“Where are we? Will this road never end?”
The voice of La Valentinois cut sharply
into the warm, moonlit night; and De Lorgnac, who
was standing near the window of the coach, answered:
“We are at the end of the plain
of La Brie, madame, and have stopped
to change your horses and breathe ours.”
From over his shoulder I caught a
glimpse of a beautiful, sullen face, and La Valentinois
sank back again amongst her cushions, where we left
her to her thoughts such thoughts they must
have been!
It was the first time she had spoken
since we left the Louvre, whilst all the bells of
Paris were chiming vespers. She had uttered never
a word of protest, even when her Syrian was prevented
from accompanying her, with the meaning order:
“By the Queen’s command!” and through
the hours, as the coach, drawn by four horses at a
gallop, jolted and swung over the weary road, she
lay back, still as a stone, her eyes closed as if
she slept.
Now and again as I rode by her window
I had glanced into the coach; but never was there
any change in her position, and it was only when we
halted at the post-house that her pent-up fury broke
out into an angry question, to relapse at once into
an air of frozen indifference.
The escort had dismounted, and stood
with their horses in two dark groups in the front
and in the rear of the coach. There was hurry
and stir in the post-house at the unexpected coming
of the great Duchess; and De Lorgnac and I, having
given our horses to a trooper to hold, paced slowly
together to and fro, now and again exchanging a word.
Suddenly, almost in answer to the
thoughts that moved me, he stopped, and putting a
hand to my shoulder, said:
“Look you, Orrain! The
game is not yet won. She has a last card.”
“I feel that. It is what I think.”
“If she plays on the King’s
madness for her she may win all, unless ”
And he put down his hand, and hesitated.
“Unless what?”
“The gossip is true that the
King bitterly regrets the infamous grant he made to
her, and would give his right hand to escape from his
word.”
“Le Brusquet is certain of it.
He was there when the grant was made, if you remember.”
“In that case there is but one
course open to her, and she will take it. She
will, as if of her own accord, surrender the grant,
after getting the pardon of Mademoiselle de Paradis.
Thus, though balked at present, she will retain her
hold on the King, and wait for another day.”
“I care not what she does so
long as mademoiselle is saved.”
“The horses are ready, messieurs.”
It was Pierrebon, whom I had ordered to accompany
me, who broke in upon our talk, and five minutes later
we were once more upon our way, the still figure within
the coach immovable and silent as ever.
All through the night we rode, and
at last, when the moon sank and the darkness that
precedes the dawn came, we clattered through the narrow
streets of Bois-lé-Roi, and entered
the forest of Fontainebleau.
In a moment the clear, cloudless sky,
in which a stray star or so yet lingered, as if awaiting
the day, vanished from our view, and we plunged into
an endless avenue of mighty trees, the overarching
branches forming an arcade above us. As we swept
into the shadow the lamps of the coach threw the gnarled
trunks into fantastic shapes, that seemed to live
and move. It was as if we raced between two rows
of grisly phantoms, things of air, that vainly reached
forth long, writhing arms to stay us, only to sink
back and dissolve into the gloom as we sped past.
After a while we came upon more open
ground, now and again passing the fires of a beater’s
camp, and then, on rounding a turn, we saw rising
before us the vast irregular outlines of the Chateau.
Ten minutes later the coach swung through the gates,
and, white with foam and dust, the horses were pulled
up before the Horseshoe Stair. It was not yet
dawn; but lights were glittering everywhere, and the
Chateau was already astir, for the King never spared
himself, or others, at the chase. Indeed, that
and a tourney were the only two things which ever
moved his dull spirit to action. Our coming was
a complete surprise; but the broad steps of the stairway
were already crowded, and soon a murmuring, curious
throng had gathered about the coach.
I myself opened the door, and as I
offered La Valentinois my arm to assist her to alight
I said in a low voice:
“We cannot give you much time,
madame. It must be before the King starts.”
Her eyes flashed defiantly, but she
made no answer, and, declining my proffered aid, stepped
out lightly. She stood for a moment on the lowest
step of the stair, a tall, hooded figure, the lights
of the torches playing on her, and all bowing respectfully;
and then De Lorgnac called out in a loud voice:
“Madame would see his Majesty the King!”
Almost on his words a lean shadow
came running down the steps towards us. By the
lights of the torches flickering through the grey of
the morning I saw it was Simon of Orrain himself.
La Valentinois saw him too, and stood motionless
until he came up to her. Simon’s eyes blazed
with a hundred unasked questions, but he merely said:
“His Majesty has just heard
of your return, madame, and is overjoyed.
It will be a great hunt to-day. Permit me!”
And then he caught sight of me, and started back,
his half-outstretched arm falling to his side, his
lips curled back in a snarl.
“You keep madame waiting,
Monsieur lé Vidame,” I said, “and
her business is of vital import.”
He was about to answer when La Valentinois
placed her hand on his arm, and muttering something
under his breath, Simon turned and led her up the
stairway, all bowing as though she were the Queen.
Whilst the two went up, they began to talk in low,
hurried tones, and twice Simon looked back at me,
the hate of a devil in his glance. Most of those
present followed them; but there still remained many
who crowded around us buzzing with questions; but
we put them aside, saying we were weary, and needed
rest.
As the red dawn came I found myself
seated on a wooden bench near my horse’s stable
wondering, fearing, and hoping. The escort had
been dismissed by De Lorgnac, with orders to return
to Paris under M. de Tolendal, as soon as the horses
were rested, and De Lorgnac himself had gone off somewhere.
So two hours must have passed, and it seemed to me
that the movement in the courtyards and in the Chateau
grew less and less. Presently half a dozen huntsmen,
leading their hounds, passed close to me, talking
in loud and aggrieved tones.
“Mille diables!”
exclaimed one. “To think it is all off!”
“Never have I known the like!” said another.
“What has happened, my friends?” I asked;
and the first speaker replied:
“The hunt is put off, monsieur.
Put off, after we had marked down the largest and
fiercest boar in France! As high as that!”
And he held his palm out almost on a level with his
breast.
“Ay; and as grey as my beard,”
put in another, a little, shrivelled old man.
“He has the devil on his side, that boar.
Five times has he escaped. Three of my best
hounds has he slain. For a whole week have I
tracked him through the Dormoir, and now that we have
him safe in his lair in the Gorges d’Apremont the
King does not hunt! He has the devil on his
side, I say!”
“Way! Way for Monsieur
lé Vidame’s horse!” called out a strident
voice, and a groom came up, leading a big white horse
ready saddled. The huntsmen moved aside, and
the groom led the horse towards the Chateau; but ere
he had gone ten steps Simon himself appeared hastening
towards him.
Simon was still in his hunting suit
of close-fitting dark green, a short cloak thrown
over his shoulder, and long boots that reached to
his thighs. His sword was slung scabbardless
to his side, and he wore a baret on his head, with
a single cock’s feather in it, underneath which
his pale face looked like that of a corpse.
As he came forward hastily towards
his horse, his shoulders bent, and his wolf’s
eyes fixed before him, there was that in his air which
was ominous of danger, and, springing to my feet,
I drew my sword and stepped towards him. He
saw me too, and came up like a truculent dog.
We both reached the horse almost at the same time,
and I fully expected him to draw on me at once; but
stopping, he said:
“You seem to forget, brother,
that the edict applies to Fontainebleau as well as
the Louvre.”
“Not in the least; but one is
allowed to kill vermin in the forest.”
He glanced at me in speechless, blue-lipped
rage. Twice his hand sought the hilt of his
sword, and twice he drew it back. But that I
knew him utterly fearless I might have thought his
heart had failed him as he stood before me, the veins
swollen on his forehead, and his fingers twitching
convulsively. At last he found voice, and, laughing
harshly, said:
“Not now; give me twenty-four
hours, brother, and then as you wish, or, rather,
whether you wish or not.”
“So be it,” I answered,
and he laughed again, bitter, mirthless laughter,
and reached out for the reins of his horse; but ere
he mounted he turned once more on me, another gust
of anger shaking his frame.
“Look you! You think you
have beaten me because you have beaten that black-eyed
strumpet who bewitches the King. I tell you I
hold her in the hollow of my hand, and she cannot
buy from me what she has bought from you. As
for you, you have stood in my way long enough; never
again shall it be. Fool! think you I cannot read
your soul? Think you I will let you win the
prize I should have won? I promise you that,
in these twenty-four hours, which will make you long
for death I, Simon of Orrain, swear it!”
With this he swung round, and, springing
into the saddle, went off at a gallop, leaving me
staring after him, wondering what devilry lay behind
his words. I watched him till he rounded the
elbow of the wood that lay without the gates, and
then, sheathing my sword, went slowly towards the
Horseshoe Stair.
Under other circumstances I should
have looked with wonder and admiration on the magnificent
pile that the splendour of the late King had erected
on the old-time fortress of Louis VII, but, as it was,
I paced up and down the Cour du Cheval Blanc, gazing
at the wide stairway and the silent walls, every minute
that passed seeming an hour to me in my impatience.
At last I saw a figure at the head of the Horseshoe.
It was De Lorgnac, and he beckoned to me. In
a moment I was by his side.
“Have you heard anything?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“She has had three hours.” And I
pointed to the sun.
“You must give her time. It will be sufficient
if we hear by noon.”
Then I told him of Simon and his strange
departure, and whilst we spoke together Carnavalet,
one of the chamberlains, appeared, and walked leisurely
up to us.
“Messieurs,” he said, “you are wanted.
Have the goodness to follow me.”
The Galerie de Cerfs, into
which Carnavalet took us, was all that remained in
the modern Chateau of the old hunting-lodge and fortress
of the Kings of France, and, despite the trophies
of the chase and tapestries that hung to its walls,
it still retained the grim and forbidding aspect of
the past.
It was used as an ante-room, not only
to the King’s apartments but to the council
chamber, and was crowded when we entered. Placing
us near a pillar Carnavalet bade us wait until he
returned, and threading his way through the press
passed through a door at the extreme end of the gallery
that led to the private apartments of the King.
Many and curious were the glances
cast at us as we stood there, dust-begrimed and travel-stained;
and a number of those whom we had put off in the early
morning swarmed round us again with their endless
questions, which we were hard pressed to parry.
Almost beside us was another door,
opening into the council chamber, and interest seemed
to be divided between us and what was passing there.
It was clear that something of importance was in the
air, for secretaries came out and went in with quick,
rapid steps, and bundles of documents under their
arms, and every now and again a messenger would hurry
forth, and we could hear the clattering of his horse’s
hoofs as he galloped away.
De Lorges, the captain of the Archer
Guard, joined us just as one of the express riders
hurried past.
“I wager a hundred pistoles
against a flask of Joue that means an end of
the Spanish peace,” he said, with a laugh, and
rubbing his hands together. “I am sick
of these rusting times. They say that Coligny
has attacked Douai already. Ah! here he comes!”
He turned as he spoke towards the
entrance of the gallery, and at once the subdued hum
of voices stilled to silence, and the crowd of gaily
clad courtiers parted, making way with low bows for
someone who had just entered. For a second I
thought it was the King himself; but a look showed
me not the King but the stern figure of the Constable
of France.
Montmorenci walked up the gallery,
glancing to the right and left of him from under his
bushy white brows, now and then returning a salutation.
He was in complete mail, all except his helmet, which
was borne by a page behind him, and his sinister appearance
accorded well with his terrible fame. He was
of middle height, with broad and prominent shoulders,
and hair as white as snow. His face, tanned to
a dark brown by constant exposure, was stern, and
yet sad, with fierce, bloodshot eyes set far back
in his head, and the grimness of his countenance was
enhanced by the two projecting teeth which stuck out
from his lower jaw like a boar’s tusks.
He came forward slowly, bearing himself
with princely dignity, and when he got near to us
he stopped, and addressing Lorgnac, whom he knew,
inquired:
“From Douai?”
“No, monseigneur; from Paris.”
“I must ask the Queen to spare
me her hard riders,” replied Montmorenci, with
a grim smile, as he pointed at our dust-soiled apparel,
and passed on into the council room.
“It is war, as sure as I stand
here,” exclaimed De Lorges; and at once a hubbub
of voices arose, in the midst of which Carnavalet appeared,
and beckoned to us. It took us a little time
to reach him, but on our doing so he passed us through
the door at once, entering with us, and closing it
after him. Then pointing to the curtains before
him, he said:
“The King awaits you there, messieurs.
Enter!”
So tremendous was the issue for me
that now that the crisis had come I felt for the moment
almost unable to move. But De Lorgnac gripped
me by the arm.
“Come,” he said; “we
either win or lose all in the next five minutes.
Come!”
With this he set aside the curtains,
and we passed through.
There were but three persons in the
room we entered. The King was standing, a hand
resting on the back of the chair in which La Valentinois
sat, as radiantly lovely as though all the fatigues
of the night had never been. A little behind
them was Bertrandi, the keeper of the seals, a lean,
ascetic figure, holding a paper in his hands, and
eyeing us with a vulpine curiosity. Somewhat
to my surprise the King received us graciously, saying:
“Eh bien, messieurs,
you have served madame here well, and in doing
so have served me. Have they not, Diane?”
And he began toying with the black curls of her hair.
La Valentinois looked up at him, a world of tenderness
in her glance, but made no reply, and we remained silent,
struck dumb by the infinite resource of her audacity.
Evil as she was it was impossible not to admire her
courage; and, as De Lorgnac had rightly foreseen,
she had played a great game, but even we were far
from guessing the extent to which her duplicity would
carry her.
“Messieurs,” the King
went on, “madame has joined her entreaty
to that of the Queen for the life of Mademoiselle
de Paradis, and very willingly and from my heart have
I signed this pardon.” With this he took
the paper Bertrandi held and placed it in Diane’s
hands.
“I give this to you, mignonne,”
he said, “for from you comes the mercy of France.
Give it to these gentlemen to bear to the Queen; and
for the present I must leave you for an hour, for the
council awaits me. Come, Bertrandi.”
With these bald words, delivered in a stilted fashion,
his voice only warming as he bade au revoir
to La Valentinois, the King left us, followed by Bertrandi.