less guilty to-day than you thought him yesterday ? "

"No, a hundred times more ; his crimes are of the class that grow larger the more you reflect upon them."

" Besides," said Bussy, " everything centres in this one point: he has treacherously carried off a young girl of noble birth and has forced her to marry him, using means that were fraudulent and utterly unworthy of a gentleman for the purpose ; either he must ask for the dissolution of this marriage himself, or you must do it for him."

" That is my determination."

" And in the name of the father, in the name of the young girl, in the name of Diane, I have your word ? "

« You have."

" Remember that they are aware of your interview with this man, and how anxiously they await its result."

" The young girl shall be free, Bussy; I pledge you my word."

" Ah !" cried Bussy, " if you do that, you will be really a great prince, monseigneur."

He took the duke's hand, that hand that had signed so many false promises, the hand of that man who had broken so many sworn oaths, and kissed it respectfully.

At this moment steps were heard in the vestibule.

" He is here," said Bussy.

" Show M. de Monsoreau in," said Franqois, in a tone whose severity was of good omen to Bussy.

At last- the young gentleman was almost certain of achieving the object of all his desires, and, as he bowed to Monsoreau, he could not hinder a slight expression of haughty irony from coming into his eyes; on the other hand, the grand huntsman received the salutation of Bussy with that glassy look behind which, as behind an impassable rampart, were intrenched the sentiments of his soul.

Bussy took his place in the corridor with which we are already acquainted, the same corridor in which La Mole was very nearly being strangled one night by Charles XI., Henri III., the Due d'Alen^on, and the Due de Guise, with the cordelier's cord of the queen mother. This corridor, as well as the adjoining landing, was at present packed with gentlemen who had come to pay their court to the Due d'Anjou.

When Bussy appeared every one hastened to make way for him, as much from esteem for his personal qualities as on account of the favor he enjoyed with the prince. He himself

kept a tight hand over all his feelings, and never for a moment did he disclose a symptom of the terrible anguish that was concentrated in his breast while he awaited the result of a conference upon which all his happiness was staked.

The conversation could not fail to be animated ; Bussy had seen enough of Monsoreau to understand that he would not let himself be ruined without a struggle. But, for all that, the Due d'Anjou had but to press a hand on him, and if he refused to bend, well! he must break.

Suddenly the well-known echo of the prince's voice was heard. The voice was the voice of command.

Bussy started with joy.

" Ah ! " said he, " the duke is keeping his word."

But to this echo there succeeded another. A profound silence reigned among the courtiers, who exchanged anxious glances.

Uneasy and nervous, borne along, now by the tide of hope, driven back again by the ebb of fear, Bussy reckoned every minute of the time that elapsed for nearly a quarter of an hour.

Then the door of the duke's chamber was suddenly opened, and through the hangings were heard voices apparently speaking in a cheerful conversational tone.

Bussy knew the duke was alone with the grand huntsman, and, if their conversation had followed its opening course, it should be anything but pleasant at the present moment.

This evidence of reconciliation made him shudder.

Soon the voices came nearer, the hangings were raised. Monsoreau bowed himself out, walking backward. The duke followed him to the door, saying:

" Adieu, my friend, the thing is settled."

" My friend! " murmured Bussy, " God's blood ! what does this mean ? "

" So, monseigneur," said Monsoreau, his face still turned to the prince, " it is your highness's firm opinion that the best way out of the difficulty is publicity ? "

" Yes, yes," answered the duke ; " these mysteries are all nonsense."

" Then this evening," said the grand huntsman, " I will present her to the King."

" Do not fear to do so, I will have everything arranged."

The duke leaned forward and whispered some words in the grand huntsman's ear.

" Very well, monseigneur," answered the latter.

Monsoreau made his last bow to the prince, who glanced round at the gentlemen present, but did not see Bussy, hidden as he was by the folds of a curtain which he had clutched at to save himself from falling.