Late that evening Le Brusquet sat
alone in his room in the Louvre, my ring on the table
before him. On leaving me that afternoon near
the Ladies’ Terrace his first thought had been,
according to his promise, to return the letters we
found to De Ganache; but he was not to be seen.
Le Brusquet had sought the tennis courts, haunted
the apartments of La Valentinois, and lounged about
the lawns where the ladies and gallants of the Court
played at grelot of an evening; but in vain.
Finally, he mounted his mule, and ambled off to the
great square house behind the Bourgogne, where Antony
of Vendome lodged with his train. Here he made
certain he would find De Ganache, who followed
the prince; but he was once more disappointed.
So, giving up the quest for the present, he supped
alone at Crabeau’s, in the Rue des
Fossés St. Germain. Then he returned
to the Louvre, and sat down to think, as much of his
own affairs as of mine. So far as he himself
was concerned he felt he had fallen from the favour
of the King. This had happened before; but now
for the first time he seemed to have no wish to re-establish
himself, and a longing came over him to see his little
pepper-box of a tower in the Quercy, and to be once
more the Sieur de Besme instead of the King of
Folly.
“Eh bien, Pompon!”
he said, addressing the ape, “the kingdom of
fools is too wide a realm for one man to rule.
I shall abdicate, I think. What say you?
The Roman went back to his plough; Besme will return
to his pears.”
The ape simply blinked at him from
his seat on the table, and, carrying out his humour,
Le Brusquet continued:
“You do not approve eh?
What, then, is left for me?” But as he spoke
his eyes fell on the ring, and bending over it he continued:
“Yes; this is where I have failed save
for this I should be off to-morrow but
to go with failure behind me ”
He stopped, for someone knocked at
his door, and to Le Brusquet’s “Enter!”
De Lorgnac stepped in. His face was pale and
grave, his boots and clothes splashed with mud, and
there were red spots on the whiteness of his ruffles.
For one moment Le Brusquet stared
at his friend, and then sprang up.
“What has happened?” he cried.
“Everything and for the worst.
They are taken.”
“Taken! You mean ”
“I mean Mademoiselle de Paradis
and Orrain, and others besides. La Valentinois
was too quick, and struck at once.”
Le Brusquet swore under his breath, and Lorgnac went
on:
“It happened in this way.
On leaving Orrain this evening he told me that De
Ganache had been arrested.”
“De Ganache arrested too!”
“Yes; at sundown near the wicket
gate. The full significance of the news did
not strike me at first, for there were other reasons,
which we know, that might have led to his arrest.
On my return to the Louvre, however, I heard sufficient
to tell me that La Valentinois and her party meant
to act without delay.”
“And never a word came to my ears, and I thought
them sharp.”
Lorgnac took no notice of the interruption, but continued:
“On learning this I hastened
after Orrain, hoping to be in time to overtake him
and save our friends; but it was not to be.”
And then he went on to tell him what is already known.
When he had done Le Brusquet said nothing, but remained
in a moody silence, staring in front of him, and De
Lorgnac turned from him to the window and looked out
upon the night. After a little he turned again,
and putting his hand on Le Brusquet’s shoulder,
said:
“It looks, old friend, as if we were beaten.”
Le Brusquet’s eyes flashed.
“Not yet! This is the last game I play,
and it is not checkmate yet. Where have they
taken Orrain?”
“The Chatelet.”
“And mademoiselle?”
“I know not. I know not if she is alive
or dead.”
Le Brusquet groaned. “That
is the worst tale of all. Orrain, I think, we
can save.”
“How so?”
For answer Le Brusquet held up my
ring. “With this talisman!” And
slipping it on his finger he continued: “It
is not for nothing that I studied law at the College
of Cambrai. As first prince of the blood, Vendome
can claim Orrain from the Chatelet. If he has
any gratitude he will do so.”
“I never thought of that.
I saw the prisoners taken to the Chatelet. There
were two, Orrain and La Mothe, who is as well known
to be of the prince’s household as Vendome himself
is known to be a heretic.”
“Yes; a heretic too great to
be touched. But he must pay his debts.
I am going at once to see Vendome. Stay here
if you like. You know where to find the wine.
No, Pompon, not to-night!” And pushing back
the ape, who had made ready to follow him, he went
off.
It was gay that night in the salon
of La Valentinois. The Queen had gone to St.
Germain-en-Laye, where the royal children were, and
all those who could had flocked to the apartments
of the favourite, to pay their court to the crescent
moon. The King had retired earlier than usual,
for he meant to hunt on the morrow; but his absence
only made the revelry more unrestrained. The
card-tables were full, and at one of them sat Diane
herself, playing with Caraffa against Vendome
and the Marshal St. Andre, and surrounded by a crowd
who watched the play and staked amongst themselves
upon the game. Immediately behind her stood
De Mouchy, in the ermine and red of his office, and
ever and again a whispered word passed between the
twain.
There was a pile of gold before Vendome,
who was playing recklessly but with wonderful fortune.
His face was flushed and his speech thick, for the
goblet on the small service-table at his elbow was
ever being filled, and emptied as fast as refilled.
Nevertheless, he won each time, though he seemed
to fling his cards down on the table without a look
or thought.
“The gods are with me,”
he exclaimed loudly as he pulled off a coup,
made utterly by hazard, and drew the stakes towards
him.
Diane laughed gaily, but the red fox
Caraffa was a bad loser.
“Monseigneur,” he said
with a snarl, “there is a proverb about luck
at cards.”
“I know,” was the swift
and unexpected reply. “Mistrust thy fortune
when the knave and the Church are together.”
And Vendome pointed to the card the Legate had just
played.
There was a titter all around; but
Diane’s white arm was stretched forth, and she
tapped Vendome with her fan.
“Fie, Monseigneur! Your
wit is too cruel. His Eminence but referred
to the old saw: lucky at cards, unlucky in love.”
The prince gallantly kissed her jewelled
hand. “Madame, that is true, for until
I met you I never knew how unlucky I was.”
La Valentinois did not note the glance
in Vendome’s eye, and, vain as a peacock, blushed
as she alone could blush. But a murmured word
from De Mouchy caught her ear, and leaning back in
her chair, her face half turned towards De Mouchy,
and her fan outspread between herself and the prince,
she asked in a quick whisper:
“Is it over?”
“Yes! He has come.”
As De Mouchy spoke the crowd parted,
and the Vidame appeared, and bowed before Diane.
“It was impossible to come sooner,
madame; I had a little affair, and it was necessary
to change my attire.”
“A successful affair, I trust, Monsieur lé
Vidame.”
Simon was about to answer, but a high-pitched
voice broke in: “More successful than even
the Vidame’s great feat of arms in the forest
of Fontevrault.” And Le Brusquet made
his way through the press, and stood behind the prince’s
chair.
Diane rose from her seat, and Simon
glared at Le Brusquet, whilst a dozen voices called
out:
“What was that, Le Brusquet? We have not
heard.”
“That is owing to Monsieur lé
Vidame’s modesty; but this feat eclipses all
the others of which he is the hero. This evening
the Vidame broke up the heretic church in the
Mathurins; nearly all the accursed brood were slain,
women as well as men; but there are still enough prisoners
to give us a rare bonfire by Saturday. Is it
not so, monsieur?” And Le Brusquet turned to
the Vidame.
“Is this true, Le Brusquet?”
It was Vendome who asked. He too had risen,
and his voice was trembling with anger.
“Assuredly, Monseigneur!
Ask the Vidame! It was a great stroke.
Amongst others they have taken La Mothe the Christaudin ”
He stopped, for the prince broke in furiously upon
his speech.
“This is foul treachery!
The edicts are suspended! The King’s word
is given!”
“And is recalled. The
edicts were re-enforced to-day. It is strange,
Monseigneur, that you, as the First Prince of the Blood,
did not know this!”
It was impossible to mistake the insult
in this speech and in Simon’s manner as he made
it. For a moment it was as if Vendome’s
hot temper would have made him forget his rank.
He raised his hand as though he would have struck
the Vidame; but those around Simon hustled him
aside, and it was in a scene of confusion that Monseigneur
turned to Diane.
“I understand all this now,”
he said, pointing to the card-table, covered with
the scattered cards and gold, “and I know to
whom I owe this. Think not, madame, to
fool me longer; but remember that all the rivers in
France will not quench the fires you have lit to-day.”
Then calling to De Mouy, Albain, and
others of his gentlemen he bowed coldly to La Valentinois,
and left the room amidst a dead silence.
When he had gone a babel of tongues
broke forth, and there were loud and angry cries for
Le Brusquet, whose “fool’s prank,”
as they called it, had caused this storm. Le
Brusquet, however, was not to be seen. He had
stolen in, thrown his apple of discord, and stolen
forth again like a ghost. None knew or understood
better than he the wayward character of Vendome, and
that never was the prince capable of acting with decision
unless his self-love were hurt. So he had made
his plan, and acted, and now stood in the shadow of
a pillar in the courtyard waiting for the prince.
He had not long to wait, for Vendome came storming
out, almost on his heels, and called for his horse.
There were quite a hundred or more gentlemen in his
train, and as the horses were being brought up Le
Brusquet stepped to the side of Vendome and held up
his signet.
“Monseigneur,” he said,
“here is something of yours that has come back
to you.”
The prince almost snatched it from
him, and glanced at it by the light of the flambeaux.
One look, and he turned to Le Brusquet.
“He too!”
“Monseigneur! In the Chatelet,
where La Mothe is. Forget not your rights, Monseigneur!”
“I am not likely to! Here!
A spare horse for Le Brusquet!” And he sprang
into his saddle.
Someone brought up a nag, Le Brusquet
mounted, and the word being given for the Chatelet
they went out at a trot, the prince riding in front
between De Mouy and Albain, his hat pulled over his
eyes, and in silence.
Whilst all this was happening it fared
ill enough with me. Though felled by the blow
on my head I was not stunned, only so dazed that my
recapture was an easy matter. This time no risks
were taken, and with my hands tied behind me by means
of a long scarf, the other end of which was looped
round the high pommel of a trooper’s saddle,
I was perforce compelled to accompany my captors as
best I could, bleeding and dizzy from my hurt.
At length we arrived at the Chatelet,
followed to the very gates by the mob. As my
blurred vision saw through the moonlight those sombre
walls, citadel and prison at once, my heart sank.
Hope was left behind in those fearful oubliettes,
whose sinister names carried utter despair with them.
There was the Grieche, the Barbary, the Chausse
d’Hypocras, where the prisoners, ankle deep
in water, were neither able to stand upright nor to
sit; the Fosse, down which one was lowered by a rope,
and the hideous Fin d’Aise in which no man retained
his sanity. So it had come to this! And
in sullen despair I stood amongst the guards, awaiting
Martines’ pleasure. At first it seemed
as if I were the only prisoner; but any doubts on
that point were soon set at rest, for another unfortunate
was dragged up and placed beside me. I felt rather
than saw it was La Mothe but, unlike myself,
he was not bound and then I heard Martines
ask:
“Are these the only two prisoners?”
“Monsieur!” answered a subordinate officer.
The lieutenant of the Chatelet was
not an unkindly man, and muttering something about
“hangman’s work” he came up and surveyed
us by the light of the torches. Then he ordered
my hands to be freed, and drawing his subaltern aside
gave him some commands in a low tone, and went off.
As Martines turned away this person
directed us to follow him, and, surrounded by guards,
we entered a vaulted passage, and after descending
and ascending many stairs found ourselves before a
studded door, so low that even a short man would have
had to stoop his shoulders to enter therein.
A gaoler fumbled with the rusty lock, which for a
space resisted all his efforts; but at last it yielded,
and the door was pushed open, clanging harshly as
it swung back. Beyond lay a hideous dungeon,
into which we were thrust, the officer following us
with a couple of guards, one of whom carried a lantern.
The light discovered a long and narrow prison, the
ooze dripping from the walls, and the floor slippery
with slime. A single slit in the wall, no wider
than three fingers of a man’s hand and about
a foot in length, let in light and air. For
the rest, a stone bench and a jug full of foul water
completed the furniture of this terrible chamber.
Faint and dizzy, I made towards the bench, and sat
thereon in the shadow as the officer said:
“I must ask you to share this
lodging for to-night. It is known as the Palace,”
he added, with a grin, and then pulling out his tablets
he turned to La Mothe.
“Your name, monsieur.”
“Godefrey de la Mothe, chaplain
to Monseigneur the Duke of Bourbon Vendome.”
“And yours?”
From my seat in the shadow I answered: “Bertrand
d’Orrain.”
La Mothe started and half faced me,
but held himself in, and the officer, having made
his note, turned his back upon us and withdrew, followed
by his men. We heard the door shut, a drawing
of bolts, a rattling of keys, and then came silence
and darkness.
No! not utter darkness;
for through the narrow slit in the wall a ray of moonlight
fell, lighting the figure of La Mothe where he stood,
almost in the centre of the dungeon. He was looking
towards me, his eyes expectant and shining; but I
could not speak, and sat like a stone.
At length he made a step in my direction.
“Orrain,” he said, “have we met
at last?”
With an effort I rose and took his
outstretched hands, and in that moment I knew that
the past was bridged over and my sin forgiven.
For long we sat together on the stone
bench, and La Mothe told me of his life. How,
though all thought him mortally wounded, he had rallied
at last, and, in thankfulness for his escape, resolved
to devote the remainder of his days to God.
The spirit of the age fell on his mind, keen and ecstatic
at once. In every trivial event he saw the hand
of the Almighty, but he saw too the corruption around
him. It was for such as he that the light of
the new faith shone with an alluring radiance, and
soon there was no voice that spoke more loudly for
the truth than that of Godefrey de la Mothe.
A fatalist above all things, even now, when everything
seemed lost, he did not despair.
“Nay,” he said, “the
hour has not come for us to die. God has not
brought us together to perish.” And the
words carried hope with them, even amidst the darkness
and lowering prison walls. Then he knelt down
and prayed; but I could not, for my heart was raging
within me.
At length he rose from his knees.
“The Lord will hear and answer,” he said
simply; but I made no reply, sitting with my head between
my hands, staring in front of me. So till the
moon set; and I must have slept. Suddenly I
felt a hand on my shoulder, and started up. It
was La Mothe.
“Hark!” he said. “Do you not
hear?”
I listened. There was a distinct
murmuring, the clattering of hoofs, the neigh of a
horse, and then a cry, faint but distinct:
“Vendome! Vendome! Bourbon!
Notre Dame!”
We sprang to our feet. “The
Lord, who preserved His chosen from out of the land
of bondage, hath heard my cry, and we are saved!”
exclaimed La Mothe, and making our way to the door
we listened. All was stillness once more, a
stillness that seemed to last for hours, though it
was but for a few minutes. At last we heard
the tramp of many feet, louder and louder they grew,
and then there was a rattling of chains, and our prison
door fell open, letting in a stream of light.
In the blaze in the doorway stood Vendome and Martines,
and behind them a crowd of eager faces.
“These are the prisoners, Monseigneur!”
said Martines.
“And I, Antony de Bourbon-Vendome,
First Prince of the Blood Royal of France, stand here
on my right and claim them. Gentlemen,”
and he turned to us, “you are free; follow me!”