I may say at once that in this chronicle
it often befalls that I have to describe the actions
and deal with the motives of others. In doing
this I have given no rein to idle fancy, but have strictly
followed what those who played a part in my life have
told me.
To show that my authorities in this
respect are beyond reproach I have but to mention
the names of my friends Blaise Ste.
Marie de Lorgnac, now, as all know, the Marechal Duc
de Lorgnac; and Nicholas d’Ayen, Sieur
de Besme, of the Quercy, who acted so strange a part
in his day under the name of Le Brusquet. Each
of these is prepared on his faith, as knight and gentleman,
to support my words, either on foot or on horseback,
with sword or with lance, and in this respect I too
am ready to cross a blade, or run a course; and so,
God defend the Truth!
If further proof is needed I beg leave
to refer to the confession of the Italian, Torquato
Trotto, made at his expiation, which gives many and
curious details, especially of what happened in Le
Jaquemart, and which is registered in the archives
of the Parliament of Paris, where all who list may
see it. There is yet one other whom I could name,
one who is ever at my side, and who for good or for
ill has taken me as part of her life; but for the
present the names I have cited are sufficient, and
I shall say no more on the subject.
On returning to my apartment after
leaving Vendome and Le Brusquet I found old Camus
at the door awaiting me. He entered with me,
saying:
“I watched it all from the window.
Hey! but it was well done!”
I pretended to take no notice of this
remark, and pressed some refreshment upon him; but
the old rascal refused, and sat with his knee between
his hands, rocking himself backwards and forwards.
He went on to make some roundabout inquiries as to
who the persons were to whose assistance I had gone,
but I told him plainly that I did not desire to discuss
the subject.
Becoming nettled at this, he said:
“Ho! ho! and so you do not trust me, Monsieur
Broussel! Well, I tell you I know at any rate
who it is that lies dead out there, for I have been
to see, and it will not take long for me to find out
the rest.”
“Go and find out, then!”
I said somewhat roughly, being annoyed in my turn.
At which he rose in a white heat.
“That I will,” he said; “and you
will find that the hand of Madame Diane, soft as it
is, can grip hard hard, mind you, Monsieur
Broussel!”
With this he flung out; and so we,
who but an hour or two ago were in friendly converse,
parted in anger, and with stormy words.
In a manner I was not sorry for this,
for in my heart I always felt a warning against him,
and there was something so ominous, so evil, in his
face as he left that I felt assured he would strike
a felon blow at the first opportunity.
The more I reflected on what had happened,
and on Camus’ threat in connection with Diane
de Poitiers, the more I began to see a crop of dangers
ahead of me. I began to think it well to retire
to some other city. In this I was influenced
by the fact that, if there were trouble about the
dead man and I were involved in it, as after Camus’
words I felt I should certainly be, it was hardly
possible that I could escape being recognised.
The sentence against me, cruel and
unjust as it was, stood still, and, once I was discovered,
it would be put into force for certain.
Like a prudent general, I felt I must
beat a retreat. The bulk of my money was in
trustworthy hands in Antwerp, but in my oak chest were
a hundred gold crowns of the sun a great
stand-by and help in the hour of trouble.
There was nothing for it but to go,
and, summoning Pierrebon, I told him of my intention.
We set to work to pack a valise at once. This
being done, we waited for the small hours.
It was about four in the morning that
I decided to move, and taking a last look at the place
where I had lived so long in peace I went out into
the street, followed by Pierrebon bearing the valise.
I had to leave everything behind except the barest
necessities and my money, and to trust the well-being
of my goods to Fortune. The jade was unkind
enough to forget me in this matter, which put me to
heavy loss.
It was, of course, impossible to leave
Paris at this hour, as the gates would be shut; but
behind the Abbey of St. Germain de Près was a
little hostel called the Chapeau Rouge, where I knew
I could find shelter until I could procure a couple
of horses and be off.
At four in the morning night-hawks
are abed, and even the convicts had ceased working
on the Gloriette. The moon had gone, and
it was dark now the darkness that precedes
the dawn.
We met not a soul as we stumbled along,
and coming out at length to the Vallee de Misere
we passed the Gloriette, and kept to our right
along the river face, until almost opposite the Church
of St. Germain l’Auxerrois. Here moored
to the bank were a number of boats, the boatmen sleeping
within them. Groping about in the darkness such
noises as we made being fortunately drowned by the
continual lap, lap of the water against the sides
of the boat, and their creaking and groaning as they
rubbed against each other we at length found
a small empty boat tied to a large one. Favoured
by darkness, we loosened the knot, and, taking to
the oars, crossed the river without being perceived
by a soul.
Once on the opposite bank we made
the boat fast to some piles of wood near the water’s
edge, and leaving a piece of silver for the boatman,
which I trust he found, we took the road to the Abbey
of St. Germain. Near here we found a retreat
in the scaffolding of a house that was being repaired.
There we stayed until it was light, and about six
in the morning arrived at the inn, as though we were
early travellers who had entered Paris on the opening
of the Porte St. Germain. In this manner, favoured
by luck, and by the exercise of caution, I bade farewell
to the Rue de Lavandières, and gave Camus the
slip, without leaving any trace behind me.
The Chapeau Rouge was an inn mostly
frequented by students, and in my younger days I knew
it well, though, to be sure, more than a dozen years
had passed since I last entered it. It was surrounded
by a large garden, enclosed by a high wall, and I
could have chosen no better place for my purpose,
which was to lie close during the day, and, as soon
as horses were procured, to depart at dusk, about the
hour of the shutting of the gates.
As it happened, on this day there
was scarce a soul at the inn, all the usual customers
having been drawn away to witness the execution of
a Portuguese named Gomez, who had been found guilty
of sorcery, witchcraft, and other crimes, and was
to suffer in expiation on the Place Maubert.
This ill wind, however, blew fair
for me, as it left me undisturbed; and sending Pierrebon
to purchase or hire horses I awaited his return.
It was well on in the afternoon, and
the sun being hot I was resting in the shade of the
garden wall, when from within a summer-house all covered
with roses, that stood near to me, I heard a lute string
touched by a master-hand, and a man’s voice,
full and clear, began to sing “The Three Cavaliers.”
With a rush a hundred recollections of the past came
back to me, and I felt myself once more a heedless
boy, sitting on that very same seat where the singer
was now, and singing the same song. I rose and
went forward, and to my surprise saw it was Le Brusquet,
lute in hand, and by his side there sat a small brown
ape, a collar of gold round his neck.
I listened till the last of the song,
and was about to turn away; but, the ape running out
of the summer-house at the time, the jester put his
head through the entrance, with a “Back!
Pompon! back!” and caught sight of me.
In a moment he was by my side, and,
willy-nilly, forced me into the summer-house.
“The very man I wanted,”
he said. “I came here to think of you.
I always come here when in doubt or trouble and
here you are dropped from the clouds.”
He poured out some wine for me, and when we had drank
a health together he asked me:
“Eh bien, monsieur, tell
me how you came here; tell me all, for I am a friend.”
It was impossible not to see this,
and in a few words I told him. He listened gravely
the while, stroking his ape’s head.
When I had done he spoke. “I
too have something to tell you. There is an
outcry about Madame Diane’s Italian the
first time an outcry has been made about any such
scum. This morning there was a scene at the
petit couvert. I was there. The
short of it is that the King, my gossip, sided with
his mistress as against Vendome. Words ran so
high that the Duke was ordered to leave Paris, which
he did at once.”
I looked at the ring on my finger,
and Le Brusquet saw the look.
“I fear,” he said, “that
little talisman has lost its power for the present;
but, to go on, I had other business in the morning
which I could not avoid. Towards eleven o’clock
I hastened to the Rue des Lavandières
to return your sword and to warn you. To my relief
you were not there. Your hermit’s paradise
is gone, and an angel, in the form of one of M. Morin’s
guards, is at the door. Instead of a flaming
sword he carries an arquebus ”
“It is quick work,” I
cut in; “and they have seized everything, I
suppose?”
“Yes; everything. And
your ostensible accuser and witness against you is
one Camus, a glove-maker. He laid an information
against you at sunrise. He was with Valentinois
an hour later. Diane rises with the dawn, you
know; and he is her glove-maker.”
“So he has struck hard, and struck quickly.”
“Yes; there is very little glove
about his action. And more, Diane seems bent
upon avenging the death of her Italian. But,
monsieur, what is your next move?”
I explained my intention, and how
I proposed to quit Paris; whereat he shook his head.
“It will not do,” he said;
“the gates are watched. So far you have
beaten them, but there you will fail, and here detection
is certain.”
“I must risk something.”
“As little as possible.”
And after a pause: “What do you say to
the Louvre?”
“The Louvre! the lion’s den!”
“The safest place on earth.
See here, Monsieur Broussel. I owe you my life;
give me a chance to make some return. Can you
trust me enough to put yourself in my hands?
I will not fail you. It is not Le Brusquet
the King’s jester, but Nicholas d’Ayen,
Sieur de Besme, of the Quercy, who pledges his
word.”
We stared each other in the face,
and my good genius came to my elbow.
“Yes,” I said.
In short, it was arranged that I should
meet him towards sunset at the entrance to the tennis
court, east of the Louvre. There was some difficulty
about Pierrebon and the horses; but in this Le Brusquet
again came to my aid, and it was settled that Pierrebon
should find shelter in a house in the Rue Tire Boudin,
which belonged to Monsieur Blaise de Lorgnac, Seigneur
of Malezieux, and lieutenant of the Queen’s
guard, the same being a tried and true friend of my
new-found benefactor.
Pierrebon at this moment returning,
I hailed him. He had been unsuccessful in his
attempt to obtain horses such as we needed, but hoped
to do so the next day; and shortly after Le Brusquet
departed, taking Pierrebon with him, and my valise.
“Fast bind, safe find,”
he said as he pointed at Pierrebon; and then, calling
to his ape, went off.
Towards the appointed time I found
myself close to the parvis of St. Germain l’Auxerrois.
For some reason or other there was a greater crowd
than usual, and I was compelled to halt for a moment.
Just at this moment a body of eight or ten horsemen
came trotting rapidly towards the Chatelet.
Their leader all but rode over a child, and would
certainly have done so had I not made a long arm and
pushed it aside. There was no doubt of it, the
leading horseman was my brother Simon, the Vidame
d’Orrain, and I thanked my good star that, owing
to the dusk, the bustle, and the pace he was going
at, he did not recognise me. Something, however,
struck him, for twice he turned back to look.
I did not wait for a third glance, and, mixing with
the crowd, was lost to view.
At the gate of the tennis court I
met Le Brusquet, and, passing through a wicket, we
entered the precincts of the Louvre.