La Dame de Monsoreau (53 page)

" Gentlemen/' said Monsoreau, turning to the courtiers, who were waiting for an audience and . were already inclined to hail the rise of a new favorite apparently destined to throw Bussy into the shade, " gentlemen, allow me to announce to you a piece of news. Monseigneur permits me to make public my marriage with Mademoiselle Diane de Meridor, my wife for over a month, and to present her at court this evening under his auspices."

Bussy staggered; although the blow was not entirely unexpected, it was so violent that he felt utterly crushed.

Then he advanced, and he and the duke, both pale, but for very different reasons, exchanged glances of contempt on Bussy's part, of terror on the part of the Due d'Anjou.

Monsoreau forced his way through the throng of gentlemen ; amid all sorts of compliments and congratulations.

As for Bussy, he made a movement as if to approach the prince, who saw it, dropped the hangings, and shut the door behind them ; the key could then be heard turning in the lock.

Bussy felt the blood surging, warm and tumultuous, to his temples and to his heart. His hand coming in contact with the dagger in his belt, he half drew it from its sheath, for, with this man, the first outburst of passion was almost irresistible. But the love which had driven him to this violence paralyzed all his fiery energies ; a sorrow, bitter, profound, piercing, stifled his rage; instead of expanding his heart, it broke it.

Before this paroxysm of two contending passions, the young man's energy sank, as sink two angry billows that seem to wish to scale the heavens when they dash together at the strongest point of their ascension.

Feeling that if he remained a moment longer he should betray before every one the violence, of his despair, Bussy moved through the corridor, reached the private staircase, descended through a postern into the courtyard of the Louvre, leaped on his horse, and galloped to the Rue Saint-Antoine.

The baron and Diane, were eagerly waiting for the answer

promised by Bussy ; they saw the young man enter, pale, trembling, with bloodshot eyes.

" Madame," cried Bussy, " hate me, despise me ; I believed I was something in this world, and I am but an atom ; I believed I could do something, and I cannot even tear out my heart. Madame, you are indeed the wife of M. de Monsoreau, his recognized wife, and are to be presented this evening. But I am a poor fool, a wretched madman, or rather, ah! yes, the Due d'Anjou is, as you said, M. le Baron, a coward and a scoundrel."

And leaving the father and the daughter overcome with dismay, Bussy, wild with grief, drunk with rage, rushed downstairs, leaped on his steed, plunged the rowels deep in its sides, and, unknowing where he went, dropping the reins, all his care to repress the wild pulsations of his heart, throbbing under his nerveless hand, he rode onward, scattering terror and desolation on his pathway.

CHAPTER XXXV.

WHAT PASSED BETWEEN THE DUC D'ANJOU AND THE GRAND

HUNTSMAN.

IT is time to explain the sudden change wrought in the Due d'Anj ou's attitude toward Bussy.

When the duke received M. de Monsoreau, in compliance with the urgent entreaty of his gentleman, he was resolute in his determination to aid in achieving the latter's purpose. His bile was easily stirred up, and gushed, on small provocation, from a heart ulcerated by two dominant passions: wounded self-love and the exposure threatened by Bussy in the name of the Baron de Meridor had made Francois fairly foam with rage.

The outburst produced by the combination of two such sentiments is, in fact, appalling, when the heart that contains them is so solidly sheathed, so hermetically closed, that, as in the case of bombs crammed with gunpowder, the pressure doubles the intensity of the explosion.

The prince, then, received the grand huntsman with one of

those austere looks that made the boldest of the courtiers tremble, for well they knew what means he had ready at hand to execute his vengeance.

" Your highness sent for me ? " said Monsoreau, with an air of great calmness, his eyes fixed on the tapestry. Accustomed as he was to work upon the prince's soul, he knew what a fire smouldered under this seeming coldness, and he gazed at the hangings as if he were asking an explanation of their owner's intentions from these inanimate objects rather than from the owner himself.

" Do not be afraid, monsieur," said the duke, who divined his suspicions, " there is no one behind these hangings ; we can talk freely and, best of all, frankly."

Monsoreau bowed.

" You are a good servant, M. le Grand Veneur, and devoted to my person, are you not ? "

" I believe so, monseigneur."

" And I am sure of it; you have often warned me of the plots concocted against me and have aided me in my enterprises, forgetful of your own interests and at the risk of your own life."

" Your highness "

" Oh, I am well aware of the fact. Even lately — I must really remind you of the services you have rendered me, for such is the delicacy of your nature that you never, even indirectly, allude to them — even in that late unhappy adventure " -

u What adventure, monsiegneur ? "

" The abduction of Mademoiselle de Meridor — poor young lady ! »

" Alas ! " murmured Monsoreau, but in a tone that left it in doubt whether he gave to the words of Frangois their implied meaning.

" You pity her, do you not ? " said the prince, pointedly.

" Does your highness not pity her ? "

" I ? Ah, you know how deeply I have regretted that fatal caprice! Nay, nothing but the friendship I feel for you, nothing but the recollection of your loyal service, could make me forget that, but for you, I should never have carried off that young girl."

The stroke told. " I wonder," thought Monsoreau, " is this simply remorse."

" Monseigneur," he said aloud, « the natural goodness of your disposition leads you to exaggerate the matter; you had no more to do with this young girl's death than I had "

" How can you show that ? "

" Surely it was not your intention to offer violence to Mademoiselle de Meridor ? "

"Oh, no!"

" Then the intention absolves you, monseigneur ; it was merely one of those unfortunate accidents we see occurring every day."

" And besides," said the duke, eyeing him intently, " death has buried everything in eternal silence ! "

There was something in the tone of the prince's voice that forced Monsoreau to raise his eyes. u This," he said to himself, " cannot be remorse." Then:

" Monseigneur," he answered, " shall I speak frankly to you ? "

" Why should you hesitate to do so ? " said the prince, with a mixture of astonishment and hauteur.

" Really, I see no reason why I should."

" What do you mean ? "

" Oh, monseigneur, I mean that, henceforth, frankness ought to be the principal element in this conversation, considering that I am speaking to a prince noted for his intelligence and magnanimity."

" Henceforth ? What does this signify ? "

" It signifies that your highness has not thought proper, so far, to use that frankness toward me."

" Upon my word! " answered the duke, with a burst of laughter that betrayed his furious anger.

" Hear me," said Monsoreau, humbly, " I know what your highness intended to say to me."

" Speak, then."

" Your highness intended to say that perhaps Mademoiselle de Meridor was not dead and that those who believed themselves her murderers had no reason to feel remorse."

" Oh, monsieur, what a time it has taken you to impart this soothing consolation to me. You are a faithful servant, there can be no doubt about it! You saw me gloomy and dispirited ; I told you of the dismal dreams I have had ever since this woman's death, although, Heaven knows, I am not a very sensitive person, and yet you let me live thus, when even a

doubt might have spared me so much suffering. What am 1 to call such conduct as that, monsieur ? "

The intensity with which the duke uttered these words proved that his fury could not be restrained much longer.

" Monseigneur," replied Monsoreau, " it looks as if your highness were bringing a charge against me."

t( Traitor ! " cried the duke, abruptly, making a step toward the grand huntsman, " I bring it and I '11 prove it. You have deceived me! You have taken from me the woman I loved ! "

Monsoreau turned frightfully pale, but remained as calm and proud as ever.

" It is true/ 7 said he.

" Ah ! it is true ! — the scoundrel! the knave ! "

" Have the goodness to speak lower, monseigneur," said Monsoreau, with the same coolness. " Your highness seems to forget that you are speaking to a gentleman, as well as to a good servant. 7 '

The duke laughed convulsively.

" A good servant of the King," continued Monsoreau, still unmoved.

The duke was startled by the last words..

" What do you mean ? " he muttered.

" I mean," returned Monsoreau, with obsequious gentleness, " that should your highness deign to listen to me I might be able to convince you that, since you wanted to take this woman, there was no reason why I should not take her also."

The duke was so astounded at the grand huntsman's audacity that, for the moment, he was unable to utter a word.

" My excuse is," continued Monsoreau, " that I loved Mademoiselle de Meridor ardently."

" But I, too, loved her !" answered FranQois, with dignity.

"Of course, monseigneur, you are my master; but Mademoiselle de Meridor did not love you ? "

" And she loved you ? — you ? "

" Perhaps," murmured Monsoreau.

" You lie ! you lie! You used force as I did; only I, the master, failed, while you, the lackey, succeeded. I could, indeed, employ power, but you could employ treachery."

" Monseigneur, I loved her."

" What is that to me ? "

" Monseigneur"

" What! threats, serpent ? "

" Mon seigneur, take care ! " said Monsoreau, lowering his head, like a tiger about to spring. " I loved her, I tell you, and I am not one of your lackeys, as you have just said. My wife is mine as much as my lands are mine ; no one can take her from me, not even the King. I wished to have this woman and I took her."

" Indeed ! " exclaimed Franqois, springing toward a silver bell on the table; " you took her, did you ? Well, you shall give her up ! "

"You are mistaken, monseigneur," said Monsoreau, hurrying to the table to prevent the prince from ringing. " Banish from your mind-the evil thought of injuring me that has just entered it, for, if you once called, if you once offered me a public insult"

" You shall give up this woman, I tell you."

" Give her up ! how ? She is my wife before God."

Monsoreau expected this declaration to be effective, but it did not mollify the duke's anger in the least.

" If she is your wife before God, you shall give her up before men !" said he.

" Does he know anything, I wonder ? " murmured Monsoreau, unguardedly.

" Yes, I know everything. You shall break this marriage. I will break it, though you were bound by it before all the Gods that ever reigned in Heaven."

"Ah ! monseigneur, you are blaspheming," said Monsoreau.

" To-morrow Mademoiselle de Meridor shall be restored to her father ; to-morrow you shall be on your way to the exile to which I condemn you, and in an hour you shall have sold your post as grand huntsman. These are my orders ; refuse to obey them, vassal, and I break you as I break this glass."

And the prince, seizing an enamelled crystal goblet, a present from the Archduke of Austria, hurled it furiously at Monsoreau, who was covered with its fragments.

" I will not give up my wife, I will not resign my. office, and I will remain in France," retorted Monsoreau, marching up to the amazed Francois.

" Why not — wretch ? "

" Because I will ask the King of France to pardon me — the King elected in the Abbey of St. Genevieve, and because this new sovereign, so gracious and noble, so favored by God,

and that, too, so recently, will not refuse to listen to the first suppliant who sues him for a boon."

The words of Monsoreau became more emphatic as he went on, until the fire in his eyes seemed to pass into his voice, rendering the terrible import of his language more terrible still.

Francois turned pale, took a step backward, and drew the heavy hangings over the door closer together; then, grasping Monsoreau's hand, he said, jerking out his words, as if the strain had been too much for him:

" Enough — not another word of that, count. This boon — as k it — but speak lower — I am listening."

" I will speak humbly/' answered Monsorean, all his coolness at once restored, " as becomes your highness's most humble servant."

Franqois walked slowly round the vast apartment, and every time he came near the tapestries he looked behind them. Apparently, he could scarcely believe that Monsoreau's words had not been heard.

" You were saying ? " he asked.

" I was saying, monseigneur, that a fatal love was the cause of all. Love, monseigneur, is the most imperious of passions. I could never have forgotten that your highness had cast eyes on Diane, had I been master of myself."

" I told you, count, it was a treacherous thing to do."

" Do not overwhelm me, monseigneur, and listen to the idea that came into my mind. I saw you rich, young, and happy, the first prince in the Christian world."

The duke started.

"For such you are," whispered Monsoreau in the duke's ear; "between you and the throne there is but a shadow, a shadow easily banished. I saw all the splendor of your future, and, comparing your magnificent fortune with my paltry aspirations, dazzled by the effulgent brightness that was some day to shine around you and almost hide from your eyes the poor little flower I coveted, — I so insignificant beside my illustrious master, — I said to myself : ' Leave to the prince his brilliant dreams, his glorious projects; there is his goal; mine must be sought in obscurity. He will hardly miss the tiny pearl I steal from his royal crown. 7 "