An hour later I sat with Lorgnac and
Le Brusquet in a little room in the former’s
house in the Rue Tire Boudin. At the Louvre I
had discovered that there was no chance of my being
able to see the Queen until after the supper hour;
and so I accepted the hospitality De Lorgnac offered
me, and was back again in the very house in which I
had spent my last night in Paris.
A few minutes after our arrival Le
Brusquet ambled up on a Spanish mule, and soon we
three were deep in discussing what had happened since
the day I rode out of the Porte St. Michel. I
had perforce to relate my own adventures, and when
I described my meeting with La Marmotte and
her strange request De Lorgnac rose from his seat,
and approaching the window, said:
“You can see Maitre Barou’s
store from here. It abuts on my stables, and
you will not have far to go to keep your appointment.”
“If I do keep it; but at present
I have no such intention.”
“You must keep it.”
It was Le Brusquet’s incisive voice that cut
in.
“Why? There is no reason
why we should ever meet again.”
“There is every reason that
is, if you take sufficient interest in the future
of Mademoiselle de Paradis.”
De Lorgnac came back to his seat.
I looked inquiry, and Le Brusquet continued:
“A few things have been happening
lately that make me think there is a porridge on the
boil that would be the better for our help in the
stirring. There have been little whispers afloat
that Diane is meditating a great coup.
Certain it is, that she and that upright judge Dom
Antony de Mouchy have been much together of late.
Certain it is that this coquetting with the new faith
means more than Christian toleration; and, putting
this and that together, I have got a clue. You
do not know Carloix, do you?”
“No.”
“Well, Maitre Vincent Carloix
was my sister’s husband whilst she lived.
He is also my very good friend, and, besides that,
secretary to that most noble lord Francois de Scepeaux,
Marshal de Vieilleville. Carloix is a discreet
man; but I gathered enough from him to guess that it
would be safer for a Christaudin to be a prisoner with
a Barbary corsair than be in Paris now, despite all
the hobnobbing that goes on between the Court and
Vendome and the Admiral.”
“But,” said De Lorgnac,
“how does all this concern Mademoiselle de Paradis?
Even if it did she is the Queen’s ward.”
“Anne d’Audeberte was
a maid-of-honour, and you both know what happened
to her. My dear De Lorgnac, our friend here has
told us enough for us to know that mademoiselle is
a heretic to her pretty fingertips. This is
bad for her. Recollect that the Vidame
d’Orrain is Diane’s right-hand man; and
we may be certain that his attempt on Mademoiselle
de Paradis was made with the full knowledge of the
Duchess. Recollect, again, that this woman La
Marmotte is the wife or mistress I
care not which of Orrain’s own man ”
“And as the Chevalier here ran
him through the ribs he may not unnaturally desire
to repay the account,” put in De Lorgnac.
“It is not that,” I said;
“she warned me of danger in Le Jaquemart.”
“Precisely. It is of that
I was thinking,” said Le Brusquet. “No,
Chevalier for to us you are the Chevalier
d’Orrain and not Bertrand Broussel no,
La Marmotte means you no harm, and I would
stake a thousand pistoles against an obolus that
you will hear something of interest concerning mademoiselle.
She is not going to warn you about yourself, I fancy,”
and he laughed; “she knows that the Chevalier
d’Orrain can look to his skin.”
“But what can be the cause of
Diane de Poitiers’ enmity of mademoiselle?”
I asked. “So far as I know, they have only
but once seen each other, and that but three hours
ago.”
“The greatest of all causes,
monsieur money. Diane loves gold as
a swallow loves a fly. When a woman is avaricious
she will let nothing stand between her and her desire.
Again, it is no disrespect to the Vidame, your
noble brother, to say he would sell his soul for a
hundred crowns, and Dom Antony de Mouchy is worse
than either he or Diane. Why, man, they have
shared between them the wretched estate of a journeyman
tailor! The property of a street-hawker, burnt
in the Place Maubert, was granted to them, and they
took it.”
“It is almost incredible!” I exclaimed.
“But it is true,” said De Lorgnac.
“It appears to me,” I
said, “that my departure for Italy will be a
little delayed.”
“If you were as superstitious
as I am,” and Le Brusquet smiled as he spoke,
“you would say that departure is a dream of the
past.”
“Why?”
“Eh bien, a month ago,
you left Paris from this very house never to return,
and here you are back again! It is my belief
that your fate is against your leaving Paris, and
your game will have to be played here. That slice
of the Romagna you intended for your own helping will
go to fill another’s plate.”
I laughed, and De Lorgnac rose.
“There is Quinte with Cartouche at the
door,” he said, “and I must be off.
Be at the door of the Queen’s apartments a
little before compline, and so, au revoir!”
“We have almost an hour and
a half still,” said Le Brusquet, “and if
it were not safer for you to be indoors as much as
possible I would suggest spending a half-hour at the
Bourgogne.”
“I think it would be better
to stay here; but tell me, do you know anything definite
about this design of the Duchess?”
“No. All that I know is
that there is something afoot. Vieilleville
was approached; but, to his honour, refused to have
anything to do with it. I know, however, no
details.”
“Then all we can do at present is to wait and
watch.”
He nodded, and poured himself out
some wine. Leaving him to sip his Joue
I retired to change my dress, and shortly after we
rode out to the Louvre. On arrival there we
proceeded at once to Le Brusquet’s apartments,
where he received a joyous welcome from his ape.
“Here,” he said, as he
put the little beast down and took a sword from the
wall, “here is the sword you lent me that night.
You see it is clean and sharp as ever.”
“Let it remain, then, in your
hands, monsieur, as a trifling remembrance of Bertrand
d’Orrain.”
“I thank you! I shall
guard it as it should be guarded. Corbleu!
but it was a narrow affair that night; but for you
Vendome might be wearing wings now, and the house
of Besme extinct as the Sphinga.”
“It was a lucky chance.
I suppose that old fox Camus still has his lair in
the same place? I wonder what made him turn against
me as he did ”
“Oh, Camus is like a dog that
loves biting, a dog that would bite his own master
in default of anyone else. Yes; he is there still.
As for his turning on you, that is part of his duty;
he has been for years a paid servant of Diane.”
“How long is this woman to last?”
“As long as her roses.
But they say those are fadeless; and Saint Gelais
has had to leave the Court in fear of his life for
swearing that she keeps them ever fresh by daily bathing
her face in sow’s milk.” And he laughed
as he added: “But come, now, it is time
to be moving.”
We were soon in the long gallery leading
to the Queen’s apartments; but, instead of the
darkness and gloom that pervaded it on the occasion
of my last visit, all was in light. Cressets
burned everywhere, and at every few yards stood a
flambeau-bearer, his torch alight. The vaulted
roof above us was dim with the smoke that rose from
the torches, and there was everywhere the subdued
murmur of voices, as people passed and repassed, or
stood in small knots conversing. So great was
the change that I could not avoid noticing it; and
Le Brusquet explained that it was always so when any
of the royal children, who lived at St. Germain-en-Laye,
visited the Queen. He had just said this when
we rounded the abrupt curve the gallery made, and
came face to face with two men walking arm-in-arm
in the direction opposite to that we were taking.
They were Simon and De Ganache, and recognition
was mutual and instant. Monsieur de Ganache
saw the surprised look on my face, which he no doubt
read, as I glanced from him to my brother; and lifting
his hat in a half-defiant, half-shamefaced manner,
would have passed on, but Simon held him by the arm,
and planting himself right in our path said, with
an insolent stare:
“This gentleman must have mistaken
the Louvre for the Gloriette.”
Le Brusquet plucked my sleeve in warning;
but I was cool enough, and had no intention of again
laying myself open to the law. I gave Simon
stare for stare. “Yes; it is I,”
I answered coldly; and then, turning to De Ganache:
“Monsieur, it was from the Vidame d’Orrain
that I had the good fortune to rescue Mademoiselle
de Paradis. I thought you knew of this.
If not, you know now with whom your arm is linked.”
“By God!” Simon burst
out, “if I did not remember where I was ”
“Tush!” I broke in, “there
are a hundred other places where we can settle our
differences. I have no time to be brawling here.”
With this I pushed past, and left
them looking at each other as, followed by Le Brusquet,
I gained the door to the Queen’s apartment.
As we came up De Lorgnac himself appeared, and passed
us into the anteroom. I well remembered that
cheerless tomb through which I had passed a month
ago; but now it was all glittering bright. The
door of the Queen’s cabinet was closed; but
to the right folding doors that I had not
observed before were open, giving a glimpse,
through the half-drawn curtains, of a crowded salon
beyond. In the ante-room itself there were about
a dozen or so of ladies-in-waiting and pages, all
talking and laughing; and as we followed De Lorgnac
I felt a light touch at my elbow, and turning met
a merry face that smiled up at me. It was little
Mademoiselle Davila, the same who with Madame de Montal
had met us at Longpont.
“Eh bien! So you
have come, monsieur. I can tell you that you
have been expected. Oh! we have heard about
you at last heard twice over and
we are all thinking of playing truant and running away
to the forest of Vincennes or Monceaux. That
last is better, for it is nearer Paris ”
But here her breathless chatter was cut short by a
“Hush!” from the salon, and then we heard
the strings of a harp being touched.
“’Tis belle Marie,
the little Queen of Scotland!” And moving forward
a couple of steps we were able to see into the next
room. I looked round in vain for mademoiselle,
and then my glance was arrested by a tall, fair-haired
girl who was before a harp; and even I, who should
have had no eyes but for one face, stood as if spellbound.
As her fingers ran over the harp strings a low, wailing
melody filled the room, and then with a voice of strange
sweetness she sang a sad little song a
bergerelle of my own country. Harp and voice
together died away in inexpressible sorrow at the
last words, and a strange stillness filled the room,
but was broken at last by a half-suppressed sob.
Then in a moment all was changed. There came
a bright little flourish, and she sang, joyous and
blithe as a lark:
“Si lé roi m’avait
honne
Paris sa grand’ville,
Et qu’il m’eut fallu
quitter
L’Amour de m’amie;
J’aurais dit au Roi
Henri
Reprenez vôtre Paris,
J’aime mieux m’amie
O
gai!
J’aime mieux m’amie
O
gai!”
“O gai!” burst
the chorus, almost unconsciously, from those around
her, and with a flush on her face and a smile on her
lips Mary of Scotland moved from the harp, and was
immediately lost to view in the circle of those who
crowded around her. I looked for my companions.
Mademoiselle Davila had found a lanky page to flirt
with; Le Brusquet seemed to have vanished; but De
Lorgnac was at hand.
“Come now!” he said, and
I followed him across the crowded room to where the
Queen sat, amidst a group of her ladies, with the Dauphin a
small, ill-formed boy of thirteen or fourteen at
her knees. She received me graciously; and on
my delivering my packet she broke the seals, glanced
at the contents with apparent carelessness, and then
handed it all open as it was to
a lady who stood behind her.
“La Beauce, put this on my table.”
And then turning to me, said, with a laugh:
“Your ears should be tingling,
monsieur, for the last hour or so there has been nothing
but you talked of by my maids-of-honour. It seems
that the cock of Orrain has not forgotten the use of
his spurs.”
My tongue had long since forgotten
such courtier tricks as it had learned. In truth,
it was never good at these; and whilst I was casting
about for something to say, and wishing myself well
away from the ring of faces that circled me in, a
gay, laughing voice broke in:
“But where is the heroine,
madame? Where is Diane of the Forest?
She should thank her preserver before your Majesty.”
And Mary of Scotland, heedless and blithe of heart,
made me a mock little courtesy as she moved to the
Queen’s side.
“Here she is,” cried twenty
voices; “she has been hiding here.”
And, before I knew how it was, I found myself face
to face with mademoiselle.
“Thank him! thank him!”
the reckless voices around us began to shout; and,
as I stood fumbling about, mademoiselle, with a face
like fire, made me a stiff bow, and was about to step
back, when our chief tormentor called out:
“Oh, how poor a thanksgiving!
Surely this is a fit case for a Court of Love! how
and in what way a fair lady should greet her knight
after a parlous quest?”
“Madame” and
Mary of Scotland knelt before the Queen “you
will hold a Court now, will you not?”
“O gai! O gai!”
And there was a chorus of laughter and cheers.
Where all this foolery might have
ended Heaven knows. The Queen herself seemed
to be enjoying it, and was about to make some reply
to Mary, when there was a bustle at the door, and
an usher called out:
“The King! His Majesty the King!”
Holding the Dauphin by the hand the
Queen rose and advanced to meet the King, who entered,
followed by half a dozen of his gentlemen. Henri
was tall, strongly built, and carried himself royally;
but there was a strange mixture of courage and weakness
in his countenance. He was brave no
man could be found to deny that; but there was never
a sparkle of intelligence in his dull eyes, though
at times they shone with cunning, and his mouth was
weak and sensual. That night he had supped in
the apartments of Diane de Poitiers, and had evidently
primed himself for this visit to the Queen, for his
face was flushed and his voice thick.
“Your Majesty is unexpected,
but all the more welcome for that,” said the
Queen as Henri touched her fingers with his lips.
The King made some answer I did not hear, and led
the Queen to a seat; then, patting the Dauphin’s
head much in the manner of one patting a spaniel’s
back, he looked around.
“Birge!” he said.
“You are gay here. It was dull this evening
at supper; she had the megrims.”
A slight flush came into Catherine
de Medicis’ cheeks at this mention of the mistress,
and her voice trembled a little.
“I trust madame will
soon be better; but you, sire, will always find us
gay here.”
“It seems so. What was
the particular jest? It might bring a smile to
Diane’s face when I tell her of it.”
I moved back, so that I did not hear
the Queen’s answer, but Henri laughed loudly.
“A Court of Love! Bigre!
’Tis a new idea, and a good one. But
where is our little ward? Present her.”
Mademoiselle had to come forward,
and when she had kissed hands the King said:
“I hear sad tales of you, mademoiselle;
but there, never mind! You must not, however,
break all our hearts. Faith!” and his feeble
intellect wandered off to the one subject it could
think of, “we will have a tourney in a fortnight,
and the defenders shall wear your colours.”
Mademoiselle blushed red, and began
to stammer out something, whilst a few looks were
exchanged between the courtiers that made my blood
run hot. The Queen, however, interposed, and
suddenly called for me.
“Monsieur d’Orrain!”
I stepped up, catching the look of
astonishment in mademoiselle’s eyes as she heard
the name by which I was addressed.
“Permit me, your Majesty, to
present to you the Chevalier d’Orrain.
It is he who arranged the small matter you entrusted
me with, and has, besides, shown himself a valiant
gentleman. With your Majesty’s permission
I propose appointing him to my guards; M. de Lorgnac
has a vacancy.”
There was a little murmur, and as
I knelt, the King extended his hand to me carelessly.
As I rose to my feet, and was about to withdraw, he
said, with a sudden recollection:
“Monsieur d’Orrain the brother
of the Vidame?”
I bowed, and Henri turned to the Queen,
his face assuming a severe expression; but Catherine
de Medicis anticipated his speech.
“It is so small a favour that
I thought your Majesty would have no objection in
view of M. d’Orrain’s services. I
do not, however, press it.”
Henri hummed and hawed, and a curious,
cunning expression came into his eyes.
“Bigre! It seems
to me I have to grant favours from the moment I rise
to the moment I lie down to sleep. But to tell
the truth, madame, it was I who came here to
ask a favour from you.” And then he stopped,
and his face flushed darker than ever as he went on,
with a short laugh: “Come! let it be a
bargain! If I grant you your request will you
grant me mine?”
“Assuredly, sire! even if you did
not grant me mine.”
“Oh! we will make it a bargain.
Well, then, let it be as you wish with monsieur there.”
And turning to me: “And harkee, Chevalier!
Keep your sword in your scabbard, and put your Geneva
books in the fire, now that you have a new start.”
“I thank you, sire!” said
the Queen. “And your command ?”
She stopped, awaiting the King’s
answer; but Henri hesitated, and at last, bending
forward, whispered a few words in the Queen’s
ear. The effect was instant. She became
white and red in turns, and began to nervously clasp
and unclasp her hands.
“Come!” said the King,
with an affectation of gaiety; “it was a bargain,
madame.”
There was a pause, and then, with
a voice as hard as steel, Catherine de Medicis said
to her favourite maid-of-honour:
“Mademoiselle La Beauce my
jewel-casket quick, please.”
La Beauce bowed, and slipped away,
and we all looked on in wonder at the strange scene.
Presently she returned with a small but heavy casket
in her hands. Catherine opened it with a key
she detached from a chain she wore at her neck, and
as the lid fell back the glittering splendour of the
Crown diamonds of France was disclosed to view.
“They have been worn by a line
of queens, sire,” said Catherine as she placed
the box in Henri’s hands; “they ought well
to become Madame Diane de Poitiers, and cure her megrims.”
With this she made a profound bow,
and withdrew. When she had gone there was an
absolute silence; and then the King laughed, an uneasy,
foolish laugh.
“And all this because I want
to borrow a few stones for the masque!” he exclaimed
as he thrust the box into the hands of one of his gentleman.
“Take this, Carnavalet!” And swinging
round on his heel he went as he had come, his suite
clattering behind him.
As he went we heard through the open
doors the cries of “Vive lé Roi!”
from those in the gallery outside, and then all was
still once more.
The salon, but a short time before
so bright and gay, emptied like magic. I stood
where I was, leaning against a pillar, wondering at
the scene through which I had passed, and hardly realising
that I was alone. No, not alone, for mademoiselle
stood before me, her hand outstretched.
“Oh, monsieur, this is a horrible
place! Why did I ever come?”
I could say nothing, for she too had
seen and heard all that had passed.
“But it is not this I came to
talk about. I waited so as to be able to congratulate
M. Bertrand Broussel, the worthy citizen of Paris.”
And she laughed as she added: “I was sure
of it from the first; I knew it could never be.”
“May I also say that I was sure
that Cujus the furrier never had a niece?”
She made a little impatient gesture
with her hand. “I do not believe you will
ever forget that, monsieur.”
“Never.”
“And you are not leaving Paris, then?”
she asked after a moment’s pause.
“I cannot now,” I answered.
“Then,” she laughed, “the
furrier’s niece and Monsieur Broussel will meet
again. Au revoir, Chevalier!”
And she was gone.