Title: The Man-at-Arms, Volumes I and II - or Henry De Cerons
Author: James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Language: English
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Transcriber's Notes:
   1. Page scan source: Google Books
      https://books.google.com/books?id=7pcuAAAAYAAJ
     (Princeton University)

     2. This volume includes Henry de Cerons Vol. I.
     and Vol. II.; and short stories entitled Eva
     St. Clair and Annie Deer.

     3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].



THE
MAN-AT-ARMS;
OR,
HENRY DE CERONS.


A ROMANCE.


BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,

AUTHOR OF
"DARNLEY," "DE L'ORME," "CHARLES TYRRELL," "HENRY OF
GUISE," "KING'S HIGHWAY," &c., &c.


IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.



NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1855.



HENRY DE CERONS.
---------------
CHAPTER I.


It is difficult to discover what are the exact sources from which
spring the thrilling feelings of joy and satisfaction with which we
look back to the days of our early youth, and to the scenes in which
our infancy was passed. It matters not, or at least very little, what
are the pleasures to which we have addicted ourselves in after years,
what are the delights that surround us, what are the enjoyments which
Heaven has cast upon our lot. Whenever the mind, either as a voluntary
act or from accidental associations, recalls, by the art of memory,
the period of childhood, and the things which surrounded it, there
comes over us a general gladdening sensation of pure and simple joys
which we never taste again at any time of life. It must be, at least
in part, that the delights of those days were framed in innocence and
ignorance of evil, and that he who declared that of such as little
children consisted the kingdom of heaven, has allotted to the babes of
this world, in the brightness of their innocence, joys similar to
those of the world beyond--joys that never cloy, and that leave no
regret. What though some mortal tears will mix with those delights;
what though the flesh must suffer, and the evil one will tempt; yet
the allotted pleasures have a zest which not even novelty alone can
give, and an imperishable purity in their nature which makes their
remembrance sweeter than the fruition of other joys, and speaks their
origin from heaven.

I love to dwell upon such memories, and to find likenesses for them in
the course, the aspect, and the productions of the earth itself. I see
the same sweetness and the same simplicity pervading the youth of all
nature; and find in the sweet violet, the blue-eyed child of spring,
an image of those early joys, pure, soft, and calm, and full of an
odour that lasts upon the sense more than that of any other flower.

Thus it is, I suppose, and for these causes, that, in looking back
upon the days of my youth, though those days were not as happy and as
bright as they are to many people, I feel a sweet satisfaction which I
knew not at the actual time; for those hours--as one who gives a
diamond to a child--bestowed upon me a gift the value of which I knew
not till many a year had passed away.

My first recollections refer to the period when I was about seven or
eight years old, and to a sweet spot in the far south of France called
Blancford, not far from the great city of Bordeaux. The chateau in
which I dwelt had belonged for ages to my ancestors, and the little
room in one of the turrets which was assigned to me, looked towards
the setting sun over manifold beautiful green slopes and wooded banks,
with now and then a broken, cliffy bit of yellow ground, that
harmonized beautifully and richly with the warm tints of the spring
and the autumn, and broke not less pleasantly the thick green of the
mid year. Upon those banks, and trees, and slopes, the sunshine seemed
to dwell with peculiar fondness; and thither came the bright and
smiling showers of spring, and the rich, vision-like lights and shades
of autumn. Gay hawking parties, and many a splendid cavalcade from the
rich and important town in the neighbourhood, diversified the scenery
during the bright part of the year, and towards the winter-time the
beasts of the forest and the field used to resume their dwelling in
the neighbouring woods, and afford sport and diversion to the
inhabitants of the castle.

As I have said, that chateau had been for centuries the dwelling-place
of my ancestors, ever since, indeed, the arm of Du Guesclin and the
wisdom of Charles had expelled the English from the shores of France;
but still that chateau was not mine, nor ever likely to be mine; for I
was at that time a poor dependant upon the bounty of others, without
wealth, rank, station, or fortune of any kind to give hope to my heart
or energy to my effort.

The lord of that castle, my poor father's first cousin, had taken me
out of compassion to his relation, a poor soldier of fortune, who
married thoughtlessly and died young; and as he himself, a lover of
pleasure--even of license, at the time he took me into his house,
thought only of marriage as a remote evil, he treated me at first with
so much kindness, that the foolish persons who surrounded us imagined
that a time might come when I should be his heir. Nothing, indeed, was
farther from his thoughts. He had always determined, and still held
the resolution of wedding ultimately, in the hope of seeing his
possessions descend to children of his own.

The accomplishment of this purpose was hastened by accidental
circumstances, which placed it in his power to marry a beautiful and
wealthy bride, whom he brought home to the chateau in great pomp, and
the festivities which followed her arrival are among the first events
which I distinctly remember.

Surrounded by friends, and with scarcely a wish ungratified, he might
well consider himself a rich and happy man in the possession of one so
fair as she was. But beauty was not the only quality which she brought
to make him happy, nor riches the only dowry that was settled upon her
head. Never did I see any one who combined more graces of person with
more fine qualities of the heart; never any one who more merited the
love of every one who approached her.

It was evident that she had heard of me before she came, and she
greeted me with a warm and kindly smile, which went direct to my
heart. She gazed upon me at the same time with a look of deep interest
and scrutinizing inquiry, as if she thought to read my character in my
face, or to divine what were the feelings with which I met her. Heaven
knows that I had no feelings but those of sincere joy. I entertained
not the slightest idea that her coming, could have any evil effect
upon my fate; that it would in the least change my destiny or affect
my happiness. Of course, I was utterly ignorant of such things at that
period; the joy that was around me found a ready echo in a heart
naturally joyous, and I laughed, and danced, and sang with the rest,
more unthinking of the morrow than the bird upon the wing.

If the fair lady of Blancford gazed at me when first she came, my
cousin's eyes rested upon me many a time when he saw me so gay and
happy. I know not what it was, but it seemed as if my happiness
displeased him. I have since learned to know that in the human heart
there is often a great difference between remorse and repentance; and
that, when we have done a fellow-creature wrong, when we have pained,
injured, aggrieved--ay, even when we only entertain the purpose of
doing so, we hate that being on account of the very arts for which we
should hate ourselves. I do not mean to say that my cousin had injured
me by his marriage, for surely he had a right to wed where and when he
thought fit. But I am inclined to believe, from facts which I heard
afterward, that the first germe of harsh and unkind feelings towards
me was produced by a conviction that he had treated me with greater
kindness and distinction than he afterward intended to keep up, and
that it was his duty to make a provision for me, against which his
inclination struggled.

There were other matters, of which I may have to speak hereafter,
which increased and perpetuated such feelings. He could not but
recollect that, before the death of my father, he had been liberal of
promises and generous in words; he had told him that he would breed me
up for a soldier; that he would take care that I should have the means
of advancing myself; and now, perhaps, his intentions were changed. If
they were not, they certainly became so after a short time.

He was, at that period, a gay and gallant man of about five or
six-and-thirty years of age, handsome in appearance, specious in
manners and words, with no traces of profligate life in his language
or appearance, and very well fitted to gain and keep the love of any
young heart not thoroughly versed in the ways of mankind. Although his
marriage, as most marriages were at that time, had been arranged
entirely by the relations of the lady, without any reference to her
wishes, yet there is no doubt that she married him with a heart free
from other attachments, and even prepossessed in his favour. From such
feelings, of course, attachment easily sprung up; and, had he merited
it, love, deep, devoted, heartfelt, unchanging love, would indubitably
have followed. But alas! he did not deserve it; he took not the means
to obtain it; and though the attachment remained, that attachment was
mingled with sadness and perhaps with bitterness, and grave melancholy
trod fast upon the steps of feasting and merriment.

For my own part, I was of a cheerful and happy disposition, a little
fanciful perhaps, and somewhat wild; somewhat fond, occasionally, of
solitary wandering and deep thought; but at other periods light and
gay as a butterfly. Thus, then, I felt not, scarcely perceived,
indeed, that the demeanour of the general servants and retainers of my
cousin's house was at all changed towards me; although it was so
changed from the very first day of his marriage. But, had it been
changed ten times as much; had they treated me with neglect, or scorn,
or contemptible malice, the pain would have been more than compensated
by the love and tenderness of that sweet lady, and by the constant
care she showed me.

She first it was who recollected that, born of noble birth, and
connected with many of the great and proud of the land, it was needful
that I should hate the common education and accomplishments of the
day; and she argued that, if I were poor and penniless as her husband
said, and required to make a name and fortune for myself, it was but
the more necessary that, by the cultivation of my mind, even in an
extraordinary degree, I should be provided with the means of
accomplishing the more difficult task that was allotted to me. My
strength of body and an eager, active spirit had already rendered me
familiar with manly exercises in far greater degree than most youths
of my age could boast of. But my mind was totally uncultivated. I
could ride wild horses that many a man could not manage; I could fence
as well as my little strength allowed me; my aim with the arquebus was
true and firm; I know not the time when I could not swim; and my
cousin's pages, though considerably older than myself, were unable to
compete with me in leaping or pitching the bar. But could neither
write nor read, and knew nothing of books or of the world, but by
occasional words which I had heard spoken and treasured up in my
memory.

No sooner did she find that this was the case, than she herself became
my instructress; and oh how kindly did she teach me, day after day,
with unwearied patience; her fingers playing with the curls of my
hair, and her eyes often bent thoughtfully upon me, as if she were
calculating with some melancholy my future destiny and her own.
Perhaps I was stupid, perhaps I was by nature inattentive; but the
love, the deep love that I felt towards her, made me exert every
energy of my mind to give her pleasure and to make her task easy; and,
though the undertaking must have been dull, and my progress slow at
first, yet she always seemed well satisfied, and cheered me on with
words of bright encouragement.

A time soon came, however, when her instructions became somewhat
painful to her; apparently there was a languor in her eyes and in her
tone, which seemed to me strange; and, without being told to do so, I
spoke in a lower tone of voice, I paid more attention to everything
she said, I avoided everything that could disturb or trouble her. It
seemed to me that she was ill, and nature taught me how to act under
such circumstances.

At length, one day, she said to me, "I must give over teaching you for
a time, Henry, but good Monsieur la Tour will take the task till I can
follow it again." And she put me under the charge of the minister of
our little village, or rather, indeed, of the chateau, a good man as
ever lived, who had always shown himself fond of me, and who now
followed up, with zeal and kindness, that which she had so kindly and
generously begun. The whole family, and every one in the immediate
neighbourhood, were, as is well known, of the Reformed religion, and
my cousin, the Baron de Blancford, was at that time absent with the
Protestant army.

Shortly after, however, he returned, sent for, I believe, to be
present at the birth of his first child, and great anxiety manifested
itself in the household for several days. Fears were entertained for
the safety of the lady, and great precautions taken; but at length I
heard that the baroness had given birth to a child, and that she
herself was proceeding favourably. With my heart full of joy and
satisfaction, I ran to congratulate my cousin, thinking that there
could be nothing but similar feelings in his own heart. He pushed me
angrily away from him, however, exclaiming, "You fool, it is only a
girl!"

Not understanding what he meant, or comprehending in the slightest
degree why the birth of a girl should give him less satisfaction than
if a son had been born, I ran to the room of Monsieur la Tour, and
told him what had happened; and then it was, for the first time, that
I was made to understand how great was the difference made by the
customs of the world between two classes of beings naturally equal. A
vague idea, too, of my own circumstances was also communicated to my
mind, and from that time the change which had taken place, and which
daily increased, in the deportment of my cousin's servants towards me,
was marked, understood, and felt painfully. Two days after the birth
of his daughter the baron again left the chateau, but he remained long
enough to make me feel most bitterly that I was no longer the boy that
he had sported with and loved in former years.

The lady soon recovered, and resumed her care of me without a change.
She loved to have me with her; she loved to see me play with her
infant; and, as month after month proceeded, the child's affection for
me grew stronger and more strong, till there was none but her mother
that she loved so well.

About a year and a half afterward a son was born; and then another;
and from the birth of the first I found that I was no longer an object
of consideration to any one except to the good clergyman, whose
affection towards me seemed to increase as that of others diminished,
and to the sweet lady, who never for a moment, in her love and care
for others, forgot her love and care for me. A change had come over
the whole household, however; the lover had long been forgotten in the
husband, the husband had been forgotten in the man of pleasure.
Whenever any short cessation of hostilities permitted him to visit the
capital, it was in Paris that the Lord of Blancford's time was wholly
spent, and at other periods his days were passed in the pleasures of
other great towns, afar from the family which required his care and
direction, and from the wife whose love he had cast away.

On her part, she showed not the slightest inclination to depart from
his expressed wish that she would remain at the chateau of Blancford.
She loved not great cities; she sought not to indemnify herself for
her husband's neglect by following the same evil course in which he
led: she enjoyed fully and entirely the pleasures of rural life, and
found in the duties of a mother the greatest consolation and delight.
Once in the course of the month, perhaps, she visited Bordeaux with
the state becoming her rank and station, called upon some of the chief
ladies of the city, and returned home after having remained there but
a few hours. Very frequently, on these occasions, I accompanied her,
and the kindness with which she mentioned me to all who were really
good and estimable, seemed to bespeak for me their future protection
and regard, although she never even hinted at such an object.

I was her companion almost always in her walks, too; and from her
conversation I daily gained information upon subjects with which
otherwise, most probably, I should never have been acquainted; for she
took a delight in forming and expanding my mind, and, while she
endeavoured to instil principles even more than knowledge, she
illustrated for me the lessons she gave by facts and examples which
often drew her on to farther explanations, and which certainly
remained in my memory, storing it with much that was curious,
interesting, and beautiful. Thus there was scarcely a circumstance
which ever happened to me in after life which did not cause me to
recollect some example from her instruction which might teach me to
know the right from the wrong, to choose the good from the bad, or to
return from the evil, when I had been led into wrong, by the shortest
and most expeditious way.

In short, though she often fell into fits of musing, she seldom lost
an opportunity of giving my mind improvement. If I fixed upon a wild
flower, she told me its nature and its qualities; if I watched a
passing cloud, she explained to me how sweet and beneficial to the
earth's surface are the light vapours that float gently over it,
descending in light rain to render everything fertile and productive;
and she would explain to me, as well as she could, what were the
beneficial effects produced by winds and storms that seemed to my
imagination tremendous, pointing still to the all-powerful hand of
Providence, shaping still the events of this world with never-erring
wisdom directing never-failing might.

From her conversation, from her train of thought, my mind took the
peculiar turn which it ever after retained; and even to the present
day, after scenes of peril, and danger, and activity; after having
gained, by sad experience, knowledge of the world, and become
hackneyed and keen in the wisdom of the earth, many of the words that
she spoke to me, many of the counsels that she gave, come back upon my
ear in all the fresh sweetness of the tones in which it was originally
spoken, and I feel myself better, happier, more contented, when thus
dwell with her for a moment in the wide tracts of memory, than I do
when fulfilling any of the ordinary duties of my state and station.

What she herself could not do to improve my mind the good priest did;
he applied himself to teach me sciences; to read other languages than
my own, both dead and living; to argue by rule; to write my native
language with accuracy; to calculate arithmetically; and to do all, in
short, that he himself could do, which was more, perhaps, than my
after fate required. It was some years, of course, ere I gained much
facility in everything, but ere four years had passed after my
cousin's marriage I had become quite a different being. The formidable
obstacles that await us at the entrance of every science had given
way, and during the following year, which was the fourteenth of my
age, I made greater progress than I had done in any other. I had now
acquired a taste for the poetry which had descended to us from other
days; and from that high and ennobling source I drank long, deep
draughts of pure and unmingled delight. I found, too, that there were
works of infinite value, full of fancy and of wit, full of instruction
and amusement, in other languages besides either French, or Greek, or
Latin; and, almost unaided--for my good preceptor knew little of that
tongue himself--I made myself a tolerable master of the Italian
language, and felt like one who has suddenly discovered a treasure
when the works of Dante and Boccaccio, and the newer poems of Tasso,
fell into my hands.

Nevertheless, I did not in any degree neglect the usual exercises of
which I had formerly been fond. There were always a number of old
military retainers about the house, who were willing and eager to
teach me everything that could be taught in the profession to which
they had devoted themselves. I did not, it is true, follow any study
with great regularity, but I followed all and each with eagerness, and
zeal, and devotion.

When the baroness could give me up any of her time, she was always the
first I sought, and then the good minister La Tour. But he had many
duties to perform, and, during the rest of the day, every sport of the
field that was going on I followed with eagerness; every instruction I
could get in military exercises I sought continually, and listened
with deep and profound attention to all that the old officers or
soldiers could tell me of discipline and of tactics, or to their tales
of terrible sieges, well-fought fields, and marvellous escapes. I was
one of the best of listeners; and, flattered by the attention that I
paid them, they were always willing to amuse or to instruct me. The
courtyard of the castle became the mimic field of battle, the walls
the sisterus, the stables the fortifications of a besieged city; and
everything that was at hand was pressed into our service, either as
the animate or inanimate materials of war. All the tales that they
told me were delightful to me, but more especially so were those in
which my father's name was introduced, and when I heard deep regrets
expressed for his early death, and praises of the promise that he had
displayed as a soldier and a commander.

In the mean while, the greater part of the servants and retainers of
the household treated me completely as the poor dependant; the little
services I required were neglected; any direction that I gave was
heard in silence, or replied to with contemptuous lightness; and, in
order as far as possible to keep myself from the irritation of petty
insolence, I was obliged to avoid all communication with the domestics
of the chateau.

In the presence of their mistress, indeed, the servants dared not
behave in such a manner, and when her eye was on them they showed me
every sort of reverence and respect; once also I remember her rebuking
one of the grooms for neglecting my horse, speaking to him in a manner
so severe, as to work a permanent change in his conduct, and in some
degree to affect his companions.

These slight inconveniences, however, did not in the least depress my
spirit or keep down my gayety. Youth's buoyant and happy blood beat
in every limb, my heart was light, my cheerfulness unchecked; and,
though I learned when any one neglected me to punish by a cutting
word, yet it was always done with light and happy gayety, and
forgotten almost as soon as it was spoken, at least by myself.

Thus years rolled on, and during the frequent and long-continued
absence of my cousin, his children learned to love me with a strong
affection; and, taking a model from the domestic circle of a
neighbouring family, my imagination pictured for me a future fate like
that of a person whom I frequently beheld situated in very similar
circumstances. He was at this time a man well advanced in life, and,
like me, the cousin of the lord of the castle. But he had gained
considerable renown in arms. The father of the family, who was now
withheld from active service by the effects of severe wounds, confided
to him the leading of his retainers; the children clung to him with
reverence and affection; and the two eldest were, even at that very
time, trying their first arms under the sword of their veteran cousin.
He possessed no property, he sought none; but he lived with people who
reverenced and loved him: he had his own honoured seat by the hall
fire; his tales were listened to and sought for with delight by all,
and his counsel or assistance was asked by the father when any matter
of real danger or difficulty arose, by the elder sons in the mysteries
of the chase or the mew, and by the younger children in any of the
small sorrows or difficulties which were to them as important as wars
or sieges.

I fancied myself, I say, like him; winning renown in arms, gaining a
station by my own deeds, and seeing the young beings that I loved so
tenderly as babes, grow up round me as round an elder brother.

But oh, how vainly, how youthfully did I calculate! My cousin, when he
returned to the castle after any of his long absences, had now become
harsh and stern. Me he treated with utter neglect and coldness; he saw
me dine at his table without addressing a word to me; he met me
without any kind gratulation: he heard me wish him joy of his return
with scarcely an answering word. When he looked at me it was coldly;
and I could not but feel that I was a burden to him.

When I was about fifteen years of age, he one morning took the pains
to ask what progress I had made in my studies. The question was
addressed to Monsieur la Tour, but in my presence. The clergyman
replied with high praise; higher, I believe, than I deserved; and the
baron's reply was, "Don't you think you can contrive to make a priest
of him, La Tour?"

My blood boiled, I confess, but my cousin turned away without waiting
for any reply, having satisfied himself that, by the question he had
asked and the suggestion he had made, he quite fulfilled his duty
towards me, at least for the time.

I thought, however, of the days when I had sat upon his knee, and when
he had said that he would make a little hero of me: that I should be a
Bayard or a Du Guesclin.

He was absent after that visit for more than two years; and there were
tales reached the chateau of some fair dame in the capital who
withheld the baron from his wife, his children, and his duties, and
kept him in bonds stronger than the green withes of Delilah.

The health of the baroness had for some time been declining; she had
now been married ten years, and of that period she had known a few
months perhaps of visionary happiness, two or three years of calm,
unmurmuring tranquillity, and six or seven of anguish and sorrow. Her
little girl, Louisa, was now nine years of age, the image of her
mother in everything--features, complexion, disposition; there was the
difference, of course, between the woman and the child, but still
there was the same small, taper hand, the same beautiful foot, the
same brilliant complexion, the same open, clear forehead, the same
thoughtful but ingenuous smile. She was with her mother constantly or
with me, and it was she who even at that age first discovered the
progress of illness in the being she best loved, and pointed out to me
the flushed cheek, the bright and glittering eye, the pale lips, and
the features daily becoming sharp.

"Do you not think, Henry," she said to me one day, "That mamma looks
ill?" And then she went on to say in what particular it appeared to
her that it was so, showing that she had watched her mother's
countenance in a way most strange for a child of her age.

When my attention was thus called to the subject, I remarked the
change also, and I and Louisa used to watch with care and anxiety the
progress of disease. We neither of us knew, we neither of us fully
comprehended to what it all tended. It was not exactly fear that we
entertained, but it was grief; we grieved to see her suffer, we
grieved to see the languor and weakness that crept over her frame.

At length the baron returned, but his return contributed very little
to the restoration of his wife's health. He brought with him many gay
and riotous companions; the castle was filled with revelry and
merriment: he was absent at the chase or in the city during the
greater part of each day; and the night went down in songs, and mirth,
and drinking. He soon went away again to the capital, and his wife
continued withering slowly, like a flower, whose day of brightness is
over.

Such was the course of events for some years till I reached the age of
twenty, when the health of the baroness so completely and rapidly gave
way, that messengers were sent off in all haste to call her husband to
the side of her deathbed. He came, and, though he came unwillingly,
yet he was evidently pained and struck at the sight of the ruin and
decay which he now beheld. He was gloomy and sorrowful, and it might
be some consolation to his dying wife to find that, when all was
irrevocable, and neither tears nor regrets could recall the past, he
mourned for the approaching loss of one whose worth he had not
sufficiently estimated, and felt feelings of affection towards her
which he had not known till it was too late.

The Lady of Blancford died, and the grief of all, good and bad alike,
followed her to the grave; for there was a sweetness, and a
gentleness, and a kindness in her nature which touched the heart even
of the selfish and the vicious, and made them mourn for her as soon as
her virtues were no longer a living reproach to their errors.

At the time of her death, her daughter and eldest child was little
more than twelve years old, the two boys somewhat younger than eleven
and ten; and well might the father, when he looked round upon their
young faces, feel that his hearth was left desolate: well might he
regret, in the bitterness of his heart, that he had not sufficiently
valued the blessing he had possessed.

That he felt such sensations I am perfectly sure, but he felt them
with a degree of sullenness as well as sorrow. Conscience lashed him,
but he bore its chastisement with obdurate pride, and murmured at the
smart.

I did not see him for several days after the funeral of his wife, and,
indeed, since his return he had taken scarcely any notice of me,
seeming not even to see me. But, soon after, I saw his eyes fix upon
me, from time to time, with a dull and frowning aspect; and to bear
such cold unkindness had by this time become a burden to me, which I
was resolved to cast off. The one whom, of all others, I had loved
best from my early days, was now gone; and, though I loved all her
children, and especially Louisa, who now clung to me as her only prop
and stay in her overpowering grief for her mother, yet I felt that I
could not endure any longer the proud coldness of my cousin, since the
tie between him and me, which his wife's care and tenderness had
afforded, was broken for ever.

"I have at least my father's sword," I thought; "With that he gained
his living, and with it will I gain mine."

But there was much to be thought of, there was much to be done. "What
course," I asked myself, "shall I choose what plans shall I pursue?"
And much I meditated even these matters, but meditated always alone:
for there was none whom I could consult, none in whom I could confide.
To Monsieur la Tour, who loved me as his own son, I would not speak of
the matter at all, for I knew that he would oppose my going; and my
cousin himself, of course, I did not choose to consult; for the proud
air of contempt with which he had long treated me, made me feel that
his advice could not be such as I could follow without pain; and any
assistance that he offered could only be an indignity to receive. I
was utterly ignorant of the world, and of the world's ways; and
though, perhaps, I was not deficient in natural acuteness, yet life
was to me an unknown country, full of thick woods and tangled paths,
without a map to show me the road or a guide to direct my footsteps
aright.

Although it was now the winter-time, and the sere leaves had fallen
from the trees, leaving the woods thin and naked, yet it was in the
forest which came near to the chateau that I loved to take my way and
dream of my future prospects.

An event, however, occurred one day, which deranged all these plans
for the time, and suspended their execution for more than two years. I
had gone out, as usual, on foot, and wandered a considerable way into
the wood, when suddenly, as I was walking up and down, gazing upon the
icy bondage of the stream, and the feathery frost upon the rushes and
other water plants, I heard what seemed a loud but distant cry of
distress.

It struck me instantly that the voice was a familiar one; and,
crossing the stream, I rushed on like lightning to the spot whence it
seemed to proceed. There I found the eldest of my cousin's sons,
Charles, a noble and high-spirited, but somewhat weakly boy, thrown
down upon the ground by an immense wolf, whose fangs were fixed in his
shoulder. The animal, it seems, had sprung at his throat, and knocked
him down by the force of its attack; but, even in falling, the boy,
with noble presence of mind, had struck the animal with his dagger,
and prevented it from taking the fatal grasp which it sought, and
which certainly would have terminated his existence before I arrived.

A loud shout which I gave as I came up, to scare the beast as fast as
possible from his prey, made the wolf instantly turn upon me, with its
peculiar, fierce, low howl. I had been accustomed, however, to hunt
such beasts in these woods for many years; and, as he rushed upon me,
I struck him a violent blow with my sword across the eyes, which
almost blinded him, and dashed him down to my feet at once. But, mad
with hunger and pain, the beast, even in falling, seized my leg in his
fangs, and never let go his hold till he was quite dead. I killed and
threw him off as quickly as possible; and then, running to my young
cousin, carried him home to the castle without the pause of a moment,
although the wound I had received in my leg was extremely painful, and
the blood marked my track all the way to the gates.

The boy was but little hurt, and from his wound no serious consequence
arose; mine also was of little importance, though it left me lame for
several weeks. My cousin, however, on the following morning, thought
fit to thank me for the service I had rendered his son; and at the
same time he presented me with some trinkets and jewels, which, he
said, his wife had requested might be given to me, as remembrances of
her. There was much coldness and constraint in his manner while he
spoke, and the purpose which I had entertained for some time now broke
forth.

"My lord," I said, "I thank you for these things, which I shall always
keep and value highly in memory of one from whom I have never received
anything but benefits and kindness."

The baron was turning away, but I added, "Stay, my lord; I have yet
more to say. It is not often that I trouble you with words, and now
shall not make them very lengthy."

The baron turned round towards me with evident surprise at my tone and
manner, and with some sternness, but without the slightest touch of
scorn, demanding, "What is it you wish to say?"

"Merely this, sir," I replied; "I have been somewhat too long a burden
to you. I am now more than twenty years of age, and ought probably to
have done before what I intend to do now, namely, seek my own
fortunes, and endeavour to provide for my own necessities, without
remaining dependant upon any one. I am perfectly competent, I believe,
in every respect, to gain my bread as my father did his. I ask nothing
of you in any shape; and only now seek to inform you that I will leave
the chateau to-morrow, with many thanks for the shelter and bread you
have afforded me."

I never in my life beheld the countenance of my cousin express so much
surprise. I saw him waver for a moment, as if he were going to turn
and leave me with contempt; but the grief he had lately suffered, the
chastening sight of death, and the service which I had rendered to his
son, gave to a better spirit than that which usually actuated him the
predominance for a moment; and, turning round, with a look both
mournful and reproachful, he said,

"No, Henry, no; do not leave the poor children now. If not for my
sake, for their mother's memory, stay with them still for a while. La
Tour will also be with you and with them. But he is growing aged, his
health is feeble, his life insecure; my own life, God knows when it
may end; and while I am obliged to be absent, and before I have
determined what to do with them, I would fain have some kindred blood
near. On my return from Paris, which will not be very long, you shall
be free to do as you please, and I will promote your views to the
utmost of my power."

He spoke with a tone of command which I might have been inclined to
resist, had there not been mingled with it a certain degree of
confidence and kindness, the value of which was certainly enhanced not
a little by its rarity. I made no reply; indeed, I had not time; for,
taking it for granted that I acquiesced, he quitted me immediately.

A long conversation ensued between him and Monsieur la Tour, in which
he arranged everything regarding the maintenance of his family during
his absence, and the proper regulation of the chateau. A portion of
the rents were ordered to be paid to the pastor for the expenses of
the house; and the worthy man promised never to quit the family for
more than one day. My cousin spoke of me too, I found; and, according
to Monsieur la Tour's representation, spoke with some kindness. I am
inclined to believe, however, that the minister's representations were
the cause of his acting towards me ere he quitted the chateau, I may
say more wisely, as well as more kindly, than he had previously done.

The regulation of all expenses was confided to the clergyman; he
received and he paid for everything. But a portion, though a small
one, of the sum allowed, was ordered to be given into my hands, to be
employed for my own purposes, and for any military repairs or
arrangements that I might think required in the castle. Two servants,
at my choice, were to be considered as my own especial attendants; and
the baron himself announced to the retainer's assembled in the public
hall, that, in case of peril or attack, from the tide of war rolling
in that direction, the supreme command of all things was to rest with
me during his absence.

No sooner had these arrangements been made, than he himself set out
again for Paris, promising to return at the end of six months; and
leaving an old and faithful attendant of his dead wife as in some sort
the governess of his daughter.

The affection which the baroness had always entertained towards me,
had communicated itself to the good old servant I have mentioned,
Donine le Mery; and she declared, after the baron was gone, that the
greatest consolations she could receive after the death of her
mistress were, first, the promise of her lord that she should remain
ever with Mademoiselle Louise, and next to see me have the command of
the castle. Whatever she sought, whatever she wished for, the good
soubrette came to me to seek it; and if Louise herself had been
inclined to cling to me with all a sister's affection before her
mother's death, she was now ten times more disposed to do so, when she
had no other companion to whom she could pour forth undisguised all
her feelings and all her thoughts. Her brothers, younger than herself
in age, were still younger in mind; and her good attendant, though the
best of all creatures, was too far below her in education to permit of
any interchange of thought between them.

To me, therefore, the poor girl turned with the full confidence of
childhood and unbounded affection. I was the companion of her walks,
and of her rides, and of her solitary hours. I remembered her as an
infant; I had seen her grow up day by day under my eyes; time seemed
to make no difference; she was still a mere child in my sight. I
looked upon her as a dear but far younger sister; and I never found
that either I myself or any one else could dream there was a
possibility that such a change could take place in her feelings or in
mine which could be dangerous to the one or to the other.

The end of the six months came, but the baron returned not, and he did
not even hint in his letters that such an event was likely to take
place. He said that he had been delayed by various circumstances; that
the arrangements he had made in regard to the chateau must continue in
force till his coming; but he mentioned no period of return, and, in
truth, was once more entangled in the meshes of that net, from which
he had only been withdrawn for a time by the couriers which had
summoned him to his wife's deathbed.

In the mean time the days passed away happily enough. I had gained
importance in the eyes of all around me; deference and attention were
paid to me by the attendants; and, had I not been disturbed by the
frequent thought that the best season of my life was passing away;
that the days of youth were flying by in inactivity, when I felt
myself formed for action, I could have been well contented there, in
the society of that sweet girl to whom I was all in all; and of two
generous and high-spirited boys, who loved me with all the strength
and energy of youthful affection.

A year passed, and the baron came not. Louise was now growing up
towards womanhood; the warm blush mantled more deeply on her cheek;
her eye gained a brighter lustre; her lip acquired a warmer red; her
mind, too, expanded every hour, as if to keep pace with that fair
form, which was each day acquiring additional beauty.

As she wandered along beside me, her conversation was more
imaginative, more full of deep thought; and we talked over a
thousand things in which fancy and feeling linked our thoughts
together, so as to remain inseparable for ever. There was thus formed
for me a store of ideas, in regard to which I have since felt--alas!
how painfully--that they could never be mentioned, that they could
never be alluded to in the slightest manner, without calling up in my
bosom the thought of her, of her words, of her looks, of scenes long
past, and of departed happiness. Nor, indeed, could it be otherwise
with her. We created, in fact, for ourselves, a world of magic
aspirations; a straight and even pathway, on which fancy, guided by
memory, ran back like lightning from the present to the past.

We talked of her mother and of the days gone by, and we recalled all
her sweetness, and her beauty, and her tenderness towards us both; and
more than once we mingled our tears together, when we recollected all
that she had done to win and merit love, and that the eternal barrier
had fallen between us and her, shutting us out from all communication
with the loved and the departed. We talked of the future and of the
world--the wide, unknown world open before us both. She spoke of it
herself with awe and shuddering, as if she foresaw and would have
shrunk from the griefs, and cares, and anxieties before her. Often,
also, we would have recourse to dreams to chase away apprehensions;
she would inquire of me what the great capital was like; and when she
found I could in no degree satisfy her, she would apply to fancy, and
build up an enchanted city from the gay things of her own imagination.

The bright and glorious universe, too, afforded to both of us a
thousand schemes for speculation; other lands would rise up before the
mind's eye, clothed with brightness not their own; and when I spoke of
Italy or Spain, the vast and beautiful creations of art, a climate of
sunshine, a soil of fertility, and a courteous and friendly people,
such as I had read in the vague or overcharged accounts of travellers,
her countenance would glow brightly, her young eye sparkle, and she
would wish to be a journeyer through such scenes with people who could
love them or admire them like herself.

Frequently, in our ramblings, her brothers would accompany us, and
during a great part of the morning I was constantly with them, acting
in some degree the part of their preceptor, or taking a share in those
instructions which were communicated to them by masters from the
capital of Guienne. They loved me well, too; and, on looking back to
that time, I can recollect no one feeling in my own bosom--I cannot
believe that there was any one in the bosoms of those who surrounded
me--the natural tendency of which was calculated to give a moment's
pain to any one of the small but united party which then tenanted the
chateau of Blancford.

Such was the state of all things till Louise reached the age of
fifteen; and I feel confident that I could have gone on with the same
feelings towards her perfectly unchanged, and looking upon her merely
as a sister, had not other events intervened which soon separated us
from each other.

At this point may be said to end the period of my early life,
which--like an old picture, painted at first in vivid colours, soon
loses the brightness of its hues, becomes mellower but less distinct
to the eye, then grows gray and dim, and then is almost obscured
altogether--has now greatly faded away from memory, though the
impressions were then as bright and vivid as perhaps any that I have
received since.

Two days before the period at which Louise concluded her fifteenth
year, messengers from her father, whom they left at no greater
distance than Barbesieux, announced his sudden return. His letter
contained merely intelligence of the fact, that he would be at the
chateau of Blancford at supper-time on the ensuing day. I shall not
easily forget the anxiety with which we all waited his appearance, the
messenger having informed us of more than the letter that he bore,
namely, that the baron had wedded another bride, whom he was now
bringing home from the capital, where she had remained, while the wife
of another, somewhat too long for her own honour, for the baron's
reputation, and for the peace of a husband whom she speedily ceased to
mourn.

Hitherto I have given but a general view of all that passed during my
early years, but I must now give a more minute account of the event
that followed; for, from the day in which my cousin's new bride set
her foot within those doors, my fate underwent a greater change than
any to which it had yet been subject.



CHAPTER II.


It may well be believed that we counted the minutes as the evening of
the second day went by. Every one there present felt that there was a
book to be opened before them that night, on the pages of which the
future destiny of all was more or less distinctly written. The two
boys felt it much, but they felt it with some sort of eagerness, and
some anticipations of pleasure. Old Monsieur la Tour looked grave and
thoughtful, as well he might; for he was the only one there present
who was fully aware of the character and previous history of the
person about to be added to the domestic circle at Blancford. I had
heard something, indeed, but not all; but, to counterbalance any
painful reflections, I had the prospect before me of entering upon a
new and more active course of being, and fulfilling the destinies to
which the spirit within my bosom called me.

The person who felt the most on the occasion was Louise de Blancford;
and nobody could doubt that--though a portion of the happiness of
every one there present was in some way to be affected--it was her
whole fate, peace, comfort, and tranquillity which then trembled in
the balance. The boys would soon naturally seek the tented field, or
plunge into the occupations of the city or the court; but she was to
remain alone, with the happiness of every moment in the hands and at
the disposal of another.

She was at that time as beautiful as a young rose, with a countenance
upon which all the emotions of her pure heart traced themselves in an
instant as they arose in her bosom; and I could see her eye turn
towards me from time to time with an anxious and inquiring glance,
which showed me at once the feelings that were going on within, and
told me all she would have asked, although no words were spoken. I did
my best to comfort her, and to raise up hope of bright and happy
things. Perhaps I did so hypocritically; but surely it was pardonable,
when I found that cheerful moments were passing away, perhaps for
ever, to give her as many as I could till the power of so doing was
absolutely taken from me.

It was a bright and beautiful summer's evening; and going out upon the
sloping hill which was crowned by the castle, we looked in the
direction where we expected to see the cavalcade appear, and watched
anxiously for the first spear-head rising above the distant trees.

We waited long, however; the sun descended to the horizon in
splendour; the whole sky was rosy with his light; the very air itself
seemed to be filled with purple rays; and the woods, and villages, and
towers around were all steeped in the same rich and glowing hue. It
seemed to speak of hope and bright days to come; and yet, though we
were all young, and under the soft guardianship of kind inexperience,
our hearts refused to receive the colouring of the bright scene
without, and the sweetness of the evening seemed rather to make us
more melancholy than to raise our expectations.

The sun went down slowly; the distant lines of the country assumed the
most intense blue; the last rays of the setting orb poured through
hollow way in the deep masses of the forest, and caught upon a large
piece of water at the foot of the hill, rendering one part like a sea
of liquid gold, while the other remained shadowed by a wood as black
as night. The moon, too, was coming up in the western sky, together
with a single star, so pure, so soft, so full of pale light, that it
seemed like a drop fallen from the eyes of the departing sun.

Louise's hand rested sisterly upon my arm; we gazed upon the glowing
west and the deep blue lines beyond; we gazed upon the pale pure east,
with the moon and the stars; and we gazed upon the golden water, and
the shadowy wood, and the higher towers of the castle, partly lighted
up, as if on fire, with beams that we could no longer behold, and
partly buried in profound shadow. We then turned our eyes upon each
other; and oh! how I wished at that moment that it had been in my
power to command the fate of that sweet girl, and by my will alone to
ensure that she should be happy.

At that moment we heard the distant sound of a trumpet; but it was
far, far off, borne upon the wings of the soft westerly wind. Neither
banner, nor spear, nor cavalcade could be seen as far as the eye could
reach; and, after gazing for a few minutes longer, we re-entered the
castle, and waited there till we heard the sound of horses coming up
the hill.

All ran down at once from the room where we had been sitting; Louise
and the old clergyman to the great hall, I and my two young cousins to
welcome the baron at the drawbridge. He came, accompanied by a long
train of retainers, with a carriage and a horse litter containing his
new wife and her manifold attendants. The torches and lanterns showed
us a countenance much changed since we had last seen him, older in
appearance than in reality, thinner, and more harsh than ever. There
was a heavy frown, too, upon his brow, and it was evident that
something had gone wrong on the road.

To me he spoke but one word in answer to my inquiries after his
health, and the boys, who were pressing round him with the eagerness
of natural affection, he pushed roughly away, telling them that they
encumbered him. He then approached the side of the carriage and handed
out the lady, who, being of course masked for the journey, did not
suffer her face to appear. He led her at once into the hall, where
Louise and the old clergyman had remained; and his daughter, who was
the only person that seemed to shrink back from himself and his new
wife, was the only one to whom he spoke kindly and tenderly.

There, sheltered from the wind, and with plenty of light around, the
lady took of her velvet mask; and oh, how every idea which I had
previously formed of what her person was likely to present, vanished
in a single instant! As she lifted that mask from her face, the
imagination of memory conjured up in a moment the beautiful form of
the first wife, and set it beside the new one. Certainly I had
expected to find transcendent beauty in the being who had lured the
heart of the husband away from such a lovely and amiable being; and
who, after having made her miserable through life, had taken her place
when dead.

The figure of the new baroness was fine, it is true; tall, commanding,
and well-proportioned; but it wanted that soft and easy grace, that
flowing symmetry of every line which had distinguished her
predecessor; and if there was a difference and an inferiority in
figure, what was there not in countenance? She was no longer young;
the features were large and strongly marked, the eyes bright, indeed,
and full of fire, but that was the fire of a harsh and domineering
temper; and they were only softened, if at all, by a look of wanton
meaning which sometimes came across them. The lips were thin, and
generally closely shut, though the teeth were fine which they
concealed; the chin was rounded, but somewhat projecting; the cheek
bones were high, and the skin, though not brown, was coarse. There was
a good deal of colour in the face; so much, indeed, that I should have
supposed it not altogether natural, had it not been roughly scattered
over the cheek with a sort of mottled appearance, which convinced me
that art had no share in placing it there. The hair was fine and
luxuriant, although she had passed her prime, and her hand was large
and somewhat coarse, though much pains had been taken to keep it soft
and white.

She gazed at Louise from head to foot, with a look of scrutiny and
apparently some surprise.

"You told me that she was a girl, a mere child," the lady said,
addressing the baron as he introduced his daughter to her. "Why this
is a woman!"

"She was a child when I left her, madam," replied the baron, "and you
may see that she is a child in heart still by the blushes which your
words call up."

"She looks all the prettier for them," replied the baroness; "but I
must teach her not to be such a spendthrift, and to reserve them for
occasions when they will have some effect. And, pray, who is this
young gentleman!" she proceeded, turning towards me while that meaning
look came up in her eyes. "Not your eldest son, I suppose, my lord,
for he was only twelve years old when last I heard of him, and he has
not probably made such a rapid jump as the young lady. If he have, he
has gotten him goodly limbs in a short time." And she ran over me with
the same unblushing effrontery with which she had gazed upon Louise.

"This, madam," replied the baron, bitterly, "is a cousin of mine,
Henry de Cerons, son of another cousin, Henry de Cerons, who has done
me the honour of living in my house for the last twenty years."

The blood came up into my cheeks as I heard him speak. "I have been,
madam," I said, taking up the words immediately, "a poor pensioner
upon my cousin's bounty since the period that he speaks of. It was
then that the death of my noble father left me dependant, with nothing
but a sword, which he had rendered glorious, for my future fortune."

"It proved but a poor fortune to him," replied my cousin, frowning at
me; "and you have suffered it somewhat to rust in the scabbard,
methinks, Master Henry."

"At your own request for the last two years, my lord," I replied, "and
it shall do so no longer."

I was going to add more, though I saw that the baron's mood was
becoming every moment more and more fierce. But the eyes of both at
that moment fell upon Louise, and we beheld the tears running through
her long eyelashes and down her cheeks.

"Come, come, no more, no more," he said; "let us drop such subjects,
and not make the evening bitter. Madam, I will show you your
apartments. Supper, I hope, will soon be ready."

"And the baron in a better humour," said the lady, giving a sarcastic
look round as she swept up the hall after him.

We left her lord and the attendants to show her the way; and the five
who had tenanted the castle before her coming remained behind in the
hall, gazing upon each other, while memory again drew a comparison
between the present and the past, the most painful, the most bitter
that it is possible to conceive. No one spoke; the sensations in the
heart of every one were too dark and sad for us to give them
utterance; and, before a word was uttered, the baron had returned.

How the cheerful meal of supper passed over that night in the chateau
of Blancford may be easily conceived, for the same spirit which had
marked the return of the lord of that castle to his dwelling pervaded
the whole conversation. Why or how he had been induced to wed the
woman whom he had brought thither might be difficult to say; but it
was very evident that where there could never have been any esteem
there now remained no affection. We were all silent but the lord and
lady of the house, except when, from time to time, good Monsieur la
Tour endeavoured to break the restraint by a word upon some ordinary
subject, or when I replied to him, which act seemed not a little to
create the baron's surprise that I should presume to converse in his
presence.

When the meal was over, the lady declared she was fatigued, and
retired speedily to rest. Louise followed; and, as there was now no
cheerful circle gathered together in the evening to converse over the
events of the day, I was about also to retire very soon; but the baron
stopped me, saying he wished to speak to me, with a sort of dull,
leaden look about his eyes, which he put on when he wanted to assume
an air of despotic rule, and to announce his purpose in such a way as
to admit of no reply.

The clergyman also stayed; and, turning to me, the baron said, "It is
time, my fair cousin, if we may judge by the specimens which you have
given us to-night of your conversational powers, that you should find
yourself a new home."

"I am not only quite ready, my lord," I replied, "but fully determined
to do so as speedily as may be."

"It may be very speedily indeed, then," replied the baron, "for I have
already arranged the whole matter for you. You will be pleased to set
out to-morrow morning for the town of Pau in Bearn; and I will furnish
you with letters to the Protestant clergyman of that place, who will
put you in the proper way so to complete your education in the college
as to become, I trust, a worthy member of our church. Nay, hear me,
hear me to the end. Your maintenance, and the expenses of your studies
till the period of your taking orders, will be borne by myself,
provided your conduct is such as to justify my kindness. And, having
done this, I think I have fulfilled to the utmost the promises which I
was induced to make to your late father."

"Your lordship has informed me before now," I replied, "That it was my
father's wish that I should be a soldier, and pursue the profession
which all my race have followed. You informed me once also that you
had promised him it should be so, and that you would place me in that
course where he had won glory."

"Of course, sir," replied the baron, frowning fiercely upon me, "all
such promises were conditional, as were also his requests. He left
your fate to my discretion, and did not dictate to me how I was to
deal with the boy whom I brought up from charity."

The words were galling enough, but I struggled hard to keep down the
demon of pride--a demon which had endured enough, surely, to quell him
in my heart.

I therefore replied at once, "My father's wishes, my lord, I am
perfectly aware, can be no law to you. To me, however, they would be a
law, even did not my own inclinations second them. It is my
determination, therefore--"

"Hush, hush!" said the good clergyman; "hush, my dear Henry. Do not
speak of your determination; but leave it to your cousin to take into
consideration the motives that you have mentioned."

"Leave him to his own obstinate folly, La Tour," replied my cousin,
turning from me. "I have told him all that I will do. I have made him
what may well be considered a noble offer. I give him till to-morrow
to think of it; and, if he do not accept it, then I will drive him
from my door like an ungrateful hound, and send him forth a beggar to
the fate he deserves."

Thus saying, he turned and abruptly quitted the hall; while I
remained, as may well be conceived, fully determined never to eat
bread again at the expense of such a man. I remained thoughtful and
silent for a moment, while La Tour gazed with interest and anxiety in
my face, and at last asked me, "What do you intend to do, Henry?"

"To keep my resolution, excellent friend," I replied. "You cannot
suppose that such words as I have heard can at all shake my purpose."

"But consider, my dear boy," replied the clergyman, "you are utterly
without means of support. I fear, Henry, that you do not know how
little is to be gained in the barren field of war; and, at all events,
you will be obliged at first to support yourself till you can receive
pay."

"It matters not, my good friend," I replied; "I should lose my own
esteem for ever--my heart would have no strength to struggle with the
world, if I let this man set his foot upon it again."

The clergyman said nothing more to change my purpose, for he saw that
it was unchangeable; but he answered, "At all events, then, Henry,
take what little gold I have. I need it not, my boy; and I always have
the means of support. You will not mind taking it from me."

"I will not take it all," I replied, kissing his hand; "but, to show
you how willingly I can bend my pride to depend upon one that loves
me, I will take twenty gold crowns from you, and that shall be the
fortune with which I go forth into the world. I have, indeed, nearly
treble that sum in my own chamber; but that belongs to a man from whom
I will take nothing, so that you shall give it to him to-morrow after
I am gone."

"Do you go early, then?" demanded the clergyman, looking anxiously
upon me.

"As early as possible," I replied; and he then told me that he would
bring the money to my little room.

Thither I now turned my steps, and the good clergyman soon followed.
He gave me the sum I had agreed to take from his little store, and
pressed upon me more, which I would not accept. He sought also to
persuade me that I had every right to keep the money which the baron
had allowed me; but on that score my mind was made up, and I would
hear no arguments.

A long conversation then ensued, and La Tour added many wise counsels
and noble precepts to many which had gone before. I treasured them in
my mind; and, if I have not always followed them exactly in the strife
of passion and the assault of temptation, at all events, everything
that has been good in my conduct or estimable in my character, I owe,
first, to the sweet influence of her who so tenderly cultivated my
youth, and, next, to the counsels and exhortations of that good man.

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when he left me, and then I
sat down to consider what should be my next step.

What were the baron's habits now, I knew not; but him I was resolved
to see no more. All the rest of the family, however, were generally up
not long after daybreak; and, if I remained, I knew that there must be
a bitter parting both with Louise and with the boys; most likely, an
angry parting also with the baron; and, perhaps, the pain of seeing
the expression of his childrens' love for me, call down his wrath upon
them. I thought of it all, and determined to suffer alone, as far as
might be.

I made all my preparations in haste; took with me a few jewels and
trinkets, which I inherited from my mother, and those the baroness had
given me; packed up the necessary clothes which I intended to carry
away; destroyed many a memorial of the place and its inhabitants,
which I did not choose to have exposed to the harsh eyes of the baron,
or the impure ones of his new wife; and, only preserving some little
things in the handwriting of poor Louise, I prepared to take my
departure for ever from the dwelling which I had so long inhabited.

As I stood upon the threshold, intending to waken one of the grooms,
whom I had chosen, at the time the baron had last visited the castle,
to attend upon me, having occasion for some one to carry my valise to
the next cabaret, a thousand recollections of the place, sweet, and
happy, and affectionate, crowded upon my heart; a thousand gloomy
images of the future rose up before my eyes; Hope hung down her torch,
as if its light had been extinguished; and memory strove to bind me to
that past from which I was tearing myself away.

I looked round the little room which I had inhabited, and every object
that my eye fell upon acquired an interest that it had never acquired
before. The dreams of childhood, the thoughts of other years, the
figures of some long gone, came back in crowds, and tenanted the
apartment; and my heart would have broken if I had not wept.

My tears were quickly dried, however; and I went to wake the boy, and
tell him of my purpose. I found him in so sound a sleep that I could
hardly wake him; and, after he was roused, he gazed round him stupidly
for a moment, as if he did not well comprehend what I meant. The next
instant, however, he sprang up with alacrity and cast on his clothes.
We went together to bring the valise from my room, and then waiting
till we heard the guard (for we were still in a state of war) going
round to the front gate, we descended quietly by the little staircase,
and passed through the court.

As all the military arrangements in the castle had been, for the last
two years, in my hands alone, the gates were thrown open at my first
word. The men looked surprised, it is true: but they did not presume
to ask any questions, or to make any observations, at least in my
hearing; and, issuing out of the chateau about two in the morning, I
stood upon Blancford Lea, prepared to seek my future fortunes with my
own hand.

There were still some sad feelings in my heart which would not be
driven forth; but, nevertheless, I struggled hard against them, and
the natural hopefulness of youth was beginning to do its part, so far,
at least, that I could find some sources of consolation in the aspect
of the world around me. The moon was just going down, appearing large
and red through a light haze upon the edge of the horizon. The stars
overhead were light, but they were far, far distant, seeming to my
fancy like some of the bright imaginations of early youth, brilliant,
but unattainable. I looked to the eastern sky, however; and, there
upon the very edge of the horizon, was a faint glimmering light, the
first announcement of the distant dawning. There seemed to me to be
hope and promise in that very sight.

"I may be covered with darkness and night," I said to myself, "but the
day will certainly come at length: and, whether it be fair or bad, it
too will pass away."

It is the nature of man to trust in auguries; they have been found in
the flight of birds or in the entrails of the sacrifice. Let me find
promises or threatenings in the various aspects of nature, where the
hand of the Almighty has marked his will; and, in the course of one
train of events, has often pointed out what must be the course of
another.

As I walked along, I did what few young men on their outset in life
think fit to do. I considered deliberately and carefully what was to
be the general tone of my demeanour, what the general plan of my
conduct in the path that lay before me. I considered how I stood
towards the world that I was about to enter; looked at the vulnerable
points in my nature; considered where I was most likely to be
attacked, and how I might best defend myself. I had arrived at an age
when the human intellect is in full strength; I had much acquaintance
with books, and my mind, therefore, was not enfeebled for want of
exercise. I had every power of looking into my own heart, guiding,
guarding, and directing myself, which any other man at the same age
possesses. But where I was deficient was in knowledge of the world and
of my fellow-men; and here I felt that I was utterly ignorant and
without experience.

I had, indeed, had some little dealings with mankind during the last
two or three years; but that had only served to confirm a fact which
books before had taught, me--that, in general, man looks upon himself
but as a human shark, whose great object it must ever be to seize upon
and devour the unwary.

In order, then, at once to conceal and defend my weak point till it
could be remedied by knowledge and observation, was one part of my
determination. But there were other things to be considered; and I
made up my mind as to the general conduct I was to pursue before I
reached the first village inn. To be honest and true, daring and firm,
was, of course, the foundation of all; but, in order to prevent those
with whom I was likely to have dealings from perceiving my ignorance
of the world, I made up my mind to put a guard upon my lips; to affect
a light and jesting tone, in order to conceal deeper feelings; to
assume that perfect indifference to all things which I had already
learned was a natural consequence of that experience which I did not
possess; and, repressing every expression either of surprise,
pleasure, or grief, to be in some degree a stoic externally, and never
to lay open my heart to any persons till I had tried them long and
deeply.

To execute such a resolution may appear more difficult than to form
it; but there were many things which rendered the enterprise more easy
to me than it would have proved to other men. My natural character was
gay and light, not easily repressed, with a large share of hope, and a
fearlessness of consequences which gave me a great command over my own
actions and over those of others. The pitiful neglect and want of
respect with which my cousin's servants had treated me, as soon as
another heir had appeared in his house, had taught me to assume a tone
of indifferent contempt, when the occasion served, which now stood me
in great stead; and the very feelings of grief and indignation which
were at my heart, by giving me matter to dwell upon in my own bosom,
rendered me more careless of all that passed without.

Such, then, were my resolutions, and my means of accomplishing them,
as far as the government of myself was concerned: but there were many
other things, of course, to be thought of; with whom I was to take
service; how I was to shape my course to join the army; how I was to
obtain the necessary arms and equipments; for, following the
determination I had before made, not to take anything from the castle
but that which absolutely belonged to myself, I had left behind both
the horses which had been given to me for my use, and the arms in
which I had exercised myself since I was a boy, with the exception of
the sword and dagger that I usually wore, and a rich knife, with a
hilt and a sheath of gold, inlaid with jewels, which my father had
brought from the East when warring against the Turks in former days.

On the first point, how I was to join the army, many difficulties
existed. The short peace which had been granted to the Protestants had
now been some months at an end, and the third war of religion had
already began. The principal forces of the Huguenots were assembled in
the neighbourhood of La Rochelle, and a considerable distance remained
to be traversed before I could hope to fall in with the army.

While I was considering all these things, the eastern sky became
somewhat brighter, and the faint pink of the morning air afforded
sufficient light to see all the objects distinctly. I had taken my way
towards Bordeaux, as the first great town where I could hope to obtain
any information, and had walked on rapidly, while the boy, carrying on
his shoulder the valise with which I had charged him, trudged on in
perfect silence by my side, without making the slightest inquiry as to
the end or object of my journey, or where he himself was going.

I had chosen him, indeed, from the rest of the servants, when I was
permitted to select two of them to attend upon me, principally because
he had always shown both respect and attachment towards me, but
scarcely less because there was a degree of similarity between his
fate and my own; his father having been killed at the battle of St.
Denis, and he left an orphan to the care of strangers. He was now a
stout, active youth of about nineteen, somewhat variable it his mood,
occasionally loquacious, but more frequently quite the reverse;
replying with a sharp, quick word, observing keenly all that passed,
and having much shrewd sense under a somewhat dull and boorish
exterior. On the present occasion, however, his taciturnity had been
even more marked than usual. When I had roused him, at first he had
looked at me with some wonder, but he had not said a word since, doing
exactly as I bade him in profound silence.

At the distance of about two miles from the chateau of Blancford, we
reached the first village, which boasted such a thing as an auberge;
and there I had proposed to make the lad put down the valise, and,
getting some one else to carry it forward with me, to give him some
small pieces of money as a parting gift, and send him back. On
entering the village, however, we found that no one was up; and,
though there was written over the door of the inn, "Were lodge
travellers on foot. A dinner six sous. A bed eight sous. Come in and
try!" the closed door belied the hospitable invitation, and I was
somewhat puzzled how to proceed.

"I suppose I must wait till they get up, Andriot," I said. "So you can
put down the valise and return to the castle. I shall find somebody up
presently to carry it on to Bordeaux for me."

"I can carry it on, sir," he said; "they'll be an hour before they're
up, and I don't see why you should get an inn-boy while you've your
own man."

"Alas! my good Andriot," I said, "you can be my own man no longer. I
am too poor a gentleman to afford attendance upon me, and you had
better go back at once, lest any review of the servants should be made
at the chateau, and the baron should be angry at your absence."

"The baron may be angry once," said the lad, "but he'll not be angry
any more than once with me, at least; for we all saw and heard enough
last night to make me very glad when I found you were going. No, no,
sir, I have been your servant for two years, and not the baron's, and
the chateau of Blancford is no more a home for me if you are not
there."

"But think a while, my good Andriot," I replied; "it is utterly
impossible for me either to pay you any wages or to support you. I go
forth with scarcely the means of supporting myself till I reach the
army. I seek fortune there as a common soldier, and may not even
obtain, for aught I know, the means of gaining bread for myself with
my own sword. Me, therefore, you cannot accompany; and you must
remember how many chances there are in these troublous times against
your obtaining any situation at all comparable to that which you may
still hold in the chateau of Blancford."

"I have thought of all that you say, sir," he replied, "as we came
along; for it is always right to think well what one is about, after
one has taken a resolution. I took mine an hour or two ago. When you
first roused me I was half asleep, and didn't understand what you
meant. But then again, as soon as both my eyes were open, I understood
the whole, for I had thought to myself, when I went to bed, that, if
what the baroness' groom had said about the baron and you was true,
you would not stay in the castle much after daylight; so I made up my
mind in a moment, as soon as I found that you were going. As to wages,
I owe you three weeks' service, for you paid me a month in advance
last Monday; then, as for food, I have taken care to have all the
money that you ever gave me in my pocket to the last sous; then,
besides that, I have got three crowns of the sun, and two livres
Tournois, which were brought me by Sampson the squire from my poor
father when he was killed at St. Denis. So you see, sir, I have plenty
to keep me for a year; and as for the rest, if you are going to seek
your fortune, I do not see why I should not go and seek mine with
you."

"Well, then, Andriot," I replied, with a smile which I could not
refrain at his using arguments for following me which were so like the
reasons that existed in my own bosom for my own conduct, "if such be
your resolution, take up the valise and let us go on. What you do is
your voluntary act, and, at any time that you think fit to leave me,
you shall do so; so pray Heaven send you soon a wealthier master, and
one that can reward you for your fidelity."

"I hope to Heaven it may be so, sir," replied the youth; "and I don't
suppose you'll be long before you have some piece of good luck.
Fortune gets tired of troubling a man that cares little about her; and
I have heard old Jansen, the Jew merchant, say that luck changes at
five-and-twenty, at fifty, and at seventy-five, if a man but lives so
long."

Thus saying, he once more lifted the valise; and I then perceived, for
the first time, that he had strapped on it a little packet of his own
goods and chattels, which showed that his resolution had, as he said,
been taken before he quitted the chateau.

On approaching the gates of Bordeaux, it became necessary to determine
to what inn we should go. My meager finances did not permit of my
lodging for even a day at any of the expensive auberges of the Gascon
capitol; and I bethought me that Andriot, born and brought up in that
neighbourhood, was much more likely to be acquainted with the inferior
inns than myself. I therefore consulted him upon the subject, and he
replied at once,

"Oh! sir, go to the little inn kept by Jacques de Cannes, called the
Soleil Levant, at the end of the Rue de Minimes. It is a poor place,
but you will have plenty of Protestant news there, and you will get a
good dinner for a small sum. In the evening, when you have settled
all, we can go on to Carbon Blanc, or, perhaps, to Cubzac."

"We could not have a more auspicious name," I replied, "than the
rising sun, Andriot; and see where the sun is indeed rising, and with
as bright an aspect as one could desire."

Andriot instantly pulled off his cap towards the east with as much
apparent reverence as ever did Persian to the rising orb of day. "Send
us good luck, monseigneur," he said, addressing the sun; and then,
with a gay laugh, full of careless hope and light-hearted
cheerfulness, he followed my steps, and in a quarter of an hour we
were in the town of Bordeaux.

The doors of the Soleil Levant were by this time wide open, and it was
evident, by the joyous welcome given to Andriot, that it was not the
first time that he had set his foot within those walls. I had just
time to tell him that it might be prudent, for the time being, not to
mention my name, when we were surrounded by half a dozen of his old
friends and companions, who led us both into the little hall, where
breakfast was in active preparation for those guests who had passed
the night at the house. Only one of these, however, had as yet
appeared, and he was seated at that one of the two tables the room
contained which was nearest to the window that looked into the street.
He was so placed, however, in the corner of the hall, that he could
see the passengers who went by without being remarked himself; and
though I had passed the windows but a moment before, I had not
perceived that there was anybody in the room.

According to the hint that I had given to Andriot, he merely informed
Jacques de Cannes that I was a gentleman adventurer seeking my fortune
as a soldier, with whom he had taken service, being sick of his late
employ in the chateau de Blancford. This was said after I had taken a
step or two forward towards the table, and just loud enough for me to
hear. The worthy aubergiste answered in the same tone, demanding, with
an expressive nod, "He is one of our people, of course?"

"I should not be with him," replied the lad, "if he were not." And the
aubergiste, rejoining in a somewhat lower tone, "Perhaps I can tell
him where he is likely to find service by-and-by," left us to seek the
basin of soup, which, with half a loaf and a small bottle of very good
wine, was our allotted breakfast.

Seating myself at the same table, while Andriot took his place a
little farther down, I waited patiently for the arrival of my mess,
giving from time to time a glance towards the previous occupant of the
room, who was busily engaged in emptying the contents of his own bowl,
and, apparently, taking very little notice of what was passing around
him. As far as I could see, he was a good-looking man, somewhat below
forty years of age, broad and powerfully made, with hair not red, but
of a light glossy brown, curling round his brow with flowing and
graceful waves. The mustache which he wore upon his upper lip was very
thick and long, but lighter even in colour than his hair. The features
were good, without being strikingly handsome; but when he opened his
mouth, the expression of his whole face was injured by the want of
three of his front teeth. There was a scar or two on other parts of
his countenance, which bespoke the soldier; and one of his hands,
which rested somewhat listlessly on the table while he ate his soup
with the other, was disfigured by a large round scar on the back, and
seemed to have been penetrated either by a spear or a ball. He ate his
bread with his soup, but drank no wine till he had done; he then,
however, nearly filled his cup, and, after having drank it, looked up,
saying, with a slight foreign accent, "Good wine in these parts. Are
you of this country, young gentleman?"

"No," I replied (for I was born on the banks of the Loire); and,
having satisfied myself by speaking the simple truth in one
monosyllable, I took no farther notice till he said. "And yet yours is
a Gascon accent, it seems to me."

"And yours a Scotch one," I replied.

"Well hit, my young falcon," replied the stranger, in a light tone;
"you follow the game true."

"As every one should do," I replied, not a little doubtful of the
character of my worthy companion, and answering no more than was
absolutely necessary. The stranger, however, was not so easily to be
frustrated, and he returned to the charge about my Gascon accent.

"Some birds," he said, "have a rare skill in deceiving their pursuers.
I should not marvel still if Guienne had been your birthplace."

"You could not wish me a better," I answered.

"No, nor a shrewder wit, you think," he said: "however, I give you
good-morning."

And, taking up his hat, which lay beside him, he finished his small
bottle of wine and moved towards the door.

At that moment Jacques de Cannes was coming in with a bowl of soup for
Andriot, and the stranger stopped him for a minute or two, saying
something that we did not hear. The aubergiste replied in the same low
voice, and the stranger, turning away, added aloud, "Not till I have
seen him again, Maître Jacques."

After putting down the pottage for Andriot, the good aubergiste came
up to me, and, bending down his head, he said, "You are seeking
service in arms, I think, seigneur; you could not trust to any one
better than that gentleman who has just gone out. He is an old soldier
and a good one, and as stanch a Protestant as ever lived. But he will
be back here to dinner, and, if you like to talk to him about your
views, he will most likely get you service."

My heart beat at the offer, I must confess; but yet, pursuing my
cautious determinations, I was resolved neither to trust aubergiste
nor stranger too far; and, although I awaited with some impatience for
the return of the latter, I schooled myself during the whole time of
his absence, lest, by too great heat, I should show my own ignorance
and inexperience, and fall into some snare.

About twenty minutes before the hour appointed for dinner, the
stranger again entered the hall, as I was holding one more
consultation with Andriot upon what was the next step to be taken.
Andriot had been greatly smitten with the stranger's appearance, and
he now assured me, with so many asseverations, that good Jacques de
Cannes was one of the most excellent and serviceable men in France,
that it was scarcely possible to doubt that he was well informed of
the fact. Indeed, he added, a moment before the stranger made his
appearance, that the worthy aubergiste stood in the near connexion
with himself of a second cousin. Why he had not told me this at first
I do not know; but it certainly did not in any degree diminish my
confidence in the good landlord, to hear that he was related to one
who had served me well and faithfully for two years.

"Then I may take his word fully as to the stranger's character,
Andriot?" I said; "for I'm sure your cousin would tell me no
falsehood."

The youth was replying eagerly, when the stranger, as I have said,
entered, and, taking off his hat, approached the place where I stood.
I had now a better view of him than before, and saw that he was as
powerful in body as I had been led to think was the case by the mere
sight of his head and shoulders. He was graceful, too, and had the air
of a gentleman, though his clothes were somewhat coarse, and displayed
none of the ordinary colours affected by that rank. The scabbard of
his sword, however, was of velvet, and the weapon was thrown so much
back across his loins, that it was impossible for him to see the hilt.
This was almost a certain sign, at that time, in France, of one who
prided himself upon his birth, though the custom has now greatly
changed, and we wear our swords almost straight upon the thigh.

"I am glad to find you here, young gentleman," he said; "and, if I may
propose such a thing, we will ask Maître Jacques to give us our dinner
in some little room apart, that we may talk over matters which may
interest you to hear."

I thought of my small store of money, and of the additional expense
which I might be led into; but it seemed that this was a lucky chance
which had befallen me, and I determined not to throw it away. I
accordingly assented, and we mounted into a chamber on the second
floor, where a dinner, which, though certainly not equal to those of
the chateau, was by no means bad, was soon set before us, and Maître
Jacques retired to serve his ordinary guests below.

"Well, sir," said the stranger, as soon as we had helped ourselves and
began, "I understand your whole situation as well as if I had heard
it."

"Which you probably have," I replied, in the dry tone that I had
determined to maintain.

"No, upon my honour," replied the other. "I'll tell you how it all
comes about, and you shall say whether I am right or wrong. First,
then, and foremost, I see a gentleman of good manners and deportment,
followed by a servant carrying a valise, very much better dressed than
myself, come into an inn for travellers on foot. I hear he has no
horses with him, and he sits down to eat his soup and drink his wine,
for which he pays three sous altogether, with a lace upon his
pourpoint which cost at the very lowest twenty sous in all. From all
this, one gathers that on some account or another--whether it be a
duel, or whether it be any other cause--this gentleman does not wish
the path he has chosen to be tracked, and perhaps is in some need, by
accidental circumstances, of money or employment. The landlord of the
inn tells me that he is seeking military service, and is on his way,
even now, to join Condé, or the admiral, or Andelot. I therefore
conclude that he is willing to serve against these butchers who have
been massacring the poor Protestants throughout France. There is
nothing very miraculous in all this. Am I not right?"

"In general you are," I replied; "but, let me ask, how is this to
affect my acquaintance with you?"

"Why, I will tell you in a moment," replied the stranger, in the same
frank tone. "I happen at this moment to be engaged in the same cause,
among the soldiers of which you are seeking service. I know that every
man in the monarchy is wanted; and I wish both to give you such
information as may enable you to join the army with all speed, and
urge you to do so without a moment's delay."

"I propose hastening towards Rochelle as fast as possible," I replied.

"Rochelle!" he exclaimed, with a laugh; "Why, my good young friend,
you must have been living in some hermitage, where the news of what is
passing in the world penetrates but rarely. The Protestants are no
longer at Rochelle. Condé and the admiral have advanced, the Lord
knows how far, up the Loire, and Andelot himself has been at blows
with Martigue far beyond Saumur."

My countenance fell as he spoke; for, if my finances had been barely
sufficient to carry me scantily to Rochelle, the far greater journey
that lay between me and the Protestant army rendered it almost
impossible for me to accomplish the undertaking of joining it, except,
indeed, as a mere beggar.

The stranger saw the effect that his words had produced, and demanded,
with a smile, "Why has your brow grown clouded, young gentleman? What
is it that makes you so suddenly gloomy?"

"The army," I replied, conquering all feelings of pride, "is much
farther than I expected, and my worldly wealth is but small."

The stranger looked at me fixedly for a moment, and then said, "You
have served before, have you not? You seem of an age to have seen many
a stout conflict."

I answered in the negative, however, evidently to his surprise; and he
mused for a minute or two without speaking. It appeared to me that my
new acquaintance was considering more what should be his own conduct
than what he should recommend for mine. "Have you not wherewithal to
take you to the army?" he said at length.

"Doubtless I have," I replied, "but not more; and, if I spend what I
have as I go, how am I to get a horse and arms when I arrive?"

"Oh, there is many a man in your case," replied the stranger. "You
must not be nice when you get there; but you will find many a
jockey--if there has been much fighting going on, and our party has
had the advantage--who will be willing enough to supply you with a
horse on the chance of your paying him a good sum for it within a
certain time. It is a thing done every day. These jockeys buy horses
that are taken from the enemy for an old song or a mess of pottage,
and then sell them again, if they can find means, to those who will
pay down. But, if they cannot find such pleasant customers, they
dispose of them to any soldier of fortune who is likely to pay them
well at an after period. As to arms, however, that is a more difficult
matter; and I know not very well what to advise you to do. I see there
is some story about you, if one did but know it; for your dress is not
that of a man who cannot afford to buy himself a steel cap and a
cuirass. Have you nothing that you can sell?" he added: "That Turkish
dagger in your belt; if that be gold, it will furnish you well with
what you want, and you must make your own right hand do the rest."

"I should not like to sell it," I replied, looking down at the dagger;
"this knife is one that my father brought from the East, and was taken
from a Turk killed by his own hand in battle. I should not like to
sell it if I could avoid it."

"I fear, then," replied the stranger, "if you have nothing else to
dispose of, you must even take to the arquebuse, buy no horse, and
serve in the infantry. You will most likely find many a leader who
will be glad to give you arms for your services; though I cannot think
that a man of your figure was made for a _pedescal_. I should think
that your father would rather see you part with the dagger than so
lower yourself."

"My father is dead," I replied; "but, were he living, I think that
what you say is true, and therefore I will part with it; but I would
fain place it in such hands that I may redeem it again, in case of
ever being able to do so."

"There are Jews in the world," the stranger exclaimed, with a laugh;
"there are Jews in the world. Thank Heaven for all things--there are
Jews in the world. They will take it for six months, and lend you as
much money thereon as will serve your purpose. Before that period is
over, it is to be hoped that you will have clipped some of these
gilded troops of the enemy of quite a sufficient portion of their
golden fleece to recover your weapon. After dinner we will go and see
what is the value of the knife. It is a pretty toy, and doubtless of
good steel; for these Turks declare, and I believe it true, that the
waters of Damascus temper iron far better than those either of Toledo
or Milan."

It was joyful news for me to hear that I might thus obtain that which
I most wanted, without absolutely parting with a thing which I prized,
not from its intrinsic value, but from the memories associated with
it, and because I had some recollection of being told, in my earliest
youth, never to give it away. I thanked my new companion, therefore,
warmly and sincerely for the advice he had given.

"We may have more to say to each other hereafter," he answered,
smiling. "I am not, perhaps, any more than yourself, quite what I
seem; and the truth is, I am here recruiting men for a company of
men-at-arms. I must not venture, indeed, to place any one therein who
is not a tried and well-known man; otherwise, to say the truth, from
your height, and look, and manner, I should not have scrupled to
engage with you at once. We may meet again, however, as I have said,
and then the first vacancy you may join us, if you have proved your
manhood well upon the enemy. I am glad to find you come of a fighting
race, however: that is a great thing in a man's favour; for courage
runs in the blood as well as cowardice."

"If it be an inheritance," I replied, "I have every right to it; and
at present it is my only one."

"I cannot say that originally I was much better provided myself,"
replied the stranger. "Good blood, strong limbs, and a heart without
fear, however, have increased my inheritance; and I look upon the
beginning of this war as just a call to the sheep-shearing. I take it
as a matter of course, when I talk of your entering our band, that
your blood is noble, one way or another."

"It is as good as your own," I replied.

"Indeed!" he said, with a somewhat mocking smile. "Then it is of a
somewhat extraordinary quality; for the man who can boast descent from
a long race of kings cannot go beyond mine."

"Perhaps you mean if traced back to Adam," I replied, not quite liking
his tone.

"No, young gentleman," he answered, very gravely; "I mean, if traced
back for twenty generations. But come, let us go seek this Jew, and
see what he says the knife is worth."

Thus saying, he rose; and, following him through manifold turnings and
windings in the fine old city of Bordeaux, I entered the little alley
that lies just under the Cathedral garden.

"Here lives a Jew," continued my companion, "With whom I have had some
dealings. The nearer the church the farther from God, they say: so
this misbegotten infidel plants himself close against the chief
church."

A few steps farther brought us to a small dark doorway, which
certainly gave no promise of wealth or traffic; and, feeling his way
up the stairs with his hands, my guide led me on to the second floor,
where he knocked hard with his clinched fist against a door.

It was not opened at once to his summons: but a part of one of the
panels, about two spans square, was drawn back, admitting a little
light to the landing-place on which we stood, and through it a dark
countenance with a long beard examined us carefully.

"Ah, it is you, is it, my good seigneur!" cried the Jew, after having
more than once keenly looked on my companion's face. "I will open the
door directly, and let you in."

And, almost as he spoke, bolts and bars were withdrawn, and the door
opening, gave us admission into a room which presented a very strange
scene.

There were only two persons in the chamber; the first of which was the
Jew himself, a man of about fifty years of age, dressed in the long,
flowing black robe usually worn by his people. The top of his head was
quite bald; for though he wore a small black velvet cap upon it, he
uncovered himself on the entrance of my companion, and bowed down
almost to the ground. His hair, however, and beard were jetty black,
without a single gray hair, and his complexion was of that deep
Oriental yellow-brown not uncommon to his nation.

The other person whom the room contained was a girl of about eleven or
twelve years of age, as beautiful a little creature as it is possible
to conceive; having, indeed, some resemblance to the Jew in feature,
but so softened with womanly and with childish beauty, that all
harshness was done away. She was dressed in white, but sat playing on
a pile of many-coloured shawls, winding them fancifully round her,
and, in so doing, throwing her beautiful figure into attitudes the
most graceful that it is possible to conceive.

The interior of the chamber itself, however, had a great many other
objects to attract the eye on every side. It seemed a complete
showroom of rich and valuable things. On a table near the window
appeared piles of different jewels and trinkets; swords,
silver-mounted daggers, and many an implement of modern and ancient
warfare, were scattered around on every side: in other corners lay
rich dresses and magnificent embroidery; in others, piles of carpets
and tapestries, and pieces of silk and velvet. Rich lace of gold and
silver, and many a book, perhaps invaluable in themselves, and
enriched by clasps and mountings of fine filigree-work, were cast
promiscuously together with a thousand articles of high price which I
have now forgotten.

Our business was soon explained to the Jew; and, taking the Turkish
dagger, he looked at it, saying that he would give ten crowns for it,
after he had touched a part of the haft with a touchstone.

"Ten crowns!" exclaimed my Scottish companion. "By Abraham's beard,
Solomon Ahar, thou art more a Jew than the rest of thy tribe. See you
not that the stones are real?"

"Nay?" exclaimed the Jew, with a look of surprise, "is it so?" And,
drawing near to the window, he examined it again by the faint light
that entered the chamber through the manifold tall courts and stacks
of chimneys behind.

"As true as thou art a son of Israel," replied the Scotchman. But, ere
he could say more, the Jew himself exclaimed, "Blessed be Heaven! it
is so indeed. Here are--let me see--six, seven, nine, fourteen fine
stones. Nay, then, I will give the gentleman an hundred crowns an he
choose to leave it with me, as what the people of Lombardy call a
pignus or pledge; and if he will sell it outright, I think I could
venture to go as far as an hundred and fifty or two hundred."

"Which means that it is worth three."

"On my honour, on my conscience!" cried the Jew; and was beginning to
bargain upon the worth of the thing, when I cut short the discourse by
exclaiming, "I have no intention of selling the dagger: it is but for
a temporary need that I want the money, and trust to pay it back full
soon."

"He shall give thee an hundred and fifty for it at least," exclaimed
the Scotchman. "I know how to deal with the tribe of Israel. Look ye,
Master Solomon, the haft of the dagger is worth three hundred crowns
or more. If the youth lives, returns, and claims it, you gain your
interest of fifteen hard per cent. If he gets himself killed, as is a
thousand chances to one, or dies a natural death, or never finds a
crown to spare to pay thee, all of which are very probable, the dagger
is yours at the end of six months or a year, and then you gain double
for the loan."

"I cannot give it," replied the Jew; "I cannot give it. It is too
much. It would be my ruin. How often am I a loser! What taxes have I
not to pay! No, I cannot give it, I will not give it. There is your
dagger, young gentleman."

I hesitated whether I should take the weapon; but the Scotchman gave
me a nod, saying, "Take it, take it; there are more Jews in Bordeaux
than he." And I was taking it back into my hand, when the girl
suddenly left off her sport with the shawls, and, plucking the old man
by the robe; she said. "Give it him, my father; give him the money. He
seems as if he would fain have it. He wants it, and thou dost not."

The Jew still was silent, only putting the child away with his hand,
and saying, when she urged him farther, "Silence, prattler, what is it
to thee?"

The girl, turning away from him, looked up in my face; and I laid my
hand upon her jetty locks, saying, "I thank thee, my pretty maiden. He
will not yield to thee, but thou art kind, however."

"Nay," said the Jew; "I will yield something. You shall have a hundred
and twenty-five."

"No!" said the Scot, turning towards the door; "We shall get a hundred
and fifty for it from Moses Levi."

The Jew hesitated for a moment longer; but when my companion laid his
hand upon the lock of the door as if to go out, he said, "Stay, stay:
thou shalt have it, though I vow it is the full value of the thing."

He carried an inkhorn at his button, and soon wrote down upon two
pieces of vellum a mutual acknowledgment between him and me; the one
was drawn up in his name, acknowledging the receipt of the dagger,
specifying every stone it contained, and promising its restitution on
the payment of the sum of a hundred and fifty crowns, together with
interest at the rate of fifteen per cent. The other was on my part,
acknowledging the receipt of the hundred and fifty crowns, and
promising to return it within the space of twelve months, paying an
interest of fifteen per cent.

As soon as this was concluded, the money was paid down, and the
weapon, with its glittering hilt, surrendered. I still wanted a
leathern bag to carry the money in; but in the store of the Jew all
things were to be found; and, having taken one from a cabinet in the
room, he made me pay about double the value, and thus we departed; I
far richer than I had expected to be for many a year, but feeling yet
a degree of regret and disquietude at having suffered the last gift of
my father to pass out of my own hand, which, for the time, more than
counterbalanced the pleasure of receiving the money, even though it
was to furnish me with the means of pursuing that profession for which
he himself had destined me.

When we had quitted the Jew's house, my companion laughed aloud in his
peculiar clear, merry, careless way.

"These sons of Israel," he said, "These sons of Israel, it needs a
long acquaintance to deal with them wisely: for they always take their
chance of those who traffic with them being fools, in order to cheat
them, if it be possible. The old sinner knew that those were real
jewels in the dagger from the first moment he set eyes on it; but he
hazarded offering a small sum, in case you should not know the fact. I
took my chance the other way, and swore they were real jewels, though
I knew nothing about it; being very sure that, if they were not, he
would not suffer me to deceive him. However, you are now not only
master of enough to arm you from head to heel as a proper man-at-arms,
and to buy you a horse, but to arm half a dozen others lightly to
follow you; and, if you will take my counsel, I think I can set you
off on a plan by which you may gain both fame and fortune, or lose
your life, remember!--for that must always be put at stake. Come to
the inn, however: come to the inn, and we will talk more."

I followed him through the streets meditating on what he had said, and
inclined very strongly to trust him, but feeling that want of
confidence in myself which was produced by a knowledge of my own
inexperience, and which prevented me from being at all sure whether I
was dealing with an honest man or a knave. He had certainly put me in
a way of obtaining money, which I could not have done myself, and he
had, as yet, asked me for no share in the sum thus obtained. There was
a frankness too in his whole demeanour, which produced a strong
impression in his favour; and, though I was still upon my guard, yet I
was well inclined to receive any advice that he might give me under a
favourable view.

"Come, Master Jacques," he said, speaking to the landlord, whom we met
upon the stairs of the inn, "let us have a bottle of your best wine,
for we were interrupted in our draught to go away upon business."

The landlord bowed low at orders which landlords are always willing to
hear; and the stranger led the way to the same room where we had
before sat, humming away the time till the aubergiste returned.
Ensconced at length in that room, with the bottle and glasses before
us, he began, in somewhat of a consequential tone, and with a look of
superior knowledge, to direct my proceedings.

"You have now," he said, "the opportunity of making or marring your
own fortunes. You have but very little experience, I have a great
deal; and, were I placed exactly as you are, I would do as I am going
to tell you to do. I would, in the first place, buy myself arms and
horses here in Bordeaux, where you will get them cheaper than either
at La Rochelle or at Charenton, where they are in more request. I
would arm myself completely at all points with a plain, good suit,
which may be had at a low price, of just as strong materials as if you
paid two or three thousand livres for it. Then buy the armour of a
demi-lance for that stout youth whom I saw with you below. Two horses
may be had for you cheap enough if you can ride well; for there is a
Maquinon, called Pierrot, has got a troop of wild devils from the
Limousin, for which he can find no sale here among the merchants and
citizens, and soft-boned gentry of Bordeaux."

I smiled, replying, "We will ride them if they can be ridden."

"I advise you," he continued, "To do this rather than to furnish
yourself at the army, both because you will find it cheaper, and
because it always looks better, and gives a higher opinion of a man
when he joins his leader fully prepared. Besides, you have a chance of
some little adventure on the road, which may take off the freshness of
your arms, and give you some little reputation. Such things are as
common in these days as they were in the times of the knights-errant.
Now what I propose for you to do, when you have joined the army, is,
not for you to put yourself in this troop or that, as a simple
man-at-arms--for that is the way to get yourself killed speedily,
without anybody hearing anything of you--but to look about the camp
for any stray vagabonds that may be about; I mean of those whose whole
fortune consists in a steel cap, a breastplate, and a horse, and the
whole sum of whose virtues lies in courage. You will find two or three
young fellows too at every corner, who, like yourself, are seeking
service, fresh in arms, and willing to stick to any leader who will
but gallop them into the cannon's mouth. They are generally younger
than you are, for you have been somewhat late in taking to the trade.
That, however, will only make it the more likely they should follow
you, which is the great thing; for to be the leader of one of these
bands is the sure means of getting on, whereas, to be a follower in
one of them is the readiest way of getting hanged. You have then
nothing to do, you know, but to take up absolutely the trade of
adventurer, attack the enemy everywhere, harass him on every occasion,
cut off his parties, attack every chateau where you think there is a
soldier--in short, run your head against every stone wall that you
meet with. You may chance to knock some of them down; and if you do,
you will gain a reputation which will soon put you at the head of a
better band than that with which you set out. Good old soldiers will
be glad to come to you then, and you may work yourself up to be a
general by steadiness and perseverance."

"There are two things, however," I said, "Which you have forgotten to
mention: first, where I am to get the money to pay these recruits;
for, after I have bought horses, and arms for myself and Andriot,
there will not be much left to pay any one."

"Oh, they will pay themselves, they will pay themselves," he said.
"You may have, indeed, in the first instance, to give one or two of
those vagabonds who have seen service a crown a week, just to make the
beginning of a band; all the others you will take merely upon trial;
and, of course, you must put the Catholics under contributions. If
they will have war, let them have war and pay for it. It is an
undoubted fact, that, since the last peace, they have put to death, in
one town or another, full ten thousand Protestants; and, therefore, we
have a right to make them pay for such sorts of amusement. Then you
will put the prisoners to ransom, you know; and every one that is
taken by your men pays you a share too. You will therefore have plenty
to keep the band up as soon as it is formed. But what was your next
question?"

"Why, simply by whose authority I shall act," I replied; "for, not
being of sufficient authority and rank to levy war on my own account,
I must have some sanction for raising such a band."

"I had thought of that," he replied, "I had thought of that. Such
things are not, indeed, much considered in these wars; and, after all,
I believe you might do it on your own account: ay, and with right, for
your father was a man of good nobility as well as courage; and, though
he never had a crown in his purse to bless himself, might have spread
his own banner according to the ordinances of St. Louis."

"Did you know my father?" I demanded, somewhat surprised: "and, if you
did know him, how have you found out that I am his son?"

"I knew your father but little," replied the other, "though we have
fought side by side together before now; and as to the rest, you
forget that I saw you sign your name before the Jew. However, as it is
better that you should have some authority for what you do, I will
give you a letter to the Prince de Condé, telling him your plans and
purposes, and he will not refuse you a commission under his own hand
at the request of Robert Stuart."

"Robert Stuart!" I exclaimed; "What, he who killed the Constable
Montmorency at the battle of St. Denis?"

"The same man that you mean," replied my companion; "but, for all
that, I did not kill the constable. The world gives me greater credit
than I deserve. It was one of my band who shot him with a pistol. I
took him indeed, for he was down on the ground; and I thought he had
formally surrendered, and believe so still, when up he jumped, and,
with the pummel of his sword, dashed out my three front teeth,
knocking me backward on the ground, for I had dismounted to receive
his sword. One of my fellows, seeing this, called out that he was as
treacherous an enemy as a friend, and shot him on the spot. That is
the exact truth of the story that people tell twenty different ways.
And now, knowing who I am, you will wonder, perhaps, to see me here,
in a little inn, paying a few sous for my dinner. But the truth is, I
came to swell my band a little by any veteran men-at-arms I can find,
and also to meet here some half dozen of my friends from Scotland, who
are about to join me. Now there is a certain report gone abroad,
well-nigh as false as the other, that I was the person who caused that
old meddling fool, the President Minard, to be assassinated. There is
many a one of his friends here in the good town of Bordeaux, so that,
till I am well accompanied, it might not be pleasant to lodge at a
great inn and draw eyes upon me."

It may well be supposed that I now thanked this celebrated leader
gratefully for what he had done and proposed to do in my behalf. But
he replied that the Protestant cause was much at his heart; that he
loved a good soldier and the son of a good soldier, and that what he
had done for me was really nothing.

"Come," he said at length, "let us go and seek for the horses and
arms: bring your boy with you, and I will let my people know where I
am, that, in case the ship arrives, they may come and tell me."

The horses were soon bought, about twenty of them having been brought
out for me to try. For myself, I chose one of the strongest and most
fierce, having soon perceived that he was tractable and good in his
temper, though he was perfectly unbroken. A lighter horse served the
boy's turn; but I left my new friend to bargain with the dealer for
the price of both, and was surprised to find the small sum at which he
contrived to purchase the two. It is true, the dealer knew him, and
imagined that I was a man-at-arms newly engaged to serve under the
Scotch captain.

The arms were procured in a similar manner; and, being now fully
equipped, I returned with Stuart to the inn, telling him my intention
of setting out for the army that very night, in order not to lose any
time in pursuing the course before me.

"That is right," he said, "That is right; I like activity! You and
your man can get to Cubzac to-night. I will write the letter for you
at once; and, if you can pick up another follower or two in your way
to the camp, do not fail to do so; for, the more men you carry with
you, the warmer will be your welcome. Do not arm yourself till you get
to Cubzac, for the good people here might stop you. You must then
shape your course as you hear news of the army; but avoid Angoulême;
for, when I came by some ten days ago, that neighbourhood was somewhat
dangerous for a Protestant."

Of course my thanks were not wanting; and, immediately after our
arrival at the inn, he wrote the letter which he had promised; making
no mention, indeed, of my never having served before, but simply
telling the Prince de Condé, with whom he seemed on terms of great
intimacy, who I was, and that the object I proposed was to raise a
troop of adventurers in order to harass the Catholic armies. He
farther begged him not only to give me a commission to the effect he
proposed, but to point out to me the means of swelling my troop, and
to afford me every assistance in so doing.

When this was finished, and the armour charged upon the servant's
horse, I lost no time in mounting my own; and my new friend shaking me
as heartily by the hand as if we had known each other for years, bade
me adieu, saying that we should soon meet again at the camp. The
landlord of the auberge and his drawers all bowed low as I came away,
for I had paid whatever was asked, and perhaps had been more liberal
to the attendants than some of the frequenters of the inn not poorer
than myself; and, with a heart considerably lightened, I rode away and
quitted the city of Bordeaux.

My first sensations were those of joy and satisfaction at being no
longer dependant upon the bounty of any one, but bent upon my way
through the wide world to win for myself honour and renown, and, as I
trusted, high station and happy competence.

But, even while I was passing the ferry, those sensations began to
change. I thought with some regret of the chateau of Blancford, of
good old La Tour, of the two glad, light-hearted boys, who had been my
companions for many a year, and of the sweet girl, whom I might never
see again. A feeling of solitude came over me, and I do believe that
it is impossible even for him who has the lightest heart, the
brightest hope, and the most enviable situation, to quit the scenes
and the companions of his youth without feeling as if he were left
alone in the whole wide world, and without seeing before his eyes
vague visions of the difficulties, dangers, distresses, and griefs
which await every man who passes forth into active existence.

Such, at least, were my sensations; and, after landing, paying the
ferryman his fare, and ascending the heights on the other side, I
paused to look back over the scene that I was quitting, and a thousand
bright and happy memories, clinging to my heart like children that
would keep a parent from the wars, seemed to hold me to the spot with
a force I could scarcely resist.

I thought of the condition of those that I had left behind; I saw the
peaceful dwelling where I had spent so many years with but few of
earth's discomforts, rendered the abode of contention, and sorrow, and
discomfort; I fancied the grief of the two youths when they found that
I was gone; I beheld the fair face of Louise bathed in tears, as she
remained unprotected and alone, and left to the guidance, the control,
perhaps the tyranny, of a harsh, bad woman. It was all painful; the
thought almost unmanned me, and I would have given worlds to rescue
her from such a painful situation.

I felt that I must call up such images no longer; but still the form
and face of Louise haunted me: and at length, out of the darker and
more gloomy thoughts that filled my brain, came forth a bright and
lustrous hope, a hope on which I dared not let my mind rest; which was
like the night vision of an angel to some lonely anchorite, too
brilliant for the eye to gaze upon firmly, but yet full of joy, and
consolation, and encouragement.

It was the first time that ever such a dream had suggested itself even
to my imagination. It was wild, it was foolish; but yet how sweet was
the idea, that the time might come when, having, by the exertion of
every power of my mind and body, conquered the difficulties which
surrounded me, swept away poverty and dependance, gained fame, and
honour, and emolument, I might be enabled to snatch that sweet girl
from the dark and hateful tyranny which I believed the rule of her
mother's rival must necessarily become, and to repay in some degree,
by kindness, and tenderness, and love for the child, the kindness, and
tenderness, and love which had been shown to me by the mother.

But, almost in the very act of thus dreaming, there came upon me the
memory of all that multitude of obstacles--I might almost say, of
impossibilities--which lay in the way to the fulfilment of such hopes.
But I felt at the same time that, though it was only a fancy, it was a
noble one; that, though it was merely a wild aspiration after that
which could not be, it was a high aspiration; one that might lead me
to great attempts, if not to great deeds; one that would even guard me
against low and debasing pursuits, that would elevate my purposes, and
give object to my energies and exertions. I felt that such an object
was holy and great, and I speak with reverence when I say that it
seemed to me then like the star which led the Magi from the east.

As this image rose upon my mind, it soothed and it strengthened me;
and I could gaze upon the city, with its manifold towers and steeples
reposing calmly in the rich purple light of evening, and upon the
distant sloping grounds beyond, leading away towards Blancford, and on
the wanderings of the bright Garonne, as, rolling down from Langdon,
it swept on by the city towards its meeting with the kindred stream,
and on their joint progress to the ocean: I could gaze, in short, upon
all the natural objects which my eye had been accustomed to behold
from childhood, without that deep feeling of regret on quitting them
which I had experienced the moment before; and, as I turned my horse's
rein to ride on, I murmured,

"I shall see you all again, perhaps, with a lighter heart and a spirit
more at rest."

The country was well known to me; for, during the last two or three
years, I had made manifold excursions from the chateau in different
directions; and now, leaving the high road somewhat to the right, I
took a bridle-path which conducted me towards my place of rest for the
night more rapidly, though somewhat more roughly, than the ordinary
track.

Advancing somewhat quickly, for my charger was impatient of the
bridle, I passed a man upon a small rugged horse, neither very fat nor
very comely in its appearance, and apparently little able to carry him
and the large package which he bore on the croup behind. When first I
saw him he was trailing a spear along, with one end of the shaft
describing a long zigzag line upon the road; but the sound of a
horse's feet made him turn round rapidly, and his lance was brought
into rest in a moment, in a way that bespoke no slight practice in
charging a sudden enemy.

Whether on an occasion he might charge any one without much
considering if it were an enemy or friend, I did not know at the time;
but such things were very common in those days, though I think the
worthy gentleman was somewhat too badly mounted to attempt the
experiment upon me, even if I had been alone.

We passed, however, in all safety, with a "Good-evening, seigneur," on
the part of our fellow-traveller. I had only time, as I passed by, to
remark that he was a tall, rawboned man, with a countenance which did
not prepossess any one very much in his favour. He was somewhat dirty
in his clothing, and rugged in his person and appearance also; though
there was a roguish twinkle in his eye, which did not escape my
attention, even in the slight glance I obtained.

In a short time after I arrived at Cubzac, and rode straight to the
inn, the hospitable doors of which showed themselves very willing to
give me admission.

When I stood in the courtyard, however, and saw my armour and my
valise unloaded from Andriot's horse, while the aubergiste waited to
conduct me, with every appearance of reverence, towards the hall of
general entertainment, a strange feeling suddenly came over me, from
the recollection that it was not yet four-and-twenty hours since the
arrival of the Baron de Blancford at his own chateau, that all I had
done--the making of a new acquaintance, my dealings with the Jew, the
purchase of horses and of arms, and a hundred little incidents, which
appeared to me like the occupations of a life--had in reality occupied
but a few hours. So it was, however: my whole fate and course of
existence had been changed as by the stroke of a magician's wand,
which had set me free in a moment from the state of indolent
dependance in which I had been forced to remain like one of the
spirits in the old fables, imprisoned motionless in the heart of some
knotted oak, and had sent me forth in a moment to active life and
energetic exertion.

There was something ennobling, elevating, inspiring in the feelings,
very different from the sensations with which I had looked back upon
the scenes I was leaving, from the northern bank of the Garonne. That
all this had been accomplished in so short a space, gave me a
sensation of power and energy; a confidence in myself which I had
before wanted; and in the calm and deliberate step, and thoughtful air
with which I followed the landlord into the auberge, no one, I think,
could have discovered any trace of a mind as inexperienced as that of
a mere boy.

The hall of the inn was a very spacious one; and a long table appeared
in the middle, at the farther end of which I could just see, through
the dim twilight of the evening, some seven or eight persons assembled
round what seemed a hasty supper. One of the servants of the inn,
however, brought in lights almost immediately after I had entered; and
it then became evident that the party had just arrived from some long
journey. There were two or three grave, elderly men of respectable
appearance, apparently tradesmen of some importance, or merchants.
There was a good dame, too, of the same class, with two or three
little girls of seven or eight years old, and one or two women
servants; besides which, there was a youth of eighteen or nineteen,
strong and well made, scarcely tasting his supper, but sitting beside
the rest, and resting thoughtfully, with his head leaning on his hand.

Manifold were the caps and mantles which covered the whole party; and
one would certainly have supposed, from the way in which they were
wrapped up, that we were in the midst of winter rather than in the
warmest time of year. It often happened at that time, however, that
such superabundant garments were adopted for the purpose of
concealment; and I judged, and judged rightly, that these might be a
party of wealthy traders, who, travelling through a disturbed country,
and in dangerous times, chose to be recognised as little as possible,
lest the report of wealth might draw upon them the attention of the
plunderers with whom the country was overrun.

All their eyes had been turned upon me as soon as I entered; the
conversation they were carrying on ceased; and, as if for something to
say, one of the elder men addressed the younger, saying,

"Why do you not eat your supper, Martin? You are not sick, are you?"

"Not sick, uncle, but sorry," replied the lad.

"Pshaw! Thou art a whimsical boy," replied the elder man. "I can tell
thee, however poor a trade thou mayest follow, it is richer than that
of a soldier. Here is this gentleman coming in," he added, raising his
eyes to me as I stood half way up the table. "He looks as if he knew
something of arms, and I dare say will tell thee that to sell silk or
linen, however little one may get, is better than fighting all day,
watching all night, and having hard blows for one's only payment."

I laughed at his description of the soldier's life; and, as he
addressed me first, replied at once, "I cannot think we are so badly
off as that, my good sir. Every one knows his own taste; and, though
certainly fortunes are rarely made by the sword, yet honour is gained,
and glory, and frequently competence; and you must remember there is
not a noble family in the land which does not owe its elevation to the
sword."

"That was in other days, that was in other days," said the elder man.
"But I am right, then, in thinking you a soldier, sir?"

I nodded my head, and was about to reply somewhat more fully, when
Andriot entered the room and whispered a word or two in my ear, which
made me rise and go out, while the landlord busily put down my cover,
and prepared to give me supper.

The intelligence which the lad had brought me was simply that the man
with the spear, whom we had passed on the road, had come into the
inn-yard, and, finding him there, had asked him many questions
concerning me. The good youth had been in one of his loquacious moods,
and had given the interrogator more information than I thought right,
telling him my name, and that I was a gentleman going to join the
army. On this the other had immediately asked to speak with me, and I
accordingly went out at once, in order to put my mind at ease with
regard to the person in whose favour Andriot had shown himself so
communicative.

I found him in the courtyard busy in unloading his beast, and
examining the contents of the package he had thus carried behind him,
which proved to be a considerable store of very miscellaneous pieces
of armour, both offensive and defensive. The cuirass was at that
moment on the top, and, from its condition, left little doubt that one
of its possessors, at least, had seen some service like itself; for
not only did sundry hacks and dents betray the fact of many a close
encounter, but a large round hole appeared to have been perforated,
either by bullet or lance, on the right-hand side, near the armhole;
and the gap was now curiously stopped up by means of a piece of thick
leather, attached by nails driven through the iron and clinched on the
inside.

"Why, my good friend," I said, looking at the cuirass, and without
taking any immediate notice of his message, "that piece of leather
will never keep out anything."

"It will keep out anything I want it to keep out," replied the man,
looking up at me with a laugh.

"And what is that?" I demanded; "What is it you want it to keep out?"

"The wind," he replied; "for when the wind gets in between cold iron
and an empty stomach, a man gets melancholy, and has no appetite for
dry blows. But I know what you mean; that sword, or bullet, or spear
would go through it as easily as a skewer through a cock of the
Indies; but there's not much chance of any other bullet finding out
that place again; and if it did, no great matter, for it would meet
with its fellow here, just lying between the ribs, under my armpit,
and that would stop it from going any farther."

"That is looking upon the matter rationally," I replied; "but now, my
good friend, what is it that you wanted with me?"

"Why, simply this, seigneur," he replied; "finding that you are a
soldier going to join the army, and having heard of your name a great
many years ago as a very brave and gallant gentleman--"

"You must mean my father," I said, interrupting him: "my name you most
likely have never heard."

"Ay, I dare say it was your father, now look at you," he replied, "for
you couldn't be much out of your swaddling-clothes at the time I talk
of. However, I was going to propose, that you, being travelling alone,
or nearly so, and I alone, or what's somewhat worse than alone, having
nothing but a bad beast with me, which trots me five miles an hour,
and thinks itself a miracle--I was going to propose, I say, that we
should join company; for in these days we may fall in with friends and
acquaintances by the way, where we shall find two right hands better
than one. Besides, we may chance to fall in with some booty, and two
dogs will always kill more game than twice one dog."

On the very face of the matter, the proposal was somewhat impudent;
for at least my clothing, my horses, and, I trust, my appearance
altogether, were those of a man of high birth; but when I came to look
my companion over more attentively by the twilight, which did not
improve his appearance, it struck me as more impudent still. He
was a person of about forty-five years of age, lean, long-limbed,
thin-flanked, broad in the shoulders, with as unprepossessing a
countenance as it was possible to imagine, and nothing on earth to
redeem it from a sort of assassin-like expression, except a merry but
somewhat sarcastic glance, which occasionally came into his eyes, or,
rather, into one of them, for it was the right eye only which had any
movement; and I afterward found that the left was made of glass,
though a very good imitation of the other.

What might have been the original shape of his nose I do not know; but
a large cut across the bridge and down one cheek seemed to indicate
that its conformation had been somewhat violently changed into its
present Socratic turn upward.

His long gray hair, thin and ragged, his unwashed face, his untrimmed
beard, all added to the sinister appearance of his countenance, and,
in short, no one could look at him without doing him the same bitter
injustice that I did him at that moment, and thinking him as murderous
and rascally a person as it was possible to set one's eyes on. Besides
all this, his garments were anything but that which one would have
desired in a friend and companion; for his buff jerkin, besides the
rusty stains which had been left upon it after having been worn under
ill-cleaned armour, was soiled and dirty in various other ways, and in
more than one place patched with a piece of gray cloth.

He stood my survey quite quietly; and, indeed, the discrepant gaze of
his two eyes rendered it somewhat difficult to tell whether he was
looking full in my face or across the inn-yard on the other side.
After having remained for about half a minute silent, however, he
brought both eyes into a straight line, demanding, in a significant
tone. "Am not I an ugly dog?"

"Yes," I replied, "you are. But you have made a little mistake, my
good friend; I am not seeking companions, but raising a troop to serve
under my command."

"Then I am the very man you want," he replied; "for I have experience,
and you have none, that's clear enough; and I do not much care what I
do, whether it be as a leader or follower, so that I do something."

"I don't think you would do much credit to my new troop," I replied,
"unless you troubled the brook a little oftener, and gave the barber a
sous at least once a month."

"Oh, that is easily remedied," said the adventurer; "I have no sous to
spare, but I have ten fingers, baiting one which was hacked off at the
battle of St. Denis, which will do as well for me as any barber in
Christendom; and then, again, though water is not plenty in this hot
weather, yet it is to be had. As to my jerkin, too, a couple of ounces
of chalk, and the worth of a denier of yellow ochre, will put that all
to rights; so that, if you like to have me, I will turn out to-morrow
morning as smart a trooper as you'd wish to see. I cannot get rid of
my face though, so you must make the best of that."

"What religion are you of?" I asked, wishing to ascertain that point
first before I divulged my own.

"I don't know," he replied. "What is yours?"

There was a sort of quaint oddity about the fellow which amused me,
and, I confess, made me think better of him, though I know not why,
and I demanded, without answering his question, "Who have you served
under?"

"Two or three dozen," he answered; "but I have got my character
written down for the benefit of those whom it may concern by a great
many of my different friends, and I have not altered a word of their
certificates, for it is useless for a man to try to change his nature,
and it will come out sooner or later. Who will you have?" he
continued; "here is Martigues on the one side, and Andelot on the
other. Here is Puygaillard, and Lossac, and Stuart, and--"

"Stay, stay," I said; "That will do. Let me see Martigues on the one
side, and Stuart on the other."

"You are a cute bird, after all," he said; "You wont be limed, I see,
to show yourself a Protestant or a Catholic. However, here are the
papers."

And, lifting up the flap of his jerkin, he drew from an inner pocket a
number of dirty pieces of paper, of which he placed in my hands two,
saying, "There they are."

The first I opened was in a strange hand, and it went on as follows:

"This is to signify that Moric Endem is the greatest liar in Europe;
but none the worse for that. He fights like a tiger, and will now and
then obey his orders."

This was signed "Martigues;" and the other, which I instantly
recognised as the same handwriting wherein Stuart had given me a
letter to the Prince de Condé, was much in the same strain.

"I hereby aver," it said, "That Moric Endem is better than he looks.
He will stand by a friend or leader till the last, and has done so
many brave things, that he is a fool for bragging of things that he
never did."

I smiled as I read such accounts of my volunteer, but paused for a
moment to consider whether there was a possibility of my being
deceived. Had I been still is the frame of mind in which I had set out
that morning, I should have lost my opportunity, and rejected the
offer of a man who afterward proved of infinite use to me. But, as I
have said, I had become somewhat more confident in myself by this
time: Stuart's recommendation to increase my numbers as far as
possible had been strong; and therefore I determined to run the risk,
as in case of any malconduct on the part of my new follower, I and
Andriot were at least two to one against him.

"And now, Monsieur Moric Endem," I said, "Which would you rather serve
on, the Catholic or the Protestant side? Answer me fairly, for on the
reply hangs all our proceedings."

"That is not a fair question," he cried, flinging down his cap upon
the ground with some vehemence. "That is not a fair question to a
soldier of fortune. The matter, see you, is balanced pretty evenly, my
young lord. With the Catholics there is pay and but little plunder,
for the Protestants have nothing to lose. With the Protestants there
is no pay but plenty of plunder; for each Catholic, like a fool, comes
with a fortune on his back. I have, indeed, a little hankering one
way--"

"What, then," I said, "do the Protestants give no pay?"

"By St. Geronimo," he cried, slapping his thigh, "You are a Catholic!
But, no," he continued, a moment after, "I remember quite well Cerons
was a Protestant, and so was his cousin the Baron de Blancford. If you
are the young lord, you are a Protestant too."

"Perhaps it may be so," I replied, in a low tone, but with a
significant look.

"Well, then, I am your man," he said, without raising his voice; "for,
to say sooth, I was born and bred a Protestant. But it is full thirty
years since I thought of those things; and, on my honour, I don't well
know what's the difference now. As to the rest, my young master, you
must give me a crown to gild my hand, and you must give me and my
horse something to eat till we get to the army, at all events; for, if
I had not met with you this night, he and I would have shared supper;
that is to say, he would have had the hay and I the water, and
to-morrow we might have been obliged to prove troublesome to any one
we met upon the road. I declare, so help me Heaven, I have not seen a
crown piece for the last two months."

"I am nearly as poor as yourself, Moric," I said; "however, there is a
crown for you, and now you are my follower; but I expect to see a
change in your appearance by to-morrow, and you had better get your
armour on your back, as I intend to do with mine, so that we may be
well prepared for all things."

"You shall see a change, you shall see a change, sir," cried the man;
"and I will help to fill your purse as you have now helped to fill
mine. I will get this crown changed directly into silver and billon,
that it may feel heavy in my purse, and make me think of the days of
old; for I have had many more crowns in my pocket, I dare say, than
you have in yours now. But, however--I don't know how it was--peace
never lasted six months without finding me as poor as ever; the
pockets grew empty, and the crowns went away, some to one slut, some
to another, and the rest, as I have heard Stuart tell of an English
prince, were drowned in butts of Malmsey or Burgundy, as the case
might be. But I will go and polish my armour, and patch my jacket, and
wash my face, and trim my beard, and then I must try and get a new
horse the first time I meet an enemy, though it is to be confessed
that on the back of that brute there are ten chances to one against
me."

While Moric Endem was speaking, the landlord came from the house to
seek me, telling me that my supper was not only ready, but getting
cold; and, leaving my new follower to make the best arrangements he
could, I re-entered the hall of the inn.

I found the party that I had left there concluding their supper, and
they all looked at me as I sat down to mine with a sort of shy and
anxious, but yet not a reserved look, somewhat like that which a dog
puts on when he is willing to be familiar with us, but somewhat afraid
of trusting to our kindness. The two elder men, however, and the elder
lady, entered into conversation with me after a short time, and I saw
evidently that they were endeavouring to probe my character and
feelings. Those, however, were sad days, when no one dared to trust to
his neighbour; and I as little chose to confide my views or purposes
to them, as they chose to put any trust or confidence in me.

The conversation, then, was merely general: I found that one of the
elder merchants had travelled much, and had considerable information,
and he seemed not a little surprised to find that a young soldier
could possess so much general knowledge as I had acquired during my
long period of study.

The younger people, too, began to draw nearer to me; and some little
sportive jests, such as I would have used towards my cousins at
Blancford, appeared completely to win their hearts, so that they were
speedily clinging round me, playing with the tassels of my cloak or my
sword-knot, and taking a thousand little liberties, for which they
were, of course, gravely reproved by their elders.

The young man who had been called Martin, however, sat silent and
thoughtful for a long time, and at length only spoke to ask me some
questions concerning the movements of the armies. The first words on
that subject, however, seemed a signal for the party to break up, his
uncle interrupting him immediately by saying it was time to go to bed;
and the whole then retired, wishing me good-night and a prosperous
journey on the morrow.

Their reserved conduct was not explained till the following morning,
when, on rising early, I saw them setting off from the courtyard, and
the aubergiste, as innkeepers generally do, came instantly to
volunteer every information he possessed regarding the guests who were
just gone.

"Ay, poor people," he said, "silly people they are. I told them they
might trust to you, seigneur, and what a protection it would be to
them to have you with them; for they are a party of rich merchants, as
you might well see, sir, and doubtless have their pockets lined with
many a good gold piece, so that they are afraid of all the bands of
plunderers about, especially at the passages of the rivers."

"What religion are they of?" demanded I, nothing doubting they were
Protestants, as the landlord himself was well known to be of my own
creed.

To my astonishment, however, he answered that they were "poor
misguided Catholics. That is to say," he continued, "they are what
people are beginning to call nowadays, I hear, politics, which means
people that are neither very much one thing nor the other. That eldest
one is the well-known Paris merchant, Martin Vern, who has so much to
do with the Jews and Lombards. I've a great notion he's a Protestant
at heart; though his life, and all his goods, which he loves better
than his life, would be in jeopardy every hour in Paris if he did not
go to mass as regularly as the clock strikes the hour. It seems that
young Martin, the nephew, had his father's promise to be made a
soldier of; but the father died a month or so ago, which brought them
all into this part of the country, and old Martin won't hear of the
boy's taking to the sword. Yet I would stake my life that they are
attacked before they get many miles farther, and then they will find
that young Martin's stout back and strong arm are both shield and
sword for them. I hope, sir, we shall have good news of you at the
army; but you might as well have won a few gold pieces by the way of
conducting three fat merchants safely. With what will you please to
break your fast! It is not well to set out fasting, as they have done,
and it's good twelve miles ere you get to Cavignac."

"I am not going to Cavignac, my good host," I replied, not choosing
exactly to have my route settled for me.

"Ay, then," he answered, "you are going to Guitres, which is farther
still; but in that case you'll have to pass the Saye low down, and I
fear that all the rain which fell last night may have rendered the
ford impassable. Besides all that, however, I heard that Lossac and
his band were lying between St. Aulaye and Contras, and it is even to
be doubted whether he does not keep parties scouring the whole country
up as far as Barbezieux, for he wants to prevent the bands from the
South from joining our great admiral and the Prince de Condé. So you
had better take my advice and keep hard away to the west, though you
do get among the sands, for you are not strong enough to do much
against any of his people, and must e'en have recourse to what we call
fox's strength, by which I mean cunning."

I thanked the aubergiste for his good information, which was, indeed,
not a little important to me; for the armies of the Prince de Condé
and the Duke of Montpensier were so placed that it was difficult for
either to reach its resources, and no less so, for any one wishing to
join the one, to avoid falling into the hands of the other.

The tidings I had received cast me into a momentary fit of musing; and
the aubergiste, seeing the effect his words had produced, and, at the
same time, having a strong desire that I should take my breakfast at
his house, represented to me that, if I would but wait for half an
hour, a courier from Angoulême would pass through Cubzac, and from him
we could extract much information.

I agreed to his suggestion; and, soon after the morning meal had been
prepared, I heard the arrival of the courier himself, and learned that
he had passed a small band of horse, whether troops of Lossac or not
he could not tell. They amounted not to more than six or seven
persons, he said, and were apparently moving back towards Cercon.

These tidings having been obtained, I had nothing farther to detain me
at Cubzac; and, paying the host his reckoning, I mounted to my
chamber, clothed myself in my good suit of steel, and, after calling
loudly, but in vain, for Andriot, to make the rest of my goods and
chattels into as small packages as possible, that it might be carried
more easily, I descended to the courtyard to see what had become of my
young attendant and my new follower, the latter of whom I had not seen
during the whole morning.

I found them together, behind some stables at the back of the auberge,
chaffering with a sturdy farmer of the neighbourhood in regard to a
proposed exchange of Master Moric Endem's piece of lean cattle for a
fine, fresh, sturdy, but rather vicious horse belonging to the other.
Moric had offered, it seems, to give his own horse, and all the
remains of the crown which I had given him the day before, together
with another crown that Andriot had lent him, for the more powerful
and befitting charger which had been placed before his eyes. The
farmer, however, stood out for another piece of money, and I was fain
now to come forward and give it, though the price seemed to be
somewhat exorbitant.[1] The horse that Moric already possessed was
anything but fit for the journey; and, as he willingly agreed that I
was to be considered the proprietor of the beast now purchased, it
gave me a greater command over him than I might otherwise have
obtained.

After all this was concluded and the horse in his hands, I gave a
glance towards my new follower's figure, and saw that it certainly was
as much improved as his form and features would admit. The buff jerkin
was now cleared from its rusty stains and spots of dirt, and was
shining in the full freshness of chalk and yellow ochre. It seemed
scarcely dry as yet, indeed; but that circumstance he did not appear
to mind; and the plain steel cap with flying cheek-pieces, into which
he had thrust his head, had been painted with a sort of Indian black
since the night before, so as to look very smart, without offering a
very shining or conspicuous point to the eye of a watchful enemy.

No other piece of armour had yet been put on, I suppose in order to
give the buff jerkin time to dry; but when, after having told him to
hasten his preparations for departure, I came down once more with
Andriot to mount my horse, I found Master Moric armed from head to
foot, with his cuirass also painted black; thus hiding, in a great
measure, the unseemly patch upon his right side.

If I contemplated him with some attention, well pleased with his
neatly-trimmed beard and well-washed face, he did not seem to regard
me less narrowly or with less apparent pleasure, scanning all the
pieces of my arms with an experienced eye, and rubbing his hands
joyfully as he saw how easily they sat upon me. The ease with which I
managed my horse too, though the brute kicked and plunged most
unmercifully on first being mounted, gave him no less satisfaction;
and it was only upon Andriot that he bestowed some counsels and some
reproof in regard to the unsoldierly manner in which he had put on his
morion. When all was completed, we set out from Cubzac, and took our
road onward towards Barbezieux. As we went, Moric treated me with a
large portion of his conversation, amusing by its quaint drollery, but
occasionally tiresome from touches of that rhodomontade whereof he had
been accused. Were his own word to be believed, there was no great
action which had been enacted during the last half century that he had
not either absolutely performed himself or had a very considerable and
important share therein. But he even went beyond that; and when he
began telling a story of any one else, it very often happened that he
entirely forgot, before he came to the end of his tale, the original
hero with whom he set out, dropped the third person, took up the
first, changed the personage spoken of to himself, and performed all
the last acts he had to relate in his own person.

The most ludicrous instance of this kind of transformation took place
while he was giving me an account of the tournament at which King
Henry II. had been killed not many years before, and at which Moric
had been present. He asserted that the fault which occasioned the
death of the king was entirely on the part of Montgomery; but, before
he had finished his tale, he entirely forgot that declaration, got
warm and heated with the subject, was seized with the peculiar sort of
cupidity which induced him so constantly to appropriate the actions of
others, and becoming Montgomery himself, described how he had killed
the King of France, and explained, with the utmost perspicuity and
exactitude, the eager feelings with which he had been animated, and
which prevented him from recollecting in time that it was necessary to
throw away instantly the broken staff of his lance.

I could not help laughing at this absurdity; but he took it all in
good part, laughed himself, and declared that it was every word true,
except that he was the person who did it.

In many other respects, however, his conversation was full of
interest. He was an old veteran soldier, and full of information upon
every practical point, both of military tactics and military habits.
As far as study could render me acquainted with the subject, I was so
already; but I gained more useful information from my new follower in
a few hours, more directions for employing well the science that I had
acquired, than I could have done from the best master of the art in
weeks or months.

From him, too, I learned all the habits and manners of the camp; the
rules, the regulations, the etiquettes, which I had before no notion
of. What could and might be done, what could not be done, he told me;
and I found that, constituted as armies of that period were--low in
discipline, licentious in habits--with a little complaisance to the
great leaders, and the observation of a few insignificant regulations,
the captain of such a party as I proposed to raise might, in fact, do
anything that he liked, and act totally independent of the general
during almost the whole of his campaign, provided he showed himself
daring and fearless, and ready to fight whenever he was called upon.

As we were conversing in this manner while we pursued our onward way,
we came to the high grounds near the little hamlet of Marceau, and,
looking down over the country below, we saw a considerable number of
people riding along, as if in great haste and confusion, upon the bank
of the river, and at some distance to the right another party appeared
upon the edge of the little slope, while the sun, glittering upon
their arms, left no doubt whatever that they were troopers of some
kind.

"Those are surely the poor merchants," I said, "who left Cubzac this
morning."

"Ay," said the old soldier, "They are running away from those worthies
on the hill; some of Lassac's people, I suppose. But the stupid fools
have missed the ford. It is there, a hundred yards to the right, and
they are running away from it. I know it as well as my own buff
jerkin. They will get themselves caught and plundered if they don't
mind."

"Let us go down and help them," I exclaimed. "If you know the ford, we
can reach them before the others, and once having them across, we can
turn and take a blow or two with the pursuers."

"Bravo! bravo, my captain!" cried Moric Endem. "That's the way! That's
the way! It seems as if you had been born and bred to it! Always fight
the enemy when he's not more than two to one! I am with you, my good
captain!"

And, spurring down the hill at full speed, we approached the party of
merchants, who, terrified at seeing another body of troopers on the
opposite side, paused and hesitated, till, taking off my steel cap, I
waved it in the air, calling to them not to be afraid.

It seems that I was instantly recognised, for they stopped, and some
advanced towards me, while, pointing with my hand towards the spot
which Moric had indicated as the ford, I shouted to them to ride in
that way with all speed.

People in a fright, however, never understand anything that is said to
them, and they did not obey my directions till I reached them, so that
by the time we got them to the side of the river, and some of the
horses into the water, the enemy were close upon us. It seemed to me
just like one of the military games which I had been accustomed to
play with the old retainers and my young cousins. With Moric Endem and
Andriot, I turned my horse upon the pursuers; the lad Martin rode up
in a minute to my side; one of his uncles could not resist following;
and, by a sudden and unexpected charge, we drove the enemy back, who
paused for a moment's consideration before they followed us again.

"Now, seigneur," cried Moric, "quick over the stream, for the river is
coming down like fury, and in ten minutes more will be impassable. We
can easily keep the opposite bank when we are over."

I had remarked that the water was up to the girths of the horses'
saddles when the party of merchants passed, and therefore, without
more ado, I gave the necessary order for crossing the stream. We found
that the little river Saye, like some of the others that flow into the
Isle, subject to a sudden increase, had become a complete torrent in
consequence of the rain which had fallen during the night, and was
swelling every moment, coming down in large brown eddies, which nearly
carried our horses off their feet. The two merchants who had remained
with us and Andriot passed first, and I followed, thinking that my
friend Moric was close behind me; but, in charging the Catholics, one
of them had been struck to the ground, slightly wounded, near the bank
of the stream, and Moric's fondness for plunder could not be
restrained. The man-at-arms, indeed, had run away, but the horse had
somehow got his feet entangled with the bridle, and remained very
soberly lying on the ground.

Turning round when I had half crossed the stream, I perceived my
worthy follower busily employed upon the saddle, and shouted to him
that the enemy were upon him. He looked up, however, calculated the
distance nicely, finished the operation of cutting the girths with his
dagger, threw the rich saddle and its caparisons on the crupper of his
own horse, sprang upon his back in a moment, and plunged into the
river, with the spears of the Catholics close at his horse's flanks.
The water had risen some inches since I had passed; his horse was not
quite so tall as mine, and for a few feet had to swim; but Moric Endem
was never at all discomposed by any such little adventure; and,
keeping his spurs close to the horse's sides, brought him to land, not
more than a few yards below the spot where the rest were standing.

The Catholic band pursued him into the water, and one of them seemed
inclined to follow his example in swimming; but Moric was by no means
unprepared; and snatching from the miscellaneous crowd of arms which
surrounded his saddle a long horse-pistol, which fired with a flint
and wheel, he took a deliberate aim at the pursuer's horse and shot
him in the water. Though the wound was mortal, the horse, luckily for
its rider, dashed out of the water before it fell; and Moric, scarcely
staying to mark the effect, proceeded calmly and quietly to examine
the saddle which he had taken, to rip off the gold lace and velvet
which covered it, and to extract from the lining of the bow some
twenty gold pieces, which were there stowed away for security.

Laughing at his prize, he rode up to us, and breaking in upon the
expressions of gratitude which the merchants were pouring upon me, he
pointed to the tops of a thick wood of sapins which were seen it the
distance of about two miles, saying,

"We had better ride on that way; for, if these fellows see us remain
talking here, they will go down to the bridge and pursue us out of
very spite. If we set off quick for the wood, however, they will know
that it is useless, and we shall go on in quiet."

His advice was immediately followed; and, turning round on a little
elevation before we reached the wood, we had the satisfaction of
seeing that the enemy had given up the pursuit, and were slowly
proceeding across the country in another direction.



CHAPTER VI.


It was not till we had placed several miles between us and the enemy
that the good merchants felt at all satisfied of their security; and
they pursued their way with a degree of eagerness which soon brought
us into the midst of the sandy tracks in the neighbourhood of
Cheperiers. We then came to the banks of a little stream, the name of
which I forget; and, as the women and children were now evidently much
tired, I assured good Master Vern that there was no farther danger, at
least from those who had already attacked him; and, dismounting from
our horses upon the banks of the stream, we let the beasts crop the
scanty herbage, while we prepared to repose and refresh ourselves from
a good store of provisions which the traders had brought with them
from the inn. The faces of the women and children were still somewhat
pale, both from fear and fatigue, and Martin Vern and his companion
looked grave and thoughtful, as I imagined, from the risk their
property had just run.

Young Martin, however, who had been as far forward in our little fray
with the enemy as if he had been armed with steel from head to foot,
looked not a little proud of his exploits, especially as somehow, I do
not very well know how, he had got a sharp gash upon the forehead,
which bled a little, and promised to leave a military mark upon him
that he was not likely easily to get rid of. Seeing the two elder
merchants standing apart, busily talking to each other, I advanced to
the young man, and, shaking hands with him, complimented him highly
upon his courage and promptitude. He grasped my hand again, but said
nothing that was audible, while the colour came up bright into his
cheek, and he looked confused as well as gratified.

Ere I had well concluded what I had to say, however, Master Vern and
his companion came up; and the former took my hand, saying, "Permit me
to touch your hand, seigneur, and to offer you my very best thanks for
saving us all this day. The landlord of the inn at Cubzac informed us
this morning that we might well trust to you; but we poor merchants,
going on business from one part of the kingdom to another, are forced
in these troublous times to be so careful, that sometimes prudence
acts the part of imprudence, and, by refusing to trust when we ought,
we do ourselves as much harm as by trusting when we ought not."

Not knowing very well where his harangue was about to lead him, and
never having been particularly fond of thanks of any kind, I took the
first opportunity of replying, that what I had done was a mere
nothing, a piece of common humanity; and I added, laughing, "To-day's
adventure, good sir, should teach you Catholics to treat us poor
Protestants somewhat better than you do; for here you have been
attacked, though unarmed, and would doubtless have been plundered by
your own party, while you have been defended by Protestants only
because you were unoffending people."

"Oh, sir," said both the merchants at once, "we are not the sort of
Catholics you take us for. We look upon the Protestants just as much
like brethren as they do each other. We see no reason why any man
should be condemned for worshipping God in his own way."

"There are many sorts of Catholics in France, sir," continued Martin
Vern; "and those who call us _Politics_ well deserve the name
themselves, for their religion is all a matter of politics together.
But, however, we are no enemies to the Protestants; for I am even now
going to the camp of the Prince de Condé, to treat with him on my own
part, and that of my good friend Solomon Ahar, concerning some stores
and other matters that he requires."

"Indeed!" I said, with some surprise; "Then I am certainly the more
glad that I have rendered you this little service."

"The Prince de Condé will be glad too, sir," replied the merchant;
"and I shall take care that he knows to whom it is owing. I think the
aubergiste told me your name was Monsieur Cerons. But all such
professions of gratitude I know are vain; and my companion and myself
have agreed to beg your acceptance of this purse of fifty crowns for
the service that you have already rendered us, promising you the same
sum if you will kindly conduct us in safety to the camp of the
prince."

Heaven knows that I was as poor as might be; that I calculated upon my
sword as my sole means of fortune, and that I could never have gained
any little sum in a more honest or honourable way. But yet it went
against me to take the man's money, and I had to think two or three
times before I could bring myself to resolve upon so doing. The
merchant saw my situation, and, not knowing how inexperienced I was in
such matters, attributed it to a wrong cause.

"We would offer you more, sir," he said; "but the fact is, the
speculation on which we are going is a very uncertain one. We cannot
gain much, but we may lose much. Otherwise--"

"Think not of that, think not of that," I said; "I was only hesitating
whether I should take your money at all. Nor would I do so, but the
fact is, I am but a soldier of fortune, Monsieur Vern, and am now
trying to raise a troop with but small means of doing so. If I take
the money at all, therefore, it is for the purpose of increasing my
number as I go along, which will add to your own security. Of the
fifty pieces that you offer me, I shall give ten to each of the men,
and will employ the other thirty in recruiting my numbers, if I can
meet with any likely men either at Jonsac or Barbezieux. The other
fifty will depend upon whether we guide you well and rightly, and that
I shall take without hesitation, as that to which I feel some right."

"You shall have deep thanks and gratitude into the bargain," replied
the merchant; "and, although you gentlemen of the sword do not value
much the good will or services of us traders, occasions do happen
sometimes when, according to the old fable, the mouse can help the
lion."

He held the purse in his hand, and certainly his words were calculated
to make the acceptance of it palatable to me; yet I felt my cheek grow
hot as I took it, and I looked round towards the women and children
and the rest of the party, as if to see whether they were looking at
me.

In the mean while, Andriot and Moric Endem had been aiding the
merchant's wife and the women-servants to lay out the provisions on
the banks of the stream and, with all the facility of an old soldier.
Moric had cast down his steel cap, and was busily arranging the whole,
with many a dry jest between, and merry looks and careless laughter,
which made the women and the children soon forget the terror that had
seized them, and prevented them from even perceiving the extraordinary
ugliness of their gallant defender.

A huge cold capon, which he instantly christened "Monseigneur," was
placed in the midst of the little circle; manifold eggs were arranged
neatly around; various stores of salted provisions, chopped tongues,
lard and sausages, were spread out by his hands, with more taste than
one might have expected; and at length came two huge bottles of wine,
which he called the king and queen, with various attendants, for each
of which he had a name.

As we took our all places around, however, it was discovered suddenly
that the eggs, which were to form no inconsiderable part of the meal,
had not been cooked.

"We could soon cook them," cried Andriot, "for there's wood in the
world in the neighbourhood; but where are we to find wherewithal to
cook them in!"

"You get the wood, you get the wood, scapegrace," cried Moric; "run up
the hill and get the wood. You show how long you have been a soldier.
Don't you know that every man-at-arms carries a kettle on his head and
a frying-pan on his stomach? Get ye gone, and come back speedily, and
leave the cooking to me."

"Now we will put him in a fright for his polished morion," continued
Moric, after the youth had gone, at the same time collecting some dry
sticks and grass that lay about, and striking a light. "Susanne, my
pretty one," he continued, to one of the little girls, "I see some
branches lying there: go and fetch them, while I blow the fire up."

And, using his mouth for a pair of bellows, he had contrived to kindle
a strong flame by the time that Andriot and the girl had returned.
"Now, Andriot," he went on, "take off your morion, there's a good
youth; fill it with water out of the stream, and you shall see that we
will boil the eggs in a minute."

"Had I not better take yours, Master Moric?" said the young man, looking
somewhat ruefully at him.

Moric burst into a loud shout of laughter, in which all the rest of
the party joined. "Come, come," cried Moric, "since thou art stingy of
thy morion, Andriot, we will roast the eggs, though it is a difficult
task, and not to be undertaken by any but an old woman or an old
soldier.

"SONG.

   "There's an art in routing of eggs, there's an art in roasting of
      eggs;
    And he who would run before he can walk, must first learn to use
      his legs."


Thus sung Moric Endem, in a tolerably good voice, as he laid the eggs
in order among the hot wood-ashes. There was something very contagious
in the gay, careless merriment which my new follower displayed, and I
never beheld a meal pass more cheerfully than did ours of that day, by
the banks of the little stream. Moric's eggs proved to be excellent;
and of the wine, which was excellent also, he was permitted, in
recompense, to have his full share. It had no perceptible effect upon
him, however; more cheerful it could not make him, and his head was a
great deal too well seasoned to the juice of the grape for his
faculties to be disturbed by it.

Before we rose to go on our way, however, I produced the purse which I
had received from the merchant, and bestowed ten crowns from it upon
the old soldier, with the like sum upon Andriot. The eyes of both
glistened not a little at the treasure they had so rapidly acquired;
and the old soldier, starting up, drew me on one side, saying,

"That puts me in mind of something. Now, monseigneurs, I have got some
plunder, you know, to divide, which came out of that fellow's saddle.
We have said nothing yet about the way we intend to divide what we
get; but I will tell you what I saw tried in the last war, and which
is the best plan; namely, this, that everything which is brought in is
given up to the captain. Every week it is divided among the whole
band, the number of lots being just one more than the band, including
the captain. He has two lots, and every other man one. That makes each
man do his best for the whole, and see that others do the best too;
and the captain, who has a great many things to pay, and to do for us
all, has something to do it with, and a little more. Ransoms, however,
and compositions, and such things, are, of course, regulated
differently, according to the laws of arms, and each man keeps his
own. Also, of any plunder taken in a general battle, you know, a part
goes to the leader whose cornet we fight under; but only be sure, in
making terms with the general, that you get his authority for dealing
with your own men according to your own way, and bind yourself as
little as you can to the laws and regulations of other people."

"Somewhat freebooting advice, Master Moric," I replied, "though not
bad in some respects. But, nevertheless, you must remember that I have
honour and glory to gain, and to make a name for my band too, as well
as to gain money and plunder."

"The one's the way to do the other," replied Moric. "Your way to get
honour and renown for yourself and your band is to fight like a lion,
and make your men fight; and, depend upon it, every one fights ten
times as well when he thinks he is to get something for it, as when he
thinks that everything he takes is to be shared with the whole army."

There was some reason in what the man said, and I then proceeded to
consult him in regard to obtaining some new recruits as speedily as
possible.

"Oh! we shall find some at Jonsac," he said, "No doubt of it! The
people are arming all over the country, and few have yet taken service
with any one. All the daring fellows that are ready to eat fire and
brimstone served up hot out of a cannon's mouth, will choose some free
band such as ours, depend upon it, and we shall have our share, though
it's a pity you are not better known among the old soldiers. However,
my face will do you some good. People don't forget it when once they
have seen it; and the task of guarding these merchants will have its
effect too, for the men will think that there's something to be gained
at least, which is true too."

"Why, for that matter," I said, "you may give each known man that you
can meet with a couple of crowns as earnest, and promise them two more
at the end of our journey."

"Then we are safe enough, then we are safe enough!" cried Moric. "We
shall have plenty of men, depend upon it, and good men, too. There's
nothing like a bird in the hand--one of these yellow birds, I mean.
Why four crowns certain, to begin with! Four golden crowns! That is
enough to buy a Protestant count or a Catholic archbishop at any time.
But we had better not increase the band too much at first, sir; for if
you go with too many, you will either not save room for many of the
best men that we find straying about the camp, or else you'll have the
troop so large that some one of the leaders will be for having you
under his command altogether."

"Why, from your account, Moric," I said, "it seems to me that every
one does very much what he likes in the camp, whether he be under
command or not."

"There's some truth in that, sir," replied the man. "There's much
truth in that. Every man in the Protestant army does what he likes;
for, receiving no pay from any one but such as some of the lords give
their own men, no one has a right to say to another, do this or do
that, and it only happens every now and then that this sweet prince or
that charming general hangs one or two of his beloved volunteers, just
to prove that his authority is what it is not, and that he has some
power, when, in reality, he has none. Then among the Catholics it is
even worse; for, though they have the right, and the power too, if
they choose to exert it, yet every lord has his own will and his own
way; and from the king down to the valet, every one is afraid of
offending the man below him, and driving him to sing psalms in French
instead of Latin. But, at the same time, it is just as well to have
good authority for what one does; and a man who comes fresh to offer
his services, with ten or a dozen stout troopers at his back, may make
what bargain he likes, and the best bargain is the freest."

While this conversation and some more of a similar nature passed
between myself and Moric Endem, the merchants and their train were
preparing to pursue their journey, saddling their beasts, gathering
together various portions of their goods and chattels, which had been
unpacked to arrive at the provisions, and placing the women and
children on the horses destined to carry them.

I and my two followers mounted speedily to accompany them; and, when
everything was ready, we set out together, I entering now into my
first employ in arms as the guard and protector of a party of rich
merchants. I believe I fulfilled the task pretty well, and did not
suffer my inexperience to appear, at least to the eyes of any one but
Moric Endem. He, however, in the presence of our new companions,
showed the utmost deference to his leader; and a little incident which
happened at Jonsac tended, perhaps, to increase his respect fully as
much as the promptitude with which I had turned upon the enemy in the
morning.

We had arrived towards nightfall, and, sitting down in the public room
of the inn as usual, found at the other end of the table a somewhat
noisy and excited party of soldiery, that little town being then
entirely in the hands of the Protestants, and the inhabitants being
very generally arming to support the Admiral and the Prince de Condé.
Those who were at the end of the table were evidently raw to the
service, and of the very useful class of _pedescaux_ or foot soldiers.
One or two of them, also, seemed to have drunk a sufficient quantity
of wine to make them insolent. Taking upon myself the place that my
rank, both as a gentleman and as the leader of the whole party,
entitled me to, I advanced at once to the top of the table, and,
placing myself there, arranged the merchants and their families on
either side; and, to guard as well as possible against any annoyance,
I told Moric Endem to place himself at the end of the line on one
side, and Andriot on the other.

My precaution proved not in vain; for, after eying us for a few
moments, the conversation of the soldiery at the other end of the
table evidently turned upon us, and a great deal of laughter and
jesting took place, which made the colour come and go in the
merchants' cheeks. We had fallen well upon the hour of supper, so that
the last meal of the day was speedily set before us; but the laughing
of the others continued more loudly than before, and it seemed that
some of the elder and more experienced were busily engaged in
instigating a heavy looking burly youth of twenty or one-and-twenty to
do something to insult or annoy us.

At length I distinctly heard the words, "You dare not!" and the reply,
"I dare!" And, at the same time, the young man pushed the settle from
behind him, and walked up to the part of the table where we were
sitting. The women looked terrified over their shoulders; but the man,
without saying a word to any one, stooped over and lifted a dish, as
yet untouched, from before Martin Vern. Moric Endem, who was on the
other side, was instantly starting up, but I exclaimed in a tone of
authority, "Sit down, Moric Endem!"

"As you please, monseigneur," replied the man.

"Put down that dish instantly!" I said to the young man, who looked
somewhat aghast, either at his own daring, or at the monseigneur which
Moric Endem had given me. I was rising as I spoke, but the man
hesitated, while a loud laugh, evidently at his expense, burst from
his fellows below.

"Put down that dish!" I exclaimed again, in a voice that made the hall
echo; and, as he did not instantly obey, I struck him a single blow on
the head, which, coming from an arm well practised and not
particularly weak, stretched him at full length upon the floor, with
sauces and condiments floating round him. It luckily so happened that
the aubergiste himself was in the room at the moment, and, taking
instant advantage of the dead silence that ensued, I said, in as calm
a tone as possible, "Landlord, bring in another dish, and charge that
which is on the floor to those persons who are at the other end of the
table."

"Certainly, monseigneur! certainly!" replied the aubergiste, impressed
as much as I could desire by what had taken place; while I quietly
returned to my place and proceeded in carving the boiled beef, in
which I had been interrupted.

In the mean while my fallen friend raised himself up, glanced at me
for a moment with uncertain rage, of which I took not the slightest
notice, and then returning to his companions, spoke a word or two
sullenly to them. They laughed, but in a much lower tone than before;
and a brief and muttered consultation seemed to be held, while the
landlord brought in a new dish and deposited it before Martin Vern. As
the landlord passed them, however, one of them beckoned him up and
asked him something in a whisper, and I could then hear my own name
passing from mouth to mouth, with various additions and improvements
at the fancy of the retailers, as, "The Seigneur de Cerons!" "The
Count de Cerons!" "The celebrated Count de Cerons!" "The Seigneur de
Cerons, colonel-general of the infantry!"

It was clear, however, that the whole party--whether these additions
had been made by the magnifying powers of Moric Endem when he
announced my name to the host or not--it was clear that the whole
party were now determined to look upon me as a very great man, and to
make that an excuse to themselves for sneaking away without taking any
farther notice of the chastisement inflicted on their companion.
Accordingly, after hesitating and looking doubtful, and whispering for
several minutes more, one by one disappeared through the doorway, and
we were left in possession of the hall to discuss our supper in
tranquillity.

I should not have mentioned the subject at all in conversation with my
companions, but both Martin Vern and his nephew talked of it, laughing
as soon as the others were gone, and, while they loaded me with thanks
and praises, made many a shrewd and jesting comment upon the
pusillanimity of the departed. It had another effect, however, for the
landlord's voice was heard several times without, talking loud to
different persons; and, from two or three words that could be
distinguished, I found that he was thus loud in my praise. When, at
length, he was putting some dessert upon the table before us, he spoke
to me in a whisper, saying that there were without two or three
gentlemen who had served in the last war, who had taken arms again,
and were very anxious to know whether I could and would receive them
into my company.

I replied, "That I could not leave the party I was escorting, but that
I would send my lieutenant," by which sonorous name I dignified good
Moric Endem, to speak with them at once; choosing, in such a case, to
trust to his judgment much sooner than to my own. The result was, that
he engaged for me five stout fellows as ever were seen, of whom he had
known something in the preceding wars, and who also had the advantage
of coming to me with horses, arms, and accoutrements complete. The
whole of this was settled during that evening, and the joy and
satisfaction which I myself might feel at my growing importance was
far outdone by that of good Martin Vern and his companions, who now
thought themselves perfectly competent to encounter any Catholic force
in the neighbourhood. Two more, but not exactly of such good stuff,
were added to our number at Barbezieux, and, thus forming a troop of
ten men, we advanced on the road to Angoulême, as far, or perhaps
farther, than it was prudent so to do.

We had heard that the Prince de Condé and the rest were at that time
at the town of Sainctes; but a few miles on the other side of
Barbezieux we learned that the army had marched in a different
direction, and had apparently quitted the Charente. News, too, was
heard, that the Catholic garrison of St. Jean d'Angely had sent out
considerable detachments into the country on the side of Pons, while
light-armed troops from Angoulême were scouring the fields in every
direction, for the purpose, it was supposed, of supplying the city in
case of siege.

In conversing over these affairs, which certainly bore a somewhat
menacing aspect, with Martin Vern, I found that he was determined to
proceed with his nephew and his partner to the camp of the Prince de
Condé, but was in a state of very considerable alarm on account of his
wife and children. Under these circumstances, I advised him strongly
to despatch messengers to the Duke of Montpensier, who was at that
time, we understood, at St. Junien, in order to demand a safe conduct
for his family, which would immediately be given on his declaring them
to be all Catholics. He seized at the proposal eagerly; a messenger
was easily found, and set out with directions to pass on the other
side of Angoulême on his return, and to meet us at Cognac, whither we
now bent our steps with slow and cautious journeys. Cognac we found in
the hands of a small Protestant force, and we then first learned that
the siege of Angoulême by the Prince de Condé had actually begun.

The rest of our journey, then, would have been easily completed, even
without the safe conduct; but, as Martin Vern was aware he should have
to return to Bordeaux himself at all events, he judged it best to wait
for the safe conduct in the suburb of Cognac, and to send the women of
his party on at once to Paris, as it was impossible to say what turn
the war might take.

Though the Protestant force would not admit the soldiery within the
limits of their little garrison, I there made the acquaintance of
several officers and gentlemen attached to the Protestant cause, and
became still farther acquainted practically with the habits of a camp
and an army. Though I had now under my command several good and
experienced soldiers, yet Moric Endem was my chief adviser, and I was
glad to find myself justified to the full in having trusted him so far
by the opinions and commendation of all the military men with whom I
was brought in contact. Every one laughed when his name was mentioned,
but every one also declared that he was as brave as a lion, and might
with safety be fully trusted by those who chose to trust him fully.
Those who chose to show him, on the contrary, either unkindness or
want of confidence, would need, they said, the eyes of Argus to
prevent the old soldier from finding some means of retribution. He was
now fully and completely established as my lieutenant; but he was as
jealous of his leader's reputation and authority as his own, and
presumed in no degree upon his new station. The short time we spent at
Cognac gave me an opportunity of becoming more thoroughly acquainted
with my men, and of making them generally aware of my views and
purposes.

At length, with the interval of one day, the safe conduct arrived,
and, with many embraces and some tears, good Martin Vern saw his wife
and children depart for Paris. An hour or two after they were gone, we
ourselves commenced our march; and, just as evening was setting in,
saw the high hill of Angoulême rising above the lesser slopes that
border the Charente.



CHAPTER VII.


It was night when we reached the outposts of the Prince de Condé's
camp, and we were stopped by a small body of soldiers, who demanded
the sign, which, of course, we could not give. Our errand was soon
explained, however, and we were led on into the camp, which was not
entrenched, nor, indeed, defended in any other way. It presented a
gay, mixed scene, where little regularity of any kind existed, except
in the lines of the tents, which resembled long streets when once one
had passed the skirts of the camp, where plenty of disorder was going
on. My followers and horses were left at the second guard, while I and
the merchants were led on foot through the canvass streets and squares
to the spot where the tent of the Prince de Condé was pitched. Though
certainly not a very convenient dwelling, It was divided into two
chambers, if not three, and we were detained in the outer one while
the prince was informed of our arrival.

The pride of arms and birth made me imagine that I should be called to
his presence immediately, though we found he was at supper; but I was
much disappointed, for the merchants were much more important people
at that moment in the eyes of the prince than any small leader like
myself, and they were ushered in immediately, while I remained
without, talking with one of the prince's attendants, who remained
sitting with me, as if in the antechamber.

The conference of the Protestant leader with the merchants seemed
interminably long, and the occasional laughter and merriment that I
heard made me think that the conversation was protracted after all
real business was over. At length, however, they came out, and I was
summoned into the presence of the prince, while Martin Vern, in
passing, said, "We will wait for you here."

I found the prince still seated at supper, with a man considerably
older than himself, though yet in the prime of life. Condé's
countenance was remarkably handsome; far more so, indeed, than his
figure; and there was in his eyes that sort of sparkling impetuosity
which well indicated the character of the man. He received me with a
smiling countenance, and made me take a seat near him, saying,

"It is always pleasant, Monsieur de Cerons, to receive new friends and
companions, but still more pleasant to receive one who bears back to
our camp an illustrious name, which has been too long banished from
the roll of arms. I take it for granted I speak to the son of that
Monsieur de Cerons who, just twenty years ago, distinguished himself
in the attack upon the forts at Boulogne, and, to the regret of the
whole army, fell upon the occasion. I grieve to say that I knew little
of him, for that was my first campaign, and I was not worthy of the
notice of so distinguished a soldier; but my friend, Monsieur
d'Andelot here, was his companion in many a well-fought field."

"I was indeed, young gentleman," said D'Andelot; "and, I must say, a
better soldier or a braver man never existed. You are very like him,
and, I trust, are as like him in character as you are in person."

"It is with the hope of proving that I am so, sir, that I come here,"
I replied; and, judging it more respectful to the distinguished
officers with whom I was speaking to say as little as possible, I
ceased there.

"I doubt not that you will completely fill his place among us,"
replied the prince, after a moment's thought. "Indeed, Monsieur de
Cerons, we have every reason to believe so, from the account these
good merchants have given us of your conduct on the road. You do not
know what an obligation you have laid upon us by bringing them safely
hither; for, on my faith and honour, I think, without their help, we
should not have been able to carry on the campaign: for, though very
one here fights for good-will, yet men must have food, and cannons and
arquebuses are poor contrivances without powder and shot. These
merchants tell us you have a troop with you, Monsieur de Cerons?"

I now evidently saw that it was the design of the prince to give me
notice, in a quiet, passing manner, that I was to expect no pay for my
services, and, at the same time, to ascertain with what views and
purposes I came.

"My troop is not a large one, my lord," I replied; "at present it
comprises but ten men. They are all, however, stout men-at-arms, and
have some experience; and I hope to increase my troop to double that
number. It is fit, my lord, however, that I should tell you that my
father left nothing but his sword; and it is needful to myself that I
should raise myself by arms, and to my men that I should be enabled to
maintain them by the sword."

"Ay," replied the prince, "I understand--make the horse feed the
horse. But it is somewhat difficult to know what to do. We cannot and
must not drive away such bands as yours, especially when led by such a
gentleman as yourself. As little can we expect them to range
themselves under any regular leader, when we have no pay whatever to
give them; and yet it is absolutely necessary that both I myself and
Monsieur de Coligny should put a stop to everything like
indiscriminate plunder. Were we not to do so, we should soon have the
whole country rising upon us."

"I am not one, my lord," I replied, "to wish that it should be
otherwise. All I wish is, that, in order to keep my men together, I
may have, as it were, a detached command of my own people under your
highness's commission, in order that, by fair war against the enemy in
arms, I may be enabled to maintain my troop and advance myself.
Neither the threshold of the cottage nor the hearth of the citizen
shall ever be invaded by my people. I only want permission to attack
the enemy whenever I can find occasion, and to cut off from him, as my
legitimate prize, whatever I can meet with."

"That is soon granted," replied the Prince de Condé, "if we understand
each other rightly. But what is that in your hand, Monsieur de Cerons?
It seems a letter."

"I had forgotten it, my lord," I said; "it is one addressed to your
highness on my behalf, I believe."

The prince took it and read it, and then turning with a smile to
D'Andelot, he said, "We shall have Stuart with us in less than ten
days; and he does more service, you know, than any ten besides. Now,
Monsieur de Cerons. My friend Stuart here has explained all your plans
more clearly than yourself; and, indeed, it is not always so easy to
explain one's self as to let another do it. I fear very much, however,
that you have attached yourself to the wrong side of the question, as
far as obtaining wealth, at least, is concerned. You shall have,
however, what seamen, I believe, call a roving commission; and on the
following terms, remember. During all marches, countermarches, and on
general service, you shall have the opportunity allowed you, as far as
possible, of doing as you please. At other times, such as the eve of a
general battle, the assault of a town, or any similar operation, you
shall render yourself into the camp on due notice given you. In short,
any special order given to you by me or by the Admiral de Coligny you
shall obey as strictly as any other soldier; but, at the times when
you are without any such orders, you shall not be called to account
for anything you do at your own hand; with these provisos, that you
shall neither commit, nor suffer to be committed by your people, any
outrage upon, or pillage of, the peasantry of the country, that you
shall neither exact contributions from villages, hamlets, or places
friendly or unarmed, nor permit any plunder in towns taken by
capitulation; and, in fact, shall only wage honourable war against
enemies with arms in their hands. Nor shall you receive money called
_pati_, or sufferance, from any persons whatsoever. On these
conditions, all prizes whatsoever captured by yourself shall be at
your own disposal, without claim or intervention from any persons
whatsoever. This is all that can be done for you, and, if it suits
you, it shall be done."

"It suits me perfectly, my lord," I replied; "I require nothing more;
and, as far as in me lies, will never be absent from my post when my
services may be wanted."

Some farther conversation ensued between the prince, D'Andelot, and
myself, in which a great many other matters were settled with regard
to my lodging in the camp, &c.; and, sending for his secretary, the
Prince de Condé gave orders for the commission to be drawn up, which
was immediately done, giving me authority to raise a company of fifty
men, and imbodying all the stipulations contained above.

As soon as I had received it I rose to depart; but D'Andelot, after
whispering for a moment to the prince, said, "It always gives an
officer great honour, Monsieur de Cerons, to begin his career in any
new service with some brilliant exploit. Now we propose to-morrow to
attack the breach at Angoulême, which has been made by our batteries
yesterday and to-day. Now the leading of this assault has been given
to Monsieur de Genissac; but we have no doubt that he will suffer you
to be his companion, if you choose to mount the breach among the first
along with your men. The breach is in the wall of what is called the
Park; but we will send Genissac to you in the course of to-morrow
morning. You will be supported by the regiment of Monsieur de
Corbouson; and you are to remember to obey promptly the orders you
receive from that quarter."

It may well be supposed that, eager as I was to distinguish myself, I
caught at the offer without hesitation. In this instance I had not the
slightest fears in regard to my own inexperience, for I knew that I
had nothing to do but to fight with courage and determination; and,
having ascertained the hour the assault was likely to take place, I
retired to seek the quarters assigned to me, which were in one of the
little suburbs, as I had informed the prince that I had yet no tents
with me.

In the anteroom I found the worthy merchants, and with them returned
to the spot where I had left my men. As we went, Martin Vern informed
me that he was to return to Bordeaux early on the following morning,
and asked if he could execute any commission for me in that city, from
which he was about to return again in ten or twelve days. He said
nothing more at that time, but accompanied me to the little auberge in
the suburb, after I had lodged my troopers as I had been directed. I
found the hall of the inn, as may well be conceived, a scene of
confusion almost indescribable. At first it seemed to me that
everybody was talking, everybody was singing, everybody was drinking,
and everybody was snuffing the candles, at the same time. Eyes
swimming with excitement or dropping with sleepiness, faces heated and
flushed with drink, mouths wide open with oaths, vociferations, or
songs, and outstretched arms, crossing each other in various
directions, were to be seen on every side, while the din and uproar
were absolutely deafening.

The scene did not seem to strike the merchants as much as it did me;
but Martin Vern turned out of that room again almost as soon as he had
entered it, saying, "We shall doubtless find less confusion somewhere
else;" and, after looking into the kitchen, in hopes that, protected
by the awful genius of the culinary art, that place might be found
somewhat more quiet, he mounted the stairs, and walked from bedroom to
bedroom, which had all been turned into eating or drinking rooms, and
which were, in most instances, crammed to the very doors.

At length we came to one large room, which might contain, perhaps, not
more than twenty people, ranged at different tables, and enjoying
themselves more soberly. The secret of this was, that the tenants were
all inferior officers, and the common soldiery judged it more
expedient to pursue their potations in other rooms. The officers, too,
might perhaps themselves desire a little quiet; and I remarked that
several of them looked up and scanned us closely, as if to satisfy
themselves that the intruders were likely to be more quiet and orderly
than the parties assembled in other places.

There was one table vacant, near a window, at the very farther end of
the room, and at that we seated ourselves, glad to be as far as
possible from the general roar that rushed up the stairs and through
the passages. A boy, who was running from table to table with the
activity of a marmoset, came up to inquire what we wished for supper;
and, as soon as he had left us, Master Vern leaned across the table,
and asked me,

"Now, Monsieur de Cerons, have you no commands for Bordeaux? for I
have many things to do, and, perhaps, may not have the opportunity of
speaking to you to-morrow."

After thinking for a moment or two, I replied that I feared there was
no commission that I could give; that I longed, indeed, to hear of my
relations at the Chateau de Blancford, but did not know how to compass
it.

"That is easily done, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant; "I am
going to the Chateau de Blancford myself. There is scarcely a noble in
the land that we merchants have not something to do with. The baron
must have reached the chateau by this time, for he was to leave Paris
in three weeks after we did. Come, come, Monsieur de Cerons," he said,
seeing that I hesitated, "I have many a time remarked, since you were
with us, that something weighs upon your mind. We owe you a great
deal, not only for good service, but for kindness. Sit down and write
a few lines to your friends, and we will find means that you shall
have an answer. Relieve your mind, my friend; relieve your mind by
words. Depend upon it, the best remedy for a heavy heart is to cast
off part of the load upon paper."

"But I have no means of writing here," I said, "and fear it will be
difficult to procure them."

"What! a merchant without paper and ink?" cried Martin Vern, opening a
pocket in the lining of his cloak, and taking out all the requisites:
"That would never do. There, Monsieur de Cerons, write, write, and I
will take care it shall reach its address."

I took the paper and pen that he gave me, and, with the first impulse
of my heart, wrote a few lines to my cousin Louise. The terms in which
I spoke were precisely such as I should have used before my departure.
I bade her not forget me, nor the affection which had existed between
us ever since our childhood. I bade her recall me to the remembrance
of her brothers and La Tour. I told her that I should never forget or
cease to love her and them; and I assured her that nothing but
absolute necessity, and the fear of giving them all bitter pain, would
have led me to quit them without bidding them adieu, as I had done.
This led me to speak of my situation at the time, and I told her that
I had met with much greater success than I could have expected; that I
was already at the head of a small band: and that I was to lead, in
company with another, the assault upon Angoulême on the following
morning. A few words of affection and kindness succeeded, and, having
folded and sealed the letter, I put the address upon it, and gave it
into the hands of Martin Vern.

He looked at the address, and when he saw the name, a sober and
somewhat melancholy smile came over his face, and, putting it up
carefully, he said, "It shall go safe."

Shortly after this the head of Moric Endem made its appearance at the
door, and, seeing me seated at the opposite table, he entered the room
and came across towards me. Ere he was half way to the table, however,
three or four of the different officers who were dining at the tables
around started up, and one of them exclaimed, "Why, Moric Endem! what,
you old comrade, is it you come back to join us? and looking fat and
well-feathered too."

"Ay, my good friends; ay, ay," said Moric, "here I am; but I am in
leading-strings, my boys, I am in leading-strings. I'm baby Moric now,
and there's my nurse--my captain, I mean to say; so I must go and
speak to him, for I have a word for his ear."

"If he seeks to fill his purse," said one, looking at me across the
room, "you're the man for him; for you could always fill a purse, but
never keep one."

"Too true, good friend, too true," replied Moric, advancing towards
me; "but I will do better this time."

They all shook their heads, however, with laugh; and Moric came on and
sat down beside me. He had lost no time in pursuing his avocations,
and informed me that he had already seen and spoken with nearly twenty
of his old comrades, who were hanging about the camp and seeking for
employment. They were rather more difficult, however, in their choice
than those which I had already enlisted; for not one of them would
serve with a leader who had never served at all.

"We must make up to-morrow, sir," said Endem, "for your idleness
hitherto. It answered no purpose my telling them that you would do
this or do that; the answer always was--Let us see him fight. So
to-morrow, at the assault, we must eat fire and brimstone, to show
what sort of stuff we are made of."

"Rather a hot breakfast, Master Moric," I replied; "but, nevertheless,
I don't think I shall find my appetite fail."

This conversation had been carried on in a low tone, but it had caught
the ears of the merchants nevertheless; and one of them asked me at
what time it was intended to storm the breach. I replied that I really
did not know, as I had not received my orders yet, but supposed that
it would not be late; and Martin Vern, in reply, intimated his
determination to wait and see the result before he departed. Soon
after this I retired to the little cottage which had been appointed as
quarters for myself and all my men; and, having given what orders I
thought necessary, and seen that the horses had been well fed and put
under shelter, I threw myself down upon some straw, which Andriot had
prepared for me in one corner of the hovel, and in a few minutes was
fast asleep.

I was awake by daylight on the following morning, was up, and had made
a soldier's brief toilet, as well as armed myself completely, before
five o'clock. Luckily it happened that I was so, for in a few minutes
afterward I was visited by a gay-looking youth, who introduced himself
as the Captain Genissac, and who told us that in an hour we were to
mount the breach together. He looked at me somewhat superciliously
from head to foot; and though I felt that I could have broken him
through the middle over my knee as a boy breaks a stick, his cool
scrutiny annoyed and discomposed me. We talked over what was to be
done for some time; and, urging me to hasten my movements, he went to
take his station at the head of the storming party. I hurried after at
all speed, followed by my little band; and getting out of the hamlet,
and passing through the middle of the tents towards the battery which
had effected the breach, a fine, a gay, and an interesting sight was
presented, which remains as much fixed upon my memory, in consequence
of the beauty of the scene, as from being the first military effort of
any consequence in which I ever took a part.

The whole army was turned out in the open space between the camp and
the city; and about five or six hundred yards in advance of the line
was the small battery which had effected a very insufficient breach in
the wall. It was still firing, as it had been since the break of day:
and a light wind blew the wreaths of smoke down into the hollow which
ran towards the Charente, enveloping the base of the hill on which
Angoulême stands, while out of the white uncertain mist thus created
started forth clear the town of Angoulême, with all its manifold
towers and spires. The sun was shining brightly as he rose upon the
glittering line of our cavalry and infantry, variously armed, and with
many a cornet and a pennon among them: while the rich and peaceful
slopes and rises, the clear blue sky, the bright sunshine, and the
soft murmur of the autumnal air, contrasted strangely and strikingly
with the camp behind us, the long line of iron-clad soldiery in the
front, the occasional thunder of our own artillery, and the flashes
that burst from time to time from the walls of Angoulême.

Some way in front of the general line appeared a small body of
infantry, with Genissac at their head; and behind him, a little in
advance of the other forces, an entire infantry regiment, supported by
a strong force of cavalry. Between that body and the little _peloton_
of Genissac was a group of officers and gentlemen, with one or two led
horses, apparently waiting for their riders. As I passed by, my eye
rested for a moment upon the well-known D'Andelot; while another
officer, considerably older in appearance, but with a fine, open
countenance, whom I took to be the far-famed Admiral de Coligny, sat
beside him, on a strong horse, receiving from time to time
communications from different persons who rode up. D'Andelot's visor
was up, and, as I passed, he noticed me with an inclination of the
head, and then, turning to the admiral, pointed me out to him. Coligny
immediately beckoned me towards him; and, ordering my men to march on
and take the order from Monsieur de Genissac, I advanced to the side
of the admiral's horse.

"I knew your father well, Monsieur de Cerons," said Coligny, "and my
seeing his son here this day gives me the pleasant expectation of soon
seeing him behave as his father would have done on a similar occasion.
I grieve that we have not the presence of your cousin, Monsieur de
Blancford; but his faith has been supposed to be wavering for some
time. I must not detain you, however, for here comes the prince, and
the word will be given in a moment."

I bowed, and then advanced immediately to the side of Genissac, who, I
found, had drawn up my men with his own very fairly and very
skilfully. In order to take advantage of some hollows in the ground,
we were to advance six abreast, three of my men and three of his, with
the two leaders at the head. As the whole of the party was composed of
about a hundred men he had filled up the space behind, where my scanty
band ended, by his own troops; and, placing himself close to me, he
said,

"Now, Monsieur de Cerons, you and I will keep near together, as I may
have something to say to you when we are near the breach. I wish they
would send us the word to advance, for this long expectation dulls the
men's spirits."

At that moment, however, an officer gave the word to march, while the
battery opened a sharp fire upon the breach. In the first instance we
had to descend some way, which we did with considerable rapidity, but
not so fast as far to outstrip the regiment behind, who, as soon as
they were within shot, opened a smart fire of small arms against the
enemy. From the bottom of the valley we had now, however, to ascend to
the Park; and, the moment we began to do so, one of the hottest fires
of musketry I ever saw was poured upon us from the breach and the
neighbouring walls. One of Genissac's men went down; and one of mine
staggered from a wound in the shoulder, but regained his footing and
kept on with the rest. I was somewhat surprised that we did not
advance more rapidly, and said, "Let us hasten forward! Let us hasten
forward! The men will soon be out of the fire."

Genissac gave no order; and, at the same time, a shot, passing between
him and me, carried away a part of my casque, and went through the
head of one of the men behind.

"Don't be too hot, don't be too hot," he said, in a minute after, when
he had got so near that I could see the features of the men in the
breach. "I am only ordered to make a reconnoissance, but to retreat
immediately if the breach is not practicable."

"But I was ordered to storm," I replied; "and the breach, though
small, is deep, and seems to me quite practicable."

"Have with you, have with you, then," he said, "if you are so eager."

But what we had said had been heard by those behind us; and, though we
had been still advancing while we spoke, the men began to waver. It
was a critical moment; and, waving my sword over my head, I cried
aloud, "To the breach! To the breach!"

My own men took it up, shouting, "To the breach! To the breach!" His
men followed, and, dashing forward with jealous rivalry of each other,
we climbed the height, and though, as we came nearer, the shots of the
enemy told terribly among us, rushed up furiously to the foot of the
wall. There was an immense deal of broken rubbish, earth, and stones
to be passed, which had been cast down by the fire of the battery, and
a tremendous discharge of musketry welcomed us at the top; but still
we rushed on, while the regiment which had advanced to support us now
caught the spirit of the assault, and, doubling its pace, crossed the
valley and charged up the hill. On we pressed, as hard as we could go,
with the stones and earth slipping away under our feet, all
staggering, some falling, and only thankful that the dense smoke of
the enemy's fire rolled into the breach, and prevented them from
taking any very certain aim.

When first we arrived at the foot of the wall the breach was crowded
by arquebusiers; but they began to fall back as we climbed over the
piles of rubbish, and when we were near the top only five or six men
remained, of whom one rushed down several steps to meet me, aiming a
pistol at me as he came, and firing within three paces. Striking my
cuirass on the left side obliquely, the shot glanced off and entered
my arm a little above the elbow; but it was a mere flesh wound, and
only inconvenient. A blow of my heavy horse sword, however, dashed my
adversary's casque down upon his head, broke the fastenings, and
brought him on his knee; another blow, before he could ward it off,
struck the helmet from his head, and, at the same time, inflicted a
deep wound upon his forehead; and as he called out that he would
surrender--indeed, he had no choice--I passed him back to the hands of
Moric Endem, who followed me close, without seeing anything farther
than that he was a young man of good mien. Genissac was now a step or
two before me; but, rushing up, I was by his side in a moment, and in
another instant we stood together at the top of the breach.

The interior of what was called the Park--a large, open space, forming
a sort of Place d'Armes--was now before us, and, to my surprise, I
beheld, drawn up on either side, and ready to charge at the moment we
descended, a large body of men-at-arms, with their lances levelled,
and supported by a considerable force of pike-men and arquebusiers on
foot. Our men were rushing up, however, one by one, as fast as they
could climb, to our support; Moric Endem, having passed on his
prisoner, was close behind us; another slight-looking youth, armed
only with a close-covering casque and cuirass, was upon my right,
struggling up with difficulty over a steep part of the ruin; and
giving him my hand, unfortunately for himself, I drew him up in a
moment: Genissac was a little farther on the same side, with four or
five of his followers, and, seeing the other infantry regiment coming
up, I thought it not at all improbable that we might be able to force
an entrance, notwithstanding the strength of the enemy in the Park.

All this was soon done; but I saw, at the very same instant, the
regiment behind halt, a small party of horsemen gallop up towards us
from our own army at full speed, and the arquebusiers from the Park
open a sudden and tremendous fire upon the breach. Three men among us
fell at once. Genissac, standing upon a high point of the broken wall,
received a shot in his head and fell back, rolling over and over down
the heaps of rubbish, writhing in the agonies of death; one of his men
fell forward severely wounded, and a shot took the poor youth I had
just helped up, and, entering his right side, laid him prostrate
across one of my feet.

Still my own followers were coming rapidly up, several of Genissac's
people were making their way rapidly to the top; and though it was
impossible to face the force in the Park, now that the other regiment
had halted, it was quite possible to effect a lodgment on the breach.
Turning, therefore, to those who were following, and to the group of
officers who had now ridden up to the foot of the wall, and were
shouting up loudly to me, though I could not hear a word they said,
from the noise of the small arms, I called to them to roll me up
gabions and barrels, for that we could certainly effect a lodgment. My
words were passed down by those who followed: but D'Andelot, whom I
now saw at the head of the officers, shook his clinched fist at me,
and shouted to me, as I found, to come down and retreat. The words
were passed up to me, and with much regret, I own, I prepared to obey.

"We must retreat, Moric," I said. "We are commanded to retreat!"

But at that moment I heard a voice, which I thought I had heard
before, from the casque of the young man who had fallen beside me, and
who exclaimed, "Oh, do not leave me here!"

It would have been cruelty to do so, even had it been more difficult
and dangerous to rescue him than it was; and, therefore, taking him up
in my arms, I carried him down to the spot where D'Andelot stood, and
to which several horses had been brought by this time for the purpose
of removing the killed and wounded.

"You seem perfectly determined to get yourself killed, Monsieur de
Cerons," said D'Andelot. "We only intended a reconnoissance, and poor
Genissac has suffered for his folly in changing it into an assault."

"My orders were to storm, sir," I said, "and I have done no more than
I was directed to do."

"We were wrong! we were wrong, Monsieur de Cerons!" said that great
commander. "We wanted to try you: but Genissac had full orders how to
act, and he should have obeyed them. Now take a horse, put yourself at
the head of his men too, get them in order, and make the best of your
retreat. You are pretty well sheltered here, but you will find the
fire somewhat hot in the valley. Don't mind using your legs there, for
you have shown sufficiently that it is not bullets you are afraid of."

I only paused to tell Moric to place the lad I was carrying on a
horse, and take him carefully to the camp, and then obeyed the orders
of D'Andelot. The matter was now a mere affair of discipline; the men
followed my commands with alacrity; and, choosing the direction which
seemed most sheltered from the fire of the garrison, I led them on
without loss, and with but little haste and confusion, till, passing
the battery which had effected the breach, I took up the same position
with them which we had occupied in the morning before the assault
began.

I acted altogether as I had learned from the memoirs of various
distinguished knights and officers it was right and proper to do on
such occasions; and, the moment I had reached the same spot from which
we had started, I made the men wheel round again and face the city, as
if for a new assault. They were all picked soldiers, and they did it
with promptitude and precision; but in the troubled state into which
the whole art of warfare had fallen in that day, this little
evolution, which never would have been neglected in former times
except in case of a complete defeat, excited the surprise of
everybody; and a loud shout of applause burst from the regiments
around. At the same time, the Prince de Condé, with the admiral and
his companions, moved slowly forward to meet D'Andelot, who was now
riding up the slope. After conversing with him for a few minutes, they
all advanced towards me, and various kind and complimentary things
were said, of which I only remember now the words of the Prince de
Condé.

"We shall take care, Monsieur de Cerons," he said, "how we put you
upon dangerous services any more; for your life will henceforth be so
much more precious to us than it seems to you, that we must not suffer
you to risk it without much need."

They then inquired closely what I had seen within the breach, which I
explained to them as well as I could, expressing my opinion that by a
strong effort the town might have been taken. Their better judgment
and greater experience, however, showed them that such was not the
case; and orders were immediately given for opening a battery in
another place, on the heights of St. Ozani. As soon as this was
determined, and orders given to that effect, the men were allowed to
retire to their quarters; and I hurried down to the hovel assigned me
in the hamlet, to see what had become of Moric Endem, my prisoner, and
the wounded youth, for whom I felt a considerable degree of anxiety.



CHAPTER VIII.


AT the door of the hovel I found Moric, with one of the men who had
been wounded in the arm, and an old woman, who was bandaging up the
injured limb. The first exclamation of my worthy lieutenant was, "You
will find them both in there, sir; and a good ransom ought you to have
for that fair youth. He is the Seigneur de Blays. The old gentleman is
with the lad, who is badly hurt, and a surgeon too; but little good
will they do him, I fear. He is drilled like a keyhole, and if there
was any wind it would whistle through him."

Without questioning him farther, though not comprehending one half of
what he meant, I entered the hut; when, to my utter astonishment, I
found young Martin Vern stretched upon the straw which had served me
during the previous night for a bed, and his uncle standing behind
him, with a most anxious and sorrowful countenance, while a surgeon,
with a large pair of forceps, was drawing something, which proved to
be a bullet, from the wound in his side. The young man bore the
operation, which must have been extremely painful, with the utmost
fortitude and resolution, shutting his teeth hard, so as to prevent
even a groan from escaping.

Martin Vern looked at me as I entered somewhat reproachfully; but at
that moment the surgeon, holding up the bullet in his forceps,
exclaimed, "Here it is, here it is!" And on my asking some questions
concerning the poor youth, he proceeded to pour forth upon me a
quantity of barbarous terms, to explain the precise course the ball
had taken, and the parts external and internal which had been wounded.

I cut him short as soon as possible, thinking I perceived through all
these technicalities that the surgeon had hopes the youth would get
better, and wished to give importance to the cure.

"Some better bed," he said, "must be provided for him immediately."
And he added that, if we would see for one, he would wait and
superintend the movement of the wounded man himself. I immediately
turned to see what could be done, and was followed by the merchant
himself; who, as soon as we were out of the door, shook his head
ruefully at me, saying, "Ah! Monsieur de Cerons, this was not kind of
you, when you knew how much I wished to keep that boy from this
warlike folly of his."

"My good friend," I replied, "You are entirely mistaken in supposing
that I had any share in this matter. On my honour, I was not aware who
it was that fought so gallantly beside me till I entered the hut this
moment. He gave me no intimation of it; and I did not even know that I
had an additional man in the field."

"I never knew anything of it," cried Moric Endem, who had heard our
conversation. "I never knew anything of it till we were just going to
march, and then he came up to me, and besought me, for pity's sake, to
let him go with us. He had bought himself a casque and a cuirass; and
I pushed him in anywhere into the ranks, thinking it a devil of a pity
that a fine, high-spirited boy should be balked, and made a mere
merchant of; to sit stupifying himself over a tall book, or selling
silks and satins by the yard, when he is as proper a youth as ever was
seen to take a lance in his hand and meet the enemy."

Martin Vern shook his head with a melancholy "What has come of it?"
and added, "Well, Monsieur de Cerons, I am glad at least you had no
share in it; for I owe you so much gratitude for different things,
that I would rather repay you in any other way than think you had done
me an unkindness to make the balance even. What I am to do now I
cannot tell. Business of infinite importance, not only to myself, but
to the prince and the admiral, calls me immediately to Bordeaux; and
yet I cannot bear to leave this boy, whom his dying father placed
under my charge not two months ago, without any one to take care of
him or attend him."

"Leave him to me, my good friend; leave him to me," I said. "I will
treat him, depend upon it, as a brother. To move him far now is out of
the question; several days must elapse before Angoulême falls, as they
have determined upon making another breach, and we have but five
cannon in the army, two of which are but bastards. By the time the
place is taken, he will be better able to bear moving; and no care
shall be wanting on my part, I can assure you. You yourself will be
back ere long, and, I trust, will find him better in all respects."

Martin Vern pressed my hand in his; and, thanking me with the deep,
low-spoken words of true gratitude, he suffered it to be as I wished.
At my suggestion, we sought for and were fortunate enough to find one
of those beds which are fitted to horse-litters, which the merchant
immediately bought in case that it should be necessary to move the
wounded man to any distance. In it he was carried almost immediately
to the house where Martin Vern had taken up his own abode, and which
his wealth had ensured should be of a far superior description. There
he placed in my hands the large sum of five hundred crowns for his
nephew's expenses, and the fifty which he had promised for my escort.
He besought me earnestly to spare nothing which could tend to the
youth's recovery, to buy horses immediately to carry the litter in
case of need; to ensure the constant attendance of the surgeon; and to
see him myself as frequently as I could.

I said and did all that I could to comfort the worthy merchant; and a
few words spoken to him in a low tone by his nephew ere he departed,
telling him that, though I did not know who he was, I had saved his
life by bearing him away from the breach, seemed to console good
Martin Vern greatly, and give him greater confidence to leave the
youth in my charge.

When all this was settled he bade him adieu, and mounted his horse to
depart. He paused a moment to grasp my hand in his, and then, just as
he was setting out, said, "The time will come, Monsieur de Cerons--the
time will come, I am quite sure and confident, when I shall have an
opportunity of showing my gratitude for all that you have done for me
and mine."

As soon as he was gone I bethought me of my prisoner, whose situation
for the time had quite passed from my mind; and, hastening back where
I had left Moric Endem, I found my worthy lieutenant busily engaged in
making preparations for rendering the hovel a somewhat more
comfortable dwelling. As, however, it had been now arranged that I was
to take up my abode in the house which had been hired for the young
merchant, the adorning of what he termed my lodging was no longer
necessary; and, on inquiring after the prisoner, I found that they had
put him in a sort of back shed, where the old woman I had before seen
was even then in the act of dressing the wound on his head.

On entering, I found a sentry at the door, and the prisoner with his
hands tied, and very indignant at the treatment he had received. I was
informed, however, that he had twice endeavoured to make his escape,
and I therefore thought that few apologies were necessary. In
justification of his conduct, he said that he had never surrendered,
rescue or no rescue; and in consequence, before I would suffer his
hands to be untied, I made him pronounce these words, something
against his will. Although he was undoubtedly brave and high-spirited,
I never yet saw man more full of loud-tongued bravado: and I thought
that, before he had vented his indignation, he would literally have
tried to cut my throat in the shed. I listened to all he had to say
with much more coolness than he seemed to think respectful, and merely
replied while I uncovered my arm, that the old woman might exercise
her skill upon me also, "Sir, you are a prisoner, and therefore
privileged to rail."

Before his hands had been untied for five minutes, however, he
approached, looked at my arm, and said, "That's an awkward wound. How
did you come by that, sir!"

"It is your handiwork, my good friend," I replied. "It was well it
didn't go through my body."

"Indeed, indeed!" he cried, rubbing his hands; and I must say I never
saw a person more heartily rejoiced at anything in my life than he was
that he had given me the wound under which I was then suffering.
"Well," he added at length, "I suppose I must forgive you for tying my
hands, after such a wound as that; and now tell me, at what ransom do
you intend to put me?"

"I know who you are," I replied, "and all about you; and I must say
you have shown yourself a gallant soldier, though somewhat rash
withal. You know of what consequence you are as well as I do, or
better, and therefore I shall leave you to name your own ransom; so
now let us see what you value yourself at."

I was not wrong in my calculation. To say the truth, I had been very
much puzzled at what rate to fix his ransom myself; but, in trusting
to his vanity to do it, I knew I could not be very far wrong. He
hesitated, however, and said, "If you know who I am and all about me,
you had better fix it."

"I know so far about you," I replied, "That you are the Seigneur de
Blaye; and the old and ordinary custom is, that a lord's ransom is one
year's revenue, besides what his captor may think fit to exact on
account of the prisoner's reputation in arms. You know your revenues
better than I do, and your reputation in arms better than I do, and I
therefore leave it to you to fix it yourself, being sure that so brave
a man must be a man of honour."

"I see, sir," he said, "that I have fallen into the hands of a
gentleman, and therefore will deal frankly with you. My revenues are
four thousand crowns a year; but since my uncle's death I have
somewhat hurt my means. I trust you will, therefore, take the four
thousand without exacting anything more."

So surprised, so astounded, I may say, I was at the very name and idea
of receiving such a sum, in consequence of my first day's actual
service in arms, that I could not reply for some minutes. I had heard
such things occasionally recounted, and I knew that the famous Montluc
had gained, or was likely to have gained, some few years before, no
less than eighty thousand crowns as the ransom of a young Italian
nobleman; but when it came home to myself, I could hardly believe it,
with difficulty concealing my astonishment.

He mistook my silence, it would seem, for discontent, and was going to
add something in regard to his condition and inability to pay a larger
sum, when I stopped him, saying, "It is enough, Monsieur de Blaye; it
is enough. As an honourable man, I do not doubt your word; and I have
heard that it is a common saying of one of the bravest captains on
your own side, I mean Monsieur Montluc, that it is not the custom to
skin one's prisoners in the present day. I have your word of honour as
a gentleman; and you will accordingly remain in the camp and be my
guest until such time as your ransom can arrive."

"Oh! as soon as the city falls," he replied, "I will pay it you; and,
in the mean time, thank you for your hospitality."

"Then you calculate upon the city falling very soon," I said, with a
laugh.

He smiled in return, replying, "It ought to see all you Reformers rot
before it surrenders, if the people in it knew what they were about;
but there's Argence, and Grignaud, and Meziere, brave enough men when
they are in the field, but without the slightest idea of holding a
walled place. The old woman who has just dressed your arm would make a
better governor of Angoulême. But, however, as soon as you get into
Angoulême you shall have the money. The Jews will give it me on my
bond. It is crammed full of Jews to the very doors, and that is
another reason it will fall. But, however, I hope this is not the
house, the hospitality of which you invite me to partake;" and he
looked round the shed in which we were still standing with some
dismay.

"Oh, no!" replied. "This and the hovel near was my only lodging last
night; but I have got better quarters to-day, and, if you will come up
with me, I will show you where they are."

The old lady who fulfilled the office of surgeon to the soldiery and
inferior officers had managed to bind up my arm very skilfully,
pouring in some peculiar compound of her own devising, which healed
the wound so rapidly that I can scarcely say I received any farther
inconvenience from it. After she had done and received her reward, we
walked up to my new dwelling, and I assigned to the young lord a room
immediately beneath that which I had chosen for myself.

Having done this, and given some little regularity to my affairs, I
went out to visit the different quarters of the camp, and to see more
with my own eyes than I had hitherto been able to see. The day passed
over without any farther effort on our side than the erection and
opening of the new battery; but, as I went round every part of the
encampment, I twice met the Prince de Condé and D'Andelot, and once
the Admiral de Coligny. They noticed me, I saw, though neither of them
spoke; and while their conduct showed me there was no want of activity
or vigilance on the part of our leaders, my appearance at different
points of the camp was construed by them, I afterward found, into
proofs of my zeal and industry. I mentioned that each of these
generals had praised my conduct highly in the morning; but the most
satisfactory proof to myself of having really acted well was afforded
to me that night. On my return, towards supper-time, I found, besides
one of my men on guard at the door, good Moric Endem standing talking
to him while waiting my arrival.

"No want of men now, sir," he said. "This morning's work has got your
name up famously. You have nothing to do but to whistle, and you'll
have all the stray men of the camp. I have had a hundred talking to me
about it already, at least; but, of course, I could do but little till
I spoke to you. There were five or six rare old hands, however, that I
could not let go away; so that we now muster seventeen. How many more
would you like engaged?"

"At present." I replied, "not more than five-and-twenty or thirty in
all, Moric. We can do a good deal with that number; more may be
difficult to manage; and, though we are well provided for at present,
they might, in the end, be difficult to feed."

"You are quite right, sir, you are quite right," replied my good
lieutenant. "A small band, every one a good man, depend upon it, is
better than an army, with every other man an ass or a sheep; and sure
I am that I can fill up your troop till there shall not be thirty more
desperate, fearless, skilful ragamuffins in the whole place."

"Well, do so," I replied, "as speedily as possible. And now, where is
this Monsieur de Blaye?"

"Oh! you will find him down there, at the house by the river," replied
Moric, with a grin, applying to the house at the same time an epithet
which I had never heard before, but which instantly designated it as a
place where no man of any refinement of mind or feeling could be
found. "There he has been ever since you went away almost; and I hear
from a soldier who served with him two years ago, that he is never
satisfied except he is there, or with a dice-box in his hand. If you
don't send Andriot after him, he'll not be up to supper."

"Andriot is a mere youth," I replied. "I wish you would go yourself,
Moric."

"That I will, that I will," he said. "I am no prude about such things;
though I cannot but think that a gentleman with his head broke might
do better, or, at least, wait till the campaign is over."

Thus saying, he sped away, and soon returned, bringing the Seigneur de
Blaye along with him. As I had not the keeping of my prisoner's
morality, it gave me but little concern at the time; but it became
afterward, I grieve to say, a matter of sad and great importance; and
I must add here, that, during the three or four days he remained with
me, though brave and good-humoured, as well as vain and light, his
life was one continued course of the lowest intemperance and
debauchery.

On the following day I went early to see the battery and the
effect it had produced; but there was, as yet, no appearance of
its being practicable; and the Prince de Condé, whom I met near the
spot, stopped his horse to speak with me upon the subject, saying,
"Probably tomorrow we may be able to do something. Will you be of the
storming-party again, Monsieur de Cerons?"

"Willingly, my lord," I answered; "and hope to be permitted to take
the same post."

"No," replied the prince, "I will not suffer you to expose yourself too
far. Besides, D'Andelot is jealous of you, and will lead the party
this time himself. But you shall be one of the number, if you desire
it. You can take four men with you, if you please, but not more; for,
after yesterday's exploits, every gentleman in the camp wants to have
a share in the business."

I thanked him for the permission, and retired; and about eleven on the
following morning the attack was determined upon. The army was drawn
up in battle array; the storming party was formed, and led by
D'Andelot himself; the batteries were redoubling their fire; and we
were even beginning to march, when a white flag was suddenly displayed
upon the breach, and some horsemen came forth from the city with an
offer of capitulation. The terms were soon agreed upon; the garrison
was permitted to march out with their swords, the leaders with their
baggage, and the town was surrendered immediately.

A little incident occurred in the marching in of the troops which
struck me greatly, and showed that the good old spirit of our ancient
armies was not entirely extinct. There was some dispute at first as to
what regiment should take possession of the town; but the admiral
settled the matter by declaring that the storming party, having been
disappointed, should march in first through the breach, with his
brother D'Andelot at the head, while he led another party round by the
gates. This was accordingly effected; and, as was natural enough under
such circumstances, on taking possession of the city, we found almost
all the houses shut up and barricaded. As we came into the long
street, however, which runs down the hill, we saw the troops of the
admiral advancing, and a good deal of confusion taking place. We had
ourselves preserved the strictest order; but, as there were many
officers and leaders among us, D'Andelot permitted us to separate, in
order to remedy any evil that might be going on.

Taking my way down the street towards the spot where I had seen some
confusion, I found that, in spite of all commands and efforts, some
excesses had been committed. A jeweller's shop had been broken open;
and the admiral, having been informed thereof, had turned back and
ordered the house to be surrounded and the men to be marched out one
by one. The regiment commanded to perform this service was that of an
old soldier, famous for his courage, named the Seigneur de Puyviault;
and, as I came up on foot, I heard more of the facts than the admiral
himself was aware of. The soldiers in the house, it seems, were
Puyviault's own men; and it was very evident, from the dispositions he
made, that the worthy commander was inclined to screen them from the
punishment which was justly their due, and which the admiral would
certainly have inflicted had he discovered them. The moment they were
driven forth, they were swallowed up in the mass of Puyviault's men
surrounding the door; and Coligny, seeing what nobody could help
seeing, rode up in fury, and pushed Puyviault vehemently with his
leading staff. The colour came into that commander's cheek, and one or
two of his followers behind exclaimed, "He has struck you! he has
struck you!" One moment of forgetfulness on the part of Puyviault
would have given another striking instance of how frail are the bonds
which unite volunteer armies together; but, turning to those behind
him, he said, "I endure everything from my leader, nothing from my
enemies: and I this day show you what I expect from you."

There was a murmur of applause ran through those around; and, after
that little incident, the town was quietly occupied by the Protestant
troops.



CHAPTER IX.


It is needless for me to pause upon all the movements that
subsequently took place. They have met with historians more competent
to treat of military details than myself; nor would my own personal
narrative for several weeks, nay, for months, present many matters of
interest. No sooner had Angoulême capitulated and order been restored
in the town, than Monsieur de Blaye found means easily to procure the
money for his ransom, and paid me the sum of four thousand crowns,
which was certainly far more than I had ever possessed before in my
life. In the arrangements which had been made between myself and Moric
Endem, and which he communicated to the men as we engaged them, the
ransom of prisoners, it may be remembered, had been held apart as
belonging to the actual captors. Nevertheless, I determined to
endeavour, as far as possible, to attach the men to me by liberality,
and to show that I could recompense good service, in order that, if
necessity required it, I might be the more fully justified in
punishing bad conduct.

I accordingly called the men together as soon as I had received the
ransom of my prisoner; and explaining to them what I was about to do,
and the reason why, I divided the money into two equal portions, and,
having reserved one for myself, I again divided the other half into
two, whereof I bestowed one upon my good lieutenant, Moric Endem, to
whom I owed so much, and distributed the residue among the men who
accompanied me to the breach. The others, who had chosen to wait till
they saw me tried, looked a little foolish and mortified upon the
occasion, but acknowledged it was all just; and, to give them some
consolation, I bestowed ten crowns a man upon them out of my own
stock, only requiring that each two should provide themselves with a
small tent, and each five with a baggage-horse, and a boy to ride it.

After this was done, my next thought was to redeem the dagger which I
had left in the hands of the Jew; but the matter was somewhat
difficult to be arranged; for how was I to obtain the weapon without
going myself to Bordeaux, or without sending some one in whom I could
fully trust? I thought of Andriot, of whose honesty I felt as certain
as of my own; but then he was by far too illiterate and simple in his
nature to deal with so shrewd a personage as the Jew; and the specimen
which I had had of good Solomon Ahar's proceedings was not very well
calculated to increase my confidence in his probity. Although the
weapon might be considered as a mere gewgaw, yet I clung to the
thought of regaining it as speedily as possible with feelings which
some people will easily enter into. It seemed as if it were my
inheritance; it was the only thing I possessed of my father's; it was
the tie between me and past years. I meditated over this for some
time, without coming to any satisfactory conclusion; and at length
remembering that there were many other things to think of, I proceeded
to the bedside of young Martin Vern, to prepare him for removal on the
following day.

Since the extraction of the ball he had been daily recovering
strength. The great quantity of blood he had lost had in all
probability been the cause that no great fever had ensued; and he had
been able to lie and talk to me at various times during the preceding
day without any apparent inconvenience. I now found him still better;
and he heard that the siege of Angoulême was over, and that we were
preparing to make a retrograde movement, to attack the small town of
Pons, with apparent pleasure. He expressed himself perfectly willing
and able to be moved; but only desired to find a messenger to bear
intelligence of his state to his uncle, and to tell him in what
direction we were likely to proceed.

I instantly caught at the opportunity of communicating with the Jew
through Martin Vern; and, after consulting with the young man upon the
subject, and telling him the whole facts, the matter was very easily
arranged. Andriot was sent back to Bordeaux with a mere verbal message
concerning the movements of the army, but with a letter from me to the
merchant, which told him of his nephew's improved health, and of my
own wishes with regard to the Jew, and also enclosed both the receipt
which the worthy Solomon had given me, and the requisite sum for
redeeming the dagger.

Andriot by this time had nearly enough of military service, and was
not at all sorry to lay aside the cuirass and helmet. He did not even
affect to conceal that such was the case; but, at the same time,
begged that I would let him return and join me in the capacity of a
servant as before.

Early on the following morning we began our march for Pons; and that
city was besieged in form, the garrison expressing its determination
to hold out to the last extremity. They kept their word in the town;
the place was taken by assault; and for the first time I beheld the
most awful scene that war, always terrible, can display. Death, and
destruction, and cold-blooded massacre surrounded me on every side;
but, terrible as it all was, I had the satisfaction of contributing,
in some degree, to the cessation of the evil. One or two of the
officers joined with me; and we endeavoured, as far as possible, to
shelter even the officers and soldiers that surrendered.

This attempt was nearly vain, however; but it prepared the way for
more successful efforts when the pillage of houses commenced. To
prevent plunder was impossible, I found; but to stop massacre was less
difficult, and most of my soldiers were beginning to listen to the
repeated commands that they received, and form into some order, when,
suddenly, a girl rushed from one of the houses, pursued by a trooper
whom I had engaged at Barbazieux, and who had shown himself somewhat
slack in the combat and eager in the pillage.

Both the girl and the man heard clearly the orders I was in the very
act of repeating, to abstain from outrage, and, rushing forward, she
clung to my knees. The man darted on after her, swearing that he would
have his lawful prey; that the town was taken by assault, and nobody
should stop him. There was a large body of soldiers coming up at the
time under Monsieur de Boucard, and I knew that at that moment example
was everything. The man had the insolence to seize the woman by the
shoulder at my very feet; but my heavy double-edged sword was naked in
my hand at the instant, and his foul fingers had scarcely touched her
when his spirit went to its dark account.

"Rightly done, rightly done, Monsieur de Cerons!" cried Boucard,
turning partly towards his men and partly towards me. "The same
punishment for any one who commits such excesses."

The greater part of the town's people were saved, but four hundred of
the soldiery were massacred in cold blood; and I grieve to say, that
four hundred more were afterward slain when the citadel was taken.
There was every reason to believe that the castle had capitulated;
but, by some mistake, the assailants got in at once, and put to death
every soul they met with. I was not in the town at the moment that
this latter act took place, having been ordered to follow the Admiral
de Coligny with all speed towards Chauvigny, whither he had marched
some days before in pursuit of the Duke of Montpensier. I was ordered
to bear to him tidings of the fall of Pons; and a company of foot
soldiers was added to my band, so that we might afford at once a small
re-enforcement to his division of the army, and give him notice that
those he had left behind would soon be prepared to support him.

Various movements on the part of both the Catholic and Protestant
armies followed during the greater part of the winter and the early
spring of the ensuing year. The Duke of Montpensier collected his
forces in the neighbourhood of Chatelherault; and tidings spread
abroad that the Duke of Anjou, the king's brother, was coming down
with a great force, to put himself at the head of the Catholic armies.
Various disasters also befell different detachments of Protestant
soldiers making their way up from distant parts of the country, to
join the main body under the admiral and the Prince de Condé. The
Protestant leaders, however, did not suffer themselves to be daunted,
and still acted upon the offensive, harassing the enemy in continual
skirmishes, and prepared even to risk the event of a general battle.

In all these proceedings I had my share. I knew that all and
everything depended upon my own exertions and my own success; and,
daily becoming more and more habituated to the life I led, I suffered
no opportunity to pass of attacking any detached body of the enemy.
When I thought myself not strong enough to attempt any of the small
fortified towns or castles, soon found plenty of leaders who were
willing to aid me for a share of the plunder which was likely to be
taken. Thus I was scarcely ever out of the saddle; rarely two days at
a time without crossing my sword with an enemy; and never suffering
myself, by any ambition, to be led into the great mistake of
increasing the numbers of my band, it became rather a privilege than
otherwise to obtain admission into it.

Such exertions were not without their reward; for, though in the
course of the campaign I did not meet with any other such rich prize
as Monsieur de Blaye had proved, yet many a prisoner of less
importance was taken--several by my own hand; while a large quantity
of booty was obtained, especially after the gay and luxurious soldiery
of the Duke of Anjou began to arrive in the country.

On one occasion we took an immense quantity of baggage, belonging to
two or three noblemen of the court, in a village which they had
fortified for their own defence, so that the amount of fifteen
thousand crowns in money alone was divided between our troop and a
band of foot who had joined us in the enterprise. We had been told
that the Duke of Joyeuse himself was in the village; but if he was so,
he made his escape with the other nobles before we forced our way in.
Had I been able to capture him, indeed, I might have thought myself
deserving of the name which I had by this time acquired in the army,
of the "Fortunate Monsieur de Cerons." I was indeed, in many respects,
extremely fortunate; for I had escaped without any wounds that
deserved the name, except the pistol-shot in the arm which I received
at Angoulême; and in the month of February I had in my own private
store an accumulation of nearly six thousand crowns.

Not twelve months before I should have considered that fortune as
quite sufficient for all my wants and wishes through life; but my
feelings had changed; I desired more, far more. What was it that was
at my heart? Was it avarice? Oh, no! What was it, then? I cannot tell.
There was a hope, and an expectation, and a looking forward into the
future, that made me greedy without greediness, and aspiring without
ambition.

I must now return to speak for a moment of one whom I have not noticed
for some time. The progress of young Martin Vern was slow but steady;
and at the end of about a month or six weeks he was enabled to sit up
and walk about the camp. In a week more he could ride out with me on
horseback, when with no particular enterprising view I went forth to
reconnoitre the enemy or examine the country around. From his uncle he
had received no intelligence up to that period at which the Protestant
army was marching upon Saumur, being completely master of the country
between the Loire and the Charente. But a terrible storm was gathering
to the east, where the army of the Duke of Anjou was daily increasing
in strength, and moving rapidly towards us. A degree of ferocity, too,
was beginning to animate both parties. The Count de Lude attacked the
town of Mirabeau; received its surrender upon capitulation, and yet
ordered the greater part of the garrison to be put to the sword in
cold blood. The wrath and indignation of the Protestants now exceeded
all bounds, especially as La Borde and his brother, who were among the
first victims at Mirabeau, were universally loved and admired in the
army. No one felt their death more bitterly than the Admiral de
Coligny; and, swearing by all he held sacred that he would avenge
them, he refused all terms of capitulation to the town of St. Florent,
which he was then besieging, but gave the garrison notice to defend
themselves to the last, as beyond all doubt he would put every man to
the sword.

I was myself, at the time, marching forward with a large body of
troops towards Loudun; but I heard shortly afterward that the admiral
had too terribly kept his word. We came in presence of the enemy in
the neighbourhood of Loudun; and on the assembling of the whole
Protestant force, it was found that we were not much inferior in
number to our antagonists. But the weather had now become extremely
severe; and the Duke of Anjou not judging it prudent to risk a general
battle at that moment, retired, leaving us to take a little repose in
winter-quarters.

Some days before he retreated, however, I was at length rejoined by
the good youth Andriot, who bore a letter from Martin Vern, announcing
that he would speedily join us in our quarters. Andriot himself had
much to tell; for he had been at the Chateau de Blancford, and had
borne tidings of all my proceedings, as far as he knew them, to those
in whom he believed I was interested at my ancient home. He repeated
to me all the kind things that the boys had said; all the affectionate
words of old La Tour; and he told me how Louise's eyes had sparkled
when she saw him; how she had made him repeat over and over again
everything that related to me; and how she had wept to hear of my good
success, which the youth declared he could not understand at all,
though I understood it right well. He had taken care, he said, as far
as possible, to keep out of the way of the baron; but he was caught
the second day of his visit, and made his escape as fast as he could,
to avoid being beaten out with stirrup-leathers, which my worthy
cousin threatened highly.

The letter of Martin Vern gave but little intelligence of anything but
his own approach, and we looked anxiously for his arrival during three
or four days; at the end of which time, as I was sitting with his
nephew in my quarters at the little village of Troismoutiers, the good
merchant made his appearance, accompanied by a much more imposing
train of followers than he had displayed when I last saw him. His
first attention was of course given to his nephew; but, after embraces
and congratulations, he turned to me to speak on my affairs, and told
me that he had succeeded in one part of his mission, but had been
unsuccessful in another. The dagger, he said, he had not been able to
redeem, having found that my friend Monsieur Stuart had already
redeemed it when he heard how fortunate I had been in the army, with
the purpose of carrying it to me direct. This intelligence mortified
me a good deal; but the worthy merchant had consolation for me.

"I have seen your fair cousin," he said, "and a beautiful creature she
is. Not knowing whether there was anything private in your letter or
not, I delivered it to her as she passed through the room where the
baron kept me waiting; and the tidings that you gave her must have
moved her much, for she first turned so pale that I thought she would
have fainted, and then grew red again, and pressed your letter to her
lips, and thanked me a thousand times for bearing it. As she ran away
to read it, and I did not see her when I went back again to the
chateau, I feared that I should have no answer to give you; but the
servant who brought me, two days after, some bonds for the money that
your cousin wanted, gave me also this letter for you, and I think it
is in a woman's writing."

The moment I saw it I knew Louise's hand; and, approaching the sconce,
I tore it open and read--oh, how my heart beat! oh, how nearly were my
eyes overflowing as I read the sweet, the dear, the tender, the
affectionate words with which she greeted me.

"Dearest, dearest Henry!" it began, "how can I ever thank you for the
comfort, for the consolation, for the joy that your letter has given
me! the only consolation, the only joy that I have had since you left
me! I will not upbraid you for leaving me without bidding me adieu;
for to fly was all that you could do, and to go without farewell saved
me, perhaps, a long and bitter pang, even though it denied me a sad
and painful pleasure. The news of your success, from your own hand, is
indeed gratifying; but farther accounts of your success have now
reached me, and I trust in Heaven that they may be true.

"Oh, Henry! can I doubt anything that is told me of you, which
represents you as braver, and nobler, and more generous than any one
else? Perhaps it is all very foolish to think in this way; but you
have been my companion from my childhood; the kindest, the dearest,
the best of brothers to me! the one that I have loved the most on all
the earth since my poor mother's death. How, then, can I think
sufficiently of you? how can I think at all of any one else with hope
and comfort than of you? My two poor brothers, Charles and Albert, are
suffering under the same dark and cheerless fate as myself; and when
we steal up to sit together in the room that once was yours, we talk
of you and of all your kindness, and of the days that are gone by for
ever; and we mingle our tears together when we think that we may never
see him again whom we all loved so dearly. They indeed vow that, when
they are able, they will fly to join you at the army, and fight under
your sword. But what is to become of me?

"But I will not make you sad, Henry, with my sadness; nor will I dwell
upon all that is terrible to me, and painful in this house at this
moment. From the little that you saw, you may conceive the rest; and
nothing is too terrible to be true. Perhaps, if you were to write to
my father, it might do good; for, though he is very much exasperated
against you, and will not even hear your name mentioned from any of
us, yet when I have heard other people praise you, and mention some
high deed you have done, my father's eyes have looked bright, and I
have the thought he seemed somewhat proud that you should be his near
relation. Of his plans or his purposes at present I can give you no
account. He is evidently wretched here; and I have heard some words
spoken in regard to a journey to the capital if a truce or peace were
to take place, or if a safeguard could be obtained from the court.
When I see him so unhappy, I would fain console him, but he will not
be consoled; and the moment I attempt to do it, the expression of his
face changes from melancholy to anger.

"You tell me to think of you, and that you think of me constantly. Oh,
dear Henry! if you could see my thoughts, you could never fancy that
you were forgotten even for a moment by

                                       "LOUISE DE BLANCFORD."


The worthy merchant had not been long with us before he was summoned
to the presence of the Prince de Condé, to whom his arrival had been
notified; and I was not allowed mere than a few minutes alone to dream
over the letter of Louise, when an officer from the admiral warned me
to have everything prepared to march before daybreak on the following
morning, for the purpose of attacking the Catholic army in its
retreat.

When morning came the admiral himself led the _avant garde_, while the
Prince of Condé followed at the head of the rest of the forces; and
I, with my own troop and another small troop which was placed under my
command for the purpose, was ordered to man[oe]uvre on the prince's
right, for the purpose of deceiving the enemy into the belief that we
were marching in three divisions. The task was allotted to me, because
it was well known that I had thoroughly reconnoitred the whole country
on that side during the three or four preceding days. The issue of the
attempt would have been more fortunate, however, had they attached me
to the admiral's division; for we were at that time in a part of the
country filled with Catholics, and I have not the slightest doubt that
both the generals were purposely deceived by their guides. Of the
admiral we saw nothing for a long time after his departure; and the
Prince de Condé, beginning his march about half an hour before
daybreak, was led straight on to the enemy's camp, instead of
approaching it on the north, as he had intended.

About eight o'clock in the morning, both he and I perceived the
position of the Duke of Anjou, strongly intrenched and flanked by a
stream, but not the slightest appearance of the admiral on any side;
and, from the whole aspect of the scene, the strongest proof that
Coligny had not even approached the enemy's camp. Notwithstanding the
great inferiority of numbers, however, the prince determined to
commence the attack, seeing clearly that the admiral had been misled,
and hoping that the sound of the cannon would bring him up to the
field of battle. The order was then given for the skirmishers to
advance; and, according to the directions I had received, I made the
greatest possible display of my forces on the right, occupying the
attention and diverting the efforts of a part of the Duke of Anjou's
army.

The troops that the Prince de Condé had thrown forward were met by the
cavalry of Souline, Monsalis, and La Vallette, and driven back for
some way at the point of the sword; but the famous Count de Montgomery
and several other distinguished officers caused the cannon to be
brought forward upon the height, and opened a sharp fire upon the
duke's encampment. Each party was animated by the same courage and
spirit; the troops on both sides were fighting under the eyes of their
most celebrated leaders; and the advantages of the day remained so
completely balanced, that if the admiral had come up in time, the camp
of the duke must have been forced, and his army in all probability
annihilated.

In the mean time, Martigue, at the head of three cornets of horse, had
come out to reconnoitre my strength; but it luckily so happened that
the small body of men which had been placed under my command in
addition to my own troop, consisted principally of horse arquebusiers,
and I contrived, by thinly lining the hedges with these soldiers
dismounted, while I filled up the gaps with my cavalry, to make my
force appear much larger than it really was. Martigue, who was an old
and experienced soldier, at first seemed to entertain great suspicions
of what was really the case, and advanced up the hill with a resolute
face, as if he had been determined to dislodge me.

Although I had no chance in contending with him, I determined not to
give way till I was forced; and, suffering him calmly to come
completely within shot, I ordered the arquebusiers to fire and then
spring upon their horses. This was done through the hedges with
considerable effect, several of the shots telling in the midst of
Martigue's own troop, and producing great confusion, while what seemed
to them a body of fresh cavalry appeared behind the hedges, and
decided their retreat. The shortness of the daylight at that period of
the year favoured not a little the Duke of Anjou; for, or the arrival
of the admiral, who had been led several miles out of his way, the day
was found to be too near the close for any farther advantage to be
gained.

Not a few difficulties and dangers, however, presented themselves to
the Protestant army when it contemplated a retreat, and the prince
determined to stop upon the ground he had occupied. Just as it was
turning dark, this resolution was notified to me by an officer, who
brought me also high praises from the prince, not for having fought
well, but for having avoided fighting. His orders now were to retreat
a little from the ground I occupied, to do my best to cover my right
flank, and to send him instant notice in case of attack, making what
head against the enemy I could, in order to give him time for
preparation. He would have sent me more men, he said, but the position
that both he and the admiral occupied was so hazardous that he could
not spare any.

My retreat was easily effected; but, as I came down the hill, I was
somewhat alarmed and surprised by seeing a large body of men moving up
in the dusk across one of the wide open fields of that part of the
country. In the dim twilight I could not distinguish anything farther
than that there must be two or three thousand men, with what seemed to
be artillery; and I was upon the point of sending off intelligence of
the fact to the Prince de Condé, when the sound of some bells, such as
they hang round the necks of the draught oxen, caught my ear, and made
me comprehend at once what sort of apparition this was. It proved that
a rascally guide, who had accompanied the attendants, camp followers,
and others who were bringing up the baggage, had misled this important
body also, and was guiding it direct into the midst of the Duke of
Anjou's men. An immense booty it certainly would have been to the
Catholics had I not fortunately met the mass of rabble horseboys,
suttlers, bad men, bad women, and baggage wagons that were thus
trooping on into the hands of the enemy. Approaching cautiously, that
I might be quite sure I was right, I called out as soon as I had
ascertained the fact, and commanded this great procession to halt. At
the very first word, the guide, it seems, would have fled; but the
leader of the party, who was a man of execution and an old soldier,
had entertained suspicions for some time that all was not right, and,
on the man's attempt to spur away, shot him through the head. As soon
as some explanations had taken place between myself and the rest, a
stratagem struck me, which I instantly proceeded to put in practice.

All the men who had just come up were very willing to put themselves
under my command; and, returning up the hill till I came within sight
of the lights of the enemy's camp, I formed an encampment there,
defending it as well as I could with carts and wagons. I then
collected together all the most likely varlets that I could find, put
my own men in command over them, and arming them to the best of my
power, prepared to defend that post in case of need, making sure that,
for an hour or two at least, I could completely cover the right of the
Prince de Condé. I despatched a messenger to him, however, to tell him
what had occurred, and to say that, if he thought fit, when he and the
admiral fired their cannon at nine o'clock, as was very customary, I
would do the same, as there was an old dismounted culverine in one of
the baggage-wagons, which would the more completely serve to impose
upon the enemy.

On his return the messenger told me the prince laughed heartily; and,
entering into the spirit of the thing at once, bade me follow out my
plan according to my own proposal. It took some time, indeed, to get
out the culverine, to place it in such a position that it could be
fired without danger, and to draw out a nail which had been driven
into the touchhole. This was all accomplished, however, before the
hour appointed; and no sooner was the gun fired from the quarters of
the Prince de Condé, than the admiral on one hill and I on the other
shot off our ordnance, doubtless much to the surprise, and somewhat to
the consternation, of the camp below.

Indeed, our position formed a scene altogether not a little striking
and beautiful; and somewhat imposing and majestic it must have
appeared to the enemy, who could see it all at once. I had gone forth
to fire the culverine myself, fancying that, what between its
antiquity and the quantity of powder with which it had been crammed,
in order to make the report the louder, it might do what it did not,
and burst under the operation. I then gazed, with feelings near akin
to awe, along the range of the camp, and the immense numbers of fires
lighted all along the lines to keep the people warm, blazing lightly
over a great extent of the opposite hill, and sweeping quite down
across the mouth of the valley where the Prince de Condé's division
remained, till the illumination was taken up again by the people who
were with me on those heights. There, too, at about the distance of
three quarters of a mile, were the fires and lights of various kinds
in the camp of the Duke of Anjou, while between that globe of flame
and the semicircle of fire that surrounded it on our side, there
remained a dark black ring, on which the struggle of the morning had
been carried on, and in which nothing was now to be seen but a single
lantern, or a torch wandering here and there, and seeking for the
wounded or the dead.

As I stood and gazed, the murmur of merriment which was kept up by the
varlets and the people of the little encampment behind me was carried
away by the wind, which blew strong from the northeast, and borne upon
its wings from the camp of the admiral came suddenly one of the
Protestant psalms, sung by several thousands of voices at once, and
sweeping mournfully but sweetly through the dark and solemn night. If
I joined not in the melody, I joined at least in the prayer that it
conveyed on high; and I was listening still with no small delight,
when the youth Andriot plucked me by the sleeve, and told me that
there was somebody who wished to speak with me in the encampment.

There was a meaning look in the youth's face--a mixture of joy and
archness which I did not at all understand; but I followed without
farther question to a tent which had been prepared for me, and towards
which he now led the way. There were lights within, and a good number
of people standing round it; and in drawing back the flap of the tent,
I saw a table laid out with a very splendid supper, which, as I
afterward found, had been prepared for the Prince de Condé, and who,
probably, that night went without. But that which surprised me much
more (for I was well aware that the whole provisions of the army were
with my part of the encampment) was to see a respectable-looking
elderly lady with her back towards me, and an old man with white hair
bending down to point out to her something in a book upon the table.
The little noise I made in entering did not disturb them; but my first
step in the tent caused the old man to raise his head, and, to my
inexpressible astonishment, I beheld good old Monsieur La Tour; while
the old lady, turning round, displayed to my sight the well-known
features of her who had been the faithful attendant of the former
Baroness de Blancford and her daughter for several years.



CHAPTER X.


It was evident, from the manner in which La Tour and the old lady,
whom we called Dame Marguelette, received me, that they had been
already made acquainted with the fact of my being there; and,
therefore, there was no degree of astonishment whatever in their
countenances, though much joy. I thought they would have devoured me;
but when the first expressions of gladness and satisfaction were over,
I remarked a great change in the appearance of the good old pastor.
The few months that I had been absent seemed to have worn and broken
him more than several years had done at a preceding period; and there
were also lines of much care and thought about his brow and eyes,
together with a melancholy expression round his mouth, which was very
painful to me to behold. Nor was my good old friend Dame Marguelette
as well-looking or as hale as when I left her. Such were my
impressions; but they, on the other hand, could hardly find words to
express how much improved I appeared to them in personal appearance
since I had quitted the chateau.

After a few minutes given to mutual gratulations, my next question, of
course, was, where was the baron, and what brought them there.

"Alas! my son," replied La Tour, "where the baron is I cannot well
tell you; but I much fear that he is in the hands of the enemy. I
trust not with his own consent; but I fully believe with the consent
and by the arrangement of the woman whom he has so madly made his
wife. But I have a long story to tell you, Henry, which will explain
the whole; and I had better tell it you at once. Alas! you little know
what a change has taken place since you were at Blancford."

He then went on to tell me all that had occurred, drawing a sad
picture of a wretched and miserable family. The baroness he depicted
as harsh, haughty, and unprincipled--capricious to such a degree that
there was no calculating upon any determination for a whole day, and
only checkering the most idle and licentious levity with occasional
fits of violent passion or long hours of gloomy sullenness. The baron,
on his part, evidently both contemned and despised her; and yet, as we
so frequently see, the woman who had acquired a tie upon him by his
passions and his vices, ruled him like a slave by his weaknesses, even
after his passions had been sated. The conduct of both to the children
of the late baroness was anything, La Tour said, but what it should
be, though towards Louise, the old man added, her father displayed
strong affection, and sought her society when he seemed to fly from
that of any one else. As to the religion of the baroness, the
Protestant minister declared his solemn belief that she had none; but
if ever she had a leaning either way, it was towards papistry. He
feared very much too, he added, he feared very much that the baron
himself was wavering in his faith. "And that fear," he added, "has
induced me to cast every other consideration behind me, and to remain
with the poor children, still to guard their minds from perversion as
far as possible."

The time since my departure thus passed, he said, in the most
comfortless state of discontent on all parts, until at length the
baron had declared, that if he could not obtain a safe conduct to
reside unmolested in Paris with his whole household, he would take
arms and join the Protestant forces.

It was the policy of the court of France at that time, by every sort
of bribe, by every promise of immunity and inducement that could be
held out, to prevent the lukewarm Protestants from joining the more
zealous ones in arms. The words of the baron were speedily noised
abroad; and with no greater space of time than was necessary for a
courier to travel post-haste from Bordeaux to Paris and from Paris to
Bordeaux, a safe conduct for the baron, and every one whose name he
chose to insert in it, arrived at the Chateau de Blancford, with the
sole condition annexed, that he should present himself at the court as
speedily as possible, where every sort of honour and distinction, the
document said, awaited him.

"His resolution was taken in a moment," continued La Tour; "and he
proposed to me, ungraciously enough indeed, that my name should be put
into the list. For the children's sake, and especially for dear
Louise's sake, I suffered it to be done: and we advanced by slow
journeys altogether till yesterday morning, when the baroness declared
that, by pushing forward to Chatelherault, and thence to Leselle, they
would put the Vienne and the Creux between them and the contending
armies, and thus pass on to Paris without interruption. All the heavy
baggage, and several of the servants and retainers, together with the
old men and women, such as myself and Dame Marguelette, were to follow
more slowly; but I yesterday heard the baroness speaking with one of
the guides who had been hired to conduct their party not long before
they went, in such a manner as to convince me that she at least would
not be ill pleased to fall into the hands of the Catholic army. They
went on; and though they promised to send back a messenger to tell us
when they had safely passed the Vienne, none has ever come near us;
and this morning we fell in with the baggage of our own army, and came
on with it, thinking that we should be in greater security."

"But where is Louise?" I cried immediately. "Have they taken her on
with them?"

"Alas! yes, my son," replied the pastor. "All the young people have
gone on; and I do not believe that the baroness will at all grieve
that they should be separated from those who have hitherto had the
charge and direction of their youth."

The tidings that I heard made me, I acknowledge, very uneasy; and I
meditated for some time without making any reply, revolving in my mind
some plan for gaining more certain information regarding my relations.
I judged that if they had followed the road towards Chatelherault and
been taken, they must have fallen in with some of the troops of the
Duke of Anjou's left wing, probably under La Vallette; and I therefore
made up my mind to make an excursion on my own right, if possible, the
next morning, and attempt to carry off some prisoners, who might give
me information. I found that the baggage of the baron and all his old
servants were in the immediate neighbourhood of the spot where they
had erected my tent, and I took care that everything should be done to
make the people comfortable.

I was somewhat uneasy, however, at not seeing good Martin Vern and his
nephew, who I knew must have remained with the baggage when the Prince
de Condé advanced. I accordingly sent out Andriot and one or two
others to find them, which was, perhaps, a difficult task; as the
wagons, and carts, and horses, and tents which formed my encampment
were spread over a very large space of ground. They were found at
length, however, in company with the Prince de Condé's intendant,
wandering about at the extreme end of the encampment, not choosing to
trust themselves without a guide in the wide chaos of all sorts of
rascals and lumber that it contained. Good Martin Vern seemed not a
little discontented with his expedition, and declared that, as soon as
he had seen the Prince de Condé on the following morning, and had
settled with him the business that brought him thither, he and his
nephew would make the best of their way to Paris.

I now bethought me that if, by the mistake or rascality of the guide,
the baggage of the Protestants had fallen into the hands of the enemy,
my whole little fortune would have been also swept away, and that I
should have been left almost in the same condition as that in which I
had joined the army. How to remedy this, and to put my treasure beyond
the chances of war, I did not know; but to consult good Martin Vern
seemed the surest plan of obtaining advice, and he immediately
proposed that I should place it in his hands, which, as he explained
to me, was the common custom with those who had floating sums of money
which they wished to put in security.

As, from all I had seen, I had not the slightest doubt of the good
man's integrity, I acceded without the slightest hesitation, but only
asked, "Are you not more likely to lose it in travelling through the
country, unprotected, than even I am in the midst of an army?"

"Not a single crown of it," he said, laughing, "Will ever go out of
this camp. The Prince de Condé will have it all, and glad to get it.
He is to receive two hundred thousand crowns at Niort from a Jewish
house with whom you yourself have had some dealings; part of the sum
is on my account, and gold and silver plate to the full amount is by
this time in my brother's hands in Paris. He will be glad enough to
have your six thousand crowns in ready money instead of my bill upon
Niort, which is the only way I should pay him. I give you an
acknowledgment for the money, payable on demand; and if you should
want it, or any part of it, you have nothing to do but to show my
acknowledgment to any banker or merchant, and draw upon me what is
called a bill of exchange. Were it not for these bills, my good young
friend, in such troublous times as the present, no merchant would
venture to stir out of his own city, for fear of being skinned alive
on account of the money on his person."

On this explanation, the money was soon sent for and readily found;
for my baggage had all been collected together round the tent, and the
ground in the immediate vicinity was kept clear by my own people.
After paying over six thousand crowns to Martin Vern, deducting the
sum that I had sent him for the redemption of the knife, there still
remained in my hands nearly five hundred crowns; and, with many
thanks, I repaid to the good pastor the sum I had borrowed from him on
quitting the Chateau of Blancford.

"I would not take it from you, my son," he said, "but I see your
exertions have been blessed with success, and that you have already
become what I may well consider enormously rich."

I would not tell him how changed my estimation of enormous riches was,
as I could not explain to him--perhaps not even to myself--the causes
of that change; but, even while we were speaking upon this subject, a
messenger from the Prince de Condé came to the tent, seeking his
intendant and Martin Vern, who accordingly sped away in all haste to
confer with that general.

"Will you let some of your men carry this gold for me?" said Martin
Vern, adding, with a smile, "This will ensure me a mighty warm
reception from his highness."

Taking care that he should have a sufficient escort, I turned when the
merchant was gone to his nephew, and asked him how he relished the
thoughts of this immediate journey to Paris, and whether his military
ardour was or was not at an end. To my surprise, however, I found that
he was as much changed in some of his feelings as I was in some of
mine; and for the first time I learned the cause of his whole conduct.

"You must know," he said, "That when I was living in Bordeaux, not
long before my father's death, we became acquainted with a merchant's
widow and her daughter, so well to do in the world that it was
proposed I should marry the young lady. She was very beautiful, and I
fancied myself in love with her. Indeed, I believe I was so; but she
had got her head filled with ideas of battles and military glory; and
though she coquetted with me a good deal, and gave me every
encouragement, so as to raise my passion to the highest pitch, yet she
declared that she would never give her hand to any one but a soldier,
or one, at least, who had seen some service. If I would go and fight,
she said, for two or three campaigns, she liked me well enough to
promise to marry me; but she would not upon any other conditions. My
father was so enraged that he broke off the match altogether; and,
dying shortly after, left me under the charge of my uncle, who was
even more averse to it than himself.

"Of course I could not see with their eyes at first, and thought of
nothing but how beautiful she was; but afterward, when I had done
quite enough to show that it was not fear prevented me from being a
soldier, and was lying at Angoulême in sickness and in pain, I began
to think that she must have been a very selfish and inconsiderate
person, to wish me to expose myself to such things for the mere
gratification of her vanity. If she loved me at all, she ought to have
loved me sufficiently as I was--plain Martin Vern; and if she did not
love me as I was, and could love nothing but a soldier, why, a soldier
let her have. As time went by--and I had plenty of opportunity of
thinking, as you know--I began to find out that I had not loved her as
much as I thought; and not at all doubting that the quality she most
loved in a soldier was a slashed pourpoint and the feather in his cap,
I began to think the only quality I had liked in her was a pair of
rosy lips and a pink and white complexion; and therefore, as soon as
my uncle proposed it, I expressed myself quite satisfied to go on with
him to Paris."

There was something amusing to me in the sort of debtor and creditor
account the young man seemed to keep with his own heart; but as it was
now beginning to wax late, I did my best to provide accommodation for
all the friends around me; and telling La Tour that I had a scheme for
gaining some information the next morning concerning the baron and his
party, I led him to another tent, leaving good Dame Marguelette where
she was, and for my own part took a station by one of the watch-fires
for the night.

The complete knowledge that we have of any little stratagem that we
attempt makes us always fear more than necessary that it will be
suspected by others; but on the present occasion I was not wrong in
supposing that an attempt might be made to discover the amount of our
force upon these heights. It was even probable that the extent of
ground which we occupied might create suspicion, as the position of
the admiral and the Prince de Condé was accurately known; and it was
not probable that they should weaken themselves by making a large
detachment occupy that hill. However, I caused a number of saddled
horses and armed men to wait at the point where our camp was most
easily approached, and I remained by the side of the fire, wrapped in
my cloak, dozing perhaps a little, but more frequently gazing upon the
red embers, and thinking of the fate of my sweet cousin Louise.

Moric Endem, who had kept watch there during my absence, left me in
about half an hour, to get some refreshment. It was long ere he
returned; and, indeed, I cannot say that good Moric was ever famous
for shortening his potations. When he did come back, he cast himself
down at the other side of the fire, and fell as sound asleep on the
hard ground, in the face of the enemy, as if he had been it the
warmest bed of a well-fenced chateau. About five o'clock in the
morning, having no more wood to trim the fire, which was beginning to
grow very dull, I rose up and went out beyond the barricade which we
had constructed, gazing up at the stars, which were shining in all the
clear brightness of a frosty night.

As I so gazed I thought I heard sounds from below; and, looking down
the slope, I clearly saw a body of horse and foot advancing slowly and
silently towards our little camp. Going back quietly, but in haste, I
woke Moric Endem, got the men together without any noise, stationed
the arquebusiers among the carts and wagons, with directions for no
one to fire till the general order should be given; and then causing
my troopers to mount, I brought them close to the spot by which they
could issue forth upon the enemy. I could there also see the Catholics
as they approached; and, suffering them to advance till within the
distance of sixty yards from the camp, I stood a little forward, like
a sentinel, and challenged them. They made no answer, but only
quickened their pace; but then, instead of discharging my arquebus,
and leaving any one who liked it to follow my example, as a common
sentinel would have done, I gave the word to fire, and in a moment a
line of sharp flashes ran along the face of the carts and wagons, and,
springing on my horse, I led out the men, and charged the advancing
body down the hill. As well as I could see, I singled out their
commander, with the hope of making him prisoner, for the body was
evidently nothing more than a reconnoitring party, and not much
stronger numerically than my own.

The surprise--for they had not calculated upon such a reception--the
darkness, to fight in which they were altogether unaccustomed; and, as
I imagine, a want of complete knowledge of the ground, rendered the
resistance of the enemy but momentary; and we drove infantry and
cavalry down the hill together at the point of the spear, bearing to
the Catholic camp, and to Martigue, who had sent them, a somewhat
exaggerated account, I have a notion, of the strength upon the hill. I
somehow missed the commander in the dark; but I struck one man from
his horse as he fled with the staff of my lance, and then pointing the
iron to his throat, made him surrender, rescue or no rescue, and gave
him into the hands of the people who followed. We pursued the
reconnoitring party as far, or perhaps farther, than it was prudent;
and then returning, had the prisoner brought up to a somewhat better
lighted fire than the one I had been sitting at, and asked him the
questions which I had proposed.

I found that he was a common soldier, though of good family; and on my
inquiring strictly in regard to the Baron de Blancford and his party,
he said that he had heard a report in the corps to which he belonged
of that nobleman having either come in and surrendered himself, or
being made prisoner, with a promise of safety, by some of the roving
parties of the left wing. He described to me pretty accurately the
part of the camp where he imagined the baron to be lodged; and as his
own regiment could not be far from the spot, I took it for granted
that he was right. I then put him at a small ransom for the sake of
the men, and let him go upon parole; having taken especial care that
he should see nothing around him but the grim faces of steel-clad
horsemen, and the lighted matches of the arquebusiers.

By the time that all this was accomplished the eastern sky was
beginning to grow gray, and a faint buzzing, murmuring sound seemed to
me to indicate some early movement in the enemy's camp, although the
light was not yet sufficiently strong for any eye to discern what was
taking place. The murmur increased and grew louder; but of course I
could make no attempt under such circumstances without orders, and I
sent down a messenger immediately to tell the Prince de Condé what had
occurred, and to ask for his instant commands. The reply was short,
and written on a scrap of paper with a piece of black chalk.

"I think the enemy are decamping," it said: "if it should prove so,
take what men you have as soon as it is daylight, and hang upon the
rear. You shall be joined by fifty more as speedily as possible--all
under your command. But be not too rash; for it is now determined not
to risk a battle till the season is more advanced."

Before the messenger with this notification reached me, what the
Prince de Condé had foreseen had become evident. By the gray light of
the morning I could see the spears of the retreating army already
winding along the opposite hill, within two miles of the outposts of
the admiral. There was a thick, white mist in the valley, however,
which covered the Catholic camp, and prevented me from perceiving what
had taken place there; but I judged, from the distance at which the
cavalry were now seen, that their retreat might be considered as
secure.

Giving orders to Moric Endem to get every man that he could muster
under arms as fast possible, I ran to the tent of good old La Tour,
and besought him not to quit the army till my return, promising to
bring or send some news of the baron and his family, if possible.
Martin Vern I had not an opportunity of seeing, though I trusted, as
he had all my little wealth, and had not even given me such a receipt
as he had promised, that I should find him on my return. Not that I in
the slightest degree doubted his honesty or honour, but that I knew I
might have need of a part of what I had given him at a moment's
notice. No time, however, was now to be lost; and, getting into the
saddle as speedily as possible, I put myself at the head of my men and
of the horse arquebusiers, and dashed down into the enemy's camp at
full speed. A portion of the baggage, and that in some degree
valuable, was left; and Moric Endem, whom I had christened the
plunder-master-general, as he conducted all that part of our military
proceedings, made a goodly booty in less than half an hour.

Ere we reached the end of the valley in pursuit, a body of fifty more
spears joined us, sent, according to his promise, by the Prince de
Condé, from whom I received, by their leader, an order to follow the
enemy as far as possible, and not to leave them, unless I was
compelled, till they were two days' march from their former camp. I
had neither tents nor any other kind of baggage with me, and for a
moment thought of sending back to bid the servants and horseboys
follow; but recollecting of how much importance it was to lose no
time, I urged on the pursuit, and speedily overtook a small body
straggling from the rear-guard, whom we drove in upon the rest at the
point of the spear.

The appearance of the horse-arquebusiers behind us, for they had not
been quite so rapid in their movements as we were, gave the idea of a
much more considerable body of pursuers than really followed the
enemy; and a small troop of cavalry faced about and charged. Among
them was one who seemed a mere youth; but the whole were routed in a
moment, and the lad, thrown to the ground, was absolutely under my
horse's feet. How he escaped unhurt I do not know; but I helped him to
rise, and, scarcely thinking what I did, but looking on him as a mere
child, I bade him remount his horse and get back to his own people as
fast as he could. He took me at my word, and I did not see him again,
though more than once during the rest of the day we met a body of the
enemy in pretty sharp encounter.

On that night I slept at a small village somewhat in the rear of the
enemy, and on the following day found it necessary to follow the
pursuit somewhat more cautiously; for here we were, in all not one
hundred and twenty men, nearly thirty miles distant from the
Protestant army, and without anything to fall back upon nearer than
that. To cut off stragglers, therefore, was all that we could do; but
towards evening we took some prisoners, from whom I learned tidings
that I was anxious to obtain.

The Duke of Anjou had by this time halted and encamped for the night;
and the prisoners informed me that they belonged to the regiment of
Monsieur de la Valette. On questioning them concerning the Baron de
Blancford, one of them, who seemed their leader, informed me that that
gentleman and all his family were detained as prisoners by the Duke of
Montpensier. He seemed a somewhat willing prisoner, the man added, and
was not guarded at all strictly, but left under the eyes of the
Marquis de la Valette and his regiment. Their tents, he said, were on
the extreme verge of the camp, to the right of the line of march; and
the ease of carrying off the whole party seemed to me so great, that I
determined to make the attempt that night.

We were still at some distance from the camp; but, to make the attempt
more secure, I retired a little farther still, to a village called
Scorbe, and there remained quiet, waiting with not a little impatience
for the first hour of night, which, as I well knew, is of all others
the time when a camp is left most exposed; when the men, first feeling
themselves relieved from the vigilance, activity, and labour of the
day, are thrown more completely off their guard than at any other
period.

Here, in the mean time, I made all my arrangements with Moric Endem
and the leader of the arquebusiers. The prisoners were safely locked
up in a barn belonging to a neighbouring farm, and their horses,
appropriated to our use, were destined to act a part which will
speedily be seen.



CHAPTER XI.


It was intensely cold, when, just as it was turning dusk, we set out
from the little village upon our projected expedition. The ground was
as hard as iron, every stream was held in icy shackles, and there was
a dull stillness in the air as if even the very sounds were frozen.
The wintry melody of the robin had ceased, the lowing of the cattle
was over, and the shrill crowing of the watchful cock heard in some
far distant farm, which once, and once only, broke the stillness as we
proceeded, made it seem more profound the moment the sound had ceased.
Notwithstanding the intensity of the cold, or rather, perhaps, as a
consequence of it, the whole ground was covered with a light white
mist. It could not be called a fog, but, together with the duskiness
of the hour, it rendered all the surrounding objects difficult to be
seen, magnifying them in size, and even seeming to distort them in
shape. There was no wind to move the light vapoury cloud that lay upon
the surface of the earth; and as we rode on, sometimes climbing high
up over the slopes where the ground was more clear, we could see the
distant stars peeping through with a faint and doubtful glimmer; but,
whenever we were upon the low grounds, nothing whatever could be seen
around us at a greater distance than twenty yards.

The arrangements which I had made were, that Morin Endem, myself, and
eight others, should keep in advance of the party till we came near
the camp of the enemy. I was then to go on alone, endeavouring to find
out the tents which the prisoner had described as the lodging of the
Baron de Blancford. As soon as we had found it, I was to return and
draw up my men; the greater part of them, with the arquebusiers, were
to remain in the nearest sheltered spot I could find, and then five or
six holding saddled horses, on two of which I had contrived to place
pillions for Louise and the baroness, were to be stationed as near as
I could bring them with safety to the camp. Having arranged all this,
I and the nine who had accompanied me in advance were to dismount, and
taking upon our backs some sacks stuffed with straw, which we had
brought from the village, we were to walk forward and attempt to enter
the camp as a foraging party.

I felt sure that the enemy, having now discovered that they were not
followed by the bulk of the Protestant army, would be, as indeed they
always were, in a very lax and careless state, and I doubted not that
the word would never be asked, and that we should be admitted without
difficulty. In the first instance, however, we had nearly been
discovered; for, in the darkness and the mist, instead of coming upon
the tents where we should have seen lights more readily, we suddenly
found ourselves at the back of a village which was stationed at the
head of the right wing, and the loud sound of merriment from within
was the first thing that gave us any intimation of our danger.

Drawing back as quietly and stealthily as possible, we passed round a
small bank of osiers which grew by a little stream, and then clearly
distinguished the tents to which I had been directed by the lights
which were seen scattered here and there, and which came dim and
enlarged through the mist. I now found the description which the man
had given so accurate, that could tell perfectly where I was at every
step; and numbering the tents onward from a large pavilion belonging
to Martigue, the fiftieth tent on that side, brought me to the spot
where the Baron de Blancford was said to be lodged.

We had ridden slowly along, skirting the bank of osiers which I have
mentioned upon a little eminence between it and the enemy's camp, and
stationing my arquebusiers and spare lances behind with the led
horses, just covered by the brow, I dismounted with the party assigned
to enter the camp. Taking our sacks upon our backs, we approached the
tents; and, to say the truth, the enterprise was both somewhat
hazardous to the undertakers thereof if it failed, and somewhat rash,
at all events. If we were taken--though we were in arms, and had every
signal of the Protestant party about us--it was not at all improbable
that, in those days, we should be hanged at once for spies. However,
we were not persons to be much daunted by the thought of consequences,
and we walked boldly forward towards the tents.

As we had skirted along from the village to the spot where I had
halted my men, we had seen nothing to give us any alarm. The buzz, the
noise, the merriment of a camp were heard, it is true, but were heard
from a distance towards the centre; and where we were there reigned
all the stillness and quietness of the suburb. No sight was to be seen
indicating human life, except every now and then, beheld through the
canvassed street, some tall form, magnified by the mist, either
accidentally crossing the light of a watch-fire, or bending down to
stir it into a brighter blaze. Not a soldier who could help it put out
the unsheltered head in that intense frost; and as the wine in the
neighbourhood was cheap and abundant, every opportunity had been given
by the generals to keep up the warmth of the body by deep potations
taken in the tents and houses.

Fixing upon the tents which I conceived to be assigned to the Baron de
Blancford, and which I had been told were six in number, I gave Moric
Endem and Andriot, who accompanied me, full directions what to do on
their part, while I, with two of the other men, proceeded to the
principal pavilion to liberate the baron and his family. Bearing,
then, our sacks upon our shoulders, we approached a little breastwork
which seemed to have been constructed on some former occasion, and,
entered a gap therein, when a soldier, who had been sitting in the
ditch beyond, started up with his pike in his hand and demanded the
password. I murmured out something that he did not hear, keeping
myself prepared, however, in case he persisted, to cut him down at
once; but he seemed little disposed to take any very exact note of the
proceedings; and, seeing the sacks, he took us, as I hoped he would,
for a foraging party, and consequently suffered us to pass without
making me repeat the word more than once, though I cannot suppose that
my reply was at all like it. As soon as we were within the camp, each
man applied himself to his task, and, without taking any note of what
the others were about, I, with two stout fellows behind me, approached
the largest of the tents, and, throwing down our sacks, I pulled back
the canvass and entered. The moment that I did so I found that I was
so far right. The Baron de Blancford was before me, seated at a table
with wine upon it and some dried fruits. He was quite alone, without
even a page; but there was a division in the tent, and I concluded the
rest of his family were in the chamber beyond.

Immediately on the entrance of myself and my two followers, he rose
and looked at us with some surprise, demanding, "What want you,
gentlemen! Do you come from the Duke de Montpensier?"

Holding up my finger for the purpose of making him understand not to
speak loud, I raised the visor of my casque, saying, "My lord, I heard
you were a prisoner contrary to the tenour of the safe conduct which
you bear, and therefore I have come at once to liberate you. Horses
and guards are waiting. If you choose to embrace the opportunity, you
may be free at once."

I never in my life beheld utter astonishment so completely depicted on
a human countenance as on his.

"Henry de Cerons," he exclaimed, gazing at me as if he could scarcely
believe his eyes, "is this true? Can this be true, or is it a dream?"

"It is true, my lord," I replied, "perfectly true. But we have no time
to lose if you would take advantage of the moment of escape. My men
are preparing your servants, and I will ensure your perfect safety to
the camp of the Prince de Condé."

He still continued to gaze at me for a moment, as if he yet could
scarcely convince himself that it was all true; but the next instant
he asked, "And do you really still, Henry, take such an interest in me
and mine as to risk your life to free us?"

"Indeed, my lord, I do," I replied; "I believe you have not understood
me rightly in former days; but my love and gratitude to you and others
that are gone, believe me, are quite as lively as any one could
require or wish."

He seemed somewhat touched, and mused a moment; but, just as he was
about to reply, the baroness entered from the inner part of the tent,
and in an instant the evil spirit seemed to come over him again.

"No," he said, "No, I must not and I cannot go. They detain me but
till they ascertain the accuracy of my safe conduct. No, sir, I fear
you have taken this trouble for nothing."

"Are you, my lord, quite decided?" I said; "for this can never be
risked again. Every moment that I stay here is, as you know, full of
peril; but the moment is before you if you choose to seize it."

While I was speaking, the baroness came round the table towards me,
gazed in may face with a look of coquettish wonder, and, ere he could
answer, exclaimed, "Good heavens, this is the young gentleman who only
suffered one to see him for a moment at Blancford! and has he really
had the generosity to come hither in order to rescue us?"

"Whatever he have come here for, madam," answered the baron, "he
comes, as you well know, in vain; for, of course, we must remain with
the king's troops till the authenticity of our safe conduct is
ascertained."

"Nay, but speak gently, baron!" said the lady; "speak gently, for
pity's sake. Surely you are indebted to him."

"I am," said the baron, "but--"

At that moment, close to where we stood, burst forth the report of a
pistol-shot, with some loud tongues speaking.

"Come you or not, my lord?" I cried; "this is the last moment."

"Of course I come not," replied the baron. "Go, go, Henry," he added,
with a momentary emotion of feeling, "I thank you, I thank you, but I
cannot come."

I left the tent instantly with some disappointment, that even in that
short moment I had not beheld Louise. The moment I was beyond the
canvass walls, however, the voice of Moric Endem met my ear, and I
darted towards the spot where we had left the sentry.

"This way, sir, this way," cried Moric, as soon as he perceived me by
the light of the fire; "I have been obliged to shoot the pikeman, and
we shall have them all upon us in a minute. See, see, they are coming
up there. Are not your friends ready? Then you must leave them, for,
by heavens, we shall have hot work before we make our escape."

"They do not come, Moric, they do not come," I cried, hurrying on
towards the gap. "Could you not have dealt with him more quietly?
Firearms make such a noise."

"He kept me off with his pike," said Moric, speaking as we hurried
along; "and, if I hadn't shot him, he would have stopped the lady."

"What lady, in the name of Heaven?" I exclaimed, pausing in
astonishment. But Moric seized me by the arm, saying,

"Come on, come on, my lord! There's no stopping to think now! I mean
the lady Andriot brought out."

I now paused not an instant, but hurried on like lightning to the spot
where the led horses were held. The mist prevented me from seeing
anything till I was close upon them; but then, to my confusion and
consternation, I beheld, seated on the pillion behind the lad Andriot,
the light, beautiful figure of Louise de Blancford, with no other
covering against the cold of the night but a thick veil thrown over
her head.

"Good God!" I exclaimed, running up, "they have made a mistake,
Louise! Dear Louise, your father will not come, and to take you back
would cost my life and that of every one with me."

"Then you shall not go, Henry," she said, instantly recognising me,
and holding out her arms towards me; "You will take care of me, you
will protect me, till I can go back to my father in safety."

"But you are not fitly clothed, dear child, for such a night as this,"
I cried. "Where is my horse? Give me the cloak from the saddlebow."

And, throwing it over her shoulders, I was clasping it around her
neck, when Moric Endem shook me violently by the arm, exclaiming,
"Mount, mount, Seigneur de Cerons, and begone! They are already in the
saddle and after us!"

I sprang upon my horse's back in a moment, snatched my spear from one
of the boys, and, turning to Andriot, exclaimed, "Do you know the way
back to the village?"

"Every step, sir," he answered, boldly.

"Away, then!" I cried, "away, on before! You, Moric, and the rest,
accompany the lady and protect her. I will soon make these pursuers
turn upon their steps."

"I stay with you, sir," replied Moric. "Arlivault and the rest, on
with the lady and the boy!"

Andriot, who was a capital horseman, dashed over the side of the hill,
crossed the little stream, and away across the lea, while I, with
Moric, galloped down to the arquebusiers by the osier bank, and the
body of lancers that I had left at the corner. We had scarcely reached
them when the horses of the pursuers stopped upon the brow of the
hill; and, though we could not see them, we could hear them shouting
as they turned towards the camp, "Torches! bring torches! They must be
down here! They cannot escape. There are many on foot, for we saw
them!"

A minute after, a glare of light, as of a number of links and torches,
appeared coming up from the camp, and we could see the figures of some
fifteen or twenty men on horseback shining out upon the red back
ground of the mingled mist and torchlight.

"Now, arquebusiers," I said, "give them one volley, then quick upon
your horses, and off back to the village."

The firearms were lowered in a moment, and, just as some fresh men, to
the amount of twenty or thirty more, were coming over the slope, our
osier bank blazed with a long line of fire. Down went five or six of
the coming horses and men; and the arquebusiers, springing on their
horses, obeyed the orders they had received.

"What say you, lances?" I cried. "We will never ride off without
striking a stroke!"

"Upon them, upon them, lucky captain!" cried the men; and, though we
had the hill against us, we galloped up with our lances levelled
against the enemy, who were already in a state of hesitation and
confusion from the unexpected fire they had encountered, and who began
to fly at the very sound of charging horse, which they could not see
sufficiently to distinguish the numbers. In this terrible state we
drove them in, one tumbling over the other, horses and torches,
officers and men, all full well frightened out of their wits, and more
than one meeting the fate of a coward by the stroke of a lance in the
back. One man had brought out, it would seem, with him the cornet of
his troop, and had very nearly got into the gap in safety. But I was
up with him just as he was struggling to push his way forward before
the other fugitives, and I caught hold of the standard pole. Raising
the staff of my lance in my hand, I struck him a blow upon the
cowardly head that felled him to the earth.

"Here, take the cornet, Moric," I cried. "And now, my men, we will
wish them good-night."

A loud laugh burst from those who heard me, which, I believe, gave to
the flyers a greater idea of our being perfectly secure in our numbers
than any other part of the affray, and I heard afterward that it was
reported in the camp of the Duke d'Anjou that I had beat up the
quarters of La Valette with five hundred men.

We then passed the stream and the osier bank in safety; and whether we
were farther pursued again or not during that night, I cannot tell.
With the horse-arquebusiers we easily came up, for they had lingered a
moment or two on the opposite slope, with some anxiety about our fate;
but we rode on for a considerable way afterward without seeing
anything of Louise or her escort, and I began to feel some
apprehensions lest they should have missed their way. The fog was
increasing in density, the frost was most intense, and, though more
than once we halted to listen if horses' feet could be distinguished,
not a sound broke the stillness of the night.

We had ridden about a league and a half, and it now, for a moment,
became a question whether we were ourselves on the right road or not;
but the unfailing sagacity of Moric Endem pointed out marks which
proved that we were not mistaken. There was a tree here that looked
like an old sniffing woman, with a bottle under her arm; there was a
small _maiterie_ there, with some trees round it, which looked like a
partridge garnished with endive; and on we went in perfect security
upon our road for two or three miles farther.

"Hark!" cried Moric Endem, as we were going over a gentle slope.
"There was a pistol-shot far off to the left. It may be a signal that
they have lost their way."

We halted and listened; and as the wind, though very light, was from
that side, I thought I heard the sound of horses' feet. I bade them
then fire an arquebus in return, and two minutes after another
pistol-shot was heard, which at once confirmed the supposition of
Moric Endem.

Turning our horses that way with a shout and a halloo, we rode on as
fast as we could, and, at the distance of about two miles to the left
of the right road, we came up with a party which proved to be that we
were in search of. Riding up to the side of Louise, I bestowed not a
few harsh words upon Master Andriot for having misled the party; and
then, taking Louise's hand in mine, I said everything I could say, in
order to put her mind at ease, that the circumstances permitted, being
surrounded by a number of people who heard every word that was spoken.
Her hand was like a piece of ice; and I found that she was suffering
much from the intense cold; yet how to assist her I could not tell. I
became, I confess, greatly alarmed about her. Nor were my fears
without some foundation, for two or three days before I had seen the
hands of one of our men so completely frostbitten as to require the
amputation of two of the fingers. Nothing, however, was to be done but
to ride on as fast as possible, and yet we were now so far from the
road that the time of our journey to the village must necessarily be
lengthened, and was, in some degree, uncertain.

After riding on for about three miles more, however, I saw a long,
irregular building on the left, and, on a nearer approach, found that
it was one of those large granaries or barns which are found scattered
about so frequently in Poitou and Sainctonge at great distances from
any habitable spot. Though it was a miserable shelter enough, yet, as
it promised to afford us a covering against the intense cold, I turned
our horses' heads thitherward, saying that, at all risks, we must
break it open in order to obtain some shelter for the young lady. Not
a little to my satisfaction, however, the door was found unlocked, and
the place completely vacant; and, on entering, we found that it was
divided into two by a wooden partition, which separated a small
space, in the shape of an ordinary room, from the great barn and
threshing-floor. This we discovered by lighting two or three coils of
match that we had brought with us; and, lifting Louise from her horse,
I carried her into the inner room in my arms, for she was so stiff
with the cold that she could hardly move.

Soldiers may, and, doubtless, have a multitude of faults; but the
tenderness and care which they can sometimes exhibit towards the weak
and the suffering, forms a strange contrast with the savage fury they
display under excitement. Nothing could exceed the kindness, the
diligence, the attention with which they crowded round to give
assistance to poor Louise, one cheering her with a kindly word,
another bringing in the pillions to make a comfortable seat for her, a
third rushing in with his arms full of apple-branches, which he had
torn down from the neighbouring trees, and which, placed on a hearth
that we found in the inner room, soon raised a cheerful and a blazing
fire.

Moric Endem, for his part, brought from his saddlebow an appendage
without which he never travelled, and which, on the present occasion,
proved of the utmost service. This was a gourd, dried in the form of a
bottle, and filled with excellent wine, and I insisted upon Louise
drinking some, which, I believe, more than anything, prevented her
from suffering severely. Some more piles of wood were soon brought in,
together with other cloaks; and Moric and the rest, having seen that
everything had been done to make Louise as comfortable as the
circumstances admitted, retired into the larger division of the barn,
to provide, as best they might, for the passing of a long winter's
night, Moric leading the way, and saying, "Better leave the seigneur
and his cousin alone. I dare say they have a great deal to say to each
other."

"Is he her cousin?" I heard one of the men say as they went out,
turning at the same time to Andriot; "I thought most likely he was her
lover."

"He is her cousin," replied Andriot. "You might almost call them
brother and sister, indeed, for they have been like such all their
lives."

I had, indeed, always felt so towards Louise de Blancford; I had loved
her as a very dear sister, with whom no word had ever been exchanged
but that of kindness and affection, and such had been simply my
sensations till the moment when, quitting her father's house, I sought
my own fortunes in the wide world. I have said that then a dream came
up before my eyes; that a vision of future happiness connected itself
with the remembrance of Louise, that I felt that I could not be happy,
that I could not even figure to myself a state of happiness without
the dear, the beloved companion of my infancy and my youth.

From that moment new and deeper feelings began to mingle with the
memory of Louise; hopes and visions, and fancies bright and
enchanting, dreams of joy and satisfaction in meeting her again;
aspirations to conquer every difficulty and overcome all resistance,
till I had raised myself high for her sake. Was this love, or merely a
dream of the fancy--a boyish fondness for the girl that had been
brought up with me? I cannot well tell, but I think not; for love can
have no greater intensity of regard and affection than I felt towards
Louise de Blancford: imagination might gild it, but does not
imagination gild love also? It wanted something, indeed. I had looked
upon Louise with fondness, I can scarcely say that it was with
admiration, for I had been so much accustomed to the sight of her
beauty that I did not know how beautiful she was, even as a girl, till
afterward, in comparing the beauty of others whom I saw with her image
in my memory, I found that there was none at all like her.

If there was anything wanting, however, to make that which I felt
towards her love of the deepest, the most intense, the tenderest, the
most passionate nature, it was wanting no longer after that night; the
dear embrace which she had given me when first we met; the touch of
her hand when we came up with her after the little skirmish; the
holding her in my arms and to my bosom as I carried her from her horse
into the building; the anxiety for her, the fear, the tenderness, the
care, gave warmer, nearer, more engaging, if not more intense
sensations to my affection for her; and from that moment I felt I
loved her with all the fire and energy of passion.

By the warmth of the fire Louise soon began to revive, her eyes to
sparkle brightly again, the natural colour to come into her lips and
cheeks, the icy hand to grow warm and soft. She had been scarcely able
to speak when we entered, but now she answered my eager words kindly
though briefly, and added a bright smile, and let her hand press mine,
to thank me more than she was able to do in words. Oh! how beautiful
did she look then, as gradually the bright returning stream of life
flowed more rapidly through her veins, and every moment seemed to
bring out some new loveliness. I cannot but think that so must have
looked the ivory statue of the Greek sculptor, when his prayer of love
was heard, and it was kindled into sudden being. She was changed, much
changed since last I saw her: she was now just sixteen; and what a
difference one year will make at that period of life! every alteration
had been an addition to the beauty that she possessed before: she was
now a woman, when I had left her a girl, and the brightness of
perfection had been added to the rich promise of beauty.

She seemed not to see or to feel that there was any change in me; the
endearing names which we had used towards each other in youth were
still employed; the terms of love and deep affection were nothing new
to us, and nothing strange; and while I called her dear Louise--my own
Louise--my sweet, dear girl, and every name expressive of the fondest
affection, it seemed all quite natural, and she murmured in reply,
"Dear, dear Henry, how glad I am to see you again!"

I may own it, for it was all harmless and pure, my lips were pressed
on hers more than once, and her hand remained clasped in mine, while
her head leaned upon my bosom. The casque I had laid aside at my first
entrance; the iron cuirass soon became a load to me, and I threw it
off also; and, smiling at me as I did so, she said, "Ah, Henry, you
now look more as you did at Blancford."

I sat down beside her on the ground, near the fire, and chafed her
hand, which was still cold, though not so intensely so as before, and
in about an hour she was nearly well again. It seemed to me, however,
that, as she recovered from the effects of the cold, she became
somewhat thoughtful, and she asked we many questions about the
adventures of that night--whether I had seen her father, and what he
had said.

I told her all exactly as it had happened; but still she seemed
anxious, and I said, "It will be easily explained, dear Louise, and
your father will understand in a moment that it was impossible to
return when the alarm was once given."

"I am afraid," she said, hesitating, "I am afraid that the baroness
will say everything that is cutting and unkind. I know what she will
say quite well. She will say that I came away with you willingly
enough, for she used always to speak in that manner at Blancford after
you went, and would never hear me mention your name, or look at all
thoughtful, without saying she was sure I wished to go and join you.
She thus tried very much to make my father angry with me; but still he
was not angry."

"And did you ever wish to come and join me, Louise!" I said.

There was a slight blush came into her cheek, but she answered at
once, "I wished every day that you were there, Henry; for I have never
had a happy hour since you were gone. We could not have been so happy,
indeed, as we used to be, but still we might have had a few sweet
hours together; but now I am afraid--though I am sure I do not know
what harm there is in being with you--she will say everything that is
unkind if she finds that I am away with you, alone, for many days."

"Do not be afraid, sweetest," I replied; "To-morrow we shall arrive at
our own camp, where you will find good Dame Marguelette and Monsieur
la Tour. Under their protection no one can say anything; and for the
night, dearest Louise, you shall be under mine, and let the man who
dare say that I do not protect you rightly."

"Oh, that you will, that you will," she said; "I have not the least
fear, Henry, with you; and I am sure, if good Monsieur la Tour be
there, I shall like being with you both much better than being near
the baroness."

Our conversation was interrupted by some one knocking at the door;
and, bidding him come in, Moric Endem presented himself, accompanied
by Andriot and a good farmer of the country, whose face was somewhat
pale, rather with surprise than fear, and who looked round the
apartment with an inquiring glance, as if asking what he was to meet
with next. They were all loaded with different sorts of provisions,
however, and it soon appeared that Moric, well knowing that there must
be some farmhouse at not many miles' distance from the barn, had set
out in search of one with Andriot, and a sufficient number of the
soldiery to give force to his entreaties for hospitality.

The farm had been found more easily than they expected; the farmer and
his wife were roused; and on the representation that there was a young
lady in want of food and assistance, joined to a promise of prompt
payment, the farmer was easily induced to rise, and bring forth
everything that his house contained which could afford us food or
comfort. Heaps of blankets and coarse woollen cloths, piles of straw
and hay, several large bottles and stoups of wine, an immense pie not
yet broken into, and sausages and _andouillettes_, with bread, and a
jar of baked apples, had been brought down by the different men for
our comfort and consolation in the barn. It was about two miles, they
said, to the farmhouse; and the good farmer offered, with every show
of readiness, to provide Louise with a lodging there till the next
morning.

At first the impression on my mind was, that, notwithstanding the cold
walk or ride which she must take, it would be better for Louise, in
every point of view, to go up to the farm at once. But I saw by the
sign the man made on entering the room in which we were, that he was a
Catholic. I remembered the proximity of the Catholic army too, and
that it would be extreme cruelty to order any of the men, in such a
night as that, to keep guard round the house. I therefore thanked him
for his offer, but declined it; and, after having paid him handsomely
for his trouble and attention, saw him depart, but not without bidding
Moric Endem take some heed of which way he turned his steps.

My next care was to make a sort of temporary bed for my sweet cousin;
and then, having taken what portion of the provisions we wanted, and
distributed the rest among the soldiery, I supped gayly and happily
with Louise, and passed nearly two hours in conversation, mingling sad
things with sweet ones, with many an affectionate word between. It was
evident to me that Louise was unconscious of any change in her own
feelings towards me, or in mine to her; and I blessed that
unconsciousness, for it suffered a thousand little tender tokens of
affection to display themselves openly in her conduct, which might
have been driven back into the shy recesses of the heart had she known
the full strength of her own sensations towards me. The only thought
that seemed to have given her uneasiness, had been altogether removed
by my telling her that we should join good La Tour on the following
day; and the joy of our meeting again seemed checkered by nothing but
some timid fears lest we should be pursued and overpowered by some
force from the Catholic camp.

Thus passed the time brightly and happily, till at length the chimes
of a distant clock, though we could hear it but faintly, told that one
hour had passed after midnight. Rest, I knew, was needful to her, and
I spread out the cloaks and blankets on the straw, so as to ensure
that no cold should there visit those young, tender limbs, and piled
up a quantity of wood upon the hearth, assuring the long continuance
of the fire by burying a considerable part in the ashes.

I then took Louise in my arms and kissed her, wishing her good-night;
but she seemed somewhat frightened at the idea of my leaving her,
asking why I could not stay beside her, and sleep by the fire too. I
could have stayed and watched her slumbers with the greatest pleasure;
but I would not have it said by any one that such had been the case.
The men were still talking together in the next chamber; the door I
had purposely left ajar; and pointing out to Louise that the only
window was up near the roof, through which no one could pass, I told
her that I would lay myself across her door till the morning, so that
she might be sure no one could come in.

"Dear Louise," I said, "I must not stay, I ought not to stay with
you."

I again held her for a moment to my heart; the colour came up brightly
into her cheek, and she hid her face for a moment on my bosom.

"Thank you, Henry, thank you," she said, when she raised her head, but
still leaving her hand in mine. "You are good as well as kind." And
from that moment, though she did not love me less, Louise felt that we
could no longer be brother and sister to each other.



CHAPTER XII.


It was with a feeling of some gladness that, after a long and, to my
fair Louise, somewhat fatiguing march, I at length saw the camp of the
Reformed army occupying a position not very different from that in
which it had been placed when I left it. The convenience of the troops
had of course been consulted, and the greater part of the army had
been put into quarters, either in the town of Loudun, or in the
villages round about. Three or four of these villages to the southeast
of Loudun had indeed been converted into a sort of detached camp,
being united by long lines of tents, which served the soldiery for
many of the occupations of the day; and here I saw the colours of the
Prince de Condé hurrying about, so that it was to the centre of this
part of the army that I directed my progress, knowing that there my
own tents and baggage would be found.

The frost was somewhat less intense, and the sun shining clear and
bright, when my little cavalcade approached a battery of three small
pieces of artillery which defended the principal entrance of the
village that formed the centre. It was a gay and cheerful scene;
strife for a time had ceased, and the soldiers were amusing
themselves, as best they might, in various manners, though just on the
outside of the camp the amusements that were going on were certainly
all of an athletic kind, for it needed the most robust exercise to
make the blood circulate freely in the terrible cold of that year. A
considerable number of officers and gentlemen were gathered together
near the battery I have spoken of, looking out over the wintry scene
before them; and as my coming formed a little incident in the somewhat
monotonous life they had led for the last two days, five or six of
those who knew me came forth to shake hands, and to congratulate me on
my safe return.

"Well, fortunate De Cerons," cried one, looking somewhat earnestly at
Louise, who had drawn the veil down over her whole head and face as we
approached, "You have made a fair booty, as usual."

He spoke with a smile, but I replied, "I sent all the booty that I did
get back to the camp the day before yesterday; but all that was found
was in the enemy's tents, I believe. I have been lucky enough,
however, to rescue my fair cousin, Mademoiselle de Blancford, from the
hands of the Catholics, who had taken her prisoner; so I must see
where I can find some sort of comfortable quarters. You have no idea,
Monsieur de Luze, where my people are with the baggage?"

"Oh, the Prince de Condé has taken especial good care of you," said
the other, laughing; "he has given you the house of a fat farmer there
up at the end of the village, and a cottage close by it for your
people. Montgomery wanted it, and half a dozen others; but he said you
had done him as much service that night by your army of baggage-wagons
on the hill as if you had brought him up ten thousand men; and
therefore, having sent you to follow the enemy, he would be your
quartermaster himself."

I thanked him for his information, and was riding on, but another
officer stopped me, putting his hand upon the bridle, and asking, "Do
you always go to war, brave De Cerons, with a _femme-de-chambre_ in
your suite!"

My cheek began to glow, for I thought he had applied that term to
Louise: but he added immediately, "I do not know whether you are aware
of it, but three or four _femmes-de-chambre_, with five or six
blue-nosed serving-men, and a good old clergyman, who preached us an
excellent sermon yesterday, have taken possession of your quarters,
right or wrong, though the prince refused them to me and to
Montgomery."

"That is your father's servants, and La Tour, and your own woman,
Louise," I said. "We must ride on and find them out. They will all be
right glad to see you safe."

But I was destined to be stopped once more; for one of the officers I
had just passed called after me as the troop rode in, "Hi, De Cerons!
Hi! Where did you get this that the man is carrying? Why, it is
Martigue's own cornet!"

"It is his no longer," I answered: "but the fact is, I beat up their
quarters in their camp last night. They came out after me, and we
drove them back again, taking their cornet."

"You are certainly the luckiest man in the camp," cried another. But,
without waiting for any more observations, I rode on as quickly as
possible towards the house which had been indicated as my quarters. It
proved, however, that eager eyes had been looking for my return; and,
before I had reached the farmhouse, good La Tour was out and through
the little gate of the courtyard to meet me. The old man's face
sparkled with joy when he saw me, but ten times more when he saw
Louise along with me; and he exclaimed, embracing me as closely as my
iron covering would permit, "I should never do for a soldier, my dear
Henry, I should never do for a soldier. I have been more anxious than
you can conceive; every half hour, every moment, I thought that it was
either you returned, or some one to say that you had been killed or
wounded."

"Oh, you would soon forget such things, my good friend," said I. "But,
dear La Tour, here is a poor girl who wants not a little comfort and
consolation; so I will leave her with you for one hour, to tell her
own story and mine too, and go and repeat my proceedings to the Prince
de Condé."

"Ay, you must do so quickly," replied the old man: "for I hear he sets
out for Niort either this night or early to-morrow morning. But I will
take care of this dear child till you come back, and--see, here comes
Marguelette to welcome her mistress."

While Marguelette was literally shrieking with joy and surprise, I
gave orders to Moric Endem to lodge the men, and to entertain the
horse arquebusiers who had been our companions, at my expense, and
then, with a boy to guide me, and one of my troop, carrying the cornet
we had taken, behind me, I hurried on with all speed to an old sort of
chateau, called the _manoir_, where the prince had taken up his
quarters. There were people hurrying about the place, preparing, it
seemed, for departure; but, on my being admitted, I found him sitting
calmly with De Luze, who had joined him, and given the news of my
return before my appearance, together with the famous Montgomery,
better known for accidentally killing Henry II., king of France, than
for all the bold, gallant, and chivalrous actions he performed, and
one or two other gentlemen, all of whom looked as merry as might be.

"You left us laughing as heartily as we could, Monsieur de
Cerons," said the prince, "over the affair of the valets and the
baggage-wagons, and your most excellent and successful stratagem. One
of Monsieur de Coligny's band took an officer attached to the Duke of
Anjou, and from him we have learned that the sight of that third camp,
and a skirmish which took place in front of it towards morning, was
the absolute cause of the enemy decamping in such haste. But how have
you fared since you went! We have taken care of you, you see, in your
absence."

"Why, I have fared extremely well, sir," I replied; "and have brought
you a cornet which we took, and which some one says is Martigue's."

"Oh, it cannot be Martigue's," cried the Prince de Condé. "He would
have charged to regain it if it had cost him his life."

"But it was not taken in the pursuit," I said: "it was taken last
night. I determined to give them an _alerte_ on their right wing, and
was in their camp for some minutes."

"Are you mad, De Cerons?" exclaimed the Prince de Condé. "Why,
gentlemen, I thought I was the maddest man in the army, and this good
youth is determined to outdo me, it seems. Give them an _alerte_, too,
with less than a hundred and fifty men! Pray how many did you bring
back?"

"Every one I took, your highness," I replied, "and but with one slight
wound among them. It seems lucky that I have brought back Martigue's
cornet, or I should not get credit for my tale, however simple it
might be."

"Oh, you have full credit," replied the Prince de Condé; "and I was
proposing now, as the only reward that could be given you for your
service three nights ago, to arm you a knight at once; but Montgomery
asked me to stop a day or two."

"May I ask why?" I demanded, turning towards Montgomery with some
surprise.

"With no ill meaning, I can assure you, Monsieur de Cerons," replied
Montgomery. "I thought, if you were knighted for that exploit, the
wags of the court would call you the knight of the valets.

"They must give him another name now, however," replied the Prince de
Condé; "there lie the spurs, and he shall have them on his heels this
night. They may then call him the Chevalier _Alerte_, if they like."

I thanked the prince, as may easily be supposed: for I imagine the
time never was, and am certain it never will be, when any man of
honour and of courage could feel the touch of the knightly sword upon
his shoulder without sensations of joy and redoubled energy. I thought
fit, in the first place, however, to let his highness know upon what
occasion I had so boldly entered the enemy's camp, lest the personal
object that conducted me there might be considered as a diminution of
any honour attached to the act. I accordingly gave a full account of
the whole transaction, which seemed, indeed, rather to augment than
decrease the approbation of the prince. He paused and mused for some
time, however, over the refusal of the Baron de Blancford to seize the
opportunity of escape.

"It has long been reported," he said at length, "that the baron is
wavering in his faith both to God and to his fellows in arms. On my
honour! it were but right to detain this fair lady as a hostage for
her father's conduct. What say you, De Cerons?" he added, with a
smile: "Will you be her guardian?"

"I beseech your highness," I replied, "not to think of such a thing.
Indeed, I intended to ask that your highness would send a flag to the
Catholic camp to inquire whether the Baron de Blancford is detained
there as a prisoner or not, and to demand that, if he be not there as
a captive, a safe conduct may immediately be granted to his daughter
and his domestics now in this camp, in order that they may join him
without farther delay. I will, at the same time, write to him,
explaining the cause of his daughter's temporary absence; and I trust
that your highness will not refuse me this request."

"Certainly not, De Cerons," replied the prince. "But, if I do write,
you must not expect me to spare your good cousin, for his conduct has
been most base in the whole of this affair, and he must hear that we
consider it such."

"Oh, in that matter be it as your highness pleases," I replied; "I
have neither wish, nor reason to wish, that he should be spared;
though perhaps, my lord, there may be causes for his conduct that we
do not know."

"So shall it be, then, De Cerons. I will give the order this night.
But, by my faith! you must see to the execution of it yourself, for I
set out to-morrow morning, two hours before daylight, for Niort, Where
I have business enough to do, in all conscience, during the five or
six days that I shall be absent, to wring money from hard-handed
usurers, and assistance from that great but stony-hearted woman,
Elizabeth of England, who sees right willingly the internal feuds of
France, but will give no aid to those whose part she pretends to
espouse till they are driven to the last extremity."

"I had hoped, sir," I replied, "from what I heard from good Martin
Vern, the merchant, that your highness was likely to obtain some
supplies more easily."

"He has done somewhat, he has done somewhat," replied the prince; "and
he deals liberally himself; but he is obliged to negotiate on my part
with Jews and Lombards innumerable, and he has now gone to Paris with
but small hope of getting their bills discounted except at exorbitant
interest."

The news of Martin Vern having quitted the camp without giving me any
acknowledgment whatever for the money he had received from me, was, as
may be imagined, not very satisfactory to me; and I remained musing
for a moment or two, while the prince wrote the order that I had
demanded, and made some memorandums in regard to what was to be done
in carrying it into execution.

"Come, De Cerons," he said, in a light tone, after he had done,
"you seem sad, my good friend. Kneel down here. We will make a
knight of you before we part, as young knights, they say, are always
gay-hearted. Condé shall strike the stroke, Montgomery shall buckle on
the spurs, and, lo! where comes D'Andelot, who was dubbed by the hand
of the great Francis himself on his first field of battle, to buckle
on the sword."

Certainly it could scarcely be by hands more distinguished that the
ceremonies of knighthood were performed, and I might well go back to
my quarters with a heart rejoicing in having taken a step far higher
than any I had previously reached in the career which I had chosen for
myself. Out of the small stock that remained to me, I gave a hundred
crowns among the men as a largesse on my knighthood, and then
immediately sought the room in the farmhouse where Louise had remained
in conversation with good old La Tour and Dame Marguelette. Their
rejoicing for her arrival had by this time poured itself forth, and
they now all gathered round me with the strange mixture of feelings
which I knew existed in their bosoms, causing an odd confusion of
manner, which can only be understood when we recollect that those who
now surrounded me remembered me chiefly as a boy--even as a child,
whom they had been accustomed to direct, exhort, and to control, and
that now the very same people found that child commanding, providing
for, and protecting them with a tone of independence and authority,
and proofs of power and right strangely opposed to all their former
ideas.

The old pastor, though he certainly did not look upon me still as a
boy, could scarcely understand how the men that he saw around me came
to pay such instant deference to my orders; how one waited for my
casque, another took off my cuirass, another came to me for one
direction, and another on something else; and Dame Marguelette, for
her part, would, I believe, willingly have patted my head when the
helmet was taken off, and she saw again the brown curls that she used
to twine round her fingers in my infancy. Louise alone seemed fully to
look upon me as a man and a commander; but we must remember that on my
arm had she leaned from her own childhood; that I had not only been
her companion, but her counsellor and her protector; and that, side by
side with my greater strength and powers, she had grown up like a
violet under some taller shrub, shaded but sheltered.

I found good old La Tour thoughtful, very thoughtful; and at the meal
which ensued, I remarked that he frequently laid down his knife and
spoon, and fell into a deep revery. Louise, on the contrary, was
bright and happy, full of joy and satisfaction at being once more amid
those whom she loved best; and though, ever since the preceding night,
a slight shade of timidity--timidity shall I call it? no, it was not
timidity, nor exactly tenderness perhaps, but a depth, a profundity, a
feelingness of tone--mingled with all she said to me. Though the
colour in her cheek became somewhat brighter, and her eye acquired a
calm intensity of look when she spoke to me long upon any interesting
subject, yet it was evident that the change in her feelings towards me
was, if I may use the term, less complete, even though greater, than
with the two others; she beheld me with sensations which were only the
expansion of what had gone before; they saw me under a point of view
altogether altered; I saw the change in her, perhaps, in one little
trait more than in anything else.

With natural, vanity I happened, during the meal, to mention that the
Prince de Condé--at that time the great hero of the Protestant
party--had just conferred upon me the order of knighthood with his own
hand. Louise started up with her eyes and her cheeks all glowing, and
with a look of joy and delight that can never pass from my mind. The
tears of deep satisfaction were almost overflowing her eyes, and the
words of congratulation were almost overpowering to her; but she sat
down again immediately, and only held out her hand to me. The time had
been when she would have cast her arms around my neck, and kissed me
while she wished me joy.

After supper I went round the quarters which had been assigned to me,
and concluded all my arrangements; and Louise, fatigued as she had
been during the preceding night and day, retired to rest soon after my
return. Dame Marguelette, and one of the maids who had been with her,
slept in the same chamber, and retired at the same time; and good old
La Tour and I were left alone. I was certainly altogether unprepared
for the conversation that was to ensue.

"Henry," he said, as soon as we were quite alone and the door shut,
"Henry, I am anxious for you and for Louise, most anxious for Louise."
And, as he spoke, there was a sad and foreboding look about his eyes
which showed that the anxiety that he spoke of was deeper than the
lips.

"Indeed!" I replied, with a thousand vague and unreal fears excited
in a moment: "and what makes you so anxious, my dear friend? Why
are you troubled, La Tour? I have seen, indeed, that it was so all
supper-time, though I knew not why."

"Oh Henry," cried the old man, "does not your own heart tell you why?
Do not your own feelings at this moment?"

"No, indeed, my dear sir," I replied, "I have no such feelings at all,
no such sensations; I know not what you allude to. It might, perhaps,
be wrong to bring Louise away, and I would not have done it if there
had been any choice. But she must have explained to you that it was
done without my knowing it, and, once done, impossible to take her
back."

"It is not that at all, it is not that at all, Henry," replied La
Tour; "it is--it is," he continued, hesitating, "it is that you love
Louise, Henry, and that," he paused for a moment or two, and then
added, "it is useless to conceal it; you know it already; you guess
it, you see it, even if she have not acknowledged it to you with her
own lips; it is that you love Louise, Henry, and that she loves you."

I might have replied that it was quite natural that it should be so; I
might have replied that we had always loved each other, and that he
knew it; but I would not have equivocated with that straightforward,
honest, kind-hearted old man for the world, and I therefore answered
him. "Is that the cause, my good friend, why you are so grieved? In
truth, I see not why it should so grieve you; nothing can be more
natural than that it should be as it is. I affect not to deny that I
love Louise to the full extent of your meaning. Whether she loves me
or not--though I do believe and hope she does--I can in no degree
tell, for we never have spoken to each other on such a theme; but,
even taking it for granted that she does, where is the terrible evil
which should make our best and oldest friend look sad, and evidently
feel pained, to behold two people, to whom he has been a father
indeed, love each other mutually, dearly, and well?"

"It is because I love you both," replied La Tour. "You have been
frank and honest with me, Henry, and your confidence shall never be
ill-rewarded, shall never be betrayed. But, oh, my son! how little do
you yet know of the world's ways! You may have some small experience
in arms; you may divine what other men learn of the military art; but
of the world, Henry, of the world, you as yet know little, or you
would at once see what it is that grieves me in your mutual love; what
it is that will render it nothing but misery to you both. Say, Henry,
what is it that you can expect, but that you should see the hand of
Louise bestowed upon some other man when her heart is yours? What is
then to be the result?"

"But, my dear friend," I replied, "let me ask you, in return, one
question. Why may I not obtain that hand myself?"

"You, Henry! you!" exclaimed the good pastor; "that, indeed, is a vain
imagination! Can you entertain it for a moment? Do you think her
father, wealthy, powerful, proud, will wed her to one who has nothing
but his sword to depend upon, however good that sword may be? Ask
yourself, is such a thing probable? is it possible?"

"At present, certainly not," I replied; "but Louise is still young,
quite in her youth. I have already been successful in an extraordinary
degree; why may I not, step by step, advance in the same course, till
a high point, both of fame and of wealth, is obtained? Why may not I,
though without the birth of a Condé indeed, raise myself as high as he
has done, who set out in life poorer even for a prince than I am for a
gentleman! Why may not I build up a new house, like my great ancestor,
the Count de Cerons, who founded the noble house to which I belong
with nothing but his sword?"

"True, he did so," replied La Tour, "and you may do the same; but
recollect, Henry, that your grandfather alienated the estates and
barony of Blancford to a younger brother, to support the cause for
which he fought; that your father did the same, and that the trade of
war, like every other trade, is now great gain, and now heavy loss,
but with this difference, that accident in war mingles in a tenfold
proportion, and that it is a game in which there is always an
important and heavy chance against the player. But, granting that
fortune favours you to the utmost and to the end; that you acquire
wealth, honour, and distinction; granting, too--which may well be
granted--that Louise would willingly wait till all this was
accomplished, think you that her father will wait? think you that he
will patiently reserve his daughter for one towards whom he cannot
help feeling respect and esteem, but for whom he has shown no great
affection throughout the whole course of his life? Can you say, Henry,
to put it in one word, can you say that he will not to-morrow promise
the hand of Louise to another? can you be sure that he has not already
promised it?"

There was something in the old man's manner which seemed to imply more
than his words expressed; and, determined to come to the point at
once, I rose and took his hand in mine. "What is it you mean, La
Tour?" I said. "There is something you would warn me of; there is
something upon your mind. Speak out--speak plainly. We have always
been honest and true towards each other; let us be so, I beseech you,
still."

"There is no reason why I should not be so toward you," replied La
Tour; "No pledge has been extorted from me, no promise of secrecy has
ever been asked. The baron, then, does destine Louise's hand to
another. He has even, I believe, promised it."

His words fell like drops of molten fire upon my heart; they were
agony to me; they were beyond all agony I had ever felt before. "To
whom?" I said, "To whom?"

"To the Seigneur de Blaye," replied the good clergyman; "a Catholic, a
persecutor, an enemy to the faith that we ourselves profess, but
wealthy, powerful, handsome, brave, nobly connected--"

I stamped my foot angrily upon the ground, exclaiming, "A libertine, a
debauchee, a sot, and a fool!"

"Indeed!" exclaimed the clergyman. "But how do you know all this,
Henry de Cerons? Let not jealousy, my son, ever tempt you to take away
the reputation of another; there is a great commandment against it.
How can you know all this? I demand, Henry."

"Because," I replied, "he was my prisoner and my guest for several
days, and during that time he lived a life of folly, intemperance, and
vice, which would have shamed the lowest debauchee in the most corrupt
capital of Europe."

"Alas! alas!" said the old clergyman, "you now do make me tenfold
unhappy, indeed, Henry. I know you would not pervert the truth on any
account, and yet I would fain believe that this terrible tale might be
untrue."

"It is as true as I live!" I replied, vehemently. "Does Louise herself
know of this proposed marriage? Has she ever seen the man they seek to
make her wed?"

"Never," replied La Tour; "Nor does she know aught of it. He is
distantly related to the baroness. She, doubtless, has managed the
whole; and all I know is, that, on the application of this young lord,
the baron replied that his daughter was still too young to wed, or
even to think of marriage. What more he added I know not, but I
understood that expectations, if not promises, were given."

"They are promises that shall never be fulfilled!" I replied, seating
myself more calmly at the table. "He shall never marry Louise de
Blancford, were he as wealthy as an Indian king!"

"How so?" demanded the good pastor. "Think what you say, my son, think
what you say. What should stay him, Henry de Cerons?"

"This right hand," I replied, pressing it firmly on the table; "and
now, my good father, in this business I must act without control.
Willingly will I ask your advice, willingly will I listen to your
counsels, but I must determine upon the results myself; and remember,
in anything that passes between us on this subject, or anything
connected therewith, as a friend, as a preceptor, as a monitor, I
expect, and shall receive your assistance whenever it agrees with your
own views of right and wrong to give it; and as a Christian pastor and
an honest man, I expect the most profound secrecy in all things. I
know that with you I shall have no double dealing or prevarication, no
pious frauds, as I might expect among the priests of our enemies and
persecutors."

"But what do you propose to do, Henry?" demanded the pastor. "What am
I to suppose are your intentions?"

"I know not as yet, good friend," I replied, "and I even now hesitate
whether to tell Louise at once what are my changed feelings towards
her, and to ascertain what are her feelings towards me, or to leave
matters to take their course."

"Nor know I well what to advise, my son," replied La Tour. "It is
woful and terrible to think that one so beautiful, so pure, so
innocent, should be forced to wed one of a different creed, who, in
the very first instance, will doubtless pervert, or try to pervert,
her religious principles, and then, perhaps, the purity of her mind;
who will ultimately neglect, abandon, perhaps ill-treat her, and who
will never, can never make her happy. It is a sad fate, De Cerons, a
sad and terrible fate, especially for one who loves another."

"Can I feel certain that she loves me?" I said, more musing than
questioning the good man.

"Enough to make her unhappy with another, am I very sure," replied La
Tour; "and that is one reason, Henry, why I am almost inclined to
counsel you to speak with her on the subject of your mutual affection.
She may feel deeply that she loves you, but may not discover how much
till she has become the bride of another. I, of course, can never
counsel her to disobey her father, unless I were to see, beyond all
doubt and casuistry, that her soul's salvation was endangered by it;
but I think there might be a safeguard in knowing her own feelings
towards you and yours towards her, which might guide her rightly even
where I dare not counsel and you scarcely dare act--I know not,
Henry--yet I know not."

"I will think of it, my good friend," I replied, "I will think of it
often during the night; and I will endeavour, as far as possible, to
cast away every selfish consideration; so fare you well for this
evening, for I have duties that now call upon me."



CHAPTER XIII.


I passed the most anxious and most restless night that I ever yet had
known in life. New feelings had got possession of my heart, strong,
violent, irresistible and thoughtful, watchful, unreposing, my mind
remained active with many bitter and painful images, and with many
wild and anxious thoughts. My determination, however, was taken ere I
rose the following morning, nor was it taken without full
consideration of the circumstances under which I was to act. Had my
cousin's conduct towards me, I asked myself, been such as to lay me
under any bond of gratitude or tie of honour to sacrifice calmly all
my own hopes of happiness in life, while at the same time I saw
sacrificed the peace, the comfort, the temporal, perhaps the eternal
repose of the being I most loved on all the earth? The answer was
plain and straightforward; there was no such tie: and then, again, I
thought of the baroness--not the second wife, but the first--of her
who had been a mother to me--more than a mother; and I asked myself
how all that I owed to her ought to affect my conduct towards her
child. That, too, was soon determined. I felt a consciousness that I
could make Louise happy, that I could secure her peace and comfort,
and that, if fortune were but added, there could be no danger or
difficulty, no pain or anxiety within the common range of
probabilities, that I could not guard her from and protect her
against.

Was there anything, therefore, in the deep feelings of gratitude and
love which I experienced towards the dead, which should forbid my
making the attempt so to protect and shield the child of her who had
conferred so many benefits upon me? Was it not rather what I owed her,
to endeavour, as far as Heaven gave me power, to prevent my poor
Louise from being driven into a union with one who could make her only
wretched; the pure tied to the impure, the innocent to the corrupt?
Again the answer was--yes!

No one can say, when he argues with his own heart on a question where
all its deepest feelings are interested--no one can say that simple,
straightforward reason alone dictates the reply; nor can I say that it
was so in the present instance. But still I had done my best to make
it do so. I believed that I was right; I believed that there could
scarcely be any farther question of what my conduct ought to be; and I
determined, therefore, to tell Louise of how I loved her; to inform
her of my hopes and wishes for the future; not, indeed, to bind her by
any promises, but to open her eyes, to satisfy myself as to the
feelings of her heart, and then to leave her native strength of mind,
her resolution and her love, to do the rest.

With this resolution I rose at daybreak on the following morning. It
was a clear, bright, cheerful day, and on my going my early rounds, I
found the soldier charged to bear the flag of truce, with letters from
the Prince de Condé to the Duke of Anjou, waiting for my farther
orders. I instantly sat down and wrote the letter which I had promised
to the Baron de Blancford, explaining in few and brief words what had
happened in regard to Louise, expressing my grief that she had been
subjected to some inconvenience and fatigue, but making no excuse or
apology whatever for an event which I did not think required any.

Having done this and despatched the messenger, I made some farther
inquiries concerning the state of the army, perceiving that a large
body of troops were moving to the left from the spot which had been
assigned to us for our quarters, leaving only five or six hundred men
in the hamlet. I now found that the troops I saw marching were
destined to take up their quarters nearer Loudun, in order to
strengthen the centre of the position, as a violent fever had broken
out among the soldiers from Provence, which had occasioned a mortality
of nearly two thousand men within a few days.

Our little hamlet was now comparatively deserted; a number of the
officers had gone to Niort with the Prince de Condé; and though
Montgomery remained in the command, he was the only man of any
consequence left.

After occupying myself with various military avocations, I returned,
and found the rest of my little household up and waiting for me. Good
old La Tour looked at me with grave and thoughtful eyes; but Louise
had risen refreshed and beautiful as the morning; and had there been
any doubt or irresolution remaining in my mind, I do not believe that
it would have resisted those bright looks. There was no irresolution,
however, and immediately after our morning meal was over, I said,

"Come, Louise, the day is most beautiful; good Marguelette here will
doubtless find you some better head-gear than that with which you
travelled through that terrible cold night, and I will take you round
the camp, to let you see more of the military world than perhaps you
have ever seen yet."

Marguelette assured me that almost all the young lady's wardrobe was
within immediate reach, for that the baron had gone off so hastily, he
had taken little enough for the journey with him. Louise, therefore,
was soon equipped for her walk, and, leaning fondly on my arm, she
went forth, walking with me from post to post for about half an hour.
Not knowing what was in my heart, she might, doubtless, wonder at the
fits of silent thoughtfulness into which I fell, and, beginning to
think that all went not well with me, she asked, with the sweetest and
tenderest tones of her sweet and tender voice, what made me so sad,
and why I did not tell my own Louise. I replied that I would tell her
presently, and, walking forth out of the hamlet, I led her past the
old manoir, where the Prince de Condé had made his abode for a time,
up the slope of the hill to a little wood of tall fir-trees, whose
ever-green tops spread out till they met each other, although the
bolls below were far apart, suffering the clear rays of the low winter
sun to stream in over the red and yellow leaves which had fallen from
the branches above, and thickly strewed the ground beneath. The day,
indeed, was as bright as summer, and it was cheerful and refreshing
too; but there was something which told that it was not summer;
something in the aspect of the whole scene which gave a shade of
thoughtfulness, if I may so call it, even to the brightness of the
morning. The blades of grass upon the sides of the hill were all
shining as if they had been decorated with gems; but one saw and felt
that, like the blaze of light upon many another gem, the sunshine fell
upon nothing but frostwork, and that everything was cold and frozen
underneath. There was now no fog upon the ground, and through the
clear, calm air the church of Loudun and various other buildings in
that small town were seen rising up in the distance, and we paused,
and gazed over the scene around, without one sound breaking the wintry
silence of nature.

"How far is it to that town?" demanded Louise, after gazing for some
time.

"Nearly five miles, dear one," I replied.

"How near it looks!" she said: "I should not have thought it were
two."

"It looks so near, dear Louise," I replied, "from the clearness of the
wintry air; and so it is, Louise," I said, "With future as with
distant things. To the calm, cold, icy eye of experience and reason,
the future and distant times, the five or six years hence, look near
as if we could touch them; the space between dwindles down to nothing,
and the rest of life seems but as a moment: while, on the contrary, in
the warm and sunny days of youth, the airy mist of passion, of fancy,
and of expectation, throws every future thing far, far away, and the
five or six years that lie between us and happiness seem a long age of
wearisome expectation."

She looked up in my face and smiled, saying, "I suppose it is so,
Henry. I know that since you went away from Blancford, in thinking
when I might probably see you again, the space has seemed
interminable."

"And, now that we have met again, Louise," I said, "We are to part in
a few short hours--to part, when to meet again?"

She gazed down upon the ground, and sighed deeply; and I said, "You
know, Louise, the messenger has gone to the Duke of Anjou's camp, to
demand a safe conduct for you and the rest to join your father?"

"So Marguelette told me," she replied; "oh, I hope he will not return
immediately."

"It will seem as but a moment to us, dear Louise," I replied; "but as
a short moment, and then you will leave me, and it may be years before
we meet again; and perhaps by that time, Louise"--my voice trembled, I
believe, very much as I spoke--"and perhaps by that time you may be
the bride of another."

Louise started and let go her hold of my arm, gazing up in my face
with eager and intense looks, as if she had been startled from a dream
by the horrible images that came across it.

"Oh, no!" she cried, somewhat reproachfully, "no, Henry--no--no." Her
voice dropped as she slowly pronounced the words, and she fell into a
fit of musing.

"Louise," I said, after having given her some time for thought, "do
you know how I love you?"

"Oh yes, Henry," she replied, looking up still very pale, "I know you
love me."

"But do you know how well I love you, Louise?" I demanded. "Do you
know that I love you doubly, that I have loved you twice?"

"Twice!" she said, musing. "That is strange, Henry. I think I know
what you mean, too; and yet it is strange."

"Scarcely strange, dearest," I answered, "scarcely strange. You know I
loved you well before I quitted Blancford; dearly, most dearly,
Louise. But I love you differently now; better, more dearly, more
warmly, more tenderly."

I heard her breath come very thick as I spoke, and she leaned her hand
upon my arm, still looking down, and saying, as if for the first time
she was scanning her own feeling, "Differently? oh yes--and I love you
differently too."

I threw my arm around her and drew her to my bosom, saying, "Thank
you, thank you, dearest Louise, for that word. Yet tell me, oh! tell
me, what it is you feel towards me?"

"I cannot," she said, pressing her glowing forehead against my breast,
"I cannot tell you, Henry. I scarcely know myself. I feel strangely,
very strangely, but it seems as if to part with you again were the
most terrible thing that could befall me."

Again I pressed her gently to my heart.

"Sit down here, Louise," I said, "on these dry fragments of the
fir-trees, and let us speak more calmly. Look here, dear girl; this
sword that you see is the sole inheritance of him who loves you better
than life. Already, however, that sword has raised him to some renown,
and won him some wealth: on it he trusts for more: he trusts to win
with it higher rank and station, fortune sufficient for a moderate
ambition, and a right to demand the hand of her he loves. That, that,
Louise, is the end and object of all my endeavours; that is the hope
that animates me, and will carry me on to greatness if I am permitted
to indulge it. It is that hope which has made me what I now am; it is
that hope which will make my efforts far greater: it is for your love,
Louise, that I strive; it is that you may be mine entirely, heart of
my heart, and soul of my soul, that my arms may be your resting-place
for life, and that no one may ever, ever tear you from my bosom.

"Oh, tell me, dear Louise--give me that one bright consolation, that
one surpassing motive for every kind of exertion--tell me, tell me,
does the change which you admit has taken place in your feelings
towards me, does it tend to the same as my own wishes; does it make
you feel that you could be happy as mine--not as a sister, but as a
bride--not as a mere companion, but as the one united to me for life,
and through life, by every link of love in one, being the sister, the
companion, the friend, the wife? Oh, tell me, Louise, tell me. Is it
so? Does the change in your feelings towards me speak to your own
heart, and say that you can love me with such love, ardent, deep,
intense, passionate as my own?"

Louise did not answer--she could not answer--for some time; for the
tears were rolling over her cheeks, the tears of strong emotion; but
her hand was clasped in mine, her head leaned upon my shoulder. The
cheek burned, the eyes were bent down, and the lip quivered; but there
was not a sign of all the many which her demeanour gave that could
teach me anything but hope; and yet I was impatient to hear more. I
repeated my question in a different form; I kissed her cheek again and
again; I urged her to speak. It was long ere she did so, however; till
at length, looking up at me, she said, almost reproachfully, "Oh,
Henry, Henry, you know, you feel, you are aware, well, well aware,
that I love you as deeply, truly, fully, as any woman can love man;
that, had I my will, I would never part with you, I would never leave
you. What can I say more?"

"Nothing, dearest, nothing," I replied; "you have said enough; you
have made me happy, most happy; happier than I almost ever fancied I
should be. And yet much remains, dear Louise, before we can be fully
happy together. I have to use every energy and every exertion to place
myself in such a situation that I may rightly and wisely ask your
hand. You, Louise, may have fully as much to do on your part. Ere you
can be mine, they will press you to give your hand to others; they
will command you, they will urge you--"

"Never, never!" cried Louise, eagerly; "I will never hear them, I will
never listen to them for a moment; from this instant, Henry, I am
yours; and I promise--"

"Nay, nay, dear Louise," I said, "let me not bind you by any promise;
that I have, as yet, no right to do."

"You bind me by no promise, Henry," she said, "but I bind myself. I
will never listen to such a thing even for a moment, so let not that
trouble your repose at any time. Believe nothing that you hear of the
kind; doubt not, fear not, dear Henry. I am yours, and none but yours;
when first you began to speak just now, and said you might perhaps
find me the bride of another, though I had not thought of all this as
I now have, yet I felt that it could never be so, and that never,
never would you find me the wife of any one."

We spoke longer upon the same theme, we dwelt upon our thoughts and
feelings; agitation, and emotion, and timidity in some degree passed
from Louise's mind, and gradually she let me see more and more deeply
into the recesses of her heart, and made me at each instant happier by
showing that I was beloved as fully and deeply as I could wish. We
lingered for a considerable time under those fir-trees; and then again
we walked down the hill to the hamlet, but turned before we reached
the camp, and walked some way farther round, and lingered still and
turned again, and more than once hesitated, and paused, and spoke a
few fond words more before we went back to that world between which
and ourselves there was now drawn a thin and filmy screen, perceptible
to none but ourselves, but yet sufficient to be a perfect separation.
It seemed as if love was now at home in our mutual bosoms, and the
casements of the heart were closed.

Good La Tour was for the time our only confidant, if I may so call it;
for in the evening he questioned me closely as soon as he found an
opportunity, and I told him at once that I had spoken with Louise upon
the subject of my love, and that with joy unutterable I had found it
was returned. I farther added, that I had bound her by no promise;
that she was free from all but such engagements as her own heart
imposed upon her; but that now to obtain her was the end and object of
my existence, and that to him I trusted at least to throw some
impediment in the way of her union with one where misery was the only
fortune that she could expect.

He said, in reply, that he could scarcely blame me for what I had
done; he could scarcely approve either, he added, for there were so
many contending considerations that he saw not what was the most fit
plan to be adopted. In short, it was evident to me that the good man's
sense of what was right towards Louise and towards myself were
struggling against ideas preconceived of what was right to the baron
as a father. He saw evidently to what the baron's own conduct had led;
to what consequences, fatal to his own peace and to the happiness of
his family; and he evidently doubted my cousin's power and his
inclination to conduct his child to happiness and to peace, though he
dared not deny his right to direct her.

The conversation was luckily soon terminated by the entrance of other
persons, and the two days that followed passed without any material
conversation between La Tour and myself on the subject that was
uppermost in both our thoughts. With Louise those days passed in joy,
mingled with that kind of gentle sadness which the knowledge that our
hours of happiness were destined to be few, was well calculated to
produce. Each of us felt drawn more and more closely towards the other
as the moments became few that we were to be together; the knowledge
that we must soon part but increased the desire to remain, and gave at
once delight and anxiety to our short communion.

At length, however, the messenger arrived with the safe conduct; there
was no farther delay to be gained; the period of Louise's departure
for the camp of the Duke of Anjou was fixed for the following morning
early, and but a few hours remained ere we were to be parted for an
indefinite length of time. There wanted but such a state and such a
prospect to bring forth all Louise's deep and fervid feelings. Her
affection, her love, were no longer concealed, were no longer veiled
under any show of reserve. She wept at the thought of parting from me
long and sadly; she felt it more difficult to bear than she had
anticipated; and the only thing that seemed to comfort her was a
promise that, by writing sometimes to her, and frequently to La Tour,
I would give her continual tidings of my proceedings and of my
well-being. We passed a long evening, which, as our days of pleasure
had been mingled with pain, now gave us hours of pain not unmingled
with pleasure.

At length the time came for her departure, and I mounted with a small
body of my men to escort her till we were met by the party appointed
to receive her. La Tour, Marguelette, and the rest of the old
servants, with the baggage and all the rest of the things they had
brought, followed in our train, and we rode slowly on, calmer, indeed,
than we were the night before, but still sad. We talked, however, of
the joy we had in meeting, of the happy days we had spent together,
and we spoke of hopes and pleasures for future years, even while fears
mingled with the hopes, and dark images of pain crossed the bright
visions that we were inclined to indulge.

Thus we rode on, making the way which, if our wishes could have had
effect, would have been interminable, far shorter than it might
otherwise have seemed; and at length, before I thought that we could
have gone above a quarter of the way, we saw upon the opposite slope
of a valley we were crossing a considerable body of horsemen, bearing,
like ourselves, a white flag in the midst of them. They halted as soon
as they saw us, and, halting my men likewise, I rode forward alone, to
make sure that we were right. The moment that this was perceived, two
gentlemen came forth from the other party, the one a man pretty well
advanced in years, and the other apparently a youth, whom, as he rode
down the hill, I naturally enough concluded to be Alfred de Blancford,
Louise's brother; but I soon perceived that I was mistaken. It was a
boy whom I had seen once before, but where I could not recollect.

The elder of the horsemen I had never till then beheld, but from his
dress and demeanour he was evidently a person of high distinction; and
when we met at the bottom of the valley he saluted me with much
courtesy, inquiring if I were the Seigneur de Cerons, and had escorted
thither Mademoiselle de Blancford. I replied that such was the case,
and begged to know if he was empowered to receive her from my hands,
inquiring at the same time to whom I had the honour of speaking.

"My name," he said, "is Montpensier, and in the absence of the Duke of
Anjou I am commander-in-chief of the army, with whom the Baron de
Blancford sojourns at this moment. I took upon myself the task of
meeting Mademoiselle de Blancford for various reasons, but for one
especially. This young gentleman is my son, Monsieur de Cerons. You
have, I think, seen him before."

"I remember him perfectly, monseigneur," I replied, "but where I had
the honour of seeing his face last I cannot recollect."

"Under your horse's feet, I rather suspect, Monsieur de Cerons,"
replied the young gentleman, with a graceful inclination of the head.
"My visor flew up as that vile brute I was riding stumbled and fell
with me."

"Oh! now I remember you well," I replied at once. "You are the young
gentleman who made so gallant a charge against us when we were
pursuing the other day. I rather imagine you would have given me some
trouble," I continued, smiling, "if your horse had not fallen with
you."

The young man coloured with pleasure, and the duke replied for him.
"You speak too flatteringly, Monsieur de Cerons; but he is a brave
youth, too, and he told me, the moment he came back, what had
occurred, and how generously you had behaved to him."

"God forbid, sir," I said, "that I should strike one blow at a gallant
young gentleman when he is down."

"But," said the duke, "You might have made him prisoner, and his
ransom would have been no slight sum. We cannot, therefore, thus rest
your debtors, Monsieur de Cerons, and I brought him here this day,
that we might both acquit ourselves to you of that which we owe you."

"You are both more than acquitted already, my lord," I replied. "The
thanks which you have been pleased to give me are sufficient
recompense; and let it be remembered always, that this young gentleman
neither surrendered nor demanded quarter; that what was done was my
doing; and perhaps the time may come, on some future day, when the
little kindness I showed may be returned by some other. Will you allow
me," I added, in order to change the subject, "To inquire whether any
of the relations of Mademoiselle de Blancford are with your company
above?"

"No," replied the duke. "The truth is, Monsieur de Cerons, that the
Baron de Blancford has been somewhat enraged by a letter from the
Prince de Condé to the Duke of Anjou respecting him, and by one which,
I understand, you wrote to him yourself. I therefore undertook the
task of meeting you here, to prevent any unpleasant collision. I
wished his two sons to have accompanied me; but he replied, that if he
did not go himself, none of his family should go. But that I have full
authority to receive the young lady, you may believe."

"I doubt it not in the least, my lord," I replied; "but I was in hopes
that the two boys were there, who have been brought up beside me from
their infancy, but whom I have not seen for a long time. However,
Mademoiselle de Blancford shall be delivered into your hands
immediately, and I pray you to do your best to induce her father to
look differently upon my letter, and to believe that, when I gave you
the little _alèrte_ the other night, my only view was to rescue him,
if, as I suspected, he was detained as a prisoner."

"What, then, it was you," said the duke, "Who roused us in such a
manner, and who carried off one of the cornets. Take care how you come
in the way of Martigues, Monsieur de Cerons, for he has not forgotten
the loss of that cornet."

"I will treat it with all honour and distinction, my lord," I replied,
smiling: "I will carry it with me into the very next field where I am
likely to meet your army, and there Monsieur de Martigues may take it
if he have the will and the power."

"I shall tell him so, I shall tell him so," replied the duke. "We
shall have the days of chivalry revived again. But we must waste no
more daylight, Monsieur de Cerons, for we shall but have light enough
to get back to the camp."

At this hint I immediately went back, and telling Louise who it was
that had come to meet her, I dismounted from my horse, and led her
forward by the bridle-rein. Good old La Tour and the rest followed at
a little distance, giving us an opportunity of passing those few last
moments alone. We said nothing, however, as we went on. Her hand
rested for a moment in mine; our eyes looked long and speakingly into
each other's; and thus we went on till we approached the Duc de
Montpensier, who, dismounting also, took a step forward to meet his
fair charge. He asked her some courteous question of no great import
as he approached, but Louise could not answer; her voice was choked,
her eyes were full of tears. The duke looked to me as if for an
explanation. I had none to give, and felt that the best way was to
withdraw as soon as possible.

"Louise," I said, approaching as close as I could, and speaking in a
low voice, "Louise, my beloved, adieu! God be with you, and protect
you, and give you courage, and give you strength."

Louise bent down over her jennet, let her arm drop over mine, and her
weeping eyes fell upon my shoulder. After a moment she made an effort
and raised her head, saying, "Adieu, Henry, adieu!"

As she did so our lips met, and, turning hastily away, I quitted a
scene that was becoming too much for me in every respect. Ere I had
taken ten steps, however, some one touched me on the arm. It was the
young Prince de la Roche,[2] the Duke of Montpensier's son, who held
out his hand to me, and grasped mine, saying, "We shall meet again,
Monsieur de Cerons, we shall meet again."



CHAPTER XIV.


It may well be conceived that the first few miles of my return were
travelled without any particular observation on my part of the objects
around me. Moric Endem was not with me to call my attention to this
thing or that, and to inspire me with the same remarking and
commenting spirit as himself; and, busy with the thoughts and feelings
of my own bosom, I rode on, seeing, perhaps, the things that I passed
with the mere corporeal eye, but with the communication between the
organ of sight and the reasoning brain altogether cut off for the
time.

I had gone on thus for about five miles, when the distant sound of a
trumpet caught my ear, and caused me to make an effort to shake off
selfish sorrow, and turn to the business of life again. The spot at
which I had then arrived was so enclosed with trees, though close to
the edge of a high hill, commanding a view over a wide plain below,
that I could not see any object at a distance, and, riding quickly
forward to the point where the road left the wood and opened upon the
bare slope, I gazed down into the plain.

My surprise was not small at seeing a very considerable body of men,
perhaps three or four thousand, winding along at the distance of fully
four miles. They were marching in a line rather to the left of that
which the Protestant camp occupied, and seemed to me to be bending
their way rapidly towards the Charente. They were easily to be
distinguished from the Protestants, whose white cassocks always
afforded a distinguishing mark at a great distance; and I would
instantly have endeavoured to cut off some stragglers from their rear,
in order to ascertain what was their object and destination, had I not
been shackled by a flag of truce, and felt myself bound to return to
our camp before I made any attack upon the enemy.

I rode on, therefore, as fast as possible, trusting that, as night was
not far distant, the party I had seen would lodge itself in some of
the neighbouring villages. As soon as I had arrived at my own
quarters, I made some inquiries in regard to any movements that had
taken place, and found indications of the army marching by detachments
towards the Loire. Montgomery I could not find, though I sent
messengers seeking for him in different directions; and I consequently
made up my mind to let my men take some repose, to mount them upon
fresh horses, of which my little band had now a plenty, and if there
was a possibility of seeing our way after nightfall, to beat up the
enemy's quarters and endeavour to gain some information.

Giving orders to this effect, I sat down to my solitary supper, and
had very nearly concluded the meal when Montgomery himself entered,
saying, "I have come to sup with you, De Cerons. They tell me you have
been sending all over the place for me; so I suppose you have some
news."

I gave him the best cheer I could, and, while we sat together, told
him what I had seen and what I proposed to do.

"They are on foot again, are they?" he said, after thinking over the
whole for a few minutes. "They must have got information that De Pile
is moving up from Guyenne with our re-enforcements, and wish to cut
him off. Yet what can be done? The orders we have received to-night
are distinct, to march upon the Loire; and if we do not do so, and do
so quickly, we shall never be able to effect our junction with the
Germans and the Duc de Deux Ponts, or Zweibrucken, as his own people
call him, and that were worse than missing be Pile. However, the only
thing that can be done is what you propose yourself, to gain any
intelligence that we can, to show these gentlemen that they are
discovered, and to send instant information to the prince and the
admiral. But, to make your reconnoissance anything at all effectual,
you must have more men, De Cerons. What will you have?"

Of course I was glad to take as large a force as could easily be
managed in the darkness of the night; and as the arquebusiers had
proved of great use to me on my former expedition, I required their
presence, together with some ten more spears, which Montgomery readily
granted. From him I gained a more thorough knowledge, too, than I had
hitherto acquired, of all the existing plans and circumstances of the
Protestant leaders. Their forces had been so greatly weakened by the
sickness which prevailed in Loudun, that re-enforcements were
absolutely necessary for them to keep the field against the Catholics.
De Pile had been sent some time before to gather together all the
troops that he could in Gascony, and a large body of reiters, under
the Duke of Dupont, was marching rapidly towards the Loire, in order
to join the Protestant army.

In the mean time, the Catholics had been re-enforced by bodies of
troops from every part of France, and were eager to fight the
Protestants before either De Pile or the duke could come up. The task,
therefore, of the Protestant leaders was a difficult one, namely, to
avoid a battle in the presence of a superior army; to guard the line
of the Charente, where all the bridges were in their own hands; and to
aid the junction of the Gascon forces from the south, at the same time
that they extended their line of operations to facilitate the junction
of the Germans.

"I trust," said Montgomery, "That the princes will decide upon
maintaining the Charente in preference to anything else. De Pile is
not one to suffer himself easily to be outwitted, and Stuart, who is
with him, will cut his way through a wall of solid iron, if need be.
Once having joined the Gascons, we shall be able to detach troops to
the Loire, without losing our command of the rivers, and, when the
Germans have joined, we can fight the enemy with the advantage of a
just cause, and no great disadvantage in point of numbers."

"Depend upon it," I said, after hearing this explanation, "since such
is our situation and that of the enemy, the Catholics I have seen are
thrown forward to gain possession of some place in the heart of our
position. But I will soon bring you farther intelligence if possible;
and, in the mean time, were it not better to send off at once a
messenger to the prince and the admiral, to inform them of what has
been already observed, and of the direction which the Catholics are
taking?"

Montgomery agreed immediately to do so, and in less than an hour after
I was once more in the saddle, and advancing with a force sufficient
for all that I proposed towards the villages in which I calculated the
enemy would lodge that night. I need not enter into all the
particulars of my expedition: suffice it to say, that about one
o'clock in the morning I found forty or fifty poor peasants in a barn
not far from the village, who had been driven out of their habitations
by the enemy, on account of adhering to the Protestant faith, and who
thought themselves not a little fortunate to have escaped with only a
few strokes from the staff of a lance to make them give up their
dwellings more quickly to the royal troops. I learned little from
them, however, except that the commander of the Catholics lodged in
one of the houses at the end of the village; and thinking that it
would be an excellent consummation if I could carry him off, I bent my
way thither, guided by one of the young labourers.

Before we came near, however, I caused my men either to strip off
their white cassocks altogether, or, when they were lined with any
other colour, to turn them inside out, in order, as far as possible,
to escape attention. I did not succeed, however, so well this time as
I had done before. There were men on watch at both sides of the house;
and though we approached somewhat near without being seen, we were at
length challenged in a loud voice. The sentry would not let the false
word I gave pass current, but instantly fired his arquebus; and, as
had been arranged before, while my arquebusiers remained drawn up in a
line to support us, I dismounted with my men-at-arms, and rushed
forward to attack the house. Moric Endem shot the unfortunate sentry
through the head with a pistol; the door and one of the windows were
burst open in a moment, and we poured into the lower rooms, in which
we found ten or twelve men who had been sleeping in their arms, on the
floor. Taken by surprise, and in confusion, their resistance was not
very great, but it was sufficient to give time for the commander
himself to make his escape out of one of the back windows in his
shirt.

We did not, however, discover this till afterward; for, by the
following circumstance, I was mistakenly led to imagine, for more than
an hour, that he had fallen into our hands. I had just cut down one
fellow who opposed my progress up the stairs, and had nearly reached
the top, when out of a room on the right hand rushed a gay-looking
youth, in a furred dressing-gown embroidered with gold. He bore a
taper in one hand and a sword in the other: but a pistol at his head,
with an order to surrender, rescue or no rescue, soon brought his
weapon into my hand; and, passing him down the stairs to those who
came behind, I entered the different rooms above, and, with Moric
Endem and two or three others, swept the table that I found there of a
number of papers and parchments, with cases for writing and other
things, which I doubted not would give us full information respecting
the object of the enemy's movement.

As I was looking at the title of one of these papers, a sharp fire
opened by the arquebusiers, whom I had left without, announced that
the enemy were prepared to make us pay for our intrusion; and,
clearing the house as fast as possible, I effected my retreat, though
I found the garden half full of Catholic troopers on foot. It was now,
however, that the stratagem of making my men quit or turn their
cassocks procured us great advantages which I had not foreseen. In
issuing forth form the house in some disarray, the enemy could not
tell whether each man was of their own party or not; and in the
confusion that followed--we being very certain of what we were to do,
and they quite uncertain--we forced our way through and regained our
horses, carrying with us the gentleman in the furred dressing-gown and
three other prisoners.

Of the men who accompanied me, two only were missing; one of my own
band, whom I had seen fall by a pistol shot in the head, and one of
the men-at-arms that Montgomery had given me, who, not so well
accustomed to such expeditions as we were, lingered behind and was
taken prisoner.

We now made the best of our way over the hill, the enemy mounting as
fast as horses could be brought out, and pursuing us; but I had ridden
over the ground several times before, and knew every inch of it, so
that they gained little but their labour, till at length I reached the
spot whence I had first discovered them on the preceding morning,
when, seeing by a strong glare in the sky, the cause of which I did
not at the moment discover, that I was followed by some thirty or
forty horse, I ordered my men-at-arms to wheel about and give them a
taste of our spear points. As there was no one to support them, they
did not make any great resistance, but were driven down the hill in a
very short space of time.

I pursued them no farther than the shoulder of the heights, whence I
could see the village which we had attacked, and, to my surprise,
beheld it all in flames. How it happened I do not know; our people
were inclined to believe that the Catholics themselves had set it on
fire, in their indignation at the peasants for having guided us
thither; but this opinion was evidently founded upon party animosity;
and I am inclined to believe that, in the confusion attending our
attack upon the farmhouse, some light must accidentally have dropped
and set fire to the building.

Hurrying on as fast as possible, we reached my quarters about five in
the morning, and then, for the first time, I had an opportunity of
speaking with, and showing some civility to my principal prisoner. He
was conducted up stairs to my own apartments by two of the soldiers,
while I remained for a minute or two below, to see my men properly
disposed of. On entering my room, I found him standing shivering by
the fire, and approached him, saying, "I fear, sir, you have had a
very cold ride?"

"I never had so cold or so disagreeable a one in my life," he replied.

"I was sure that such must be the case," I answered. "But we must try
to make you more comfortable as soon as possible.

"Pray, sir," he said, gazing at me somewhat superciliously from head
to foot, and sticking out from under his furred dressing-gown a bare
leg and a foot only covered with a slipper, "can you procure me such a
thing in your camp as a wooden leg? for I am quite sure that this
thing, which used to help me through the world, must be frozen of by
this time."

"No," I answered, "I do not know that we can do that; but, at all
events, I think we can bring some life into the one that you have;
and, if you will take my advice, you will get into a warm bed again as
fast as possible, drink as large a portion as you can swallow of hot
wine, and keep yourself warm for half an hour or so, by telling me who
you are, and what is the object of the expedition, whereof you were, I
suppose, the commander."

"Sir, you do me a great deal too much honour," said the young
gentleman. "However, as you are a very civil person, I will first take
possession of the bed you talk of, if you will show me where it is; I
will then drink the wine, if anybody will bring it to me; and, having
done that, hold myself bound to reply to any questions that you think
right to ask, that are not wrong for me to answer."

Calling to Andriot, I caused my prisoner to be placed in the room
which had been occupied by good La Tour, and the warm wine to be
procured for him, together with some spices and comfits; and, having
thus made him as comfortable as I could, I questioned him as to his
rank, station, &c. To my mortification, I now found that he was not
the commander; that the expedition was destined to attack Jarnac, and
was led by the celebrated Count de la Rivière Puitaillé. The young
gentleman whom I had taken proved to be one of the gay gallants of the
court, called Gersay, and my only consolation for having missed the
commander was the prospect of a large ransom for his friend and
companion. My men were more satisfied, indeed, than I was; for Moric
and the rest had stumbled upon various articles of value, and a
considerable sum of money, so that the prize to be divided was
considerable. Gersay's ransom was soon arranged and soon paid, and I
once more found my military chest overflowing.

In the mean time, the absence of the princes at Niort, though
absolutely necessary, in order to obtain money and to treat with the
Queen of England; was sadly detrimental to our military prospects.

Before full information of all that I had discovered could be conveyed
to the Prince de Condé, before the troops could be recalled from their
movements towards the Loire, or others marched to defend Jarnac, La
Rivière had made himself master of that place, thus occupying an
important point on the Charente, and breathing nothing but vengeance
for the attack upon the village, in retaliation for which he made
desperate excursions on every side.

The burning of the village, indeed, which must have been purely
accidental, led to consequences of a very terrible kind. The house
occupied by a Captain Lespinette had been the second or third which
took fire, and some of his effects had been burned therein; and, on
the first expedition which La Rivière intrusted to him, he vowed he
would retaliate upon the Protestants.

He accordingly attacked a village, swept away all that it contained,
and some women and children having taken refuge in one of the houses,
while their husbands and fathers escaped into the fields, he brutally,
we were assured, set fire to the place, and burned them to death
therein.

An awful retribution fell upon him. As soon as a sufficient force
could be collected, the admiral commanded the Marquis de Briquemont to
attack La Rivière in Jarnac. The town was taken by assault; but, as
the inhabitants were our own people, no outrages were committed. The
Catholics who surrendered received quarter, and many made their
escape; but Lespinette and his band took refuge in the old keep,
declaring they would hold it to the last: but, almost at the same
moment that they were making this declaration, the lower part took
fire. Unable to find any other means of escape, he and two of his
companions determined to leap from the loopholes, which were large.
But the corbels which hung over impeded them, and, in the effort to
force themselves through, their armour was so tightly jammed in the
stonework that no human power could remove them, and in this horrible
situation they were actually burned to death in their arms.

At this period, the situation of the Protestant army became every day
more and more critical. The Catholic army, nearly double in force that
which we could oppose to it, was now approaching nearer and nearer,
and interposing between us and the troops coming from Gascony, with
the purpose of forcing us to an immediate battle. The most important
points of the Charente were, it is true, in our hands; the admiral and
the Prince de Condé were once more at the head of their troops; and,
had their tactical skill been as well seconded by the zeal and
obedience of the officers under their command, we might have set the
enemy at defiance till sufficient re-enforcements had arrived to
enable us to fight them.

The Duke of Anjou was advancing daily, but still his progress was
delayed far more than might otherwise have been the case by the
continual skirmishes which D'Andelot and the Prince de Condé contrived
to treat him on his advance. Scarcely a day passed without some
hundreds, sometimes thousands, of our troops being thrown unexpectedly
upon some vulnerable point of the enemy's position; sometimes we
advanced absolutely into the quarters of the Duke of Montpensier, and
once we were actually in the lodgings of the Duke of Anjou himself.

On the latter occasion, under the command of Puiviaud, we encountered
close to Auville, where the duke had established his quarters, a body
of seventy or eighty gentlemen of the court, and obstinately
maintaining our ground for some time till we were re-enforced, large
bodies of men began to come up on either side, till it became
absolutely necessary for the Protestants to withdraw, lest the
skirmish should end in a general battle when neither party was
prepared.

Nothing, however, could stop the progress of the enemy; and, early in
March, the Duke of Anjou made himself master of Chateauneuf on the
Charente. The bridge, however, was in our possession, and we had
various small cars pushed across the river in different directions, in
order to guard against surprise. I myself, no longer acting as a mere
partisan, but attending implicitly to the orders I received as a
soldier, was stationed some little way in advance of Cognac, with
orders to obtain every information that I could regarding the enemy's
movements, and communicate them immediately to the admiral or the
Prince de Condé; and at three o'clock on the very day of my arrival, I
perceived a large body of the enemy marching down towards me. The
continual noise they made, the sounding of trumpets and beating of
drums, made me suspect at once that their appearance was a mere feint;
and, having ridden to a rising ground, which gave me a view over the
country beyond, I clearly perceived that they were followed by no
sufficient force to attempt the passage of the river at that point,
and sent immediate intelligence of what I had observed to the admiral,
in order to make sure that he was not deceived by any stratagem of the
enemy. Coligny sent me down thanks in return, telling me that he was
not deceived, and that, after maintaining my ground as well as I
could, I might come round to join the Count de Montgomery at the
village of Triac. The affair at Cognac lasted scarcely half an hour;
but it was past midnight before I could bring my men, fatigued with a
long march, to the quarters appointed me.

The house seemed pretty comfortable, and the stables for the horses
good, with room in a granary above for the greater part of the men,
and plenty of room in the house for the rest. Not a truss of straw,
however, was to be found; no forage of any kind; and while I was
endeavouring to obtain some in the village by sending hither and
thither, I saw a head put out from one of the up-stairs windows of the
house, and heard a voice call me by name. "Monsieur de Cerons,
Monsieur de Cerons," said the voice, "I give you good-evening; it is
long since we met."

The tones were not unfamiliar to my ear, but yet I could not recollect
where I had heard them; and I merely replied, "I will come up in a
minute, when I have seen the horses fed."

"_Morbleu!_" said Moric Endem, "you may think yourself lucky if you
get a straw a horse, seigneur. These are one of the nights, I take it,
which teach cavalry horses to be crib-biters, seeing that they can get
nothing else to bite."

"Moric," I said, "as we passed the day before yesterday, there was a
large farm I saw about a quarter of a mile out there to the right. The
man would neither say whether he was Catholic or Protestant, Chemille
told me. But I must have forage, whichever he is. The admiral says we
must have no plunder; so take ten men with you, go to his house, and
with your sword in one hand and this purse in the other, tell him you
come from the Seigneur de Cerons for the forage he wants for his
horses. Give him his choice of the gold or the steel, and bring back
the forage at all events."

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the voice from the window above, though I
certainly did not know I had been listened to; "justice and equity
both together Monsieur de Cerons;" and, leaving Moric to fulfil his
orders, which he did with pre-eminent success, I entered the house and
mounted the creaking staircase, which seemed as if two men at a time
would have brought it to the ground.

There were lights and a blazing fire on the right hand, and I entered
that room, when I saw before me a tall, powerful man sitting in the
window-seat, with a page busily taking off the various pieces of his
armour. He turned round his head as I entered, though bestowing no
very soft benediction on the page for pinching his leg with the
_genouillère_, and exclaimed, "Welcome, welcome, De Cerons; so I find
you, as I hoped to find you, changed from little David the shepherd's
boy into a mighty man of war. And who shall say what will come of it
next?"

The face that was turned towards me was that of my first military
friend and counsellor, Stuart; and with equal joy and gratitude I
grasped his hand, and welcomed him to the army.

"I have expected to see you long," I said, "but certainly did not
expect to see you this night, and in my own quarters."

"Why, it so happens," replied Stuart, "That they are mine too; for the
house, and yard, and stables were to be shared between us. Heaven
knows how we should have managed if I had brought on my band. But I
left the greater number of them some way back, for men and horses were
absolutely exhausted by hard riding and starvation. Though the prince
would very willingly have kept me at Jarnac, to sup with him to-night
and dine with him to-morrow, yet I came on with two or three of my
servants only, to see what was doing out here at the advance guard;
for I have a strange notion that we sha'n't be four-and-twenty hours
without a battle. I wanted to see you, too, and have got a good supper
ready for you, as there wants no food for men's mouths here, though
all the forage I could get was a bushel of oats and a handful of straw
for six horses."

I followed Stuart's example as soon as possible in disencumbering
myself of my armour, for I never had the casque off my head for more
than twenty hours, nor had anything passed my lips but a cup of cold
water during the whole of that time; so that the sight of a huge piece
of roasted pork, and a dish of pig's ears and feet strewed with
crayfish, was, I must acknowledge, one of the pleasantest prospects
that my eyes had lighted upon for some time. For my poor men's sakes,
too, I was glad to hear that provisions were to be had in abundance,
and, before I ate myself, I took care to send out the means to
purchase everything that was necessary, although my expeditions had
been so successful as to leave the purses of my troop better stored
than those of any other in the army.

During supper, Stuart and I talked over all that had happened to us
both since we parted in Bordeaux; and, although my first intercourse
with him had been but of a few hours' duration, yet, when we met, we
felt as if we had been old and intimate friends for many years. He
told me all that had befallen him to delay his journey to join the
army, the difficulty in getting his Scotch companions over from his
native country, or raising others fitted for his band: the necessity
which then presented itself of joining his forces to those of De Pile,
and of labouring with that commander to induce the Protestant noblemen
of Higher and Lower Gascony to come forward in arms, and risk
something for the common cause; then the obstacles which the Catholics
had thrown in his way, to prevent his junction with the Protestant
army; and he ended by telling me that he had at length been obliged to
leave De Pile behind with the greater part of the troops, and, with
only sixty helmets, to make his way on to join the Prince de Condé,
having a sort of presentiment in his mind, which, he said, had never
failed him hitherto, that a battle was on the eve of taking place
between the two contending parties.

To me he put a thousand questions concerning my state and prospects,
although it was evident enough that he had heard news of me from time
to time, and was not a little proud of his military neophyte. I told
him all the military part of my history, as I have told it here, and
met his approbation of all my proceedings.

In pursuing these subjects, however, the conversation naturally turned
to good Martin Vern, his journey to Bordeaux, and the redemption of my
dagger; and, as soon as the subject was mentioned, he exclaimed, "Oh!
by-the-way, it is true I did what was, perhaps, not very justifiable
on my part, and made good Solomon Ahar do what was not quite right
upon his. But, having seen how much you regretted the loss of your
weapon; and also having received an unexpected sum, which gave me a
few crowns to spare, I went and insisted upon redeeming it, thinking
that in a day or two I should join you. I have been forced to wander
far enough since," he continued, "but your dagger is quite safe, and
with my baggage at Jarnac. One thing, however, I must tell you of,
which happened in the redemption of it, and which made me very glad
that I had got it out of the Jew's hands, who has now moved from
Bordeaux to Paris, as I dare say you have heard."

"No," I replied, "I did not hear of his removal. But I can easily
conceive that he was not much to your taste. Yet tell me, what was
this circumstance which made you glad?"

"Doubtless you know the fact yourself already," replied Stuart, "but I
discovered it from the Jew. When, much against his will, I had driven
him to give it up, good Solomon said, 'Ha! do you know it is hollow,
Seigneur Stuart?' And he then showed me, by weighing it against
another dagger, with a smaller hilt than it had, that the haft is
hollow, and, through a hole where one of the old jewels had fallen
out, we clearly saw some folded parchment within. It may be a matter
of some consequence, or of none to you, for aught I know. Were you
aware of the fact?"

I replied in the negative; and, after some farther conversation on the
subject, it was determined that, if military operations did not
prevent us, we should ride together to Jarnac on the following
morning, where I should redeem my dagger, and ascertain what the hilt
contained.

After that we separated, Stuart retiring to his bed and I to mine; and
though for the last five or six days I had borne up with scarcely any
rest or repose, I now fell into a profound and heavy slumber, still,
motionless, dreamless, more like death itself than sleep.



END OF VOL. I.



THE
M A N-A T-A R M S;
OR,
HENRY DE CERONS.

A ROMANCE.
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"DARNLEY," "DE L'ORME," "CHARLES TYRRELL," "HENRY OF
GUISE," "KING'S HIGHWAY," &c., &c.


IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.



NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1855.



HENRY DE CERONS.
----------------
CHAPTER I.



The day had not far advanced, when some one, shaking me by the arm,
roused me from my sleep, and, looking up, I found Stuart already up
and fully armed.

"Come," he said, "De Cerons, come, you will be called a sluggard. I
have just had a message from the admiral, who is at Bassac, and my
people have come on there with the baggage. The same messenger brings
a message to you, begging you to come and report more fully what took
place yesterday at Cognac. It would seem that intelligence has been
received from that side which leads to some apprehension."

I shook my head. "They will make no attempt there," I replied.
"However, I will be up and out in a moment."

"I will see your horses ready," replied Stuart; and, ere they were
well prepared, I was myself down in the courtyard.

Leaving some brief orders for Moric Endem, who did not appear, I rode
away with my companion, followed by his attendants and some four or
five of my own men. The light was still gray in the dull March
morning, but everything was quite quiet and still, and nothing, as we
passed along, would have given to any eye the slightest indication of
warring armies in the immediate neighbourhood, or of the approach of a
speedy and sanguinary conflict. We went on, talking of the position
and situation of the armies, and Stuart seemed perfectly confident,
from what he had heard the night before, that any attempt of the enemy
to pass the Charente at Chateauneuf would be frustrated in a moment.

"There is Soubise," he said, "and Montgomery, and La Loue, with plenty
of forces to guard the passage, at all events, till the rest of the
army could come up; and they dare not attempt it before the force
which the admiral can bring into the field."

Scarcely, however, were the words out of his mouth, when a trooper at
full gallop overtook us. It proved to be one of my own people, who
came on waving his hand for us to stop, and exclaimed, the moment that
he came up, "In God's name, return, seigneur! The enemy have passed
the river by the bridge and a bridge of boats. I have myself seen ten
or twelve cornets of horse, with the great blue standard among them.
The whole vanguard has passed already, I am sure; and there is a
bridge of boats built just below the other bridge."

"I fear this is Some negligence on La Loue's part," I said, turning to
Stuart; "I have always remarked that he is the most negligent of
commanders. I will go back, but I fear we shall have to fight, and we
are in no condition to do it. For Heaven's sake, Stuart, ride on, and
let the admiral know."

These were all the words that were spoken; and Stuart, waving his
hand, galloped off, while I hurried back as fast as possible to the
village. Half a dozen messengers, going at full speed towards the
quarters of the admiral and the Prince de Condé, met me before I
reached Triac, but passed without speaking; and just before my
quarters I found Moric Endem, with my own troop and the horse
arquebusiers, drawn up in order to march. Without a moment's delay we
hurried out from the village, and the next moment the whole scene of
the commencing battle was beneath our eyes.

The beautiful meadows, which there sweep down to the bank of the
river, were now filled with the royal troops in all the splendid array
of war: cornets, and standards, and waving plumes, and gay-coloured
cassocks lined the whole side of the river, while over the bridge of
Chateauneuf, and over a bridge of boats constructed during the night,
the rear guard of the Catholic army was passing, with cymbal, and
trumpet, and drum, the clang of which, borne by the wind, reached the
hill where I stood.

Some half a mile before the great body of the Catholics were a number
of squadrons of horse, charging, with levelled lances, two or three
small bands of Huguenots, who, though contending with them gallantly,
were evidently contending in vain. We could see the lances shivered
and the horses go over, but still the Protestant cavalry was driven
back towards a large pond confined within some raised causeways, and a
rivulet which meandered in silver brightness through the meadows at
the foot of the hill. Other small bodies of Protestant horse were seen
coming up at full speed to the aid of their companions; but more
effectual assistance appeared at that moment; for, drawing out from
between the walls of a little hamlet, I perceived four or five
companies of infantry, which I immediately knew to be that gallant and
determined body, Puyviault's arquebusiers, who advanced rapidly
towards the causeway of the tank, and opened a sharp fire upon the
advancing squadrons of the Catholic cavalry.

This was all seen as we rode on down the hill; but, the moment after,
the sound of a trumpet on the right called my attention in that
direction, and I saw a small party of our own horse, perhaps
consisting of a hundred and fifty or two hundred men, galloping down
in the same direction as myself. Recognising at their head one whose
skill and talents were already remarkable, now celebrated as La Noue,
together with Asier and La Loue, whose vigour and determination, in
all moments of actual conflict, seldom failed to inspire their
soldiers to the greatest efforts, I made what speed I could to join
them, and was hailed gladly, though there was no pausing to speak or
to draw a rein.

On we galloped, four a breast, down the road till we had passed some
hedges that intersected the slope of the hill, and then, spreading
out, charged the enemy's cavalry just as they were passing the
causeway on the right of the tank. Puyviault at the same moment
renewed his fire upon the enemy, and we drove them back in great
confusion for two or three hundred yards.

As all that we could hope to do, however, was so long to delay the
enemy in the meadows by the river as to enable the admiral and the
Prince de Condé to gain a good position on the heights, La Noue gave
the order to wheel, and keep upon the same line with the infantry;
but, on looking round, we saw that Puyviault, attacked on the left
hand, had been forced to retreat, and that Martigue, with his
fire-eating cavalry, had passed round on the other side of the tank,
and was already on our flank.

We had no time for preparation; the Catholics were upon us with a
rapidity and an energy worthy of admiration; Martigue was within ten
paces of me when I turned my horse; and, calling out, "Ha, the cornet!
the cornet! _à moi, à moi_, Monsieur de Cerons!" he spurred on upon
me.

I met him as best I might, but our little band was broken by their
impetuous charge in every direction: La Noue and the rest were making
the best of their way back towards the infantry of Puyviault, and the
men following by twos and threes, as they could disentangle
themselves; and, after several sharp blows, I found that I must either
get away from Martigue or suffer myself to be taken, and therefore,
drawing a pistol from the holster, I shot his horse in the throat, and
the animal went down at once.

"That is not fair!" he cried, as the horse fell with him.

"I had no other resource," shouted I, as I galloped on. "You see I am
left alone."

Thus saying, I made my way back to the rest as fast as I could, and
found our little cavalry once more rallied and supporting Puyviault,
who, with admirable skill and determination, was keeping the enemy at
bay as long as possible, maintaining every little hedge and every
little wall with his arquebusiers, taking advantage of each little
rise and fall of the ground, and fighting every step as he slowly
retreated towards the village where I had slept the preceding night.
To him, I cannot help saying, more than to any one else, is to be
attributed that the battle did not prove more disastrous to the
Protestants than it ultimately did.

In the mean time La Noue exclaimed to me, "Retreat into the village,
De Cerons, as fast as possible, and maintain yourself in it as long as
you can, for there is Martigue dashing up towards it on the right, and
will cut us off if he is not prevented."

Taking the shorter road, I was there before the Catholic leader, and
received him at the entrance of the principal road or street, if I may
so call it, with a charge which, though it could not be long
sustained, drove him back for some way, and enabled La Noue and the
rest to retire in good order.

Asier came to my assistance in a moment or two after, exclaiming in a
gay tone, "Now, Fortune's favourite, let us see how long you and I, De
Cerons, can keep out the enemy!"

"Not long, Asier," I replied, "I fear; both your numbers and mine are
somewhat thinned since the beginning of this morning; and see, there
are six more cornets coming up the hill to join Martigue. Ha, Moric!"
I continued, as I turned round to look at the numbers of my men, "I
thought you were gone, my poor fellow. Are there any more coming up?"

"Two will be here in a minute, seigneur," replied Moric; "I sent them
to see the valets, and horse-boys, and baggage out at the other end of
the town. Ah, Master Martigue," he exclaimed, seeing that the enemy
had paused for a single instant, and ridden round a little to the
right, "I've stopped that gap for you. There's a road between two
houses there," he said, "but I have upset a wagon across it."

Good Moric's precaution, however, did not avail us for long. Martigue
himself again charged us in front; and though the narrowness of the
road enabled us to stand against him firmly, yet we saw that a party
of his men were busy in removing the wagon which had been overturned;
and, after protracting the resistance as long as possible, we effected
our retreat only just as the enemy were pouring in upon our flank.
Puyviault, however, was by this time safe; and as we issued forth from
the other side of the village and mingled with the foremost of the
enemy, the glad sight appeared of D'Andelot coming up at the head of a
considerable body of horse, while a long hedge of spears was seen
rising over the slope, and giving notice that the admiral or the
Prince de Condé would be in the field in a few minutes.

The enemy perceived this at the same moment that we did, and pursued
no farther; Martigue hastening to strengthen himself in the village,
in order to maintain it, if possible, till the royal troops came up.
D'Andelot halted his men for a moment, in order not to charge friends
and enemies together, and welcomed us, as we rode up, with nothing but
courage and confidence in his tone, exclaiming, "Ah, brave Asier! ah,
De Cerons! Gallantly done, gentlemen; gallantly done! Rally your men,
and let us at them again! Now each man do as he sees me do!" And, as
soon as we were in line, he spurred on again upon the village.

Martigue, confident in his numbers and his courage, had by this time
drawn out a part of his cavalry beyond the houses, and we spurred
forward upon them with a determination equal to their own. I was at
the distance of about twenty paces from D'Andelot, who had no lance;
but I saw him gallop up to a gay-looking cavalier opposite to him,
armed from head to foot; and, putting past his spear, he struck him
under the visor with the gauntlet of his left hand, which at the same
time held his reins, and at that single blow dashed up the covering of
his enemy's face; at the very same moment, with his right, he pointed
a pistol under his opponent's helmet and fired. The man fell dead from
his horse, and D'Andelot passed on at once through the line.[3]

Though we certainly did not follow D'Andelot's order in doing as he
did, yet we did our best. Martigue's troops were driven again into the
village, the streets of which became a terrible slaughter-house. In a
few minutes the admiral himself, with a large body of cavalry, came up
to support us, and the Catholics were driven out at the other side,
and over the hill for nearly half a mile.

Their operations had all been well-arranged, however. By the time we
had proceeded thus far, we were suddenly assailed by a tremendous
discharge of firearms; and Martigue, finding himself supported by the
Count de Brissac, with a fresh body of cavalry and sixteen hundred
arquebusiers, horse and foot, resumed the offensive, while we were
driven back in considerable confusion, from the incessant and
well-directed fire kept up upon us by what were called the old bands
of Brissac.

The position that we had attained, however, though we had gained it
but for a moment, showed us the whole Royalist army on this side of
the river, the Duc de Montpensier advancing up the slope with at least
ten thousand men, and the division of the Duke of Anjou following in
fine order towards the tank which I have before mentioned.

After retreating for about three or four hundred yards, the troops got
into somewhat better order, and the admiral took care to seize the
opportunity of restoring confidence by wheeling with a small force as
if to charge Martigue. He did not do so, however; but, after looking
round him for a moment, seeking, it would seem, some one he could
trust, he beckoned me up to him, and said in a low tone, "Monsieur de
Cerons, you fear nothing, I think."

"I trust not, sir," I replied.

"The battle must be general, I imagine," he said; "there is no
avoiding it. I wish some one to ride towards Jarnac to the Prince de
Condé, without the loss of a moment or a step of ground, to tell him
to bring up the main body of the troops, and charge in order to
extricate his vanguard. We will maintain the ground till he comes. The
straight road runs along the whole line of those arquebusiers; whoever
undertakes the task must endure their fire. Will you go? Take three
men with you if you do."

I merely bowed my head in reply, spoke a word or two to Moric Endem,
leaving him in the command of my surviving men, and, accompanied by
Andriot and two troopers, galloped off as hard as I could go towards
Jarnac. Either the arquebusiers for some time did not see me, or
mistook me for some of their own people as I came galloping rapidly
towards them, for they suffered me to pass half along the line without
firing a shot at me. There, however, they seemed to discover their
mistake, and, at the distance of not more than a hundred yards, opened
upon me one of the most tremendous fires that I ever remember to have
seen. Poor Andriot was down in a moment; but there was no possibility
of stopping, and on I went at the full gallop.

About thirty or forty yards farther, a ball struck my cuirass, but
glanced off without entering, and a second passed through the crest of
my casque. Two or three went through the cassock I wore above my arms,
and one ball just grazed the lower part of my bridle-hand sufficiently
to deluge my glove in blood. It then struck the pommel of the saddle
and bounded off. I was now within twenty yards of the end of the line;
but, ere I reached it, another of my men was knocked off his horse;
and if the arquebusiers had been wise enough to fire at the chargers
instead of the riders, not one of us would have escaped to bear the
admiral's message to the Prince de Condé. The last shot that was
received was in my left shoulder; but it was of no importance, and did
not even disable my arm.

I now continued my course in safety, but without relaxing my speed,
and opened the visor of my casque both to get some air and to see more
distinctly whether we were followed. Such was not the case, however;
and at the top of the hill I saw the squadrons of the admiral, and
could perceive the group in which he stood watching my course, perhaps
with some anxiety. At the distance of about two miles I heard the
sound of some trumpets behind a little wood in advance, and going on
at the same quick pace, I came, in a moment after, upon some thirty or
forty horsemen, covered with white cassocks, and bearing the cornet of
the Prince de Soubise.

"Where is the Prince de Condé?" I demanded "Where is the prince? I
bear him a message from the admiral."

"He is coming up that narrow road," replied one of the gentlemen.
"Having heard firing, we supposed that some affair was taking place,
and are now marching up towards Triac."

"The whole van are engaged," I replied; and, without more words, rode
on and met the prince at the head of three or four hundred horse,
almost all gentlemen of high quality, and distinguished in arms. The
prince was speaking gayly; and, the moment he saw me, he exclaimed,
"Ah, De Cerons! what news do you bear? So the enemy has crossed the
river, we hear. But, good heavens, your surcoat is pierced in twenty
places, and you are bleeding from the hand and shoulder."

"That is nothing, my lord," I replied. "The enemy have passed the
river, the vanguard has been engaged these two hours, and the admiral
has sent me to say to your highness that a general battle is
inevitable, and to beg you to charge in order to disentangle the
advance."

"Instantly," replied the prince, his bright eye flashing with a light
which I never saw anywhere but in them. "Martinet, you ride back
instantly, and hurry the advance of the main battle. Chouppes, ride on
with Languilliers to Soubise, and you three, with your men, gallop as
fast as you can towards Triac, to clear the ground a little while we
come up. De Cerons, you stay with me, as you have seen all that is
passing, and can guide us well. Now on, my men!" And, putting the
whole troop into a quicker pace, he led the way, till we came out half
way down the hill up which the Royalist army had been advancing when I
left the field.

The aspect of everything, however, was now very much changed; the
admiral had retreated beyond Triac; Brissac occupied the village;
Martigue had taken ground to the right thereof; the Duke of
Montpensier was at the top of the rise, and the main body of the
Catholics, under the Duke of Anjou, occupied the rest of the ground
towards Chateauneuf.

The gallant Puyviault, however, and his men, stretching out and
menacing the flank of Martigue's troops, afforded us the means of
joining our line to that of the admiral; and had the whole of the
Prince de Condé's division been upon the field, we might still,
perhaps, have gained the day. Such not being the case, and, by one
accident or another, the prince having received but tardy information
of what was taking place, the situation of the admiral seemed to all
of us who were on the lower ground more perilous than it really was.

Condé halted for a moment, as if to consider and to communicate with
the admiral; and, had it not been for the arrival at that instant of a
small body of German Protestants who were with the army, in all
probability such counsels would have been held as would have prevented
the fatal results of that day's field. Condé, however, saw our
auxiliaries arrive with joy and satisfaction; not that he hoped to
save the battle by the rash, and desperate conduct he was prepared to
pursue, but he thought that, at all events, he should be enabled to
disentangle the troops of the admiral by a strong diversion in his
favour; and, the moment that the arrival of the Germans was known, I
heard him call loudly for his casque.

At this time, though we were within shot of the arquebusiers, and a
ball or two fell every now and then among us, he had nothing on his
head but a small cap of crimson velvet. The page who bore his helmet,
however, came but slowly; the different officers who were round about
pressed up eagerly towards the prince; the horses were furious and
eager to proceed; and Condé himself, having one arm in a sling, from
an accident he had met with, restrained his own charger with
difficulty from dashing forward into the midst of the enemy's ranks.

At length the page brought up the casque, and one or two persons were
assisting him to place it on his head: his standard had been carried
forward, bearing, written in letters of gold, "_Doux le peril pour
Christ et le pais!_" the Count of Rochefoucault was mounting a fresh
horse, to accompany him into the _mêlée_; and, turning round towards
me, the prince was asking, "Know you, De Cerons, whose cornets of
horse those are upon the hill?" when, in a moment, I saw the charger
that La Rochefoucault was about to mount lash out with both his feet
towards the prince, whose horse seemed to stagger with the blow it
received.

The velvet cap he had in his hand dropped to the ground, but that was
the only expression (if it may be so called) of pain which escaped
him. To my horror and astonishment, however, on approaching, I saw
that the horse had broken his leg, and that the bone was absolutely
protruding through the thick leather boot.

Exclamations of grief and distress burst from the lips of all around:
but the prince waved his hand, exclaiming, "Silence!" And, a moment
after, he added, "Behold, you true nobles of France, that which has
occurred! Follow me to finish well what our brave friends have already
so well begun! and remember this day, as you fight, in what state
Louis of Bourbon leads you to the charge, 'for Christ and for his
country!'"

As he spoke he pulled down the visor of his helmet, bent his head over
his saddle-bow, gave the rein to his horse, and dashed like fury upon
the flank of the Duke of Anjou's division. There was an immense body
of men-at-arms before us, amounting, it is said, in all, to two
thousand men; and the moment we began the charge, two regiments of
reiters, amounting to two thousand five hundred men, and eight hundred
lancers, with a small body of horse arquebusiers, swept round and
hemmed us in; and yet it is extraordinary what that charge of the
Prince de Condé did. There was not one man of us that hour who then
spurred on his horse, and did not believe that his life was at a
close, and he must sell the remnant dearly.

The light-horse which were in front gave way before us in a moment;
the Duke of Guise and his men-at-arms were driven back upon La
Valette; the regiments, of Chravigny and Nevers were cast into
confusion; and, to use the words of another eyewitness, "In brief, the
prince and his troop seemed like a thunderbolt."

But all that we could do was over in ten minutes. The regiment of the
young Prince d'Auvergne came forward to support the rest, and in a
gallant charge separated our small troop into parties: his father, the
Duke of Montpensier, wheeled two regiments upon us to support his son;
Martigue came down from the hill to have a share in our destruction,
and, separated one from the other, we each fought with desperation
against that party of the adversary which happened to be nearest to
us. I was cutting my way on, attending to little else, and dealing the
best blows I could with my heavy sword, when I suddenly received a
pistol-ball in my right arm, which made it drop powerless by my side.
An instant after, before any one could take advantage of my situation,
my horse was killed under me, and fell at once to the ground, jamming
firmly my right leg between the saddle and the earth, so that it was
impossible for me to extricate myself.

The Catholic men-at-arms who were nearest to me, apparently conceived
that I was myself killed, and one of them passed over me; but I was
not only uninjured, except from the wounds I have mentioned, but was
also painfully sensible of all the horrors that were passing around
me. It is utterly impossible to give anything like the slightest idea
of the scene that took place before my eyes. Sometimes I was left
almost totally alone, beholding nothing but clouds of dust, and dim,
uncertain figures whirling hither and thither; in another instant,
one, two, three, perhaps fifty or sixty of the combatants, were close
about me, and their horses nearly treading upon me at every instant.
Thrice, indeed, they did strike me with their hoofs, but my armour
luckily protected me.

At length I saw a charger all bloody, mounted by one whose aspect I
knew full well. He was then at about twenty yards from me, and was
riding rapidly up the hill where the ground was somewhat more clear.
But at that very instant, two cavaliers, bearing red crosses on their
shoulders, galloped fiercely forward upon him; and I saw that, though
the horse exerted his utmost force to obey his rider's will, and
though the rider urged him still on with eager speed, yet the gallant
beast, bleeding from more than one wound, wavered as it struggled on,
and the rider, with his head bent low, could scarcely keep himself in
the saddle.

The other two, fresh and apparently unhurt, were up with him in a
moment; and seeing that it was in vain to contend, with not a friend
near him, without power to resist, without strength either in himself
or in his horse to fly, Condé gave his left-hand gauntlet to one of
those who approached him, and at the very same moment his horse
stumbled and fell beneath him. As he lay, I saw him raise the visor of
his helmet, and show his face to the gentleman to whom he had
surrendered, whose name I afterward found was Argence.

The moment he saw the face of the prince, Argence sprang from his
horse and attempted to aid Condé in rising; but then, seeing the state
of his leg, he bore rather than assisted him to the foot of a small
hawthorn-tree, and placed his back against the bank that supported it.

This was nearer to me than before, and the next instant two or three
other gentlemen came up, and dismounting beside the captive prince,
were talking to him in a quiet tone, when Montesquieu, whom I had seen
several times before, and knew for his brutality, rode slowly up, and
looked down upon me as I lay. My visor being down, he could not see
whether I was dead or alive; and I remained quite still, though I held
tight the pistol which I had drawn from my saddle-bow, determined not
to surrender to him, but to shoot him with my left hand if he molested
me. I believe he was looking for some unarmed point to stab me with
his sword, in order to ascertain whether I was living or dead; but,
not finding any, he had taken his pistol in his hand, as if to shoot
me, in order to make all sure.

At that very instant, however, one of the others rode up from the
hawthorn-tree, saying, "They have taken the Prince de Condé, there,
Montesquieu."

"Taken!" exclaimed the brute, in a furious tone. "Kill him! kill
him!--_Mortbleu!_" and, dashing forward, he levelled his pistol at the
head of the unfortunate prince, and fired. Condé's head first fell
back up against the bank, and then, rolling over with a convulsive
motion, he fell dead at the feet of Argence, who turned angrily upon
Montesquieu, and seemed to reproach him with what he had done.

After that I saw no more of them, for a company of horse came sweeping
along between me and the spot at a somewhat slow pace, though Martigue
was at their head. I knew his character well; though fierce, bold, and
courageous as a lion, he was noble and generous-minded too; and as he
passed within about ten paces of me, I called loudly upon his name. He
did not hear me himself, but a young officer who was behind exclaimed,
looking round, "Who calls Monsieur de Martigue?"

"It is I," I cried, lifting up my left hand, "I, a gentleman and a
knight, wish to speak with him."

The young officer called his commander's attention, who turned his
horse and rode up to me. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he said,
looking down upon me without dismounting.

"I am De Cerons," I replied; "and, of all men in the army, wish to
surrender to you;" and at the same time I raised my visor.

"Ah, you young tiger!" he cried, "have I got you. If I did right, I
believe I should drop a lance into you. But, however, I suppose that
must not be, and so I will give you some supper instead; for you have
lost the day, young man, as I suppose you know."

"But too well," I replied, sadly; and Martigue, turning to some of
those who followed, said, "There, help him up, and take care of him.
Look to his wounds, too; for it is a pity that any one who has gone
through a day like this should die at the end of it."

Thus saying, he rode on and left me.



CHAPTER II.


A page, a soldier, and one of the valets who were following Martigue
through the field, disentangled me from my horse, and raised me with
some care and kindness from the ground. For some time I could scarcely
walk, from the stiffness and bruises consequent upon the horse falling
upon my leg and thigh. I made a great effort to do so, however, and
the men who accompanied me asked me if I were hurt in the leg. I
replied I was not; and, being soon stripped of my armour, I was
enabled to move more easily. My right arm, however, still continued
powerless; and the men who had me in charge led me away, according to
Martigue's orders, to search for a surgeon. The only men of skill, it
seems, who accompanied the Catholic army, were to be found with the
division of the Duke of Anjou, and in seeking them we passed through
several bodies of men that were advancing rapidly towards Jarnac. All,
however, was now passing quietly; the battle was over, the Protestant
army in full flight, the victory secured, and I felt not the slightest
apprehension that either insult or injury would be offered to any fair
combatant, wounded and a prisoner. Thus passing on with Martigue's
people, without a word being said to me, I came near a gallant body of
cavaliers, brilliantly armed, and equipped with the finest horses in
the field, and followed by another glittering band of evidently picked
men. There might be twenty or thirty gentlemen in advance and some
four hundred behind; and I saw there the Duke of Montpensier, and the
Prince d'Auvergne his son.

They were no longer, however, occupying the first rank; for about half
a yard before either of them rode a young man, in fact, scarcely more
than a boy, for he did not yet seem twenty years of age. His arms were
covered with a rich surcoat, and on one side of his horse, a page on
foot carried his casque, while another bore a lance on the other side.
Everything about his person and his charger was glittering and
splendid, and the _fleur-de-lis_, which were profusely scattered over
all his accoutrements, at once marked him as the Duke of Anjou.

The little party by which I was led along made way instantly for the
others to pass, and I took no notice of the prince's countenance till
some one called us up before him. I then lifted my eyes, and
considered him attentively while he spoke to Martigue's page, whom he
seemed to have recognised. He was certainly handsome, and there was
something commanding in his figure and deportment; but there was a
sinister expression about his countenance which was not pleasant, and
a peculiarity in his features which, in the course of my whole life, I
have only seen in two other men besides himself. It was, that, as long
as he remained grave and serious, though somewhat stern, the
expression was not so bad; but, the moment that he smiled, it made
one's blood run cold. After speaking two words to the page, he turned
to me, saying sternly, "Do you know whether the Prince de Condé has
escaped from the field?"

"Only by death, sir," I replied.

"Why," answered the duke, "I saw his great white standard myself, with
some thirty or forty men, fly across the upland twenty minutes ago."

"The prince, sir," I said, "is dead, depend upon it. I, with my own
eyes, saw him murdered."

"Murdered!" exclaimed the Duke of Anjou, with that same sort of
sinister smile coming over his face. "What call you murder, sweet
friend, in such a field as this?"

"Shooting a man, sir," I replied, "after he has been received to
quarter, and surrendered to honourable gentlemen."

"It may be justice, not murder, sir," replied the duke, frowning upon
me. "And pray who are you, who are so choice in your expressions!"

"My name, sir," I replied, "is De Cerons; and I, too, am a prisoner."

"Ha!" cried the duke; "The most insolent varlet in the camp of the
rebels. We have heard of your doings."

Though I knew it might cost me my life, I could not restrain myself,
and I replied, "Not a varlet, sir, but a knight and a French
gentleman!"

"Take him away, and--" cried the duke; but, before he could finish his
sentence, which probably was intended to have been a command to treat
me in the same way as the Prince de Condé, the Duke of Montpensier
urged his horse forward, and spoke a word or two to the duke in a low
tone.

"Take him away!" repeated the duke, after listening for a moment. "Put
him with that Scotch marauder Stuart, and bring them before me after
supper to-night. Yet stay," he continued. "Where, think you, is the
Prince de Condé! I would fain see him with my own eyes."

"If you go straight towards yon tree," I replied, pointing with my
hand, "you will find his body under the bank, unless they have removed
it."

"Go you, Magnac, and see," said the duke. "I will remain here. There
is your man Constureau coming up, Montpensier. He knows the prince,
let him go with Magnac. Stand there, sir: we shall soon see whether
you speak truth or falsehood."

I made no reply, and the Baron de Magnac and another gentleman rode on
to see if they could discover the body of the unfortunate Prince de
Condé. While they were gone, the deepest stillness pervaded the whole
scene. There was a sort of awful expectation about those who knew not
whether I had spoken truth or not, which kept all silent; and it was
evident that the Duke of Anjou himself, though he strove to appear
perfectly calm and unmoved, concealed various emotions under the stern
and harsh aspect which he assumed He spoke not either, but remained
gazing forward in the direction which his messengers had taken, though
the number of persons scattered about in different directions, and the
bodies of horse and foot moving to and fro, prevented his
distinguishing them after they had gone a hundred yards.

At length, however, we saw a number of people coming forward in an
irregular mass, with something carried apparently in the midst of
them, and, as they approached the Duke of Anjou, one of the most
painful and horrible sights that I ever beheld was exposed to view.

Stripped of his armour, and even of the buff coat which he had worn
underneath, with his shirt and person dabbled with blood and dirt, was
the body of the unfortunate Prince de Condé cast across an ass, with
the head hanging down on one side and the feet on the other. His hair,
which was long and very beautiful, fell in glossy curls towards the
ground; but, from the point of the locks near the face, the blood,
still streaming from his death-wound, dropped slowly as they bore him
along upon the dusty ground, and made a small pool when the body
stopped before the feet of the Duke of Anjou's horse. However much he
might be changed since I had seen him, I knew the body at once, by the
lace and the violet-coloured ribands which tied the sleeves of his
shirt, which I had remarked particularly while he was putting on his
casque at the moment that the horse had kicked him.

"Are you sure that is he?" said the Duke of Anjou. "Lift up his head,
Magnac; one cannot see his face."

The Baron de Magnac twined his fingers in his hair and lifted up his
face, exposing the ghastly wound from which he died, and which had so
terribly disfigured him, that, what with blood and dirt, and the black
smoke of the pistol, his features could hardly be recognised by any
one. When I thought of that same countenance, as I had seen it but a
few weeks before, smiling with gay and kindly feelings as he laid the
blade of knighthood on my shoulder, and compared it with the dark,
mutilated object before me, I myself could scarcely have told that it
was the same, had it not been for the other marks I have mentioned.

"Some one bring water from the stream," cried the Duke of Anjou. "We
must wash his face and see."

The water was soon brought in a morion; and, when the blood and dirt
were washed away, there was no difficulty in recognising the features
of the unfortunate prince.

"Get a sheet from some of the farmhouses," cried the Duke of Anjou,
"and carry the body on to Jarnac. You have told the truth, sir," he
added, turning to me. "Now get you gone. Do with him as I bade you.
Put him with the Scotchman, and bring him up this night."

Thus saying, he rode on himself, and I was conducted to the rear,
where a surgeon dressed my wounds, and, finding my right arm broken,
set it as best he might. They then led me for about two miles on the
road to Jarnac, when they brought me to a farmhouse, where they placed
me in a small room with several other prisoners, among whom I found La
Noue and the Prince de Soubise, but not Stuart.

All, as well might be supposed, were deeply depressed, but that did
not prevent a great deal of conversation from taking place; and there
were fewer lamentations over our defeat itself than over the
negligence of those who had occasioned it, by suffering the enemy to
pass the river. La Loue, whose turn it had been to guard the bridge of
Chateauneuf, was very much blamed; and certain it is, that, even if
the enemy had forced the passage, the delay which that would have
occasioned might have given us a chance of victory; for it was
afterward ascertained that not one sixth part of the Protestant
cavalry, and not one tenth of the Protestant infantry, arrived within
a league of the field of battle till the whole was over. The truth is,
that not above four thousand men were ever, at one time, engaged upon
our part.

The discussion of these events had been going on for some time before
I was brought in, and I soon found that the worst news of the whole,
the death of the Prince de Condé, was still unknown among the leaders
taken. When I told them the fact, however, I could scarcely get them
to believe it, so horrible and improbable seemed the action that
Montesquieu had committed. If I had told them that he had fallen by
some chance blow or shot in fair fight, they would have given me
credit at once; but I found them even more incredulous than the
Catholics had been; and Soubise insisted that I must have made a
mistake in the person, for Argence would never have suffered
Montesquieu to kill a prince of the blood royal in his hands.

About four o'clock the rest of the prisoners were removed and marched
on towards Jarnac, but I was ordered to remain, and I continued in the
room of the farm for about a quarter of an hour, suffering intense
torture from the wound in my right arm, and giving myself up, in
solitude, to every sad and gloomy thought and expectation that it was
possible for imagination to conjure up.

At the end of that time the door of the room again opened, and Stuart
was brought in. But oh, how changed he now appeared from the preceding
night! He was wounded in two or three places, though not dangerously
in any; yet the loss of blood had turned him very pale, and he walked
with difficulty. But it was not so much in his colour or his gait that
the change was remarkable; it was in the deep, profound melancholy
that had fallen upon him.

"I grieve to meet you here, Stuart," I said, shaking him by the hand.

"And so I grieve for you, De Cerons," replied he. "I wish it had been
God's will, De Cerons, that I had died three hours ago; but the
villains would not kill me, though I refused them quarter and asked
none myself. They knew better: they knew better."

"But, good God!" I said, "They will never think of butchering their
prisoners now?"

"You do not know Henry of Anjou," replied Stuart. "But I know very
well, De Cerons, that I have not long to live. Whether I speak him
fair or not, there are things to be remembered which he will not
forget. But, on your part, take my advice; if you see him, speak him
fair, and perhaps you may save your life thereby. My day is done, De
Cerons;" and, seating himself by the table, he leaned his brow upon
his hand, and fell into deep thought.

It length he started up again, saying, "If you should live and get
free, De Cerons, remember the dagger. It is with my baggage, which I
trust is safe; for these Catholic tigers, it is evident, have won but
a fruitless victory. Yet my people, perhaps, may not give it up. Stay;
if we can get materials for writing, I will make an acknowledgment
that it is yours." And, rising, he knocked hard at the door, which was
locked. One of the soldiers immediately came; but it was some time
before Stuart could procure what he wanted. At length, however, it
came; and in haste, but with great precision, he wrote down the
acknowledgment and gave it to me.

He had scarcely done so when we were ordered to march on towards
Jarnac; and, under a small guard of soldiers, set out on foot for that
place, which we reached shortly after dark. We were then conveyed to a
small room on the ground floor of the castle, where some food was
given to us, and a fire, for it was very cold. I had never been a
prisoner before myself, but I had always seen the prisoners treated
differently; and I could not but think that this long foot march of
two wounded gentlemen was somewhat harsh.

I noticed the fact to Stuart, who said, "It is not a sign of the
times, De Cerons, but it is a sign of the Duke of Anjou. There is not
another commander in France who would have treated noble prisoners as
he has done this day. However, to me it matters little; my account
with this world is made; and, as soon as I have taken some
nourishment, for I feel faint, I must try and make my peace with God."

After eating a small quantity, and drinking a cup of wine mingled with
water, he turned away, and, kneeling in the most distant part of the
room, remained for several minutes in prayer. He then rose and spoke
more cheerfully, or perhaps I should say, more calmly; and in about
half an hour we were both summoned to the presence of the Duke of
Anjou. At the door we found two or three guards, who led us on up some
dark steps, and then through a door into a long and wide but low stone
gallery, with large gray columns every three or four steps, supporting
the pointed vault of the roof. It was tolerably well lighted with
torches placed here and there, and on the left side was a row of
windows, while on the right was a row of doors between the columns.

At the third pillar from the entrance, two or three people were
gathered round a large sort of stone table close underneath the
column, and as I passed I saw that on it was stretched the corpse of
the Prince de Condé, the body wrapped in linen with some degree of
decency, but the head and face exposed. Those who were gazing upon it
took no notice of us as we advanced, and at the very farther end of
the hall we paused for the first time before a door, where stood a
man-at-arms with his sword drawn.

One of those who accompanied us went in, and the next minute Stuart
was called into the room beyond, while I remained without. I could
hear nothing that passed, but I was not a little anxious and
apprehensive for my poor comrade.

At length my name was called, and I passed on into the small passage
which led to an inner room; it could scarcely be called the
antechamber, for it was not above eight feet long and five or six in
width. It was tapestried, however, and there was a lamp against the
wall, but the door of the chamber beyond was partly open, and a great
light streamed forth.

At the moment that the other door closed behind me, I could hear the
voice of the Duke of Anjou exclaiming aloud and somewhat angrily,

"Away with the Scotch assassin! Away with him!" And, as I entered
the room, I saw Stuart standing close by the door, with a tall,
dark-looking man grasping him by the shoulder. My noble comrade's
head, however, was raised and dignified; there was a bright red flush
upon his brow, and his cheek was now anything but pale, while his
right hand was stretched out, not exactly in the attitude of menace,
but still bold and fearless.

"Take back the word assassin, prince," he said; "I am none; Had your
false constable died by my hand in fight, as would to Heaven he had!
he would have died well and deservedly, as the man who attempts to
kill the person to whom he surrendered merits by every law of arms. I
am no assassin: it is you who butcher prisoners in cold blood. But I
warn you, the time shall come--ay, and the knife that shall do it is
even now sharpened--when you shall regret the blood that you now
wantonly spill, as the hand of some other butcher like yourself takes
a life that you have misused too long. Now fare you well! Do your
will! I care not how soon it comes!"

Thus saying, he turned away; he looked at me for a moment as if he
would have spoken to me, but in that moment I could see his features
change. I feel convinced that at that moment he recollected he might
do me injury by any token of friendship, and he passed me as if he had
never seen me before.

The moment he was gone and the door closed, the Duke of Anjou
pronounced my name; but, before I could answer, I heard one or two
blows struck without, a short cry suppressed into a groan, and then a
heavy fall.

"Seigneur de Cerons!" repeated the voice of the Duke of Anjou in a
fierce tone; and, turning to the table, I saw that prince's
countenance extremely red, while the faces of all those who were
standing around were deadly pale. I have never been accustomed to set
any great value upon life, but I have never, in the course of my
existence, felt so utterly careless of living and dying as I did at
that moment. The great event seemed close upon me, and I advanced to
the table as calmly as if I had been going to sit down to meat. The
Duke of Anjou fixed his eyes upon me, and again there came upon his
countenance that unpleasant smile, which, whether I interpreted it
right or wrong I know not, seemed to augur anything but good.

"You appear alarmed," said the duke, gazing at me.

"If so, my lord," I replied, "my countenance must sadly belie my
heart."

"Then you fear nothing," he said. "We shall soon see how you will bear
your fate."

"Very probably, your highness," I replied, "as other men bear theirs;
though, as to fear, I am as free from it as your highness."

Among the officers who stood behind the duke, two made me a sign at
this moment. The Duke of Montpensier pointed to the door through which
Stuart had just passed, then lifted his hand as if to beseech me to be
silent. Martigue, though evidently friendly towards me, knit his brows
and shook his fist at me. But the Duke of Anjou, after gazing on me
for a moment, exclaimed, "What babblers and braggarts these Huguenots
are! Take the Maheutre out, and hang him to one of the spouts of the
castle!"

"I beg your highness's pardon," said Martigue, advancing with a frank
and somewhat jocular air: "You will recollect he is my prisoner; and,
before you hang him, you must pay me fifteen hundred crowns for his
ransom."

"Oh, I will pay you, I will pay you, Martigue," said the prince.

"I will give no credit," replied Martigue, in the same tone. "Down
upon the table, my lord, or you don't have him! A hanged man is no
good to me, and, I should think, none to your highness either."

"I should think not indeed," said one of the gentlemen who stood
behind: "besides, my lord, I really do not know anything that Monsieur
de Cerons has done, either against your highness or his majesty's
service which should excite your indignation against him: besides, he
is a knight, my lord.

"Has he not done plenty?" exclaimed the duke, still maintaining his
anger, although he had smiled upon Martigue. "A knight! Haven't I
heard that he is a mere marauder, cutting off our parties, stealing
into our camp as a spy, setting fire to villages? I say, is he not a
mere marauder?"

Perhaps the love of existence had grown upon me as I heard the
question of life and death discussed; and, at all events, I had a very
strong objection to hanging from one of the spouts of Jarnac. The duke
looked towards me as he asked the last time if I were not a marauder,
and I replied, "Your highness has been greatly misinformed. I am no
marauder, but acting under a commission from the princes of the
Protestant league. Neither can it ever be said of me, sir, or of one
single man under my command, that we have ever sacked or pillaged a
Catholic house, that we have ever drawn the sword against any unarmed
man, or that I have demanded one shilling of contribution from any
village in which I lodged. The bare walls of the house in which I was
quartered was all that I ever demanded; and my purse has ever been
ready to pay for everything that I took."

"That is more than his highness, or any one else here can say," cried
Martigue; and the duke himself burst into a loud laugh.

"Allow me to add," I said, "That my entering your highness's camp,
though somewhat bold, was in no degree as a spy; for I came with my
men at my back, and all of us armed to the teeth: neither was there
say great harm in coming to rescue a relation, which was our sole
object; nor, did we injure any one till we were ourselves attacked."

"Ay!" cried the duke; "and, if I remember right, your cousin rewarded
you by refusing to go."

"You must be a poor mouse, Monsieur de Cerons," cried Martigue,
laughing, and evidently trying to set the prince in good-humour again,
"you must be a poor mouse to get into the trap, and not to get the
bait after all."

"Ay, but the mouse not only got out of the trap," I replied, "but bit
the rat-catcher's fingers. Was it not so, Monsieur Martigue!"

"Ha! he has you there, Martigue," cried the duke. "What say you now?
Will you hang him in revenge for the loss of that cornet?"

"I say, sir," replied Martigue, gayly, "That the young gentleman
speaks very true. The mouse did bite the rat-catcher's fingers, and
bit him to the bone. But the rat-catcher has caught him at last, and,
by your highness's good leave, will keep him now he's got him."

It was evident that some progress had been made in moving the Duke of
Anjou, and at that moment the Duke of Montpensier joined in.

"I told your highness this morning," he said, "That it was my
intention to ask a boon of you in regard to Monsieur de Cerons; but,
as your highness knows, I intercede for no one without good reason. In
the first place, let me say, that this gentleman, instead of being a
mere marauder, as some one has induced your highness to believe, is
perhaps the most generous and scrupulous of the enemy's party. I can
speak of the accounts given of him by the peasantry myself; and,
besides, I have had certain information, from a gentleman who saw it
in the town of Pons, that he was there known to cut down one of his
own men for some of the horrors usually committed in a town taken by
assault. But this is not all, sir. I personally owe him a deep debt of
gratitude for saving the life of my son, and sending him back into the
camp without demanding a ransom."

"What! your son, Montpensier?" exclaimed the duke; "What! D'Auvergne?"

"Neither more nor less, my lord," replied the duke. "When we decamped
from the neighbourhood of Loudun, Monsieur de Cerons led those that
pursued. My son turned to drive them back. In the _mêlée_ he was borne
to the ground, and was absolutely under the feet of Monsieur de
Cerons' horse. That gentleman helped him to rise; and, telling him to
mount in haste, suffered him to retire unhurt. Under these
circumstances, I must not only beg his life of your highness, if you
ever seriously thought of putting him to death, which I do not
believe; but I would also offer to pay his ransom at once to Monsieur
de Martigue and set him free, only that I trust, by keeping him here
in our camp for some time, we may cure him of some prejudices of
education, and gain a very distinguished soldier back to religion and
to loyalty. Such gentlemen as Monsieur de Cerons, my lord, are far
better worth winning than hanging, depend upon it."

"You will ruin us all, you will ruin us all!" cried a voice from
behind, which I found afterward came from the well-known Chicot. "If
you convert Monsieur de Cerons, and bring him into our camp, the
army's lost, the king's throne shaken, and he may play at bowls with
the globe and crown. Why, heavens and earth! wasn't it bad enough
when we had only Martigue to lead us into every mad adventure, while
the Huguenots had this mad fellow to run his head against our
crack-brained galloper! If you bring, over another such to our side to
match Martigue, the army will be like a string between two young dogs,
pulled here and there over every bush, and hill, and fence, through
the whole land. 'Pon my soul, I had hoped and trusted that I should
hear Martigue had been killed to-day; for I am tired to death, and my
brain quite weary with thinking where he will be next: but if you come
to add to him this same night-walking spectre of cast iron, there is
no chance of any one ever having a moment's repose through life."

"Pray attend to Chicot's reasons, your highness," said Martigue; "for,
like some old verses that I've met with, they always read the wrong
way, you know."

"Well," said the prince, "if you will all have it so, so it must be, I
suppose; but, at all events, I shall expect no slight apology from
Monsieur de Cerons for the rash and insolent words he addressed to me
this morning."

"I trust, sir," I replied, "That in my grief for the disasters of this
day, I have not been mad enough to address to your highness, the
brother of my king, any words of insolence whatever. I am quite
ignorant and unconscious of having done so, but beg your highness's
pardon most sincerely and most humbly for anything that could have
been construed to that effect."

"That is well, that is well," replied the duke: "you must indeed have
forgotten yourself; but the words that you spoke, sir, about the
Prince de Condé, were rash and insolent."

"But were never applicable to your highness," I replied. "They were
entirely and totally meant for and pointed at the Baron de
Montesquieu, the cold-blooded murderer of a gallant prince; and I am
sure, sir, that, had you seen the act as I did, your generous nature
would have been roused in a moment to avenge the butchery of your
cousin upon his foul assassin."

"Perhaps I might," replied the prince: but the Duke of Montpensier,
who knew that such discussions with the Duke of Anjou became dangerous
in every point of view when carried too far, took advantage of a
slight thoughtful pause to say, "I think your highness graciously
granted my request."

The prince bowed his head, and Montpensier, passing round the table,
took me by the arm, nodding to Martigue, who replied, if I might read
his looks, "Get him away as fast as you can."

The prince, however, detained us for a moment longer, saying, "I will
speak to Monsieur de Cerons at some future time: his countenance
pleases me."

"No reply," whispered the Duke of Montpensier; and, merely bowing my
head low as my answer, I followed the duke through the door. In that
little passage antechamber, however, my first step was into a pool of
dark blood, and I was about to draw back with an exclamation, when the
duke pulled me on sharply by the left arm; and after we had got
several paces down the gallery, he said, in a low, deep tone,

"Young man, young man! you have been sporting with a tiger, who has
already torn one to pieces, and has got the thirst for blood upon him
strong!"



CHAPTER II.


To the Duke of Montpensier's words I made no reply, as there were
several persons not far off at the time, and I feared that whatever I
might say at such a moment would be less calm and temperate than I
could have wished it. The duke added nothing more, but led me on past
the spot where the body of the Prince de Condé lay, to the lower story
of the building, where we found, not far from the room in which I had
been at first confined, a considerable body of his attendants, with
his son, the Prince d'Auvergne. The moment the young man saw me, he
started forward and grasped my hand, exclaiming, "He is safe, he is
safe!"

"He is so," replied the duke; "but it is not his own fault that he is
not now lying stark and cold as some others that I could name. Take
him away with you, D'Auvergne, to our quarters, and, for Heaven's
sake, teach him to be cautious where he is. Monsieur de Cerons," he
continued, turning to me, "I need not ask you whether I have your
parole."

"Of course, my lord," I replied, "of course; I surrendered voluntarily
to Monsieur Martigue, and by the same right that I claim my life, not
as a matter of grace, but as a matter of justice, I consider myself as
a prisoner till my ransom is granted and paid."

The duke bowed his head and left me, and the Prince d'Auvergne, with
his attendants, led me out into the streets of Jarnac, where, with
several torches before us, we proceeded to the lower part of the town,
and entered a large dwelling which had been taken possession of by the
Duke of Montpensier. A good deal to my surprise, for I had as yet seen
nothing but the Huguenot camp, I found nearly as much splendour and
luxury reigning in the temporary abode of the Catholic commander as if
he had been in the mansion of his ancestors. There were servants in
splendid dresses, there were lights in all the rooms, and the prince
led me into a great hall, where a large table was set out as if for
the supper of some twenty or thirty persons.

"My father," he said, "Will soon return; but, till he does so,
Monsieur de Cerons, let us go into this little room beyond, and
converse for a few moments quietly."

He then led me in, asked after the wounds I had received, spoke to me
of the different events of the late battle, and mentioned the death of
the Prince de Condé with so much kindly and noble feeling, that, had
not my mind been altogether prepossessed in his favour before, those
words would have attached me to him for ever. He then gave me several
cautions with regard to my conduct during my stay in the Catholic
camp.

"Neither my father nor myself," he said, "Would wish you to abandon
your opinions except upon full conviction; but, at the same time, it
will be much better for you, as far as possible, to restrain any
expression of those opinions, for there are dangerous men around us
all, and you might place yourself in situations from which it might be
difficult, if not impossible, to extricate you."

I promised to follow his counsel; and then, judging from his
conversation that he must have more experience in the ways of courts
and camps than I had imagined, I asked him if this was the first
campaign in which he had served.

"Oh, no!" he replied; "I am older than I appear, Monsieur de Cerons."

And I found that such indeed was the case, but that in him there was
the extraordinary combination of high powers of mind and considerable
experience, with unpresuming modesty, and all the frank, quick
emotions of boyhood. There was something fine and noble, too, in the
demeanour of the father to the son and the son to the father. The duke
felt all the eager apprehensions and tender anxiety for the young
prince that he had felt when he was a boy, flew always to his succour
in the battle-field, and seemed to feel unwilling to yield the
affectionate privilege of guiding, guarding, and defending his boy;
but, at the same time, he was aware and proud of his son's high
qualities, had every confidence in his mind and judgment, and treated
his opinions with that respect which ensured the respect of others.
The son, on his part, though well aware of his own capability of
directing and defending himself, ever showed the deepest gratitude for
his father's tenderness, and reverence for his authority and advice.

Not long after our conversation had begun, there were some steps heard
in the hall, and the voice of the Duke of Montpensier was heard
exclaiming, "Where are you, Francis? Where is Monsieur de Cerons?"

In another moment the duke entered the room, before his son could go
to meet him. He was accompanied by Martigue, who entered the little
room with him, and by several others, who remained behind in the
supper-room.

The moment he entered, Martigue seized me roughly by the collar on
both sides of my buff coat, and gave me a little but friendly shake,
exclaiming, "You young scoundrel, you owe me double ransom, I swear."
And, as he spoke, the old soldier looked me over from head to foot
with the eye of a connoisseur, as if calculating what portion of
strength there was in my limbs.

"Upon my honour, Monsieur de Martigue," I replied, "I think I do; for
you have certainly once spared my life and once saved it."

"You are honest, you are honest!" replied Martigue, in the same tone:
"but here I and Monsieur de Montpensier have been quarrelling for you.
He says he will keep you here till your wounds are whole, to try if he
cannot cure you of Calvinism, or, at all events, teach you to serve
the king in another way than fighting his troops and cutting the
throats of his subjects. I want you to be put to ransom directly, in
order that you and I may, some day or another before long, have a fair
opportunity of trying our right hands; for we have not had it out yet,
seeing that you got off in such a shabby way this morning by shooting
my horse."

"I could not help it, Monsieur de Martigue," I replied, "or I would
not have done it. I was in the midst of your people; and if I had not
taken that moment to escape, I must have surrendered to them, even if
I had got the better of you. However, I surely made up for it
afterward."

"What! in the village?" cried Martigue. "Oh, I never got near you
there."

"No," I replied; "after that unfortunate _mêlée_, I made up my mind
that I would surrender to none but you if I could help it, and lay
still there, while twenty people passed, till I saw you come up."

"By the Lord, you might have done worse!" cried Martigue. "If Montluc
had got hold of you, he would have given you a pistol-shot for your
pains. By-the-way, it was shrewd of you, Monsieur de Montpensier, to
send Montluc away towards Cognac; for, by Heavens! if he had been at
the ear of monseigneur to-night, instead of quiet people like
ourselves, there is no knowing what would have come of it."

"The streets of Jarnac would have flowed with blood," replied the
duke; "however, Monsieur de Cerons, you are now safe, and I have to
inform you that Monsieur de Martigue consents to receive your ransom
from me, so that you are now my prisoner. I trust I may add, also,
that you are my son's friend, and therefore will beg you to remain
with us some few weeks, as I have every reason to believe that, ere
long, matters will assume a more pacific aspect, and the contentions
which now desolate France be brought to an end without your taking any
farther share therein."

I had no choice but to obey; for, of course, I could not compel them
to set me at liberty before they thought fit. I knew also that, for
the time, I was unable to do any effectual service in the field, and
therefore I regretted less to be thus detained a prisoner.

When all this was settled, the duke informed me that he intended to
send a flag the next morning to the admiral, and that, if I chose it,
I could communicate at the same time with any of my friends in the
camp, and give any orders concerning my baggage and attendants that I
might think fit. This information was gratifying to me in several
respects, but in none more than inasmuch as it showed me that the
admiral had been enabled to save a large portion of the Huguenot army
and all the baggage. I took advantage of the duke's offer, then, to
send word to Moric Endem to take the command of my troop till my
return, and to send me three horses and two horse-boys; to carry the
small chest, in which I had placed the ransom of Monsieur de Jersay,
with other money, to the admiral, and desire him to open it, with a
request that he would divide a thousand crowns among the men of my
troop, and, sending me a thousand crowns, would put the rest in safety
for me till the Catholics admitted me to ransom. I wrote these
directions down at once by the duke's desire, as the messenger was to
set off early on the following morning; and, ere I had done, for it
took me some time to write with my left hand, one of the servers
announced to the duke that supper was upon the table.

"You look pale and worn, Monsieur de Cerons," said the duke. "My
principal officers sup with me to-night; pray come and take some
refreshment, after which you shall retire to a chamber prepared for
you, and I will send my own surgeon to attend you, for I see you are
somewhat hurt."

Thus saying, he left me; and, finishing what I was writing, I directed
it to Moric Endem, with a note stating that, if he was not to be
found, it was to be given to the admiral. I then followed to the
supper-table, which I found surrounded by a number of distinguished
men, but with a seat reserved for me among them; and I must say that I
never in my life met with more kindness and courtesy than greeted me
there, while a prisoner, at the Duke of Montpensier's table.

The duke and the prince both pressed me to eat, but the wound in my
arm had given me excessive pain during the whole evening; my shoulder
was burning and inflamed; I felt bruised, feverish, sick, and weary;
and before my eyes, as I sat at the table, were floating continually
vague images of all the terrible scenes and events that I had been
witness of during that day. It may well be conceived, therefore, that
I loathed the very sight of food, and yet every moment I felt myself
becoming more and more faint. I saw the eyes of the Prince d'Auvergne
upon me from time to time, and at length he sent round one of the
attendants, who was pouring out for him some choice wine, to carry the
flagon to me. I held the cup for him, thinking that the wine might
revive me; but, as I did so, and turned my head somewhat suddenly, all
the objects in the room seemed to swim around me, and I fell back
senseless upon the floor of the hall.

When I recovered in some degree, I found myself in bed in a very
comfortable room, with a gentleman in the dress of a surgeon beside
me, and two or three attendants around. I have only a vague
recollection, however, of what passed on that occasion, for I was
during the whole night in a state approaching delirium, with wild
images of the battle and its consequences rising up before my mind the
moment I closed my eyes to sleep. Now I was in the midst of the enemy,
again fighting hand to hand with Martigue; then he suddenly changed to
the Prince de Condé, and by some strange process of the imagination I
became Montesquieu, and was about to shoot him under the bank, hating
myself all the time for what I was doing, yet hurried on irresistibly
to accomplish it. Then suddenly a strong hand seemed to seize me, and
I found myself a prisoner; and at other times I beheld the gallant
prince who had fallen, as he sat before the last fatal charge, raising
his hand towards the white banner above his head, and addressing those
last, terrible, memorable words to us who surrounded him.

In such wild visions passed the whole night; but an hour or two before
daybreak I fell into a somewhat sounder sleep, and when I woke, just
after dawn, I found the Prince d'Auvergne sitting beside me, and
speaking to one of the attendants.

"Oh, is that you, monseigneur," I said, turning partly towards him.

"Yes, Monsieur de Cerons," he replied, "I did not like to disturb you,
because the attendant tells me you have had a bad night; but, as you
are awake, I may as well ask you if there is anything that I can do
for you this morning, as I am going with the rest of the officers to
the field of battle, to see the loss on either side, and to make
arrangements in regard to the wounded and the dead. I fear that you
must, like most of us, have some friend there."

"Several, I doubt not, my lord," I replied; "but, of course, my
principal care must be for my own people. Should you find among the
prisoners or the wounded any men belonging to my band, I trust you
will have them kindly treated for my sake. There is one poor lad,
indeed, for whom I am anxious to make inquiries. He is named Andriot,
and followed me to the field, not as a man-at-arms, but merely as an
attendant; he fell upon the slope of the hill, about half a mile from
Triac, in face of Monsieur de Brissac's arquebusiers."

"I will not fail to make inquiries for him," replied the prince, "and
for the others also; and I will report to you, as soon as I return,
what has been done. It may be late, however, before I come back; and,
in the mean time, I understand the surgeon has left especial orders
that you should not quit your bed on any account whatever."

I would fain have risen, but the prince insisted so strongly upon my
obeying the surgeon's commands to the letter, that I promised him to
do so, and soon found the benefit of yielding to better knowledge than
my own.

After remaining for an hour, or somewhat more, in sorrowful but more
tranquil thoughts than during the preceding evening I had been able to
obtain, exhaustion and weakness again brought on sleep, but of a far
more calm and beneficial character; and, till nearly four o'clock in
the evening, I enjoyed a long lapse of peaceful slumber.

At length I awoke, and found a servant still with me, with whom I
talked for some time on the rumours of the day, and found, much to my
satisfaction, that a large force of Protestants occupied Cognac, and
that the rest of the army had effected its retreat in complete safety
to the town of Sainctes. Very few prisoners were said to have been
taken, and the whole baggage of the Protestant army had, it seems,
been saved. The attendant, however, spoke confidently of Cognac being
attacked the next day; talked of the Protestant cause as utterly
ruined and hopeless, and exalted the virtues, skill, and courage of
the Duke of Anjou to the very skies. Remembering the warning I had
received on the preceding night, I made no reply, but only asked
questions, to which he very willingly returned an answer.

In the midst of our conversation, however, I heard irregular footfalls
without, as if of some lame person approaching the chamber, and in a
moment or two after, not a little to my satisfaction, poor Andriot
hobbled in, supporting himself upon a stick. The same ball, it seems,
which had killed his horse, had wounded him also in the leg; and
though the man was by no means a coward, and, I believe, was perfectly
insensible of anything like nervous agitation, he avoided from that
moment every scene of strife, declaring deliberately that wounds in
the leg were not comfortable.

I was visited on the same night by the Prince d'Auvergne, and on the
following day was permitted to rise, and spent an hour in the morning
with the Duke of Montpensier. The duke and his son both showed me the
greatest kindness; but there was not the slightest word said about
admitting me to ransom, and I remarked that the subject was carefully
avoided. In the evening, my horses and the grooms I had sent for
arrived, together with the money and a letter from Moric Endem, which
was couched in the following terms:


"MONSEIGNEUR,

"I have never seen any one comport himself better in a hot _mêlée_
than you did yesterday, which must console you for being taken
prisoner and for having to pay a ransom, which is always, of course,
the most unpleasant thing that can happen to any gentleman adventurer.
I dare say, for a gentleman of your kidney, it would have been
pleasanter, take it upon the whole, to be killed outright by the side
of our brave prince. I have often heard gentlemen--that is to
say--young gentlemen, say such things; but I never could manage to
feel anything of the kind myself, always looking upon a live ass to be
a great deal better than a dead lion. I have not the slightest doubt,
therefore, that some time or another hereafter you will find it a very
comfortable thing indeed to be alive; and you will have the advantage,
too, of being able to get yourself killed another time in case you
like it.

"In the mean time, I will do my best to lead the troop as you have
done, and trust we shall have plenty of plunder to give an account of
when you come back again. The enemy are not so successful at that work
as we are, and you will be glad to hear that all the baggage is quite
safe. I have taken the chest to the admiral, as you commanded; and
have distributed the thousand crowns among the men, who are very
grateful; and I send you the thousand that you require for yourself,
together with the admiral's receipt for the remainder, amounting to
three thousand seven hundred and sixty crowns of the sun, with two
livres tournois, six sous, and two derniers. I am sorry to tell you
that we have lost no less than thirteen men, of whom nine were killed
or disabled before you quitted us on the hill. Poor Moriton we got
off, but he died last night, having been shot very funnily by two
arquebus balls at the same moment, which must have touched each other,
for they made a long wound just like a keyhole. I have kept his
cuirass, poor fellow, for one may live many a day without seeing such
a thing as that. I myself have lost the tip of my right ear, which is
no great loss after all, for it only makes that one match the left,
the end of which was shot off some years ago by a mad fellow called
Chicot. I send you below a list of our killed and wounded, and am,
Your devoted servant,

"MORIC ENDEM."


With this curious epistle was a brief note from the admiral,
acknowledging the receipt of the money, and telling me that though, of
course, it was necessary to arrange the liberation of the elder and
more experienced officers in the first instance, he would not forget
me when it came to my turn. The words were words of course, and I
certainly did not expect that the admiral would think of the matter
much more, as in fact he did not do.

Towards night the Duke of Montpensier himself came back to Jarnac, and
I saw that he was a good deal mortified, annoyed, and thoughtful.
After supper he somewhat recovered himself, and I then found, from
what he said, that the efforts of the Catholics upon Cognac had been
repelled successfully at every point, and the army obliged to
withdraw. Shortly after this, the duke entered my chamber one morning
early, saying, "Monsieur de Cerons, I come to take leave of you for a
time. The army is about to march, the surgeon thinks it not fit that
you should advance as rapidly as we do, and it is therefore my wish
that you should proceed by slow stages to my house at Champigny, where
a part of my attendants are about to go. You will there find every
convenience; I have written to prepare my people for your reception,
and I consider you still, you must remember, upon parole."

"It must be, my lord," I replied, "of course, as you think fit: but I
trust it will not be long before you kindly name my ransom, and set me
at liberty."

The duke turned to me with a kindly expression of countenance, and
replied, "Believe me, Monsieur de Cerons, I have your interests nearly
at heart. Neither I nor my son are persons whose affections are given
by halves. I have consulted with him and with one or two other
gentlemen, for whose opinion I have a respect, and they all think with
me, that I had better act as I have undoubtedly a right to do, and
detain you as a prisoner; though assuredly a prisoner in no very
strict sense of the word, than, by permitting you to go on in the
course with which you have begun--glorious in a military point of
view, as it may be--see you make yourself remarkable by determined
rebellion and opposition to the royal authority, and thus exclude
yourself for ever from the royal protection. There is my hand.
Monsieur de Cerons. Believe me, I wish you well."

I took his hand respectfully, I may say affectionately, and replied,
"Your good opinion is, indeed, most deeply valuable to me, my lord;
but yet, pardon me for detaining you to hear one word more. In your
calculations for my benefit, there are things that you do not know.
Are you aware, my lord, that the whole fortune I possess on earth is
my sword; that it is an absolute necessity for me to distinguish
myself, and make myself a high name by military exertion? It is, of
course, impossible for me to fight against those who maintain the same
religious opinions as myself, and, consequently, the only field that
is open to me is in arms in the Protestant cause."

"But the estate of Cerons?" said the duke, inquiringly. "I remember it
a very fair property in the hands of, I think, your father?"

"Alas! sir," I replied, "The estate of Cerons has never been mine. My
father, by the necessities of the times in which he lived, was obliged
to part with the whole estate, except one rood of land, to preserve
the name to his son. It was bought by his more fortunate cousin, the
Baron de Blancford, with whom it still remains. Thus, therefore, my
lord, if you keep me still a prisoner, though your motives may be most
kind ones, you cut me off from every opportunity of advancing my own
fortunes and renown; and, let me add in one word, that I have the
strongest of all possible motives for seeking to urge my way forward
as fast as possible."

"What, love?" said the Duke of Montpensier, laying his hand upon my
shoulder, and gazing in my face with a smile. "Nay, never conceal it.
I can feel for you well, Monsieur de Cerons. But let me consider for a
moment." And he fell into a fit of musing which lasted for several
minutes.

"I had thought your circumstances were different," he continued; "but,
however, it will only make this difference, that it will induce us to
do at once what we intended always to do ultimately."

"To set me at liberty, I trust, my lord?" I replied.

"No," he said, with a smile, "no; the very reason you give is a
stronger motive for keeping you. But Francis shall speak to you upon
it all. You will make your first day's march with him to-morrow, and
remember, I only exact one thing on my part. When you are at
Champigny, you are to make yourself as little known by name as
possible, and to keep yourself as much concealed as you can. However,
I will talk to D'Auvergne about it, and he shall tell you all. He sees
me ten miles upon my way to-day, and then returns. Trust to what he
tells you from me as if they were my own words." And, thus saying, he
left me, grateful indeed for having made such a friend, but still not
a little grieved and melancholy at the prospect of remaining a
prisoner, confined to the dull neighbourhood of Saumur.



CHAPTER IV.


From the windows of the house where the Duke of Montpensier had taken
up his quarters, I saw a large division of the army march out of
Jarnac, and certainly a very different scene, indeed, was the gay and
glittering procession of the royal host from the bands of the poor
Huguenots even in their freshest guise. Of the young Prince D'Auvergne
I saw nothing during that day till supper-time, when, surrounded by
his officers, he had only an opportunity of speaking to me a few words
to prepare me for taking my departure from Jarnac an hour after
sunrise on the following day. Though there were one or two persons of
higher rank sat nearer the prince at supper than I did, and many with
whom he was in old habits of intimacy, yet the little incident which
had occurred during the retreat from Loudun, my condition as a
prisoner, and the anxiety he had felt at different times on my account
when my life was in danger, seemed to have established a deeper kind
of interest between me and him than there existed between himself and
any of his own party; and he always spoke to me with that tone of
kindness, attention, and feeling which made any strangers who might
happen to be at the table turn their eyes to see who it was that the
prince addressed in such a manner.

Somewhat before the time appointed on the following morning I
descended from my chamber, prepared to set out. I found that the
prince[4] had gone to the quarters of the Duke of Anjou, and the
attendants, who were about to be sent from the army to Champigny, were
waiting round the door with their horses and mine, ready to take their
places as the troops passed along. Determined to follow their example,
I waited by the side of my horse, while the attendants of the Duke of
Montpensier and my own kept respectfully at a little distance, when I
felt some one suddenly pull my mantle, and, turning round, I saw one
of the most beautiful girls I had ever beheld, whose features were not
unfamiliar to me. The handwriting of the letter that she slipped into
my hand, however, was far better known, for it was that of Louise de
Blancford; and, with a hand all eagerness, I was tearing it open, when
the girl again plucked me by the cloak, and, gazing up in my face with
her large, dark eyes, cried, "Hist! seigneur, hist! Will you befriend
us!"

She seemed about thirteen or fourteen years of age, not more; and,
after gazing upon her for a moment, endeavouring to recollect where I
had seen her, I said, "How can I befriend you, my good girl? What is
your name?"

"You recollect me not," replied the girl; "but my name is Miriam
Ahar."

"Oh, I recollect thee well," I replied, "now. Tell me what I can do
for thee, pretty one, and I will do it with pleasure." And, as I
spoke, there was a look of real pleasure, I believe, came over my
countenance, which brought a smile upon the girl's beautiful lips.

"I was sure you would be kind," she said, "and you can help us thus.
My father is here in yonder house with some rich merchandise. He is
appointed to come after the army with the rear guard, which sets out
at four this evening; but he has learned, from a good friend in this
place, that six of the many men who do evil deeds in such armies as
these have their eyes upon him. Now you know what often happens to a
Jew when he travels with the rear guard of an army."

"No, I do not," I replied: "I never heard of any injury befalling
them."

"Ay, who hears of such things befalling them but their own nation?"
she replied, sadly. "Who hears that the dead body of a Jew, murdered
and stripped, is found by the roadside? and all that are with him,
what becomes of them? They fly if they are permitted, and some are
killed to prevent them bearing witness, and the rest are silent
through fear, and the murderers go away enriched."

There was reason to believe that the girl's tale was too true, but it
was difficult to know how to serve her.

"My poor child," I said, "What can be done for you? I am a prisoner,
and wounded myself; but if you would point out what could be done, I
would gladly do it, for I remember you were kind to me long ago."

"You can do much for us," she said; "we knew you were a prisoner, for
we have been in the Protestant camp, and inquired for you. But still
you can do much for us; for they say you are loved by some of the
great among these people, and we have only the protection of those who
would devour us. Get us permission to go this very hour in the train
of the main battle with which you go, and let one of your people
accompany us; if so, we are safe; if not, we are altogether lost."

"I will do my best for you, Miriam," I replied; "here comes the Prince
d'Auvergne; I will apply to him. Stand by me; do not go back. My
lord," I said, "here is a petitioner to me. She and her father were
kind to me long ago. They are Jews, but without their help I could
never have appeared in the field at all. They are now appointed to go
with the rear guard; but you know what is likely to happen to a Jew,
in a march partly in the night, among the stragglers of the army."

"Let them follow us if they can get ready," replied the prince, in
evident haste; "one of your people can go with them, De Cerons."

"But give them some sort of safeguard, my lord," I said; "one word
under your hand."

"Here, a pen and ink, Arnon!" said the prince, in the same hasty
tone; and, tearing a leaf out of his tablets, he wrote, "Suffer to
pass--What is the name?"

"Solomon Ahar," I replied.

"Oh, Solomon Ahar, the usurious villain!" he said; "I have heard of
him. Well, nevertheless--" and he went on writing--"Suffer to pass
Solomon Ahar, his people and horses, with the baggage of Francis
d'Auvergne." "There," he said, "these vermin will do no great credit
to my baggage, De Cerons; but, if you wish it, so let it be;" and, as
he spoke, he looked upon the exquisitely beautiful form and features
of poor Miriam Ahar as if she had been a speckled toad. Such is
prejudice!

"I will be back instantly, De Cerons," he continued, "and then we will
join the regiment."

Thus saying, he turned into the court of the hotel, and I gave the
paper to the girl, saying, "There, Miriam, that is all I can do for
you. Andriot, you go with her, and take one of the grooms: I want only
one with me. See them safe, and join me after the march." Miriam took
the paper, and for her only reply kissed the hand that held it to her;
and, running away so fast that Andriot, though very willing to
accompany the pretty Jewess, it seemed, could scarcely mount his horse
and follow her, she disappeared under the doorway of a house higher up
the street.

In a moment or two after the Prince d'Auvergne made his appearance
again, and, following him to the park of the chateau, where his
regiment and several others were drawn up, I was soon plunged into all
the bustle of a march with a large army. For some time orders and
counter-orders, and arrangements of various kinds, came so thick, that
he had no time for conversation with me; but, after the lapse of about
an hour, everything fell into regular order again; and, as there was
no chance of any attack, he left the conduct of his regiment to the
inferior officers, and civilly getting rid of several noblemen and
gentlemen who seemed inclined to attach themselves to his person, he
rode on with me, at once opening the conversation with the subject on
which his father had spoken to me on the preceding night.

"My father," he said, "was so hurried yesterday that I did not clearly
understand whether he had told you, De Cerons, what he intended to do
or not."

I replied that the duke had not done so, but referred me to him: and I
went on to say, "You know well, Monsieur d'Auvergne, that protracted
imprisonment must be very painful to me, and I trust it is your
father's intention to admit me to ransom."

I was proceeding to repeat what I had said to his father the day
before, when he interrupted me with a smile, saying, "You need not
give me reasons why, De Cerons; though I look so young, I am old
enough to have felt; and though I am older than you think me, I am not
too old to have forgotten such feelings as I saw upon a certain
parting between a lady and her lover. Your secret was well kept both
by my father and myself, and your sour cousin of Blancford heard
nothing of it from us. But with regard to setting you free I have
nothing to do; and I feel very sure that one of my father's reasons
for sending you to Champigny is that you may be near your fair lady,
and not, by a lengthened imprisonment, lose the opportunity of
advancing yourself in the favour either of herself or her father."

"Good God!" I exclaimed, "I had not the slightest idea that the baron
had gone to Saumur."

"Oh! you mistake, you mistake," said the prince. "My father did not
speak of sending you to Champigné-le-sec, which, as its name implies,
would be a dry residence for you enough, but to Champigny near Paris,
where we have estates, and an old chateau of which we are all fond.
But still I must say it is not in my power to affect at all my
father's determination about your imprisonment. Indeed, I must
confess, I think it best for you that it should be as it is; and, at
all events, I have no authority in the matter. What I alluded to was
something quite different. The day before yesterday, as we were riding
down towards Cognac, my father and I were talking of you, and we
determined, in memory of the day when you and I first met, to make you
a present of a little farm that we lately bought, for the purpose of
giving it to an old friend of ours, but who was unfortunately killed
in the first skirmish of this campaign. It lies close to our own place
at Champigny, and is called by his own name, which was the cause of
our buying it for him. That name is Les Bois. It remains just as we
had it all arranged to give him. The old chateau, though but small,
is, I think you will admit, as sweet a spot as well could be chosen to
repose in after the toils of war. We have had it tapestried and
furnished afresh throughout in the very last mode; and the annual rent
amounts to about five thousand livres per annum.

"Oh, my lord, my lord, mention not such a thing to me," I cried.
"Although your rank and mine might well permit me to accept your
bounty, yet such a gift as that I am utterly undeserving of."

"Not at all, De Cerons, not at all," replied the prince. "You must
recollect the circumstances under which it is offered. If, on the
occasion you speak of, you had chosen to have killed me, you might
have done so; but you were too generous for that. You might equally
have made me your prisoner; but the truth was, you thought me a mere
boy, and let me escape. I have no objection, De Cerons, to remain
under obligations to you; and, even in offering you this little gift,
both my father and myself are still your debtors. You forget what
would have been the ransom of the Prince d'Auvergne. I know well what
it would be if Montluc had to fix it. Certainly not less than fifty
thousand gold Henris, or a hundred thousand crowns of the sun. The
estate we give, in all cost but a third of that sum; and therefore, my
good friend, I still bear a great portion of my ransom to the credit
of gratitude. The deeds of the estate my father has left with me to
make over to you, and, if we can find a notary within ten miles of our
halting-place, they shall be made your own this very night."

It may be easily conceived what were my feelings upon the present
occasion. The tone in which he spoke, his whole manner and look, left
no opportunity of refusing even with courtesy, had I been so inclined.
But when I looked upon his offer, and thought that that which was
given so generously might be but the foundation of my future fortunes,
I felt no such inclination to refuse. I thought of Louise, too, my own
bright Louise, and I felt the letter which she had sent me, and which
I had placed in my bosom to read when alone, glow warm upon my heart
when new hopes and expectations entered into it.

The eye of the prince was upon me as I thus thought, and he seemed to
read all the feelings that were passing in my bosom, for a smile came
up upon his countenance, and he said, "Come, De Cerons, you accept it.
Prithee, not a word more. At Champigny you will have the opportunity
of visiting your new estate, or even of dwelling there if you so will,
for the limits of the two properties touch, and, of course, you may
reside at which you will. It is better, perhaps, that you should go to
Champigny at first, where everything is prepared and ready for you;
and, in the mean time, as it is somewhat dangerous just now for a
Protestant to appear in the neighbourhood of Paris, you may take with
all safety the name of Des Bois, as you have made that of De Cerons
somewhat too well known."

Thus conversing, we went on our way, and in the evening arrived at the
camp under the walls of Angoulême. Persons were waiting for us at the
quarters marked out for the Prince d'Auvergne, inviting us to sup with
the Duke of Montpensier, and not a moment was allowed me to read the
letter of Louise till I retired to rest for the night.

In the mean time, however, two circumstances happened which I must
notice briefly. The first was the actual transfer of the chateau and
property of Les Bois to myself, which was executed that night in the
presence of a notary, both the Duke of Montpensier and the prince
signing the act. The next occurred as we were pausing round the table
for a moment after supper. There was no one in the chamber but the
duke, his son, and myself, and we were about to separate, when an
attendant announced that the Jew, Solomon Ahar, waited without.
Probably each of the three thought that the business of the Jew was
with himself; but the duke said, "It is only that usurious Jew, who
comes to tell me, I suppose, that the Duke of Anjou cannot have the
money that he wants. In fact, I saw it would be so last night; and I
suppose that the man is afraid of telling the duke himself, lest he
should lose his ears, so comes to put the unpleasant task on me. Send
him in, however."

In a moment after poor Solomon Ahar entered, cringing and bending down
to the ground.

"Well, Solomon," said the duke, "you have come sooner than I expected
to see you; and I suppose this promptitude shows that you have no very
good news to bring me."

"Not so, my most gracious lord," replied the Jew, bending again to the
very ground. "On the contrary, I come to say I think it can be done. I
trust it can be managed. I have good hope that we can accept the terms
of the noble prince; for, as I came along but now, I have had much
talk and conversation with some of the gentle leaders about arms, and
spoils, and ransoms, and what not, and I have done a little commerce
by the way, so that I think the matter can be done to the prince's
contentment; and I came to tell you first, monseigneur, because I
thought it would do you a pleasure to tell his highness yourself."

"On my life it does!" cried the duke; "for there is many a thing I
want the prince to do, which I dare not even ask when he is in such a
humour as at present."

"It is all owing, my very good and excellent lord," said the Jew, "it
is all owing to these two noble gentlemen, my excellent good lord your
son, and that very respectable knight who sits by him; for, had it not
been for their protection, and my lord the prince's permission to come
with the main battle, I should never have seen these worthy traders,
and done the little commerce that enables me to pleasure the prince."

"It cannot be a little commerce, good Solomon," said the duke, "Which
enables you to furnish a sum of two hundred thousand crowns, when you
declared you could not find it in all Paris."

"On my life and soul!" cried the Israelite, "it will but pay the
interest of the money in case I be a loser."

But both the duke and his son laughed, and Solomon himself grinned
silently, as if he did not in the least degree expect to be believed.
He produced from under his robe, however, two small packets, one
containing the most exquisitely beautiful pair of gloves for a lady
that I ever beheld, being formed of peach-coloured velvet, embroidered
on the back with gold and pearls, which he laid before the Prince
d'Auvergne, begging his acceptance of them as a present for any lady
that he loved. The other was a small plain dagger, about two hands'
breadths in length, the haft of which was as plain as it well could
be, being distinguished by nothing but a few lines of gold inlaid in
the steel. The blade, which he drew from the plain steel sheath, was
thick and dull in colour, as if it had been rusty and ill cleaned.
Nevertheless, this somewhat coarse-looking implement he laid upon the
table before the duke with great reverence, saying, "Let me beg your
noble acceptance of that which, though it looks but a poor gift, may
be considered as invaluable. That dagger is made of one cake of pure
Damascus steel. It will pass through the finest-tempered corslet that
can be produced in the camp, even when struck by a weak arm; and with
that dagger the Emperor Hassan, caliph of the Moors, killed no less
than ten Spanish cavaliers at the great battle of the Salado."

The Duke of Montpensier seemed to value the gift highly, and the Jew
then turned towards me, bowing lowly, and saying, "I have not
forgotten to be grateful to Monsieur de Cerons."

"The only gratitude I wish, good Solomon," I replied, "is, that you
would find for me a certain dagger that you know of, and which I fear
may be lost to me for ever by the death of the person to whom you
delivered it."

"I feared so, I feared so," said the Jew; "but it shall be found if it
be on this side of Constantinople. I have heard, good sir, that you
are going towards Paris; so Monsieur Arnon, the intendant of good
Monsieur d'Auvergne, told me; and I would fain travel in such safe
company, especially as I go on the business of his Highness of Anjou,"
he added, looking at the duke.

"Be it so, be it so," said the Duke of Montpensier; "and the sooner
you arrive in the capital the better."

"On the twenty-fifth day of the present month," said the Jew, "his
highness may draw on me bills of exchange through any of the merchants
of Poitiers. They will not refuse him the money when they see the name
of Solomon Ahar."

The duke seemed not a little pleased with this intelligence, and, a
few words more having passed, Solomon retired from the room, and the
duke hastened to communicate the news he had received as fast as
possible to the Duke of Anjou.

In the mean time, the Prince d'Auvergne and I returned to our
quarters, and bidding me kindly adieu, as I was to depart early on the
following morning, he left me, as he thought, to repose. Sleep,
however, was not destined to visit my eyes that night. It was with
difficulty, my right hand and arm being still bound up in its wooden
case, that I was able to open the letter of Louise; and oh! when I did
open it, what pain did it inflict! The letter has been since
destroyed, so that I cannot give it accurately; but it informed me
that the baroness had notified to her that her father had concluded
upon a marriage between her and the Lord of Blaye. Her consent, she
said, had never been asked and the marchioness had immediately left
her stupified and thunderstruck. The only consolations she had, the
poor girl said, were, in the first place, that the man himself was
absent with the army, and likely to be absent for long; and, in the
second, that La Tour assured her that the baron himself had fixed that
the marriage should not take place for some time. To give me some
comfort under such circumstances, she said, "You know me, Henry, and
know that I would rather die. But, oh! that I could see you, and speak
with you now, if it were but for a few hours!"

It may well be conceived that the time now seemed to lag; and, when I
at length set off upon my journey towards Champigny, every league
seemed extended to two or three, every minute was protracted into
days. I was the first in the saddle in the morning, the last to feel
fatigue at night. But still, as all the various military movements had
disturbed the posts, and we rode our own horses, our journey was in
reality slow, and seemed to me still slower.

There were but few events in that journey which I need dwell upon. The
party which went through it was divided by their particular
circumstances, by their religion and habits, and each kept much apart
from the other. I, belonging to the higher class of the land, was
separated from the rest both by my rank and by my faith; and my
servants, being Protestants, were, of course, not sought by the
attendants of the Duke of Montpensier. The intendant, indeed, of the
Prince d'Auvergne generally rode by my side, a step farther back,
endeavouring to beguile the way with different stories of the scenes
which he had seen in a long life, and the descriptions of objects
which I had never beheld. He told a tale pleasantly enough, and his
descriptions were vivid and accurate. I showed a sufficient degree of
interest in what he said to flatter his vanity a little, and induce
him to go on.

But he saw that I was deeply melancholy, and sometimes appeared to
suppose that his conversation wearied me, and ceased it for an hour or
two. Thus, however, some little conversation took place between the
Catholics and Protestants; but it was very different with the Jews,
who formed the third division of our party. They were spoken to,
indeed, by both the Catholics and Protestants from time to time, and
were treated with great kindness and with substantial courtesy, having
every protection and assistance given to them whenever they needed it;
but the servants, like their masters, looked upon them evidently as an
inferior race, and kept up as little communication with them as
possible. To ensure that they were well treated and had nothing to
complain of--for the Prince d'Auvergne had given me authority to
regulate such matters on the march--I generally made Solomon and
Miriam come and sit with me for an hour after our day's journey was
over, somewhat to the scandal, I believe, of good Master Arnon the
intendant, who thought it strange that a French nobleman should permit
a Jew to sit in his presence.

By this means an intimacy--if that can be so called which consisted
almost altogether in tokens of respect and reverence on the one side,
and protection on the other--took place between me and the Jew and his
daughter; they clung to me as the only being that treated them with
real kindness, and Miriam used to strive to amuse me with a thousand
little engaging youthful ways: she would dance to me to the sound of
her own singing, which was very sweet, though in a tongue that I did
not understand; and she would play to me at other times, either upon a
small instrument which she called a cithern, or upon a lute, with a
skill and perfection that I had never heard before. She used to watch
my looks, too, as if to see whether she amused me; but she was too
young for idle thoughts to enter into the head of any one with regard
to her; and I do not think I was of a character, even if she had been
two or three years older, to fancy that she was in love with me,
because she had a grateful regard for me.

The Jew himself, I believe, would have trusted her anywhere with me,
as by this time he would have trusted me with any jewel of his store;
and one evening, when he himself had arrived at the inn, weary and
somewhat unwell, he sent his daughter to amuse me, and to tell me that
he himself had retired to rest. Well might he do so; and yet the
conversation that we had together was as tender and as full of
thrilling interest as it is possible to conceive. I had been musing
sadly over my fate and that of Louise, and my eyes were buried in my
hands when her entrance roused me, so that it was evident enough to
her that she had just recalled me from a painful dream.

"You are sad, seigneur," she said, drawing a seat close up beside me,
and laying her small, clear, olive hand upon mine. "You are sad, and
you do not tell Miriam what you are sad about."

"Oh, you would not care to hear, Miriam," I replied, "and could do me
no good if you did hear."

"Oh, but I should care to hear," she said, "for I love you very much,
seigneur. I loved you, from the first moment I saw you, almost as
much--no, not so much as I love him."

"Were you going to say your father, Miriam?" I said.

"No," she said, "Not him. I was going to say as Martin Vern." And the
girl coloured a little as she spoke, but added immediately, "But he
loves you too, and told me how kind you had been to him when he was at
the siege of Angoulême, and how you had given him your hand to help
him up into the breach, and how you had carried him down in your arms
when he was wounded, and saved his life, and been to him like a
brother; which, for a lord and a soldier like you, he thought very
kind indeed."

"You seem to have talked very much about me, Miriam," I said. "When
was all this?"

"Oh, it was when we were last in Paris," replied the girl; "when we
were staying at the house of Levi, my father's cousin, who has become
a Christian, you know; and then I would go and see the lady that you
had written to, which he told me about, and who had written to you
again, and sent it to my fathers house at Bordeaux for the old
merchant. And when the Baron de Blancford wanted the Persian silver
brocade for his wife, I went with Martin Vern, that is, with the old
merchant, and saw the young lady too, and spoke with her in the
cabinet behind the great saloon. I told her then that if she would
write you a letter, and send it to Levi's house, it should be conveyed
to you; but I did not think then that I should carry it myself."

"And was it so the letter came to me?" I said. "I had fancied, Miriam,
that your father had got it when he was in the Protestant camp."

"Oh, no," she replied; "I carried it all the way in my bosom. And now
I wish you would tell me why you are so sad, and why she looked so sad
too. Perhaps I could do more than you know."

"Oh, no, Miriam," I answered, "You could do no thing, my good girl.
That which makes me sad would need a more skilful surgeon than you are
to cure."

She looked in my face for a moment, as if to see whether I was
speaking plainly or metaphorically, and she then cried, "Ay, now I
understand you. You love her, and she loves you, and they will not
give her to you in marriage."

"Ay, Miriam," I answered, with a sigh, as she came so near the truth;
"and they talk of giving her to another."

"Who to? who to?" cried the girl, eagerly. "I heard something once
which makes me suspect."

"Oh, no," I replied, "You know him not, Miriam. His name is the
Seigneur de Blaye."

"I hate him!" cried the girl, bounding up from her seat as if I had
pronounced some talismanic word; "I hate him! He dared to take hold of
me when my father was gone to get him the money he wanted from the
other room, and asked me if I would go and live with him; and when I
told him no, I would rather be catching-wench to a butcher's wife, he
struck me on the face with his fingers, and called me a name that I
must not speak. I never told my father, or I believe he would have
stabbed him; but I hate him, and I shall ever hate him. Oh, seigneur!"
she continued, turning towards me and clasping her hands together,
"You have been very good and kind indeed to me and mine, and to all
that I ever heard mention your name. It is such people as you that
make us know what good people there can be; and I will try to show you
that there can be gratitude in a poor little Jewish girl. I told my
father, when he knew the people intended to murder him on the march
from Jarnac, that if he would let me go and speak to you, you would be
kind to him. He would not believe me for a long while; but he said
that, if you were, you would be the first Christian that ever looked
upon a Jew as anything but a dog. My father, however, can be grateful
too, seigneur; and, though you may think that poor little Miriam has
no power, yet in this business she may have more power than you know
of."

Our conversation went on for some time; and the girl, young as she
was, spoke with a depth of feeling, a tenderness, an experience of the
world and the world's ways, which was very extraordinary, mingled as
it was with a sort of eager and imaginative wildness of manner and
language, which probably she had acquired in the somewhat wandering
and irregular life to which her father's pursuits subjected her. I
looked upon the hopes and expectations that she tried to fill me with,
of being able to do something in my behalf, as quite idle and vain;
but still the gratitude that she showed was something pleasant to meet
with, and I sent her away with thanks, and many a kindly speech in
return.

At the village of Berny, a short distance from Paris, the Jew, his
daughter, and the innumerable packhorses which followed him, were to
part with their companions of the way, he proceeding to the capital,
and we by a side road to Champigny. He now, however, considered
himself quite safe; and, when I had mounted to depart, he came up to
the side of my horse, followed by Miriam, and prayed a blessing from
God upon my onward journey.

"I have heard from Monsieur Arnon," he said, in a low voice, "that the
estate of Les Bois is yours, and that, for the time, I am only to call
you Monsieur des Bois; but, whether you be at Champigny or at Les
Bois, I hope you will not refuse to let me within your gates; for you
have shown me kindness such as I have seldom found, and such as I
shall never forget."

Thus saying, he kissed my hand after his fashion, and Miriam, coming
up, did the same. There was something in the poor people's gratitude
that made my eyes glisten though they were Jews, and, bidding them
adieu, I rode on. As I turned my horse into the road at the right, I
looked back, and saw that they were standing before the inn door,
gazing after me still.



CHAPTER V.


I was well pleased to arrive at Champigny, and certainly a very
beautiful and charming spot it was; but, of course, the sight of Les
Bois was still more agreeable to me as its proprietor. The chateau was
a small house, built in the antique fashion, but still in the most
perfect repair; certainly not so large as the duke's own mansion at
Champigny, yet large enough for my ambition. It was seated on a hill,
in the midst of fine old woods, from which it derived its name; and
there was an aspect of peace, and calm, and tranquillity, which was
pleasant to the eye and to the heart after the scenes of anguish,
care, and excitement which war had lately presented to my sight. The
interior of the chateau was, as the Prince d'Auvergne had told me,
well furnished, and newly furnished throughout. To my eyes, indeed, it
was splendid; for in those day there was perhaps, even more than now,
a marked difference in the grace, taste, and execution of everything
in the neighbourhood of the capital and in the remote provinces.

The good intendant of the Prince d'Auvergne insisted upon taking me
all over the chateau, and showing me every hole and corner, though I
was most anxious, I confess, to go into Paris itself, and take some
means for obtaining an interview with Louise. I did not know well how
to explain my inclinations to my worthy companion, and, to break the
subject to him, I made some inquiries regarding the capital; but, the
moment he heard that I had never seen Paris, nothing would serve him
but that I must go there immediately. To his imagination it was the
chief wonder of the world; and, after descanting upon its merits,
beauties, and excellences for half an hour, he said, "If it were not
presuming too far, my lord, I would propose to accompany you thither
immediately, and show you some of the beauties of the place, though
even to notice them all would require many weeks, I might say months."

I instantly caught at this proposal; and, mounting fresh horses at
Champigny, we rode on into the city, where, giving our horses to the
boys, we proceeded to walk through the streets of the capital. At any
other moment, when my mind was not so occupied by one predominant
subject, everything that I saw would have been a matter of interest to
me. The long ranges of shops, covered over with awnings to keep the
merchandises there exposed from the sun and the air; the people
reading aloud pieces of poetry and satire at the corners of the
streets; the different shows and exhibitions that attracted the sight
at every step, all would have amused, detained, and interested me; but
now my great desire and object was to discover the abode of the Baron
de Blancford, and obtain some means of communicating with her I loved.
The multitude of houses, and streets, and people that increased upon
me at every minute, confused and puzzled me, and made me fancy the
attempt almost impracticable, not knowing the address, and having no
clew in such a labyrinth as that.

Suddenly, however, I called to mind that, from Miriam's account,
Martin Vern was still in the custom of visiting the house of the Baron
de Blancford, and judging that he, as a great merchant, must be known
to everybody, I asked Arnon the intendant if he could lead me to his
dwelling.

"I do not know him," said the intendant. "Is he a Huguenot?"

"No," I replied, with a smile at the sort of horror that came over the
man's countenance at the very idea of visiting a Huguenot in Paris.
"No, Monsieur Arnon, he is a Catholic, and a great merchant who has
money of mine in his hands."

"Oh, then the case is very different," replied Arnon. "We will inquire
after him immediately." And, entering a large goldsmith's house by the
door close to the shop, he asked for Martin Vern the merchant.

We had now no difficulty in finding the dwelling, which was up a
flight of steps, and the goods were not exposed in the streets, as
among the ordinary shopkeepers, but spread out in rooms within doors.
Neither good Martin Vern, however, nor his son was to be found at
home; and I left a message, under the name of Des Bois, asking to see
one or both of them at the chateau at Champigny.

Although by this time the days had lengthened, and we were in the
height of summer, it was now time that we should turn our steps
homeward, as the distance we had to go was nearly four leagues; and
during the whole of the following day I waited in anxious expectation
for the appearance of one of the two merchants. No one came, however,
and another and another day succeeded, during which I scarcely stirred
out, and left directions for finding me whenever I did so. At the end
of the third day my patience became quite exhausted, and on the
following morning I begged Arnon to send off one of the prince's
servants, who knew the capital well, to ask why Master Martin Vern had
not been to Champigny. Arnon did as I directed immediately; and, on
bearing me the answer, which was, that neither Martin Vern nor his
nephew had yet returned from Blois, where they had gone to attend upon
the king, added, in order to put my mind at rest upon the subject
which he thought troubled me, that I might make myself quite easy
about the money; for that, having made inquiries, he found that the
house of Martin Vern was one of the most wealthy and respectable in
Paris.

I could not help exclaiming, "Pshaw! it is not the money, my good
friend." And it was evident, from that moment, that Arnon's curiosity
was not a little excited to find out what it could be that I sought
with the merchants, if it was not the money that they owed me. My
determination, however, was now taken to seek the house of the Baron
de Blancford myself; but not all my efforts could discover it, and it
was equally in vain that I attempted to discover the abode of Solomon
Ahar: that he was going to lodge at the house of his cousin Levi I
knew; but his cousin Levi was not to be discovered; and, on making
inquiries concerning him, I was always met by a demand of "Levi who?"
there being a thousand in Paris of the name of Levi, but all with some
surname attached.

In the mean time, the news that daily came in from the scene of the
war was anything but such as to give me gratification. The feeble
attack on Poitiers by the Protestants; the gallant defence of the
young Duke of Guise; the siege of St. Jean d'Angely; the death of poor
Martigue, whom I could not help regretting; the fatal battle of
Moncontour, which, although the defeat of the Protestants was as
complete, and the success of the Catholics as surprising as well need
be, was magnified in Paris in a very great degree; all these things
grieved and pained me, while week after week went by in fruitless
inquiries; and at length, with that sort of scorn of one's self, which
is a true part of misanthropy, for giving a moment's credit to the
Jew's professions of gratitude, I sat me down in bitterness of spirit,
and tried to fancy that I hated the whole human race.

The autumn of the year was now approaching; there could be little or
no doubt that, during the ensuing winter, the young Lord of Blaye
would be free to return to Paris, and pursue the project of marriage
which was held out to him; and the thoughts of poor Louise, and the
privations to which she would be subjected, tormented me like an army
of fiends, and re-enforced themselves by every power of imagination.

The news that St. Jean d'Angely had been recaptured by the
Protestants, and that the Prince d'Auvergne, who had held it out for
some time against them, had been forced to capitulate for want of
supplies, had reached us some days, when, as I was sitting one night
in the cabinet at Champigny, I heard the clattering of horses' feet in
the courtyard below; and in a moment after, to my great astonishment,
the prince himself entered the room. He embraced me kindly; and, after
a few minutes' conversation upon general things, remarked that I
neither looked well nor happy.

"Come," he said, "De Cerons, tell me what is the cause of this. I
think by this time you might fully confide in your friend."

Before I could answer, one of his officers had entered for some
directions; and, while he gave them, I made up my mind to unbosom my
whole thoughts to him. In the course of the evening I accordingly did
so; and, as was much the character, both of his father and himself, he
heard me fully out with scarcely any observation or reply.

When I had done completely, however, and he had a complete view of my
past Life and present situation, he said, "There are a good many
strange parts in your tale, De Cerons; but neither you nor I, I fancy,
know so much of the laws as to know whether these acts of your father
and your cousin were legal. However, I see it is not that which pains
you now. It is the matter of your fair cousin; and I grieve to say,
that any news I may have for you is not calculated to sooth you. No
wonder that you have not found them in Paris, for they are all still
at Blois with the court, which gladly keeps your cousin from joining
the admiral and the Prince de Bearn. I saw them all there at a grand
fête given by the king, and talked for some time with Mademoiselle de
Blancford. I talked of you, De Cerons, so you may suppose that she
heard me willingly; and, indeed, it was impossible to mistake her
looks, ay, or even her words when you were mentioned. If Monsieur de
Blaye were to marry her, he would certainly wed a woman knowing that
she loved another man. However, when the baron came up too, I
mentioned you to him also, and somewhat startled him, I believe, by
calling you my dear and most intimate friend. But he did not look
displeased, De Cerons, nor do I think that he bears any ill-will
towards you in his heart, though he be wayward and moody, and entirely
ruled by that worst of all women, his present wife."

"Was Monsieur de Blaye there?" I demanded, somewhat sharply.

"He was," replied the prince; "and giving himself out rather more
decidedly than Monsieur de Blancford seemed to like, I thought, as the
promised husband of your Louise."

I started up with an exclamation and a threat that I am now ashamed
of.

"Hush, hush," cried the prince, with a reproving smile "do not give
way so, my good friend. By this conduct he is doing more harm than
good with the baron, at least, for I heard him questioned upon the
subject; and, turning upon his heel with a sort of sneer, he replied,
'Monsieur de Blaye is somewhat sanguine in his nature.' However, I did
not forget you, De Cerons, and I told the whole story to my father,
who, of course, is more competent to act than I am. I do not very well
know what my father did; but I see the result, which is, that Monsieur
de Blaye has received a high appointment, which he solicited more than
a year ago, namely; to go with our military embassy to the court of
the sultan. This was done, I am sure, for the purpose of removing him
for a time from the scene, and of allowing you to have a fair
opportunity--"

"But how, my dear prince," I said, "can I have a fair opportunity,
when I am held a prisoner here, unable to advance myself or signalize
my name?"

"You shall hear, De Cerons, you shall hear," replied the prince. "My
father was not a man to forget any point under such circumstances. He
empowered me to offer you your liberty, freely and without ransom,
upon one condition, that you should go join the Prince of Orange or
Prince Ludovic, who are now waging war in the Low Countries, my father
undertaking to obtain for you a high command in their army. You would
thus be enabled to distinguish yourself in a Protestant cause without
bearing arms against your native country. You would not be farther
from Mademoiselle de Blancford nor even so far, as carrying on this
fatal contest in Guyenne or Poitu: you would be serving the king
rather than opposing him, for it is his wish to give some support to
the Prince of Orange; and my father only requires you to remain in the
Low Countries till a peace is established in the internal affairs of
France, which, we trust, will soon be the case; he, at the same time,
promising to you that you shall have permission to return to France,
freed from all restriction, the moment that it is ascertained that
Monsieur de Blaye is about to return from the East."

"Your father, my lord," I said, "is most noble, generous, and
considerate; and, foreseeing everything that I could desire or wish,
of course, not only prevents the possibility of my refusing such an
offer, but binds me to him by gratitude for ever."

"I told him that such would be the case," replied the prince; "but,
alas! De Cerons, an unexpected event is likely to obstruct all our
proceedings. The embassy was to set off in ten days, and everything
was arranged. Monsieur de Blaye, though looking very much mortified
when he heard his appointment, of course could not refuse it; and I
proposed to stay another week at Blois, and then come and confer with
you regarding the whole affair, when suddenly, one evening, as I was
returning home, I met with three women in the street, the principal of
whom, for the other two were evidently servants, asked to speak with
me without taking off her mask. I had a number of people about me, but
it was close to the door of the hotel; and, taking her into the
porter's chamber, I asked her to explain what it was she wanted. As
soon as we were alone, she took off the mask and showed me the face of
the Jewish girl, Solomon Ahar's daughter, whom I found talking with
you one day at Jarnac. She told me, at the same time, that she came to
speak to me about you, and seemed to know your whole history, and
every secret of your heart. But to the facts that she told me: they
were these: that Monsieur de Blaye had gone straight to the king, and
had asked and obtained leave to remain six weeks in Paris before he
set out, for the express purpose of concluding his marriage before he
went. The baron, the girl said, had not given his absolute consent,
but made it dependant upon his daughter's inclination; but the
baroness had positively promised that the baron and herself should at
least sign the contract of marriage, even if their daughter, as she
said, preferred waiting till the return of Monsieur de Blaye. Should
this event take place, however, you may consider your Louise as lost
to you for ever; for her father puts it out of his own power to
dispose of her hand or withdraw his consent. The girl was really
agitated about the whole business; and she made some wild
exclamations, declaring that she would stop it if I would get
permission for her father, and some persons who have been trading in
partnership with him, to quit the court, where they have been detained
for several weeks in regard to some negotiations now going on for
loans of money. This was easily done, as the thing was nearly
concluded; and, as soon as I had seen this arranged, I came away
hither, with my father's consent, to consult with you in regard to
what can be done."

"You are most kind, most kind," I said. "How can I ever thank you,
D'Auvergne? but, alas! I fear that I am doomed to misery and to
despair."

"Not so, not quite so," replied the prince. "As I came hither from
Blois I considered the matter maturely; and we have to recollect that
you, as a near relation of the lady, have every right to oppose the
signature of the contract, if you think fit so to do. In the first
place, you must make perfectly sure that she herself is brought to
yield by no means of persuasion or intimidation that can be used
towards her; and, at the same time, things must be suffered to take
their course till the contract is on the very eve of being signed by
the baron. You must then, by some form of law which I can inquire
into, give him formal intimation of your opposition, which will
consequently be brought before the courts. The fact is, you are
fighting for delay; for your opposition against her own father cannot,
of course, be successful, and you may perhaps be fined in some small
sum for having made it; but, long before that time, this young
libertine, for such he is, must be in Constantinople, and the matter
secure."

I mused for a moment in thought, the intensity of which approached to
agony: I saw before me the blasting of all my best hopes, and I felt
at that moment, more than I had ever yet done, not only how deeply,
how truly, how ardently I loved poor Louise, but how completely and
thoroughly, without my knowing it, her image had been mingled with all
my dreams and aspirations; how intimately the thought of winning her
had mingled with all my motives for energy, exertion, and endeavour. I
felt at that moment that to lose her was to lose my whole hold on
life--my whole inducement to struggle onward in the course I was
pursuing. There was no scheme so wild, so improbable, so daring, that
I would not have undertaken at that moment to frustrate the schemes
that could but tend to her misery and my own: there was no step so
dangerous to myself, even had it been planted on the crumbling edge of
an open grave, that I would not have taken to make her mine; yet, as I
mused, I could not help thinking--I may say I could not help being
convinced--that the scheme of the Prince d'Auvergne was likely to be
frustrated by some impetuous act of the Baron de Blancford.

"With many men," I said, "The whole might succeed admirably; but I,
who know his determined and passionate character well, feel perfectly
certain that, if there be a way of frustrating us, he will find it."

"I see none," replied the prince dauphin, "if we can by any means
ensure that the signing of the contract is put off to the last moment.
However, De Cerons, the whole party are coming to Paris immediately;
the Jew, and the merchants who are with him, will most probably arrive
to-morrow morning, and your cousin, with his train, on the morning
after. Obstacles of various kinds, I am sure, will keep this Monsieur
de Blaye for a day or two after them; and let us do the best we can in
the mean while. At all events, we shall gain some intelligence; and
what I should propose is, to ride out on the day after to-morrow on
the road to meet them, and, bringing them to your chateau of Les Bois,
give the baron a little entertainment and repose ere he goes into
Paris."

I smiled at the thought, saying, "I much fear, my excellent friend,
that you will find the baron would neither accept the invitation nor
thank the giver."

"Pshaw! De Cerons," replied the prince; "You are older than I am in
years, but younger a great deal in experience of the world. The baron
undervalued and undervalues you simply because he thought and thinks
you poor. He thought you the creature of his bounty: he will now come
here and find you the creature of your own sword, renowned in arms,
independent in fortune, and seeking no aid from him or any man. His
view will be quite different now, depend upon it. As for the
arrangements of your little regale, leave that all to me: you, on your
part, cast off the rough and somewhat negligent apparel in which your
despondency has brought you to remain, trim your beard, bring forth
your best brocade, and look as gay and gallant as if you were going
into the tiltyard."

It is needless to pause upon all the minute incidents at this time.
Martin Vern and his nephew had scarcely arrived in Paris before they
were at Champigny, bringing with them little Miriam, who seemed to
have her own will with all of them. Not knowing that the prince was
there, I found that his high rank and connexion with the royal blood
of France somewhat abashed and confounded the two merchants. He, on
his part, did not so much unbend as perhaps I had expected; but he
treated them kindly and without haughtiness, though with dignity: but
he soon left them alone with me; and a few words showed me that both
the elder and the younger Martin Vern, what between all they had
observed of the conduct of myself and Louise, and the information of
the young Jewess, were perfectly aware of how we stood towards each
other, and took a kindly interest in my fate. Miriam, for her part,
seemed to me to have gone quite mad. She said it was just what she had
wished, all that she could wish, that had happened and would happen,
and seemed quite as happy and elevated as I was bereaved and
depressed. Her conduct somewhat annoyed me; and, after some short
conversation about the money, which I still determined to leave in the
hands of Martin Vern, I saw them depart without any effort to detain
them.

On the following morning, with a splendid train, comprising at least
twenty persons, dressed, as far, at least, as the prince himself was
concerned, in the height of the then existing fashion, D'Auvergne and
myself set out upon the road towards Blois; and, after riding for some
eight miles on a fine autumnal morning, we came within sight of a
large party advancing slowly, which proved, as we expected, to be that
of the Baron de Blancford. Putting our spurs to our horses' sides, we
rode up at a quick pace, and the baron thought fit, in those dangerous
times, to halt his troop upon seeing such a body of horsemen coming
down upon him. His surprise, when he beheld me and the prince dauphin,
however, I shall not easily forget: nor need I say much more of this
interview, as far as it regarded him, than that I readily perceived
that the prince's view of the baron's character was correct, and that
I had grown wonderfully in his opinion since I had ceased to need his
assistance. The fête at Les Blois was accepted at once; but it
required some persuasion on the part of the prince dauphin to make him
believe that I was really the lord of the estate to which he was now
conducted. The baroness, on her part, gazed at me with some surprise,
and throughout the day I forced myself to show her as much civility
and attention as possible: but there were some others in that group
where there were deeper interests at work. Louise met me with eyes
full of deep and intense affection, and a manner from which the sudden
surprise seemed to have taken all confidence, but not all tenderness;
and her two brothers, whom I had not seen for more than a year, clung
round me as if their affections had found no object since we parted.

In the course of the day I had an opportunity of speaking more than
once with Louise, and in a few brief words I gave her an account of
all that was taking place in our plans and purposes. Her only reply
was by words of affection that could never pass from my heart, and by
the solemn assurance that no power on earth should ever make her
consent to become the wife of the Seigneur de Blaye. The day went
over, in short, as brightly as it was possible under such
circumstances; and, during the three weeks that followed, everything
seemed to combine to favour the plan which the prince had laid down
for me.

It fortunately occurred that I never met with the Seigneur de Blaye
during the whole of that period. Such a meeting could have been
followed but by one result, and that result must have been fatal to
myself; for it must be remembered that I was a Protestant and he a
Catholic, and the survivor in a duel, under such circumstances, could
only expect death. My visits to the hotel of Monsieur de Blancford
were generally short; for I soon saw that, if I did not find Louise
when first I went, means were taken to prevent her appearing while I
was there. The baron, however, was all condescension, and declared
that he was proud of his cousin. The baroness, on her part, seemed to
make herself somewhat more tender and amiable than was needful.

But, at length, the fatal minute, which was to dissipate such a state
of things altogether, arrived; and, just on the day preceding that
which was fixed ultimately as the last for Monsieur de Blaye's stay in
Paris, a messenger from the baron invited me, in courteous terms, to
come and witness his signature of the contract of marriage between my
cousin Louise and the Seigneur de Blaye. We had already ordered a
notary to prepare in due form my opposition to the baron's signature,
upon the plea both of relationship and never having been consulted,
and of having a prior claim to the hand of Mademoiselle de Blancford.
The note requested the honour of the prince dauphin's company on the
same occasion as my friend; and, on reading it, he exclaimed, "Oh,
certainly, certainly! I will go, De Cerons, and, not only that, but we
will take a sufficient body of retainers with as to guard against all
chances, and we will have likewise our own notary to take act of your
opposition."

All this being settled, we set out, and reached the house at the hour
appointed. I was somewhat surprised to find going up the stairs good
Martin Vern, accompanied by a boy carrying several packages, and
another man not so burdened. On entering the great saloon, we found
the baron with Monsieur de Blaye, the baroness, and some of her
kindred, both male and female; besides whom, the room contained
Louise, with the tears already in her eyes, and several notaries and
lawyers. Immediately on our entrance, Monsieur de Blaye came forward
with his hand extended towards me, as if imagining that we were the
best possible friends; but I drew myself up and bowed stiffly, and he
fell back with a heavy frown.

The baron looked somewhat surprised, but the presence of the Prince
d'Auvergne acted as a restraint upon him, and he welcomed his
distinguished guest with courtesy, if not with so free and
unrestrained a demeanour as usual. He looked two or three times
suspiciously at the notary who accompanied us, and who was one of the
most distinguished of his class, and received far more attention and
marks of reverence from his brethren than either D'Auvergne or I
wished or expected. Sweetmeats and some choice wines, however, were
handed round before the destined explosion began; but at length the
baron, prefacing the matter by a little eulogy upon Monsieur de Blaye,
which had wellnigh made some of those who knew him laugh, directed the
contract to be read.

That document began by setting forth that, "as an alliance was
intended at a future period between the Seigneur de Blaye and
Mademoiselle de Blancford, it had been judged expedient that the Baron
de Blancford should sign the contract to that effect previous to the
departure of the said seigneur for foreign lands; and therefore," &c.
It went on to express the usual agreements in such cases, but took
care to omit the express consent of the bride, and also made no
provision for the freedom of her religion. She was declared heiress of
the lands of Blancford and Cerons in the event of her two brothers'
death without children; and the baron promised with her a dowry which
to me, who knew his habits of expense, and, in some degree, the true
nature of his property, seemed enormous.

As soon as the whole was read, he took the pen in his hand to sign,
and I could see my poor Louise clasp her two hands together and raise
her eyes to me with a look of anguish and supplication.

At that moment, however, the notary we had brought, who had been
consulting with the others, stepped forward, and laid his hand upon
the spot where the baron was about to sign, saying,

"Your pardon, Monsieur le Baron de Blancford; I think that Monsieur de
Cerons has something to say on this matter, and a short paper to read,
to which I beg your attention, and of which, gentlemen, you will all
bear witness."

He then handed me the paper, saying, at the same time in a whisper,
"Neither more nor less."

I followed his directions to the letter, and read the paper of
objections through without pausing. When I came to the end, however,
and found there stated that I would sustain my right upon the grounds
therein stated, and upon several other legal grounds of objection, to
all and sundry parts and clauses of the said contract, in warranty of
which I produced as my surety the Prince Dauphin d'Auvergne, I laid, I
know not well why, considerable emphasis upon the words "several other
objections."

At the same time, I remarked the baron turn very pale; but he
recovered himself immediately, and, with an angry gesture, exclaimed
to the notary, who had continued to hold his hand on the paper,
"Remove your hand, Master Jean! I will sign it at all risks."

"It is useless, Monsieur le Baron," replied one of the lawyers; "after
this solemn protest in due and legal form, no act that you can do in
this matter is lawful until the Parliament shall have considered the
matter to render justice therein."

"But I shall take care to render justice to myself," exclaimed
Monsieur de Blaye, advancing towards me furiously: "We all know that
you lawyers love to see all things plunged into the quagmire of the
courts, round the edges of which you toads sit and croak at leisure;
but gentlemen have a shorter means of settling such transactions, and
to such, Monsieur de Cerons, do I appeal. Nor, sir, must there be
delay of any kind. Tomorrow I depart from Paris; the rest of this day
is our own."

"Oh! no, no!" cried the voice of Louise, while, with her arms extended
towards me as if for protection, she ran forward.

But, ere she reached me, she fell fainting on the ground, and the
marchioness, with other ladies present, prevented my approach. All was
now a scene of confusion; the gentlemen of the party came forward,
each talking, each offering his opinion, towards the spot where De
Blaye and myself stood face to face, and the baron seemed divided
between us and his daughter, for whom I saw that he was not without
feeling, though he struggled not to show it.

In the midst of this Babel, however, the clear, fine-toned voice of
the prince dauphin suddenly made itself heard, saying,

"Your pardon, gentlemen, your pardon! I have one word to say; but that
one word is an important one, which must settle all this matter
between my excellent good acquaintance Monsieur de Blaye and my friend
Monsieur de Cerons."

All were instantly silent except De Blaye himself, who repeated more
than once, in a tone of authority, to keep silence, and let the prince
speak. When he stopped and bowed, D'Auvergne went on: "What I have to
say, De Cerons, is, that you will be good enough to remember you are
my father's prisoner, and therefore can lie under a challenge from no
man. Monsieur de Blaye, I must call upon you to retract your
challenge, as no man of honour can offer one to a gentleman incapable
of accepting it."

De Blaye, who was both really enraged and really brave, blustered a
good deal at this notification, and said something rather offensive to
the prince about his father the duke being afraid of losing my ransom.
D'Auvergne answered coolly, however, saying, "That is not his fear or
mine, Monsieur de Blaye; but our fear might well be that the Catholic
army might lose a very tolerable soldier and brave young gentleman in
yourself; because, as we all know, Monsieur de Cerons would kill you
like a rat. Come, De Cerons, I must beg you to accompany me."

If the first part of the prince's speech had pleased Monsieur de
Blaye, and made him simper and look modest, the unpleasant simile in
the latter part caused him to swell and colour with anger. But
D'Auvergne took no farther notice; the fact of my not being at liberty
was without reply, and, after one look to my poor Louise, I quitted
the room. Martin Vern was at the door, and to him the prince whispered
a word as we passed. The merchant made a low inclination of the head,
and, mounting our horses, we rode away.



CHAPTER VI.


I had remarked particularly, in the painful interview just past, that
neither good old La Tour, nor the two dear boys who were daily growing
up more and more like their angel of a mother, had been present; but I
learned afterward that many painful efforts had been made to induce
Louise to wed a man she abhorred, and that her brothers had broken
forth with somewhat rash expressions of indignation, while La Tour had
remonstrated in milder but as forcible terms. The consequence had
been, that the baron had sent them all three to some distance, and
probably was not a little glad, when the scene terminated as it did,
that he had taken that precaution. I received from him that night a
threatening note, but it was so worded as evidently to court a
lengthened reply; and, after pondering over it for some moments, I
showed it to the prince, who came in at the time. He read it
attentively; but, wise beyond his years, he returned it, saying,

"Keep that note, De Cerons; and, if you will take my advice, reply but
vaguely, and still as shortly as possible."

I did take his advice; and to all the haughty demands of how I dared
to offer opposition to his disposal of his own child, I replied,
merely, that I had acted as I doubted not would be found just in a
court of law; but at the same time I added--as it was my first wish
not to irritate the father of her I sought to obtain--all that was
kind and deferential towards himself.

D'Auvergne approved highly of my note; but, as he gave it back to me,
he placed his hand kindly upon my arm and said, "And now, De Cerons,
remember our compact; you must, after all this business, go
immediately into the Low Countries upon the conditions I stated. For
your own safety I say you must, for your stay in Paris as a known and
marked Huguenot will be most dangerous; but you must also do so for
our sake. My father, as well as myself, wishes you every success in
your suit; but remember, we must not be found taking any undue
advantage either of De Blaye or Monsieur de Blancford; all that we
wish is to give you a fair chance; and, as soon as we have the
positive assurance that the former is fairly gone from Paris, you must
go and win honours and renown with the bright hope of obtaining her
you love."

I felt myself bound in honour to follow his injunctions to the letter,
and only required one day to prepare, and to ascertain that the
Seigneur de Blaye had actually departed. Much business, however,
remained to be done in the mean time. I had to write to the Admiral de
Coligny, giving him information of the conditions that were imposed
upon me, and begging him to transmit whatever money of mine remained
in his hands, when convenience served, to good Master Vern. I had to
write to Moric Endem, giving him, as far as it was needful, orders to
command my troop in the service of the Protestant princes; and I had
to buy all those necessary equipments for my journey and for active
service, few of which I now possessed. The attendants that I had
brought with me were all that I could expect to obtain, as few in
Paris were willing to own themselves of the poor and persecuted sect.

On the following morning early, then, I rode into Paris, and went
straight to the house of Martin Vern, when I was directed to seek him
at the dwelling of Levi Judi, the great goldsmith. I there found a
number of persons whom I knew collected together, and talking
earnestly in a small, dark room. There were the two Christian
merchants with Solomon Ahar and his daughter Miriam; and besides these
was Levi himself, the converted Jew, who was speaking when I came in,
and suddenly stopped. They were all evidently rejoicing over some
event, which proved to be the success of my opposition to the young
Lord of Blaye; and I now learned that he had been obliged to depart by
daybreak that morning, letters of reproof having been sent him from
Blois for having already lingered too long.

I thought Miriam's satisfaction would have exceeded all bounds; and a
slight degree of discomfort which I remarked in the demeanour of the
younger Martin Vern at the sight of Miriam's evident regard for me,
first gave me a suspicion of matters which were going on in their
hearts, perhaps as yet unknown to both.

After some conversation upon the chief topic of all my thoughts, I
took the good merchant aside, and telling him the destiny that awaited
me, begged him to procure, as reasonably as possible, all I stood in
need of before night. I also told him that, with the exception of what
my equipment might cost, I should leave all I had in his hands, having
plenty by me for my journey; and I then besought him, if he obtained
any speech with my sweet Louise alone, to tell her that I loved her
ever, and would never cease to seek her hand so long as I had life.

He mused for some time over what I said, committed all my orders to a
note-book, and then said, in his calm and business-like tone, "I will
do all this as far as possible, seigneur, and will be at Champigny
with you to-night; but I have a request to make, which you may think a
strange one from a poor merchant like myself. It is, that if ever you
be placed in difficulties again regarding this transaction between
your noble cousin the baron and Monsieur de Blaye, you would give some
of us instant and full intelligence; for, though we be merely
citizens, we have some say in many families; and perhaps, had not your
opposition yesterday morning been successful, Martin Vern might not
have been upon the stairs for nothing."

I pressed him much to explain what he meant, but he would not; and
promising, in return for the interest he showed in me, to place the
confidence he required in him, I left him and went back to Champigny.
I found the prince dauphin busily writing when I arrived, with several
letters before him sealed with various different seals; and when he
had ended those that he himself was employed upon, he gave them all to
me.

"These, De Cerons," he said, "are letters from my father, and from
some of the ministers of the king to different princes and nobles in
the Low Countries and on the Rhenish frontier of Germany; two among
them being to the Prince of Orange. They will, beyond all doubt,
procure you every opportunity, and you will do the rest to raise
yourself still higher than you yet have done. This which I have
written is to the Count de Bergh, to whom I once did some kindness;
and this, in case of extreme need, is to the Duke of Alva. I mean by
extreme need that you should use it in case your life is in danger
from some of Alva's proceedings. He is a nobleman of a high heart and
gallant character; but the streams of Toledo, which harden steel to
such a temper, have not altogether left his heart untouched by their
influence. At the sight of this, however, he will free you as he is
bound to do; and now, De Cerons, if I can at any future time serve,
aid, or befriend you, call upon me instantly as you would upon a
brother; and depend upon it that I will give you information, even
should you be at the other end of the earth, the moment there is even
a whisper of your rival's return."

I thanked him, as may be supposed; and the conversation that thus
commenced went on to touch upon a thousand things, in regard to all of
which, his mingled kindness of heart and soundness of judgment made me
but admire and love him more and more.

At night, nearly at ten o'clock, Martin Vern himself arrived, with
horses loaded with all that I required; but there was one small note
among the rest far more valuable to me than anything else that he
brought with him. It was from Louise, and very short; but oh, how
sweet it was to me to read!


"Dear, dear Henry! A thousand thanks, a thousand blessings on your
head for saving me from distraction. I am better now--I am well now.
They know your love for me, they now know mine for you; and they will
find neither fail, I am sure. The worst is over. They cannot shake me.
I am yours for ever!

                                      "LOUISE."


The account given me by Martin Vern was even more cheering than the
letter of Louise herself; he had seen her, he said, and spoken with
her long in her chamber. During the whole of the preceding day she had
been so ill that the baron had become alarmed and grieved, and, in
order to make some atonement, had sent for jewels and rich clothes as
gifts to his daughter. It showed how little he knew her nature; with
Louise, one kind word would have been worth all the jewels upon earth.

After speaking long of her, the good merchant turned to other matters;
and not only gave me the long-delayed acknowledgment of the sums of
mine he had in hand, but pointed out means by which I might be enabled
to obtain money, should I need it, in any of the great towns which I
was likely to visit. My equipage was now complete, and on the
following morning at daybreak I began my journey, proposing in the
first place to seek the Prince of Orange. The kindness of the prince
dauphin showed itself to the last moment, and he was up and out to see
me depart, embracing me ere I mounted my horse as if he had been my
brother.

I found the Prince of Orange labouring hard to gather a sufficient
army on the German side of the Rhine to support the insurgent
Protestants of the Low Countries; and as he himself, and his brother
Count Ludovic, had been much with our troops in France, my name was
not unknown to him. He received me kindly and gladly; but there was
about him a sort of cold and suspicious reserve, which doubtless was
very needful, but which had a tendency to check attachment in the
outset; and, had it not been for his great wisdom, skill, courage, and
determination, which were already well known, one would have been
inclined to say that he was less calculated than almost any other man
on earth to sustain the character of a popular leader. The great
difference, however, which exists between the mere capricious outbreak
of popular discontent and the determined resistance to insufferable
oppression, is shown in nothing more strongly than in the choice of
leaders. The fiery, impetuous, loud-tongued demagogue does well enough
for the one, but the calm, cool, powerful-minded statesman must be
sought for in the other.

The Prince of Orange gave me authority and command, but it was long
ere he trusted me; and I could often see that, in conversing with me
upon any indifferent subject, he watched every word that fell from me,
every look, every gesture; but it was the same with others; and, ere
he was perfectly satisfied with his own knowledge of the man, he never
trusted, nor, even then, trusted entirely.

The first proof of the confidence that he at length placed in me was
rather diplomatic than military. His movements had been retarded by a
thousand adverse circumstances, and he sent me on to Holland to
communicate with Sounoy, and to do as much as possible to keep up the
spirits of the Dutch malcontents. From Holland I had to make a tour
through Utrecht, Guelderland, and Friesland, and was, on the whole,
far more successful than I had expected. On my return to the prince, I
found him well pleased with what I had done, and, on making a report
of some of my proceedings, I saw a quiet smile curl his lip, which
made me stop suddenly.

"You wish to know why I smile, De Cerons," he said; "it is because you
have done exactly what I expected, and what no hackneyed diplomatist
would have done. I have often remarked that, in rapid negotiations, a
man of strong natural sense, but little experience in intrigue, puts
to fault a whole host of old politicians. If they had time to discover
his true character, the result would be lost; but, as it is, they
attribute to experience that which is merely the result of good sense,
and puzzle themselves to discover motives, overstepping the true ones
that he lays before them. However, De Cerons," he continued, "I have
good news for you; news which, as a Protestant and a Frenchman, you
will be glad to hear. Peace is concluded in France; and the secret
assurances of support from King Charles which you brought me, and
which I did not trust, are thus confirmed."

He then went on to give me a full account of all the events which had
taken place in France since I left him; events which had reached me
only in rumours during my journey. We were all deceived by the fair
aspect of events. The military preparations of the Protestants of the
Low Countries went on rapidly; town after town revolted against the
tyranny of Alva; where leaders and assistance were wanted, the Prince
of Orange despatched them in all speed from his camp, and my military
life again began.

On it, however, I need not dwell; the general events of the times are
written in general histories, and my own individual career offered
nothing but the usual occurrences in the life of a soldier, who, not
naturally timid, has every motive to daring exploits. I was not less
active or less brave than others; and there was no one more fortunate
than myself. Honours, rewards, and recompenses flowed in upon me
rapidly; the news that I daily received from France was most joyful:
the Protestants were not only treated with gentleness, but with
especial favour: the admiral ruled the court of France, and a regular
French army was promised to cooperate. So far, indeed, was this
proceeding carried, that by the same courier I received news that
Count Ludovic had been sent to maintain a correspondence with the
Protestants of Flanders, tidings that he had captured Mons, and a
commission for myself, under the hand of the King of France, to raise
a regiment of Protestant soldiery for the service of the Flemish
insurgents.

It was now full spring in the year 1672, and, as soon as I showed the
commission I had received to the Prince of Orange, he exclaimed,

"If this man is deceiving us, De Cerons, he forgets no means to blind
the eyes of all, However, we must take advantage of the opportunity,
at all events, whether it be afforded for the purpose of deceiving us
or not. Are you willing, De Cerons, to take the risk of a hazardous
journey to join my brother in Mons, to tell him that the Duke of Alva
will certainly besiege him, and that I as certainly will march to his
relief without the loss of a moment? Then hasten on yourself into
France, raise a regiment, and bring it to our aid."

It may easily be supposed that I did not hesitate; and with a train
which had now been increased again to about twenty men, I set off for
Mons. I reached it some time before the siege commenced, and was
received with joy by the gallant and enterprising Prince of Nassau,
who that very day took me round the fortifications, and entertained me
at supper, perhaps making a little more of my arrival than the event
warranted, in order to raise the spirits of the garrison and
inhabitants.

After supper, torches were waiting to light me home to the quarters
prepared for me, and, accompanied by one of the count's officers, I
was proceeding through the streets, when we were met by a small party
of soldiery, who stopped to look after us. The next moment I heard my
own name pronounced aloud, and a young officer, running after us, cast
his arms affectionately round me. What was my surprise to behold my
young cousin Charles! He followed me to my quarters; and I now learned
that Albert, as well as himself, unable any longer to endure the
tyranny of their stepmother and the daily disgrace of their father,
had quitted their paternal roof, and, with the young Prince of Nassau,
had thrown themselves into the city of Mons. There they had met with a
part of my old band, commanded by Moric Endem; and when I told them
that I was about to raise a regiment to join the Prince of Orange,
they besought me eagerly to let them serve under me.

That matter was settled easily; Moric was sent for, and I thought
would have gone mad with delight at seeing me again. He was evidently
not in such good circumstances as when I left him, and he declared
that fortune had quitted my band when I was taken at Jarnac. Only six
of the men had survived Moncontour and Arnai le Duc; and on the
following morning I begged Count Louis to permit me to take these six,
with Moric and my two young cousins, to form a sort of nucleus for my
future regiment. He hesitated; for to say truth, he had no men to
spare; but the difficulty was removed by my offering to leave an equal
number of those who had accompanied me to Mons.

I was eager to proceed on my journey; but my adventures in Mons were
not yet over. It was necessary to procure money for the raising of the
force I intended to levy, as I had transmitted to Martin Vern all the
wealth I had acquired during my absence. It luckily happened, however,
that I had a letter from him to one of the wealthy Catholic bankers of
Mons, and to him I hastened as soon as I had given Moric and my two
cousins notice to prepare for departure.

I found the old man I sought in a dressing-gown of rich brocade, a
black velvet cap on his large head, and a pen in his mouth. He
listened to me, read the letter, and looked me all over in silence
somewhat offensive, and at length I told him that I was in haste, and
begged that he would attend to my demand.

"You are not like him here described," said the old man, dryly; "how
shall I know, if you be in such haste, that you are the right person?"

I answered, I believe, somewhat angrily, and he rejoined, "Ha, ha!
Frenchmen are always prompt; but it so befalls, young gentleman, that
there is in this very house, at this very time, a partner of the house
of Martin Vern and Company."

"What, his nephew?" I cried.

"Not so, young gentleman," answered the merchant; "but he shall be
called in, and you shall soon have your answer."

Thus saying, he rose, and, opening a door behind him, spoke a word to
some one in the neighbouring room. The next moment appeared in the
doorway the figure of my old acquaintance, Solomon Ahar. The good Jew
started forward, and, in his Oriental fashion, fell upon my neck,
embracing me.

"How I have longed to see thee, my son!" he said; "how delighted my
poor Miriam will be to hear that thou art here in safety! but stay not
in this town till they bring the armies round it and lay siege to it.
It is well to be here while one can come and go, for there is always
much traffic in gold, and silver, and light goods when a place is
likely to be assaulted from without; but no wise man should stay after
there be gates shut against the goers out as well as the comers in.
Stay but till I go, my son, which will now be in a few days, and then
journey with me to Paris, where a certain gold-hilted dagger, with
seven fine jewels in the haft, is laid up safely for thee; and thy
money has been put out to interest, and used in traffic, and has
brought thee, I think, wellnigh fifty for the hundred."

There was now no farther question in regard to the money; and, having
informed the Jew, who was really grateful and kindly hearted, what
were my purposes, I received some valuable information from him as to
where I was likely to procure men. I then took what money I wanted,
and, bidding Solomon Ahar adieu, was soon once more beyond the walls
of Mons, and in the high road towards France. There were parties of
the enemy about between Mons and Cambray, however, and it was with
some difficulty that we reached the French frontier. There, however, I
soon increased my force to between three and four hundred men, and was
thinking of beginning my march with that number to join the Prince of
Orange, when I received letters from the admiral and from the Prince
d'Auvergne, to both of whom I had written, advising me to join a
considerable force under the gallant but wrong-headed Genlis, who had
raised, by a commission from the king, a force of nearly six thousand
men. At the same time, the admiral informed me that the king, at his
request, had raised the estate of Les Bois into a lordship for me,
under the title of Count des Bois and Cerons.

This was indeed very joyful news; and though the credit of the admiral
seemed to me almost inconceivable, yet I obeyed his desire at once,
and prepared to join Genlis, though determined to act independently of
him if his rash vanity should render it necessary. The admiral's
letter had distinctly stated that Genlis was about to march to join
the Prince of Orange; but, when I at length met that officer at Noyon,
I found him determined to march direct upon Mons.

As by this time the siege of that place was formed, and as I had
heard, on good authority, that the Duke of Ascoe was marching to swell
the forces of Alva's army, the idea which Genlis had taken up, that he
could deliver Mons with a force of less than six thousand men, seemed
to me so absurd, that I told him at once I would not accompany him, my
intention and duty being to join the Prince of Orange. He answered at
first by a sneer, but shortly after begged me at least to accompany
him as far as St. Quentin, as he had learned that the peasantry on the
frontier had been armed by the Duke of Alva, and were in force in that
neighbourhood.

On the following day we made a short march towards Ham; but we soon
learned that Don Ferdinand de Toledo was before us, with a regular
army equal to our own, instead of a troop of ill-disciplined
peasantry.

The enemy as now within ten miles' march of us; a battle was
inevitable; and, of course, it was impossible even to think of
retiring at that moment. Yet, ere the sun went down, I had only one
desire, namely, to mount my horse and ride to Paris at full speed. At
Guiscard, where we halted for the night, a courier reached me from the
prince dauphin. The words of the letter were so few and prompt, that
they evinced how eagerly and hastily my friend had written.

"If you can with honour," so the letter went, "give up your command
and come to Paris, do so without a moment's delay. Your rival, without
warning or notice of any kind, has returned--is in Paris, and in the
house of the Baron de Blancford. You will blame me for this, but I can
endure the blame; for, on my honour, I do not deserve it. His journey
has been concealed with care; and, though I watched anxiously, have
been deceived. Come quick, then, De Cerons, for you Protestants now
carry everything at the court before you; and if you delay an hour,
Monsieur de Blancford's influence may have overborne all. Think, too,
what must be your course; for remember, that, as we both foresaw, your
late opposition to the will of the father in the marriage of his own
daughter was declared vexatious by the Parliament, and you were fined
a hundred crowns. If you resolve on letting the sword decide between
you and your rival, forget not your friend D'Auvergne."

Scarcely giving the messenger time to refresh himself, I despatched
him with two letters, one to the Dauphin d'Auvergne, informing him of
the position in which we stood with regard to the enemy, and telling
him I would but stay to fight, and then hasten back to the capital;
and the other to the good Martin Vern, whose parting words in regard
to my love of Louise gave me the only glimpse of hope that could now
visit me. To him I told all that had occurred as briefly as possible;
but besought him, at all events, to use the utmost exertions to stop
any hasty steps on the part of the baron.

It may easily be imagined that the tidings I had received did not
reconcile me greatly to the mad folly of Genlis, and I began the march
on the following morning out of spirits and out of humour; but the
march of the whole force, the negligence and vain confidence with
which Genlis conducted it, made a great addition to my discomfort. At
length we came to a small stream, over which it was necessary to
construct a bridge; and seeing, from the disarray of the whole force,
that, if attacked at that moment by an enemy of one half our strength,
we might be absolutely cut to pieces, I caused my men to seize upon
the tower of an old church, which had before been pierced for
musketry, and which, while the rest were busy at the bridge, I took
some pains to strengthen, having an impression on my mind that we
should meet with a check.

When the bridge was concluded we again began our advance, and entered
a little wood, through which we straggled rather than marched. We had
scarcely passed it, however, when a party which had been thrown
forward was driven in, with a strong body of men-at-arms at their
heels. I charged and broke the Spanish men-at-arms. But it now became
evident that a trap had been laid for us: a tremendous fire was opened
upon my men from a bed of osiers that flanked the ground; charge after
charge of the enemy's cavalry took place; and, overwhelmed by numbers,
as well as taken unaware, after maintaining a hopeless combat for near
an hour and a half, we were obliged to fly as best we could. Genlis,
it must be said, did all that courage, and skill, and coolness could
do to remedy his former faults, but in vain. He himself was taken in
endeavouring to cover the retreat of the infantry; and all I could do
was to bring off a part--a very small part--of my own men, with one
piece of artillery.

I was hotly pursued, however, and had no time to destroy the bridge.
My only resource was to throw myself into the church, and defend it as
long as possible. What I had done in the morning now proved my
salvation. The cavalry who followed kept us blockaded during the whole
of that night and a part of the next day, but they could not remain
long enough to starve us out; we kept them at a distance with our
firearms, and a small body of musketeers who joined them were driven
back with loss.

At length I offered to capitulate, as I found the men beginning sadly
to feel the want of water, and the terms granted me were certainly far
more favourable than I dared hope. We were permitted to march out with
our arms, but it was exacted from us that we should swear not to fight
against the King of Spain for two complete years; and, well satisfied
with the result, we retired from our post, and made the best of our
way back to Noyon. It was there first that my young cousin Charles
complained of a wound in the shoulder, but he represented it as
slight; and, leaving the men we had brought off under his command, I
set out for Paris with Moric Endem and one or two others, determined
to obtain, if possible, through the intervention of the admiral, some
reward for the gallant fellows who survived our defeat.

Albert de Blancford remained with his brother; but I afterward found
that the wound of my poor cousin had that very night assumed so
unfavourable an appearance that he was obliged to relinquish the
command to the other, who, terrified at the state to which he soon saw
his brother reduced, divided the greater portion of the money I had
left with him among the men, and suffered the shattered remnant of the
regiment to disperse. He then placed his brother in a litter and
returned to Paris, seeking his father's house immediately, but finding
nothing but sorrow there.



CHAPTER VII.


The distance was long, but our horses were good; we were in the month
of August, when days are long, and we accomplished the journey from
Noyon to Paris in one day. We entered the capital just as the shades
of twilight were beginning to fall, and I paused for a moment to
consider whither I should first direct my steps. I had resolved,
however, not to go to the prince dauphin, as I knew that, in case of
my rivalry with De Blaye ending in our settling the dispute with the
sword, D'Auvergne would insist on accompanying me to the field, and I
could not endure the thought of seeing the hope and strength of that
noble house run the risk of such an encounter for my sake. My
hesitation, therefore, only was, whether I should first seek the
admiral, to inform him of the fatal result of Genlis's expedition, or
go at once to good Martin Vern, to hear news of my poor Louise. Love
had wellnigh triumphed; but I did resist; and, turning my rein towards
the Rue de Bethisy, where I had been informed the admiral resided, I
found his abode, which was in a handsome inn. There, however, I
learned that he was himself at the court; and, having satisfied myself
by doing my duty, I turned my horse's head towards the dwelling of the
merchant.

Martin Vern and his house, though they had taken many risks during the
war, had been enriched in an extraordinary degree by the restoration
of peace, and the favour which all the Protestants had so speedily
acquired. Debts, which had appeared almost hopeless, had been paid,
with long arrears of interest; and, though many others remained, yet
the good merchant was one of the most wealthy men in Paris. His house
showed it, but not himself; for, on being ushered into the room where
he sat at supper with his wife, his brother, his nephew, and his
children, I could certainly discover no change of demeanour from the
good, plain merchant that I had first seen on my journey to Angoulême.
They were all delighted to see me; and, unwilling to disturb them, I
sat down to partake of their meal, while Moric Endem and the rest of
my followers obtained a lodging in an inn hard by.

During supper Martin Vern was grave and thoughtful, but not sad: his
nephew had become a fine and noble-looking young man; and there was in
his whole appearance an air of smartness and manly dignity, which
bespoke a change of thoughts and feelings since we had last met.

Ere supper was well concluded, he rose, saying to his uncle, "I will
go to Monsieur Ahar, and bring what he has got for the Seigneur de
Cerons;" and, as soon as he was gone, the merchant added, "You know, I
believe, Monsieur de Cerons, that your old acquaintance, Monsieur
Solomon Ahar, has become a partner of ours; but doubtless you know not
how his conversion was brought about."

"Converted!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that he has become a
Christian?"

"He would not otherwise have become a partner in our house. He is a
good Catholic Christian, thank God! But I was going to tell you how
this was brought about. My nephew, having got over some of the follies
of his youth, learned to love and esteem those qualities of mind and
heart which were really worth love, and he found them combined with
beauty and affection in Miriam Ahar. There was one objection--her
religion; but that Martin found means to remove; and the good Jew,
declaring that, as all things were reversed nowadays, the father might
as well follow the religion of the child, instead of the child
following the religion of her father, made his abjuration, as his
relation Levi had done, and was received into the bosom of the church.
Miriam becomes his bride in a few weeks; and, in the mean time, this
conversion has obtained for my nephew so much celebrity among the
Catholic divines, that I do believe they would make him a bishop if he
would. But that would prevent his marriage, you know, seigneur, and
therefore he remains a merchant."

As soon as supper was over, the wife and children of Martin Vern left
us, and he immediately turned to my letter and to the business that
brought me.

"I have much to tell you, seigneur," he said, "and much advice to give
you. In the first place, you are saved by one day; and you owe that to
the scheme which our little Miriam devised for you before you went.
The baron, your cousin, is indebted in a large sum to Solomon Ahar,
and in a lesser sum to me; and as he promises this Seigneur de Blaye a
large dowry with his child, Miriam proposed that the whole debt, which
comprises more than all his moveable wealth, should be claimed at
once. I was unwilling to do as she wished, except in case of absolute
need; and when, on a former occasion, you found other means to stop
the signature of the contract, I held back. Now, however, I knew there
was no time to be lost; and, even had your letter not reached me, I
would have acted as I have done, for I have been almost daily at the
baron's house, as there is every day need of money for the husband, or
jewels and rich stuff for the wife. By this means I had heard and knew
that the baron had sworn his daughter should consent to marry the
young Lord of Blaye, or that he would declare himself a Catholic, and
use those means which our religion gives to force her to obey. It is
not, however, that he loves this Lord of Blaye, for he abhors him; but
it is, my good lord, that his wife has power over him of some kind
which we know not. Some secret is in her hands, depend upon it, which
puts him wholly in her power. However that may be, the day for signing
the contract was named as yesterday, and the hour noon. The whole had
met when I presented myself. I knew that the money to pay the dowry
was prepared. I had armed myself with all legal forms, and went
accompanied by those who knew each turn of law. The money was paid me;
and the baron, with a proud air, said, 'It mattered not; that he was
ready to sign; and that, in order to pay the dowry he had promised,
and not to fail in one tittle of his word to Monsieur de Blaye, he
would sell the estate of Cerons, even by auction in the halls of the
Palais de Justice, and discharge the amount before the week was
over.'"

"Good God! has he done so?" I cried. "It was always my ambition to
recover that, land."

"He has not done so yet, seigneur," replied Martin Vern; "but this is
Friday: to-morrow will be the last day of the week: his word is
pledged, the sale proclaimed, and he will not retract; though, when
the Seigneur de Blaye declared it would be better for none to sign the
contract till the dowry was ready, I could see the blood mount into
the baron's cheek and forehead till I feared the veins would burst.
He turned towards his wife, but that fierce lady held up her finger
to him, and he cowed in a moment. Unless you, sir, can stop the
sale--unless you can prove that the estate of Cerons cannot be
sold--the estate is sold, and the contract signed; nay, more, the
young lady must become the wife of one she abhors, or be plunged into
the imprisonment of a convent, from which you can never deliver her."

"Alas! alas! my good friend," I said, "I can prove no such thing. I
know the estate can be sold, for my own father sold it. It is not
hereditary, and depends upon the baron's will. There is only one
means, and that must be tried at once. Louise must fly with me. Under
such circumstances, it is quite justifiable to do so."

"Before you adopt any determination, let us consider for a moment,
Monsieur de Cerons," replied the merchant, in his cool, calculating
tone: "What would you grant that man who would first prove to you that
the lordship of De Cerons cannot be sold in perpetuity, and, in the
second place, point out a way by which you may perhaps fly with the
lady that you love, but fly with her as your wife, and with her
father's own consent?"

"What would I give?" I exclaimed. "What would I not give, you should
say, my good friend."

"Well, then, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, somewhat more
rapidly than was his wont, "I must be quick with my conditions, for I
hear Martin's steps on the stairs. First, you shall forgive, fully and
entirely, a girl's curiosity; the next is a harder task--you shall
take a piece of advice without asking a question; the third, you shall
put yourself entirely under my guidance for the next three days."

"Willingly!" I said, "Willingly!" But, as I was speaking, and Martin
Vern was turning to his brother to witness our contract, his nephew
entered the room with Solomon Ahar himself and Miriam, now become a
lovely woman.

"Oh, false merchant!" cried the girl, addressing Martin Vern, "You
have told him! I see it in his face! You have told him!"

"No, indeed, Miriam," replied the merchant, "I have told him nothing."

Miriam was about to proceed, it seemed, when her father bustled
forward, saying, "A truce to nonsense, girl! Let us do business first.
Seigneur de Cerons, here is the dagger which is your property, on
account of which you are in my debt the sum of--" and he was taking
out his inkhorn to calculate, when Martin Vern motioned him to be
silent, saying, "Hold me responsible, my good brother, for capital and
interest, according to law and justice. We have other matters now in
hand. Examine your dagger well, Monsieur de Cerons. Do you see nothing
to attract you farther?"

"I know," I replied, "That the hilt is hollow. My poor friend Stuart
assured me that it was so, and that there were papers in it. I cannot
unfasten it, however," I added, trying to do so impatiently. "We had
better have a hammer brought."

"Less violent means will do," replied Martin Vern. "If you will give
it to that fair lady, she will open it."

Miriam took it from my hand, saying, with a look of graceful
deprecation, "Will you, my noble count, pardon me for an act which I
would be well ashamed of, did not these gentlemen tell me that my
curiosity may prove of use to you? I first discovered that the
dagger-hilt was hollow. I too have opened it, and have read that which
it contains. Forgive me--I know, I am sure you will."

And, as she spoke, she unscrewed the large massy ring of gold which
encircled the haft just where the blade was inserted. A large emerald
which was at the top also unscrewed without difficulty, and the blade
then, with a much smaller haft of solid steel, was drawn out from the
false case of gold. Round the real haft was wrapped a roll of fine
vellum, which encircled it six times; and, on opening it, I saw at the
bottom the handwriting of my cousin the baron. It was his name,
attached to an acknowledgment and covenant, duly drawn up in legal
form, whereby he deprived himself of the power of ever selling either
the lordship of De Cerons or the barony of Blancford; settled the
succession of the first-named property on me in case of his death
without male heirs, and the other also in case of his death childless.
The vellum still farther set forth, that he made this settlement in
consideration of receiving the estate of De Cerons, and another farm
belonging to my father, below their real value, my father being
unwilling that they should depart from a race to which they had
belonged, for centuries. It was witnessed by a personage of the name
of Des Chappes; and Martin Vern, pointing to that name as I stood,
thunderstruck, gazing at the vellum, said,

"He is still living, and revered by the whole Parliament, of which he
is one of the most honourable members. I have myself asked him if he
remembers the transaction, and can tell you that, having a deep regard
for your late father, he can swear to every line, though he be past
eighty years of age."

"These are, indeed, great and extraordinary tidings," I said, grasping
the good merchant's hand: "but I fear, my good friend, that, by
exercising the rights that this paper gives me, I shall but make the
separation between myself and my proud cousin the more complete. How
shall I, by any means here presented to me, gain his regard or his
affection?"

"Did you never in life observe, Monsieur de Cerons," said the
merchant, "That men often treat haughtily and harshly those they love,
while they are courteous and yielding to those they fear. The baron
loves you far better than any one except his own children: he
respects, he esteems you, and, at the same time, he hates, contemns,
and fears your rival. If you assist and support him against this Lord
of Blaye, while you maintain your own rights with kindly firmness, you
will cause him to rest upon you, and give way to his own better
feelings. Let us first stop the sale; that, depend upon it, will stop
the marriage. Then, if we had time, we could leave time to do its
work. But," he added, musing, "but I will not trust to what time may
bring forth. Everything is a matter of merchandise in this world: what
will you give for a wife you love, Monsieur de Cerons?"

"All that I have on earth!" I replied, smiling.

"Nay, nay, not so much as that," answered the merchant. "Will you give
sixty thousand livres?"

"If I had it I would," I answered; "but I have it not."

"Very nearly in my hands," replied the merchant. "Twelve thousand
crowns, at fifty-seven sols Parisis, make--But it matters not! you
shall have it. Do you consent to give it?"

"I do," I answered: "but how, my good friend, am I to--"

"Look here, Monsieur de Cerons," said the merchant, taking out a
portfolio, and placing in my hand a note or bill of exchange, "You see
here that one Augustus, seigneur of Blaye, agrees and promises to pay
on demand to Martin Vern the sum of sixty thousand livres, being the
remainder of an account between them. If Martin Vern transfers this
bill to you, and you, in consideration of certain concessions,
transfer it to a certain Baron de Blancford--What say you?"

"That there is hope," I replied, "that there is hope; but yet, my good
friend, there is much to be thought of."

"Not much of which I have not thought, sir," replied the merchant.
"You have already agreed to put yourself entirely under my guidance
for the next three days; but you have promised also to take a piece of
advice without asking a question--are you ready so to do?"

"I am always ready to keep any promise," I replied. "What is the
advice?"

"It is a somewhat harsh one," answered Martin Vern: "Neither more nor
less than to execute a bill of sale to me this night of your chateau
and estate of Les Bois, in consideration of which I will give you
bills, money, or credit for sixty thousand crowns."

He spoke gravely, even sadly, and with a frowning brow; and when I
commenced my reply with, "But--" he stopped me, saying,

"Yon promised, Monsieur de Cerons, to ask no questions. Hear me," he
said, in a lower voice, and drawing me somewhat aside, "I know
little--indeed, I know nothing--but I suspect and I fear much,
Monsieur de Cerons; and think that if you can obtain the hand of your
fair Louise with her father's consent, and fly with her at once far
from Paris, you will do well and wisely. Follow my advice in this;
take my note for the money; let me become the apparent proprietor of
Les Bois till better times, and I will explain your conduct to these
who gave it you. If you never need the money, you shall be free to
give it back and keep the land. At all events, you shelter yourself
against the danger of confiscation."

What he said was so true that I should have been foolish to neglect
it, suspicious as I still felt of the sudden change in the feelings of
the court which had so completely taken in the admiral and the Queen
of Navarre; and, on the spot, while his nephew, his brother, and
Solomon Ahar were still present, the papers were drawn up between the
merchant and myself, leaving him the nominal, though not the real,
proprietor of the estate of Les Bois.

Not long after this, Martin Vern and myself were left alone, but the
business of the day was not nearly over. He insisted that his house
should be my home for the time; but, ere he suffered me to retire to
rest, he kept me in conversation for two or three hours more,
explaining to me all his views with mercantile brevity and accuracy;
and my conduct during the following day, which I am now about to
detail, was the result of the consultation that we then held.

At length, tired and exhausted, I went to the room prepared for me,
and no prince's palace could certainly have afforded me more
comfortable or luxurious accommodation. I was too tired, however, to
sleep for some time; and, ere I had enjoyed any real repose for more
than two hours, young Martin Vern entered my room and took his seat by
my bedside. He remained for more than half an hour, and his
conversation was not, like that of his uncle, devoted entirely to
business. He talked of the affairs of the day, and discussed some
light, some serious topics, with which my readers would be but little
edified. It seemed to me, however, that there was something labouring
on his mind all the time while we conversed; and, as he rose to
depart, he put his head close down to mine, saying, in a whisper,

"Whenever you hear the great bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois ring at
an unusual hour, set off out of Paris if it be day, and fly to me if
it be night."

Then, laying his finger on his lips as an injunction to secresy, he
left the room without waiting for farther question.



CHAPTER VIII.


I need hardly here detail my visit to the Admiral de Coligny, which
was my first act after rising the next morning, as that visit had no
results either affecting myself or the Protestant cause. I had, in the
mean time, however, written to my cousin, giving him tidings of his
sons, and beseeching to speak with him on matters of deep importance
to us both. I said all that was kind, all that was affectionate; and I
besought him to give me an interview alone, if it were but of a few
minutes, before midday.

On my return to the merchant's house I found an answer. It was not in
his handwriting, though an attempt had evidently been made to imitate
it; and the reply, though given in an affected tone of courtesy, was
tantamount to a refusal.

The Baron de Blancford, it said, would be very happy to see me, as
well as any other of his near relations, and would receive me whenever
I chose to call upon him; but, at the same time, to save me
unnecessary trouble, it might be as well to let me know that he should
not be able to entertain me till after the following Monday. The
letter went on to add some unmeaning compliments on my valour and
distinction, and some heartless thanks for the care and attention I
had shown his sons.

After I had read it I handed it to good Martin Vern, whose only
comment was, "Well, then, we must go to the halls of the Parliament,
where all is already prepared for us. Come, seigneur, I am at your
service."

It was, I confess, most painful to me to enter into open contest with
the father of Louise de Blancford, and I determined that nothing
should draw from me one angry word or rash expression. We were upon
the ground first, however; and, as I walked up and down in the hall of
last steps, Martin Vern somewhat reassured me by telling me that I
should find my cousin a completely altered being.

In about ten minutes there was a slight movement among the number of
petitioners and others at the farther end of the hall, and an old man
advanced, with an upright carriage but slow step, towards the entrance
of the great chamber. He was pale, and much shrivelled with age; but,
though small in stature, he was dignified, and his eye seemed to have
lost none of its fire. On seeing Martin Vern, he stopped; and turned
his eyes on me for a moment; but the next instant he advanced and took
me by the hand.

"I cannot be mistaken," he said. "This must be Monsieur de Cerons. My
dear young friend! I rejoice to meet you once before I go to meet your
father again in those mansions which I doubt not he has reached, and
which I humbly trust in Christ that I may be also permitted soon to
enter."

I needed no other words to tell me that this was the President des
Chappes, of whom Martin Vern had spoken; and, after a few words more
of inquiry and retrospect, the worthy magistrate turned the
conversation to the subject which had brought me thither.

"I have come myself," he said, "Though not very well, to prohibit the
sale of this property, not knowing whether you would arrive in time or
not. No one can know so well as I do the terms on which the transfer
was made to your cousin, as I drew the very paper I see now in your
hands. I was at that time a lawyer in the royal court of Bordeaux;
and, though not exactly in my line of business, I put the matter in
order for your father with my own hand. Alas! I knew not that I should
never see him more after I witnessed the signature of that deed. But
here I think come our opponents: I will not call them adversaries, for
I love not to see a breach in families. This must be either the Baron
de Blancford, or some other person who thinks himself of importance."

I turned to see, and perceived the baron, followed by several other
gentlemen, advancing rapidly up the hall, and speaking, it seemed to
me, angrily with the young Seigneur de Blaye. At all events; their
brows were frowning and their cheeks were heated; and, not knowing
whether the sight of my attendants without might not have produced all
these signs of indignation, I remained without taking any farther
notice, to let the storm burst. To my surprise, however, the baron
advanced and took my hand. "Henry," he said, in a voice that trembled
with emotion, "my poor boy has arrived, I fear dying of the wound
you mentioned in your letter. I see you feel for me," he continued;
"and no one shall prevent me expressing my thanks for the kindness
and,--and--and--"

While he spoke his eyes had rested on the pale and withered
countenance of the President des Chappes: a look of doubt and surprise
came into his face; he turned white; he hesitated, and then added
confusedly, "Charles is eager and anxious to see you. He thought you
would have come this morning. Who is that beside you--the old man?" he
asked, in a lower tone.

"That," I replied, "is an old friend of my father's: Monsieur des
Chappes, formerly of Bordeaux." The baron trembled excessively; and,
as far as possible to let him recover himself, I went on. "I would
have been at your house long ago, but you yourself refused to receive
me till after Monday."

"I!" cried the baron; "I said no such thing. I said I would receive
you whenever you chose to come--I--"

"My fair cousin, I have your note," I replied; "There it is!"

He took it and read it through, and certainly never did I behold the
cheek, even of a timid girl, change its hue so frequently. At length,
however, he tore it to atoms and trampled it under his feet, saying,
"I am fooled! It is the production of a lady, Henry de Cerons, and
therefore I must say no more."

He paused and gazed round him for a moment or two in silence, as if
uncertain how to proceed, while the Seigneur de Blaye remained playing
with his sword-knot; and maintaining a determined silence; and the
rest who had followed the baron conversed together in a low tone.

"Now speak with him alone," whispered Martin Vern, who had been
talking to Monsieur des Chappes; and I immediately followed the
suggestion, saying, "As it appears, my noble cousin, that the
interview which I asked this morning, for the purpose of communicating
to you a most important fact, was only prevented by a mistake of the
baroness in regard to your intentions, perhaps you will give me five
minutes' conversation with you alone; the proclamation of sale will
not take place for a quarter of an hour."

"Where can we speak alone?" said the baron, with a furtive look at Des
Chappes. "I fear that--"

"Oh, in one of the bureaux," said the president. "I will wait here for
you, my young friend. Huissier, lead these two gentlemen to some
cabinet where they may confer."

"And pray," said the Seigneur de Blaye, "am I to remain here idling my
time away till you return, baron?"

"You came, good sir, to see the sale, I think," replied the baron,
sharply, "Not to enjoy my conversation, which, I suppose, could not be
very entertaining to you;" and, thus saying, he followed the huissier,
who led us to a small room, where we were left alone.

The moment the door was shut, the baron seized me by both hands, and
gazed in my face with a wild and haggard eye. "Henry!" he exclaimed,
"what are you here for? What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning, sir," I answered, calmly but firmly, "the meaning is
simply that the estates of Cerons cannot be sold. Make me not say
anything painful to you, but you know, as well as I do, that they must
not and cannot be sold."

"Henry! Henry!" burst forth from the baron, "do not drive me to
despair!"

"God forbid!" I cried, earnestly; "I seek anything but that. On the
contrary, turn, my lord, to those who really love and can really serve
you, and among the most zealous count myself. I have raised myself,
unsupported and alone, from nothing. With your support, and in your
defence and aid, I can do far more; and, if you will let me, I will in
ten minutes chastise yon empty coxcomb, who seeks your sweet child's
dowry, not her hand. The estate of Cerons cannot be sold; but still I
will enable you to--"

"You cannot, you cannot," replied the baron, interrupting me
vehemently. "You do not know that I have bound myself to him in a
large sum that I cannot pay. The money I borrowed to pay the poor
child's dowry is gone. I have nothing to give with her. He will claim
the bond I gave him. If the sale be stopped, I am distrusted."

"Nay, nay," I said, "all this may be well amended."

"Impossible! impossible!" he said, in a low tone. "I am ruined,
disgraced. Why, your very opposition is enough. I cannot stop the sale
without calling his claim upon me. You cannot stop it without exposing
all."

"But hear me," I said, "but hear me. I know all: you have nothing to
explain. If you will consent to my marriage with Louise, dowerless,
portionless, I will allow you to stay the sale without one word of the
where--hear me! hear me!--and I will instantly put it in your power to
quash this man's claim with a single word, and render him your debtor.
I know he cannot pay that debt, and therefore--"

"Can you do this? Can you do this?" cried the baron, with his whole
face brightening.

"Ay, my cousin, I can," I replied, "and will this moment; and, if he
dare but sneer, I will lash him from that look like an unruly hound."

"That is needless! that is needless!" replied the baron, a look of
triumph coming over his face. "He will be my debtor, I not his; that
will be sufficient. But oh, Henry," he added, while his look fell
again and his cheek became pale, "oh, Henry! there is another! there
is another! Perdition is on either hand; and if I snatch at the aid
you so nobly and generously offer, I fall into another abyss, perhaps
worse than that from which you snatch me; and yet, if the sale do not
take place, it is double destruction. What can I do? what ought I to
do! Tell me! tell me, if you pity me!"

"I will tell you, sir, if you will listen to my advice," I replied;
"but you must decide speedily, for time wears. The most pressing evil
is the one before you. The president Des Chappes will instantly forbid
the sale if it be proclaimed. The cause of the prohibition must then
be put on record. Nothing can ever erase that. Then comes upon you
this Lord of Blaye; and, unprincipled libertine as he is, think you he
will spare in any shape! At all events, sweep this away, and let us
meet whatever other risk or difficulty may be in store as best we may.
Will you consent, sir?"

"You know not, Henry de Cerons, you know not what those difficulties
are. But what you ask must be done. She shall be yours; but you
promise to aid me--to save me if you can?"

"To the very utmost of my power," I answered; "but I know or guess
more than you suppose, sir. You are threatened with danger if you give
your child to any but this libertine"--he bowed his head in token of
assent--"and it is the baroness you fear?" I went on, but he
interrupted me, exclaiming, "Not her! not her!"

"But the secrets she possesses," I rejoined, and he turned deadly
pale.

"The only way," he said, after a pause of some minutes, "The only way
will be for you to conceal your marriage."

"No, my lord," I replied, "that cannot be; but I will conceal your
consent. Hear me!" I continued, seeing him about to grasp at it
eagerly without any conditions, "hear me out. I will conceal your
consent during your whole life, unless compelled by any process of law
to reveal it, or driven by any attempts to annul our union. If you
agree to that, draw up at once, in your own hand, your formal
approbation of our union upon those conditions, so, if ever I produce
that paper without need, the dishonour will fall on me. I will assign
this bond to you; and, walking forth together from this room, we will
at once forbid the sale, and set yon braggart boy at defiance. There
are paper and pens upon that desk."

"Be it so, be it so!" cried the baron, seeming to revive from the tone
of confidence with which I spoke; and, taking the pen, he wrote the
words I put into his mouth. He read it over, and then gave it to me,
and imagination can scarcely do justice to the feelings with which I
received it.

I then assigned to him the bond; and, while I wrote, he remained with
his eyes fixed musingly upon the ground.

"Henry," he said, taking it when I had done, but scarcely looking at
the signature, "you think that I am rather weak to be so swayed by a
woman so criminal that I should fear her. But believe me when I swear
to you, that she holds her power over me by a gross falsehood. A few
unfortunate words, written thoughtlessly, and seeming, as she has
turned them, to countenance a deed that I abhorred, has bound me to
misery and slavery."

"I grieve, sir, most truly," I replied; "but I hope the time will
come when you will trust me more fully, and I doubt not then to be
able----"

At that moment, however, one of the huissiers opened the door, saying,
"Monsieur le Baron, the sale is about to be proclaimed." We both
hurried to the house where it was to take place; but, ere we reached
it, the proclamation was made, and the President des Chappes was in
the act of saying, "I prohibit the sale in the name of Henry Count de
Cerons and Des Bois."

"Speak! speak, sir!" I whispered to the baron; "forbid it also, that
no cause may be entered on my part."

"I prohibit the sale also," he said, raising his voice aloud; and then
added, in an ordinary tone, "I have just received intelligence which
alters altogether my intentions."

"You have, sir?" exclaimed the Seigneur de Blaye, advancing with a
menacing air. "Then you are, as I trust you remember, my debtor to the
amount of forty thousand livres."

"Pardon me, sir!" said the baron, in that cold, bitter tone which I
had more than once heard him use towards myself in former days, "I
think, if I read this paper right, that it is you who are my debtor to
the amount of twenty thousand. We will settle our accounts whenever
you think fit."

The young man looked at the paper, and evidently recognised it well;
then turned his eyes upon me, saying, "I understand to whom I am most
a debtor, and will take occasion to settle my accounts with him before
a week be over."

"I trust you will be punctual, Monsieur de Blaye," I replied; but the
President des Chappes interfered, saying, "Young men! young men! many
words like that uttered here will send you to the châtelet. I beseech
you, sir," he continued, speaking to De Blaye, "as it seems to me that
you have nothing to do with this cause, to leave the hall first."

De Blaye was about to reply, but one or two of the gentlemen who had
accompanied him and the baron thither took him by the arm and drew him
away. We remained in the hall some ten minutes longer, the baron
speaking to Monsieur des Chappes in as unconcerned a tone as he could
employ; but, the moment we had issued forth into the street, he spoke
to me eagerly and long upon the subject whereon my own thoughts were
most earnestly bent. He urged my immediate marriage and departure with
Louise, and he promised himself to speak with her and prepare her mind
for it.

"If you are long," he said, "The matter will be discovered, and I
shall be forced either to sanction your union at once, or to oppose
it. The latter," he continued, "of course, must not be done; but as
you have promised to spare me, Henry, as far as possible, I trust
that, by the utmost secrecy and expedition, you will let the whole
assume the appearance of being done without my consent."

My answer may easily be conceived; but the baron's fears were not less
eager than a lover's hopes, and he turned instantly from me to Martin
Vern, who stood upon the steps of the Palais just behind us. Their
conversation tended all to the same object; for the baron, from
various matters that had been discussed, comprehended at once that the
greater part of my information had been derived from the merchant. I
did not hear their exact words, however, for at that moment a gay
train passed along, and, before I was well aware, my hand was in that
of the prince dauphin. The first expression of his countenance was
pleasure at seeing me; but the next was shaded by some other feelings,
and, after a few rapid questions, he asked me to come to Champigny the
next day, and spend the following night there. There was a hope in my
bosom, however, which prevented me from saying yes; and I replied,
with a smile, that perhaps I might be obliged to quit Paris ere that.
He smiled again, but seemed puzzled by my reply, saying, "Well, well,
let it be so;" but, ere he left me, he came closer, and said in a low
tone, "Promise me, upon your honour, De Cerons, to come to me at
Champigny to-morrow night, if you do not quit Paris to go elsewhere. I
have something important to say to you."

I promised without hesitation; and, grasping my hand warmly, he left
me and went on. "Now," said the baron, as I turned towards him again,
"I have settled it all with this good merchant, at whose house you
lodge. Come with me, Henry, for Charles, poor boy, cries eagerly to
see you; and to-night I will visit you, and tell you, I trust, that
all is prepared."

Bidding adieu to Martin Vern for the time, with many thanks for all
that he had done, I mounted my horse and accompanied the baron to his
house, saying, as we rode along, "May I not hope to see Louise also?
If we are to be so soon united, it were but needful that I should
speak with her myself."

"Nay, Henry, nay," replied my cousin, with the blood mantling up in
his cheek: "press it not if the baroness be there. If she be not, for
a moment you can speak with the dear child, to tell her that, to save
all farther pain on either part, your union is to take place in her
chamber to-morrow night. Good old La Tour shall be brought from
Montmorency to speak a blessing on you: the contract shall be duly
drawn, and Albert shall be present, though I must not. One staircase
shall be put in the hands of your people, to ensure your passing
unopposed; the merchant engages that a gate of the city shall be kept
open to give you exit; and then, as soon as she is yours, fly with her
into the south without delay."

"To-morrow night, did you say?" I exclaimed, in some surprise: "can
all be arranged by that time?"

"All, all," replied the baron; "and oh, Henry! when she is your wife,
tell her that, towards her at least, her father was not made harsh by
nature; tell, Henry--tell her, in one word, that she is like her
mother; ay, and that, whatever she may think, I love her for that
likeness."

"Oh! Monsieur de Blancford," I cried, moved by those words, "Why, why
will you not shake off the yoke that presses on you? why do you not
treat threats with scorn?"

"Because, Henry--because I have sold myself to a fiend," he answered.
"Speak not of it now: one day I will tell you more."

We rode on; and I saw Charles de Blancford--terribly changed, indeed,
in the space of two short days--I saw Louise, too, though it was but
for a few short minutes; but that was enough to tell her that our fate
was changed, and to ask her if she would consent to be mine so
suddenly, so secretly, so unprepared. She replied not at first, but
her looks left all other answer needless; and, ere she could reply, we
heard the arrival of the baroness in the courtyard, and we parted.

With Charles I sat for some hours; and all I had to tell him of the
transactions between his father and myself seemed to afford him better
medicines than the druggist's shop could supply. I saw not the
baroness: but, after my return to the house of Martin Vern, the baron
came, and we passed nearly three hours in making every arrangement.
The good merchant sat by and listened gravely, even sadly. Once I saw
him bury his eyes in his hands, and he sighed often and deeply; but he
promised all that we required in regard to his own aid; and, when the
baron asked him if he thought not that our plan must certainly
succeed, he replied, with a smile that I afterward understood better,
"I will stake my life upon it."



CHAPTER IX.


It was two o'clock in the morning of Sunday, the 24th of August, 1573,
when I reached the _porte-cochère_ of the Baron de Blancford. The
whole town was still, and the soft, balmy air of the summer night
fanned my cheek like the breath of love. The wicket was, as I had
expected, open, and behind it was Moric Endem, armed only with the
usual weapons of daily defence, with the addition of a pistol in case
of need. He was masked, however, as it was agreed that we all should
be; and, pointing to a small door on the other side of the court, he
whispered, "By that door and up the stairs, sir, you will find Andriot
and two others."

I looked towards the porter's room, fearing lest the least noise
should disturb those we wished to slumber. All was quiet, however;
and, passing across the court, I found the door held open by Andriot.
On the first landing-place of the stairs there was another of my men,
and higher up a third. On the third landing there appeared a light
shining through a door ajar, and I gently pushed it open and entered.
It admitted me to a small anteroom, and watching on the opposite side
was Albert of Blancford. The noble boy embraced me gladly; and, with a
whispered word or two of joyful congratulation, led me into the room
beyond. There stood Louise, somewhat pale and agitated; but the dear
girl suffered not such feelings to veil or check her affection for the
man she loved; and, starting forward from the side of old La Tour, she
cast herself into my arms. I soothed and caressed her for a moment,
while the good old pastor came forward and grasped me eagerly by the
hand. The contract of our marriage lay upon the table; but we had many
words to say to each other, and had not yet signed it, when the door
behind us opened, and the baron himself entered.

"Is it done?" he asked, anxiously: "has it taken place? Be quick,
Henry! be quick!" he added, seeing that the contract was still
unsigned. "I fear, and shall fear for your happiness, my children,
till the act is irrevocable."

Oh! happy interruption to words, every one of which occupied those
moments that bore Fate upon their wings! Gladly we signed the paper;
gladly we pronounced the vow that bound us to each other; gladly I
placed the mystic symbol of eternal union on the hand of her I loved.

"Now!" cried the baron, as soon as the whole was completed, "Now
depart at once! You will find good Dame Marguelette without the walls
at the spot where your horses wait. Bless thee, my Louise! bless thee!
Be kind to her, Henry, and love none but her: be warned--be warned by
what you have seen and know. Get thee to bed, Albert, and let all now
be quiet in the house."

Louise trembled a good deal, but I led her on; and gradually, as the
severing from her father's house seemed more complete, she clung to me
more closely. The baron, with his own hand, shut the door behind us,
and, step by step, we descended the dark stairs.

"I have thought it better, dear Louise," I said, as we reached the
bottom of the stairs, "That we should both be screened from notice as
far as possible; and I have here a nun's gown, if you can throw it
over your other clothes. Where is the gown, Andriot?"

He gave it me, and Louise covered her white dress with the gray serge;
but, as she was in the very act of putting it on, to my surprise I
heard the great and remarkable-toned bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois
begin to ring loudly, as if for matins; and, scarcely had I hurried
Louise across the court into the street, when loud shouts were heard
from different parts of the town; the bells of the churches were heard
ringing; the light of torches and flambeaux was seen advancing from
the side of the Louvre; and it was evident that, notwithstanding the
profound stillness which had reigned in the city as I passed along,
one part, at least, of the population was up and watchful.

A moment after we heard a loud and piercing shriek in the distance,
and Louise, trembling in every limb, clung to my arm. At first she
seemed to think that all this referred to ourselves; that we were
discovered, and about to be dragged back; but the cries from every
part of the town soon undeceived her: and, as I remembered the various
little incidents of the last three days; the warning of young Martin
Vern; the eager and pressing invitation of the prince dauphin, I
doubted not that some dark and horrible scheme for the destruction of
the Protestants was upon the eve of execution.

Moric Endem closed the door behind us, and, with the other men, sprung
to my side; and, remembering the caution of the young merchant, I drew
Louise on, with scarcely a word, towards his dwelling.

The street in which we were was still nearly vacant, with the
exception of the people bearing torches, who were coming from the
farther end; but, just as we quitted the shadow of the Hôtel de
Blancford, a man darted forth from a doorway on the other side,
crying, "Help! help! Here are Protestants escaping!" and, at the same
time, he seized me by the arm and aimed a blow at my head. He was
masked, but the voice was that of De Blaye; and he certainly would,
have cut me down, had not Moric Endem, always prompt and cool,
levelled his pistol at his head and fired. He fell dead upon the spot;
but the cry had brought a number of the torch-men down at full speed,
and I certainly thought that our hour was come.

Moric's wit, however, now saved us, as his ready courage had done. He
seemed to comprehend the whole in a moment; and, as his religion never
stood in the way of his proceedings, he burst out into a loud laugh as
the men came up, crying, "That Maheutre of a Huguenot will need no
more. By the mass, if I had not had my pistol, he would have murdered
some of us. There, drag him along by the heels to Montfaucon. So
perish all enemies of the true church!"

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the torchmen, taking us for zealous Catholics;
and on we hurried after them as close as we could come. But the house
of Martin Vern was far off. The streets were beginning to swarm with
people; we saw two doors burst open, to pillage the houses and
massacre the inhabitants, before we reached the end of the street; and
Louise could not keep up with the men, whose mistake might still have
saved us if we could have gone on in their company. Nothing, then, but
certain death seemed to surround us on every side; the only chance was
in putting Moric Endem at the head of our troop; but he was known to
so many Catholics as well as Protestants, that the first order to
unmask would have betrayed all.

As we were following the other party at some distance, five or six
people came up from the opposite direction, and spoke a moment to
those before us. There was a woman with these new-comers; but they
stopped, and one man advanced, saying, "Unmask!"

Moric was about to cut him down, but I stopped him, and replied,
"Unmask yourself."

"Ha!" cried the other, "I was seeking you, Monsieur des Bois. We shall
save you still. Miriam, link yourself with the lady; my men, mingle
with their men. Let none of your party," he added, in a low tone,
"unmask; we will do that if need should be. Now, shout, my men, and
wave your torches. Up with the Catholic church, down with the
Maheutres!"

"Oh, my father! my father!" said Louise to me, in a low voice; "can we
not save my father! Oh, Henry! Henry! think of him!"

I spoke a word upon the subject to the young merchant, but he stopped
me sharply ere I could finish my sentence. "I am risking my life by
what I am doing even now. Speak not of it! He has a Catholic wife; she
will save his house. Come on! come on! You will see such sights as
will make you glad of your own lives!"

I whispered to Louise the hope that he gave me, scanty as it was; and,
alas! as we hastened onward, the sights we saw did fully justify that
which the young merchant had said.

Before we had gone half a mile, the streets of Paris were one scene of
massacre and horror. The whole place was blazing with torches; large
parties of armed men, on foot and on horseback, were scouring the
streets, killing every one even suspected of Protestantism; and many a
Catholic, too, was slain in the anarchy of the time, who stood between
fair estates and greedy relations. Six or seven we saw slain before
our eyes; and thrice, while the echoing screams of new victims were
heard within the houses, a dead body was cast forth from the upper
windows into the streets as we were passing. Instantly a crowd of the
dark and sallow villains that crowd the lanes and alleys of every
great metropolis, gathered round, like vultures over the dead, to
strip it of its clothing; and often was heard the low groan or faint
cry which followed the dagger-stroke that ended what the assassins
above had left unfinished.

As we approached the banks of the river, however, the scene became
still more terrible and still more confused; thousands of figures, all
bent on the same bloody business, whirled round us in every direction;
the cries of the victims; the shouts of their butchers; the breaking
in of doors and windows; the occasional discharge of firearms; the
incessant ringing of the bells, the beating of drums, and the sounding
of trumpets, made a noise perfectly deafening; while the sights that
were now presented, as clearly as if it had been day, made the heart
sick with horror, and agony, and indignant grief. In one gateway alone
I saw piled up so many human bodies, among which were two women, that
the gate could not be shut; and, as I kept my eyes upon the ground, I
saw that the gutters flowed red with blood. A little farther on, a boy
of thirteen or fourteen years of age was seen dragging along a naked
body by the heels; and farther still, a fiend of a woman pressing out
the last breath from the body of a creature like herself, while she
tore the rich clothes from her dying limbs.

All those that appeared active in the massacre, of a better class, at
least, all I saw were masked; but much happened even close to me that
I beheld not at all; for my whole thoughts were taken up with the
situation of the dear girl by my side, and I feared every moment that
her strength would fail through terror, horror, and agitation. She
hung heavily upon my arm, it is true, but still she did not give way.
With her eyes bent down upon the ground, she hurried on, while the
kind girl Miriam, though evidently terribly agitated herself, poured
strengthening and consoling words into her ear, and supported her on
the other side.

Three times we had been stopped and commanded to unmask; but either a
single word from young Martin Vern, or Moric Endem's well-imitated
shout of "Down with the Huguenots!" obtained us a free passage without
uncovering our faces.

At length, the long-wished-for sight of the street in which the
merchant lived presented itself; but at that very spot we were stopped
by a crowd of wild rabble whom no words would pacify; and even when
the young merchant and two of those who were with him pulled their
vizards off, a furious man, brandishing a sword, swore that he gave a
false name, and was calling out to kill him, when Moric Endem,
starting forward, exclaimed, "Ha! Gouquant! Huguenot! Maheutre that
you are! Knock his brains out, Martin! Knock his brains out! He was
Coligne's horseboy at Moncontour, and was taken. Knock his brains out!
knock his brains out! He is a Huguenot shamming Catholic."

With his drawn sword in his hand he rushed forward, and, before he
could be stopped, cut the man down. "By the mass, there are more
Huguenots among them!" he cried, springing at another man. "Kill them
all! kill them all! Down with the Huguenots!" but the men fled in
every direction, and left the street clear.

Young Martin Vern, however, paused and looked angrily upon Moric
Endem, saying, "This must be answered."

"It is answered in six words," replied Moric. "The man is what I said.
He is Gouquant, who was horseboy to the admiral, and has since, I
hear, been cutthroat for any one that wanted one here in Paris."

Nobody could contradict him, and the young merchant hurried on.

Oh! with what joy and satisfaction did I see the great doors of the
merchant's courtyard close behind us, and held my poor half-fainting
Louise to my heart in a momentary dream of safety! But that dream was
soon dispelled, for I heard one of the men, as pale as death, telling
the good youth who had protected us that the whole place had been
twice searched for me and my followers already. The next moment there
was a low rap at the gate, and, on looking through the grating, we saw
the two elder merchants, with a footboy, and immediately gave them
admission. Martin Vern's face was sad and pale, however.

"They refuse me to open the city gates on any account," he said, as
soon as the door was closed. "Nay, cheer up, sweet lady, we will find
means to save you. Miriam, what says your quick wit? To-morrow the
search will be stricter and more orderly--not less fatal, though. How
can we get them out of the city?"

"By the river!" said the girl, eagerly, "by the river! My father's
barge, that brought all the gold plate from Rouen, is just at the back
of our garden."

"But, to get to the top of your house, Miriam," said the merchant,
"They must pass round through that awful street where the blood is now
flowing like water."

"Over the tops of the houses!" cried the girl; "over the roof! I know
there is a way. You, dear Martin, run round and tell my father to open
the door above. I will guide them thither."

The young merchant paused not a moment, and his uncles as eagerly and
rapidly led us out upon the tops of their warehouses. Tremendous was
the lurid glare that rose up from the streets below; tremendous the
mingled roar of terrific sounds that reached us as we hurried along
the narrow and giddy way; it was like walking along the precipice
verge of hell itself; and I do not think that Louise could have borne
it long, had not good Martin Vern soon led us into a sort of alley
between the double roofs of the houses. It was with some difficulty
that we found out which was the roof of the good Jew's house; but at
length Miriam fixed upon it, and knocked at a small door in the side.
For several moments there was no answer, and she knocked again. Then,
however, came the sound of steps hurrying up, and hands unsteady, it
seemed, with age or fear, unlocked the door on the other side. As soon
as it was opened the head of Solomon Ahar appeared, his limbs shaking,
and his face pale.

"Blessed be God!" he cried. "Blessed be God! Come in, my children!
come in! All is safe here. I always make my house doubly strong. Ah!
bless your sweet face, lady, you look pale, and well you may; but the
boat will save you. It is close to the shore; in the little creek I
had made to unload my merchandise. I owe my life to the good lord,
your lover, there!"

"My husband!" said Louise, in a tone that I shall never forget; and,
casting herself upon my bosom, she wept. Her tears were soon dried,
however, and we hurried down to the bank.

As it was probable that we might be fired upon, some large piles of
fagots were given us to make a sort of screen on either side, and also
to give the barge the appearance of merely a wood-boat. A large bag of
money was placed in my hands by Martin Vern; Miriam brought down some
rich cushions for Louise to lie upon; the Jew himself added wine and
provisions; and Moric Endem, doing his best to assume the appearance
of a common boatman, aided another of the men to push away from the
shore and get into the middle of the river.

As we slowly made our way along, the horrid sounds from the centre of
the town began to decrease; but, just in passing near the walls, the
guards first called out to stop, and then fired upon us. But their
shot did us no harm, and, ere they could load and fire again, we were
out of reach. We passed the suburb, too, in safety; and oh! how
strange was the sensation, when we felt the boat gliding on through
the calm, noiseless scenes of the country, and saw the calm morning
light glowing warmly in the east!

Our horses and the rest of my followers, with good Dame Marguelette,
had been stationed at a little cabaret not a hundred yards from the
river, and Moric, who knew the spot, engaged to land us, and lead us
thither at once. He was not one to mistake, and we put ourselves
entirely under his guidance. When the boat touched the shore, however,
I thought I heard many persons talking at a distance, and landed first
to see.

As I approached the rendezvous, I saw, by the gray dawn, a much larger
body of horse than that which I expected, and, pausing, I was on the
eve of returning to the barge, when I perceived a young man
dismounted, and pacing eagerly backward and forward, but every now and
then pausing to look up the road. I thought that I could not be
mistaken in the figure, and, advancing a little nearer, the face of
the prince dauphin became more distinct. At the same moment he caught
a sight of me, and, darting forward, he caught me by the hand,
saying, "Thank God! but oh, De Cerons, you are surely not alone!"

I told him briefly what had happened, and he replied, "Lose not a
moment! Bring them all here. There is a letter for the lady, and an
escort of my own men, with a safe conduct from my father. But you must
put twenty leagues between you and Paris ere you sleep; for here, at
this moment, no man could be certain of saving his own brother from
hour to hour. No words, De Cerons, but away! To Geneva! to Geneva! if
you would have safety."

No words, indeed, were spent in vain. Louise and the rest were brought
up from the boat, and, ere twenty minutes had passed, we were on the
road to Switzerland.

It was not till we had passed the French frontier that I could believe
that the beloved being, now my own, was in safety; but there my joy
was mingled with deep grief; for there we learned, for the first time,
the extent of our loss, and found that the Barony of Blancford, as
well as the Lordship of Cerons, had fallen to one who wept to receive
them. Good old La Tour, too, was among the gone; and the Baroness de
Blancford had not been suffered, by the wild beasts that were let
loose upon the Protestants of France, to escape that fate which she
made no effort to avert from her husband.



EVA ST. CLAIR.

A TALE.



EVA ST. CLAIR.
--------------
CHAPTER I.


'Twas a bright day in the autumn; the brown leaves were still upon the
trees, the moss was springing up rich and green round the old roots
and upon the sloping banks, and the sun, peeping in wherever the hand
of Time had cast down their green garmenture from the earlier shrubs,
checkered the ground every here and there with bright glances of
yellow light, which, while the wind moved the branches gently above,
waved slowly backward and forward, as if well pleased at the velvety
cushion on which it rested. The scene was as still and solitary as it
was possible to conceive; for those were days in which civil wars and
angry strife had diminished by one half the population of merry
England. No forester took his way through the wood; no guard of the
king's chase or baron's huntsman watched to see whether some churl or
yeoman was not aiming the shaft at the royal deer, or entangling the
roebuck in a concealed snare. Stephen, pressed on all sides, had been
forced to abandon rights for the sake of popularity; and many a wide
track, deserted by its lord, and destitute of inhabitants, remained
open to any one that chose to hunt within its precincts.

A low wind sighed through the tops of the trees, and made the dry
leaves whisper as if telling each other some solemn tale. The sun
shone, as I have said; but with great silence and in the midst of
solitude, there is something solemn even in sunshine. At length a
woodpecker came down upon the green moss, ran up a neighbouring tree,
knocked it with its bill where it seemed hollow, and then either came
down again upon the ground, or flew on again to another tree, with the
wild, melancholy sort of laugh to which that bird gives utterance
while upon the wing.

He had gone on this way for nearly an hour, confining his excursions
to the limits of a few hundred yards, when suddenly he started up from
a green cushion of moss on which he had settled for a moment, and flew
away from the open spot, where the trees stood far apart, into the
depths of the thicker wood beyond.

What was it started the wild bird from the moss! It was a step that
fell lightly, and scarcely left a print behind it; but it was quick
and hurried, and the small foot that made it was somewhat weary with
the length of way it had come.

In a moment after, in the midst of the tall trees where the woodpecker
had been disporting himself, there stood the form of a girl of some
nineteen or twenty years of age. Over her other clothes she wore a
dark brown cloak, such as in those days was very commonly worn by
women of the lower orders, and the hood, which formed the principal
part of the garment, was brought far over the head. This mantle, rough
and rude in itself, seemed also somewhat too large for the person that
wore it; but, nevertheless, it could not conceal entirely the grace of
the form it covered, nor the movement of each well-turned limb.

The young lady--for no one who saw her could doubt that she was
so--paused as she came up to the spot we have mentioned, and gazed
round about her somewhat inquiringly, as if she expected to find there
something she did not behold.

"It is strange," she said at length, speaking low, in a sweet,
melodious voice, like the musical murmuring of a stream, "it is very
strange that the old woman is not here. Perhaps I am before the time.
I will wait and see," and, seating herself on the mossy bank in the
sunshine, she bent down her head upon her hand, and soon fell into a
deep fit of meditation. The expression of her countenance grew
something more than thoughtful--it grew even melancholy; and so busy
did she become with her own thoughts, that her tongue betrayed, from
time to time, the ideas that were passing within. "It is very long,"
she said, "very long since I heard from him. Old Maude has forgotten
such feelings, or she would not keep me so long from the letter. I
wonder if I shall ever forget them? Oh, I hope not!" And again she
fell into silent thought, with her eyes fixed upon the rich green
stems of the moss which carpeted the ground beneath her feet. A minute
or two after, however, borne upon the light wind came the sound of a
distant bell, and, looking up and listening with a smile, she again
murmured, "I was too soon! There is the bell of the convent sounding
the Angelus."

Scarcely had the last tone died away when another sound met her
ear--the sound of a full, clear voice singing a gay country ditty; one
of the many for which old England has been famous at all times. The
words were In the old Saxon tongue, but they may very nearly be
rendered as follows in the English of our own day.


SONG.

     Shut the window, close the door;
     See, the brown leaves strew the floor;
     Chilling winds are in the sky,
     Autumn's gone and spring is nigh,
        But winter lies between.
     Oh, the brown leaves! oh, the brown,
     Best of hues for fields or town,
        It outlives the good-by of the green.

     Hark, the curfew! Hide the fire;
     Let no flame rise like a spire,
     But leave enough of ashes bright
     To see my Maude's eyes by the light
        That the gray embers lend.
     Oh, the gray! night's sober gray!
     Gold light and blue sky for the day,
        But gray on all in the end.


The lady had started up at the very first sounds, and looked in the
direction whence they came with some degree of apprehension. As she
listened, however, she said, with a more assured countenance, "She has
sent her son, the good woodman; yet that does not sound like his voice
either. I will creep behind those bushes and watch; but it must be
him."

Silently drawing back, and keeping the tree still between her and the
path by which the singer seemed to be approaching, she placed herself
behind some bushes at the distance of between twenty or thirty yards
of the spot where she had been seated. As she there stood, the person
whose voice she had heard came forward from the thicker part of the
wood, looking, as he advanced, towards the westward, which, it must be
remarked, was the quarter from which the lady herself had first
appeared. He slackened his pace, too, as he came up, so that there
could be but little doubt that it was for her he looked. His dress,
too, reassured her; for it consisted of the yellow untanned leather
coat of the woodman, which, from the green ochrey earth that was
employed to clean it, received a tint very much like that of the young
leaves of the trees. The coat, indeed, was not in the very best
condition, being a good deal worn, and somewhat ragged at the spot
where the heavy axe, thrust through the broad belt, had chafed the
thick leather for many a day. There was a large gap, too, and a patch
upon the right arm; and the fair girl, who was now advancing, with a
heart naturally kindly and expanding, at that moment more
particularly, from the happy expectation of receiving tidings, thought
that she would give the good woodman wherewithal to renew his leathern
coat as a reward for bearing her the letter.

The woodman, unconscious of her presence, was looking the other way;
but, though her step was light, his ears soon caught it, and he turned
quickly towards her as she came forward.

There might be seen, the instant that he turned, a sudden change in
the lady's look. She stopped, gazed at him with a look of
astonishment, and then, uttering a cry of surprise and joy, sprang
forward to his arms. In her eagerness, the hood and mantle fell off,
disclosing the graceful person, the lovely face, and the rich apparel
below; and it was a strange sight, certainly, to see so fair and
delicate a creature, habited as might become the daughter of a prince,
clasped in the arms of one clothed in such rude attire. It wanted,
however, but one glance at his countenance to show that he upon whose
bosom the lady hung so fondly was not what he seemed; and every moment
spoke of long training to graceful exercises and to courtly demeanour,
though each limb was well fitted to wield the heavy sword or couch the
tough ash spear. He was tall and powerfully made, but his countenance
was mild and kind, and his eye, as it rested upon the fair girl whom
he now held to his heart, was full of tenderness and affection as well
as joy--joy rising out of grief, and not entirely freed from some
portion thereof, like a flower opening out after a shower, but with
its head still bent down, and its leaves encumbered with the drops
that had fallen heavily upon it. All that the young gentleman said for
some time was, "Eva, my beloved Eva;" and all that the lady replied
was, "Oh, Richard, how long it is since we have met!"

Then succeeded words of joy, and tenderness, and love; but upon these
we will not dwell, for to pause and fix our eyes upon moments of such
bright happiness is like gazing upon the sun, which, for long after,
prevents us from seeing all other things less bright. They had much to
say, however, that was not joyful; they had much to tell that was
painful to hear; for, though Eva St. Clair assured him again and again
that she would never love any one but him; that, sooner than wed any
other, she would take that fatal vow by which many a young, a kind,
and affectionate heart bound itself, in those days, to cold solitude
for ever, she had yet to tell him that she saw no prospect of her
father, the well-known Hubert of St. Clair, changing in any degree his
determination of refusing her hand to him whom he had once permitted
to expect it as a certain treasure; with whom all her years had been
passed, and to whom her young affection had been given. The dissension
between their fathers, which, as was so often the case in those days,
had been permitted to break through the happiness of their children,
seemed, she said, of a character rather to be aggravated than
diminished by time, at least in the mind of her father, who, though
generous to all, and especially kind to her, would not yield on a
point where he conceived his honour was concerned. He, too, had to
tell much that was painful. He had to inform her that his father was
more than ever attached to the cause of the usurper Stephen, and that
he, his son, was still bound to fight upon a side where his heart told
him that the cause was unjust, and where his own observation showed
him that injustice was upheld by tyranny and wrong; a side in defence
of which his arm was weak and his sword fell powerless; where he felt
that he could never win renown, because his heart was deprived of all
those enthusiasms that lead on to high destinies in whatever cause
they are enlisted.

Still, however, while they told each other all these sad things, the
joy of this meeting again mingled with the sorrow, and many a look of
love, and many a fond caress was added, which softened their grief,
and made the anticipated evils look far off while hope was born of
joy.

Though their meeting, even in the wild chase of the Lords of St.
Clair, was a rash and dangerous act, yet they promised to meet again:
and still they talked, and still they lingered; nor would they
probably have separated for many a moment longer, had not the sound of
a horn, echoing through the glades of the green wood, told them that
some one was rapidly approaching.

"Fly, Richard, fly!" exclaimed the fair girl; "it is my father; most
likely it is my father; and oh, if he were to find you here, how
terrible might be the result."

Richard de Lacy pressed her once more to his heart, once more kissed
the sweet lips of her who loved him, and then plunged into the deepest
part of the wood; while Eva, snatching up the dark mantle she had
dropped, gathered it round her, and, with a quick step, bent her way
homeward.



CHAPTER II.


We must now change the scene for a time; for, in so brief a history as
this the reader's imagination must aid the writer, and supply all
those links in the chain which would occupy much time to detail.

On the top of a high wooded hill in the county of Buckingham, which
was in those days covered with great forests of beech-trees, rose
heavily from amid the green boughs the square, heavy keep of an old
Norman castle. This was all that could be seen of the dwelling of the
Lords of St. Clair from the lower country which it commanded; but,
upon approaching through the chase, vast ranges of walls, and
battlements, and outbuildings were seen; moats and ditches covering a
great extent of ground, with the turreted gate and barbican thrown
forward in front. Though no artillery, in those days, looked down from
the battlements, with mouths ready to pour forth fire and destruction
upon those who advanced to attack them, yet the aspect of those walls
was no less imposing; and bold would have been the man who, without an
overwhelming force, would have marched to the assault of the Castle of
St. Clair.

Such was not likely to be the case on the day of which we speak. But,
nevertheless, there was an imposing display of strength upon the
walls--archers, and slingers, and men-at-arms; and, though the gates
were thrown open and the drawbridge was down, yet the archway was
lined with soldiers, and the great court was half filled with men in
complete arms. Often did it happen in those days, that the appearance
of reverence covered preparations for defence or resistance; and while
Hubert of St. Clair stood a few steps beyond the gateway of his own
castle, clad in the long and flowing robes which were then much
affected in times of peace by the Norman nobles, he looked round upon
the iron-clad forms and bristling spears of his men-at-arms with pride
and pleasure, while he watched the advance of a small train of
horsemen who came slowly up the long road cut down the edge of the
wooded hill.

The person who approached at the head of that party was Stephen, king
of England; and ever and anon, as he rode up the ascent, he rolled his
eyes over the well-manned walls of the castle he was approaching, and
murmured some words to himself in a tone of displeasure, perhaps of
scorn. When he came near to St. Clair, indeed, his face assumed a
softer aspect, and he tried hard to smooth his tone and manner when he
returned the salutation of the baron. The effort was very
unsuccessful, however; and a heavy frown still sat upon his brow as he
dismounted from his horse and entered the hall, where everything had
been prepared as far to receive him as the shortness of the notice he
had given would permit.

"Well, my good lord, well," he said, as he advanced into the hall,
still glancing his eye, as he spoke, over every object that the place
contained, "I have come all this way from my army to see if I cannot
persuade you to give your fair daughter to the son of my noble friend
De Lacy."

The baron heard him with a calm, cold countenance, but replied nothing
directly, merely saying, "Let me beseech you, my liege, to taste some
refreshment, such as my place can afford. Had I known of your coming
sooner, I would have been better provided."

"But give me an answer, give me an answer, my good lord," replied the
king, "and a fair answer, too, I beseech you."

"I seek not to marry my daughter, sire," replied the baron, in the
same cold tone; "perhaps, before I do, she may be a ward of the
crown."

Stephen bit his lip, but smothered every inclination to make a sharp
reply, saying, in a jesting tone, "But where is the fair lady? where
is your daughter, my good lord! Let us have her to council; her voice,
surely, will have some weight in the matter."

"Not knowing of your coming, my liege," replied the baron, "she is
gone forth, I understand, either to visit the good nuns of Grace Dieu,
or to see her old foster-mother Maude, who lives near the small town
on the other side of the chase. But where is your noble son, my liege?
Your messengers informed me he came with you."

"He follows hard after," answered the king; "perhaps he may have gone
to strike a hart in your forest, my good lord. You will not grudge the
king's son a head of venison?"

"Heaven forbid!" replied the baron. "But there seems some disturbance
without there, as if they were bringing in some one who is hurt.
Heaven forbid that your son, my liege, should have met any one of my
rough foresters."

Stephen looked instantly towards the court; but, seeing his son,
Prince Eustace, on horseback, and apparently safe, he turned again
towards the baron, whose attention had been called in another
direction.

During the brief time the king's eyes had been turned towards the
court, some other persons had been added to the group in the hall;
but, ere we proceed to say what brought them thither, we must once
more take the wings of imagination, and fly back to the glades of the
forest, and to the scenes which had just taken place under their green
canopy.

Eva, as we have said, had hastened rapidly homeward; and, though the
horns sounded hither and thither at no great distance from her, the
path she pursued was for some way quite solitary; till at length,
secure from being found in the midst of the wild chase with Richard de
Lacy, she slackened her pace and walked more slowly, stopping at last
entirely, to take breath and gaze around her, at a spot where the
road, rounding an angle at the hill, exposed a deep wooded valley
below, with a wide, sloping upland on the other side, rising gradually
towards her father's castle, the tall keep of which was discernible
above the woody scene before her eyes.

Along the side of the opposite hill the hunt was sweeping merrily;
horsemen and hounds were seen from time to time bursting forth for an
instant, and then plunging again among the bushes; and still the
cheerful echo of the horns and eager cry of the dogs told which way
the chase went, as the quarry led them through a long, mazy course
amid its native woods. Eva gazed, and saw them take their way in a
direction opposite to that in which her own steps were bent; but, the
moment after, she started with surprise, and uttered a faint cry, as
two gayly-dressed horsemen dashed forth from the wood close beside
her, and one of them, springing from his horse, caught the edge of her
mantle with rude familiarity.

"Ha! my pretty maiden," he cried, "We have been hunting the hart and
caught the hind, ha? Back with your hood! back with your hood! We
three foresters let no deer escape us. On my soul, Eustace, this is no
pitiful prize! Thank my lucky stars, that gave you the first choice
and the miller's maiden, and threw this pretty creature as the prize
of the second chance."

The person who spoke was a young man of some nineteen or twenty years
of age, rather effeminate than otherwise in his appearance, and with a
great quantity of long black hair,[1] beautifully curled and parted in
front. As he spoke he pulled back violently the hood from Eva's face,
and al the same moment cast his arm round her slender waist. She
struggled to free herself, entreated, threatened her father's wrath;
but he heard not or heeded not; those were days of unbridled license,
when even churches and monasteries did not give security; and the
walls of the castle were woman place of safety against insult and
brutal violence. Terror took possession of the daughter of St. Clair,
and she screamed loudly again and again.

Ere the second cry had issued from her lips, however, some one darted
from the wood, and in a moment another followed him. Both were dressed
as woodmen, and again Eva screamed loudly, holding forth her arms
towards the one who first appeared.

"Get thee back, churl," cried the man who held her, still detaining
her with his left arm while he drew his sword with his right; "get
thee back, or, by Heaven, I will send thy soul to the place appointed
for the serfs in the other world;" and he laughed aloud at his own
jest.

His laughter was soon over, however, for the stranger was upon him in
a moment with a broad axe drawn from his belt and glittering in his
hand. The proud noble struck at him with his sword; but, to his
surprise, the axe met the blow and parried it, as a weapon in the hand
of a skilful swordsman. With a bitter curse he let go his hold of Eva,
and rushed forward upon his adversary; but he had scarcely time to
strike another blow, when his opponent, turning the back of the axe,
struck him first on the shoulder a blow that brought him on his knee,
and then another on the forehead, which, though lighter than the
first, laid him stunned and bleeding on the earth.

"Lie there, Earl of Northampton," said his adversary: and then, giving
one glance to Eva, who had fled to some distance, he turned towards
the other horseman, who had likewise drawn his sword, and, with
furious and blasphemous invectives, was pressing fiercely upon the
second person who had come to Eva's rescue. That other horseman was
even younger than the first; but pride, and violence were stamped on
every feature, and vice had written early marks of its blighting
effects upon his countenance.

"Walter, Walter," cried the voice of him who had so soon terminated
the contest with the Earl of Northampton, "leave him, Walter; it is
the king's son! The lady is safe. Leave him, I say."

"He shall not leave me till I have cleft his scull," cried the prince.
"Richard de Lacy, I know you; and, if you dare to interfere, I will
treat you as I would a hound;" and, as he spoke, he spurred his horse
upon the woodman Walter, aiming a furious blow at his head; but
Richard de Lacy thrust himself between, turned aside the stroke, and,
catching the bridle of the horse, reined it sharply back upon its
haunches, so that it slipped and wellnigh rolled down the hill.

"Fy, prince, for shame," said De Lacy; "some day such acts will cost
you a crown. You can do no more mischief here, however; get some of
your attendants to carry away the carrion of yonder vile perverter of
your youth."

"Hark ye, De Lacy, hark ye," cried the prince, bending over his
saddle-bow, and dropping the point of his sword; and, as the young
baron approached nearer to hear, the prince struck him a blow with his
clinched fist in the face, saying, "Take that, hound, and learn your
duty."

De Lacy suddenly raised the axe in his hand, but instantly suffered it
to fall again without doing the deed he had meditated. "The time for
answering this will come," he said; "it shall not be said of me that I
killed the king's son in a wood, with no one by, or broke the neck of
a stripling who deserves the rod of a pedagogue."

Thus saying, he cast free the rein, and, making the woodman go before
him, he followed Eva on her way. He overtook her soon; for, though
fright carried her fast, her strength soon failed; and, taking a small
path which all of them well knew through the depth of the wood, he led
her to one of the postern gates of the castle, and there left her in
safety. When he had done so he went back to the woodman's cottage,
cast off the dress under which he had concealed his rank, and mounted
the horse which was waiting there for his return.

At the neighbouring town a large and splendid train had been ordered
to remain till he came back; but Richard de Lacy waited only for those
who were ready to spring into the saddle, and, spurring onward without
the loss of an hour, he reached his father's castle on the following
morning just as high mass was over. His father was still in the
chapel, speaking with old friends and affectionate retainers ere he
returned to the hall; but Richard advanced at once up the aisle, and,
to the astonishment of his father, he strode without a pause to the
high altar, on which, after kissing the cross upon its hilt, he laid
down his sheathed sword, saying, "That sword shall never be drawn
again in the service of an usurper, or for the race of one who has
dared to strike the son of Reginald de Lacy."

The old man frowned upon him, but made no reply.



CHAPTER III.


These were busy and eager movements seen through the lands of Hubert
St. Clair. Horsemen galloping hither and thither, the German catching
up his bow, the men-at-arms buckling on sword and helmet, and troops
flocking to the castle from every part of the domain. These signs and
symptoms of some sudden change in the views and the prospects of the
Lord of St. Clair were followed by the marching of forces towards
Oxford; and in the midst of one of the strongest bands was a fair
lady, with a train of matrons and damsels attending upon her, and
several old squires and grooms, who had seen her grow up among them
from infancy to womanhood.

In the good town of Oxford there stood at that time a large palace and
a strong castle, both of which have been long swept away, if not
entirely, yet so far as to leave scarcely a trace of the original
forms behind. At the gates of the palace Eva St. Clair dismounted from
her horse, and was led on by some attendants who met her, into a
chamber where sat a lady of tall and commanding person and imposing
aspect. Eva advanced somewhat agitated, but still gracefully, and
knelt at the feet of the Empress Matilda; for such was the person to
whom she now came. The empress suffered her to kneel, gazing on her as
she did so with a look of some surprise and admiration; but at length,
seeming suddenly to recollect her, she exclaimed, "Oh! the daughter of
St. Clair! He has, indeed, kept his word with me, and sooner than he
promised;" and, bending down her head, she kissed the fair brow that
was raised towards her, and asked what news the lady had brought.

"I bring you, madam," said Eva, "a small band of three hundred chosen
men, with tidings from my father, that with the same number he has
gone to join your majesty's brother, the noble Earl of Gloucester.
Besides this, he holds three castles strongly garrisoned for your
majesty's service, and he hopes, ere long, to join you with the earl,
with such a force as will make your enemies tremble."

Such tidings were very consolatory to the empress queen, and the aid
she so suddenly received was indeed most needful, for her party had
been reduced to little better than a name. Stephen's power was every
day increasing; her brother, the Earl of Gloucester, had gone to seek
aid in Normandy and Anjou, and she was left with a very scanty force
to keep alive the struggle till his return. That return, however, was
delayed much longer than any one expected, by the hesitation and
uncertainty of her own husband, who left her to fight for the crown,
which was hers by hereditary right, with scarcely an effort to assist
or support her. Taking advantage of the great Earl of Gloucester's
absence, Stephen exerted every energy to crush the cause of his rival
while the hand of adversity was upon her. The last troops which found
their way into Oxford were those which accompanied Eva St. Clair; and
although, for two days more, the army of Stephen did not appear
beneath the walls of the city, the supply of provisions which had been
eagerly demanded from the country round, in order to enable the place
to support a long siege, became more and more scanty every day. At
length appeared the armies of the enemy. One body led by Stephen in
person, one by the murderous and bloody William of Ipres, and one by
Prince Eustace, in whose camp was the young Earl of Northampton,
slowly recovering from the severe blow which he had received.

At first nothing was seen but the tents and pavilions of the enemy
crowning every distant eminence, while dark bodies of horse and foot,
the numbers of which could scarcely be distinguished, were seen moving
about over the low hills, and through the meadows around. Day by day,
however, the besieging force drew closer and closer round the city.
The numbers could be counted, the arms could be distinguished, the
groups of leaders could be told, the shouts and commands could be
heard, and at length many a face could be recognised, and every piece
of armour plainly seen from the beleaguered walls.

Eva's heart sunk when she gazed forth and saw nothing but the iron
ranks of the enemy surrounding her on every side; it seemed as if
deliverance could never come, and hope were at an end.

Still, however, the gallant defenders of the place knew no fear and
relaxed no effort. By many a sally and feat of arms, they proved their
prowess upon the assailants, and not one tower or outwork was lost.
Still the garrison thought the good Earl of Gloucester must soon be
here. Still they gazed from the highest turret, to see if they could
discover the lances of their deliverers coming through the distant
woods.

No aid, however, appeared: the provisions in the place became scanty,
autumn gave way to winter, and intense cold was added to their other
evils. Regulations were made in regard to the quantity of food and
firing to be allowed to each person; and the table of the empress and
her attendants was, by her own order, reduced to no more than would
supply the demands of nature. In the town the scarcity was, of course,
felt more than in the castle; for there were many poor, and many
improvident there, who had not been able, or had not thought fit, to
lay in sufficient stores against the hour of need; and, after the
siege had lasted about two months, one could not walk through the
streets without seeing pale and haggard faces, and sunken eyes turned
eagerly towards the countenance of every one they met, as if asking,
"Is there any hope of relief?"

No relief appeared; and the eyes that watched the distant country saw
the low winter sun slowly rise and early set without one sign of
coming deliverance. At length a heavy fog fell over the whole land,
and lasted nearly a week: so dense that nothing could be seen the
distance of twenty yards. During the first and second day, under the
cover of the mist, the besieging force attempted at various points to
force its way into the town; but it was in vain that they did so; and,
repelled at every point, again reduced their efforts to a strict
blockade.

After that busy period was over, the garrison had nothing more to
occupy them than hope and fear. The stores were often examined, and
found to have dwindled down to a mere pittance: but then, again,
people thought they heard distant trumpets and shouts from a spot far
beyond the lines of the besiegers. Every one augured that the Earl of
Gloucester was coming up, and that, as soon as the mist cleared away,
he would attack the army of the enemy. At length, however, after one
night of more intense frost than ever, the fog did clear away, and the
half-famished garrison ran up to the highest towers, alas! but to see
their hopes blasted. There was the country beyond all bright and
glittering in the frostwork, but neither spear, nor pennon, nor
banner, nor hauberk, but those in the camp of the enemy. All hearts
fell; and, although they endeavoured not to suffer despair to show
itself in their looks, Matilda, wherever she turned her eyes, found
nothing but an echo to the apprehensions that were in her own heart.
The only one who even tried to console her was Eva of St. Clair, who
had become very dear to the empress; and though, when the siege first
began, her heart, unaccustomed to such scenes, had entertained none of
the proud confidence which had animated others, she now displayed more
fortitude than all, and in the midst of sorrow spoke of better days.

She was thus sitting at the feet of the empress, trying to cheer her,
when the governor of the castle entered the chamber where they were
alone, without other witnesses, and, approaching the empress with a
calm but sad countenance, "I have come, madam," he said, "to bring
your majesty very sad news. On examining the stores this day, I find
that there is but food left of any kind for three days. By killing all
the horses that we have left, we may, indeed, make it outlast a fourth
day, but that is all; and, moreover, I grieve to say, that a
pestilential distemper has broken out in the town for the want of
food; a hundred and ten souls took flight last night between midnight
and matins."

Matilda clasped her hands and looked up towards Heaven; but, instantly
resuming her native courage, she said, "Something must be done, my
lord, something must be done; have you anything to propose? Please
God, we will never surrender."

"Were your majesty not here," he replied, "we could obtain easy terms
enough; but the usurper has sworn that you shall yield to him without
conditions. As that cannot be, however, all that I have to propose is
this: Wallingford is full of your friends, strong, and well provided
with all things; 'tis but a short distance; we are still here six
hundred men-at-arms; and, though we have but thirty horses left, that
number may well do all that is needful. Let your majesty, and such
knights as can find horses, mount a little before daybreak to-morrow
morning; let us take one good meal before we set out, and then,
throwing open the gates towards Wallingford, all issue forth suddenly
together, horse and foot, and cut our way through. The moment you and
your guard have passed, I will form those that are on foot across the
road, which is between steep banks, you know, and I will wager my head
to maintain it for nearly half an hour against all they can bring to
fight me. It will take them as long to go round by either of the other
roads, so that you can get to Wallingford in safety."

"And you, my good friend, and you," said the empress, "you, and all
the brave men who are with you, you will remain but to die in my
defence. Well, well, say no more. I will think of it till midnight,
and then give you my answer after consulting my fair counsellor here."

The baron shook his head, as if not approving of such counsel; but,
before he went, he bent down his head to Eva, saying, "May thee be
resolute; there is but one way to save your sovereign." When he was
gone, the empress, who had hitherto suffered no emotion to appear,
bent down her head upon her hands, and the tears rolled from her eyes.
Eva stood by in silence, for she knew that as yet it was in vain to
speak; and thus the sun went down, leaving the chamber in the gray
shadow of the twilight. At that instant there was the sound of a
footstep in the anteroom; and, in a moment after, the door opened,
showing the tall, dark form of a monk, in his long gray gown and cowl.

The empress started up, exclaiming, "Who are you! Who is it you seek!"

"Peace be with you, my daughter," replied the monk; "it is you I seek,
and I bear you some tidings of moment. See you this letter?"

The empress snatched it from his hand, and darted eagerly to the
window to catch the last faint light that was in the sky. As soon as
her eyes were fixed upon the letter, she exclaimed, "Robert of
Gloucester's hand, as I live." Then, as she tore it, she added, "Six
days! he will be here in six days! Alas! he will come too late!"

"So indeed I find, my daughter," said the monk. "Since I made my way
in here, I see that your situation would be hopeless if you could not
escape."

"Escape!" exclaimed the empress; "Would that I could escape! But how
came you hither yourself? How found you your way through the enemy's
lines?"

"By a path that is open to you, my daughter," replied the monk, "if
you will be contented to trust to my guidance, and to take but few
persons with you."

"But who are you that I should trust?" demanded the empress. "What is
your name? How shall I know that you are faithful?"

"Did I not bring that letter?" said the Monk. "But if you want farther
proof, let me speak a word to this lady in yonder chamber, and she
shall be my surety." He took Eva's hand in his and led her towards the
anteroom; and, as he did so, that fair hand trembled and her whole
frame thrilled. They were absent some minutes; but, when they
returned, Eva cast herself at the empress's feet, exclaiming, "Oh,
trust him, madam, trust him. I will pledge my life and soul for his
faith."



CHAPTER IV.


The clock was striking twelve, the moon was bright and high, but a
thin mist had come back upon the earth, and lay lightly over all the
slopes, and the lower parts of the ground in the neighbourhood of
Oxford, when a train, which might have scared the peasant or schoolboy
had he beheld it, so like was it to what imagination has pictured a
train of ghosts, took its way down a small turret staircase at the
castle of Oxford. That train consisted of three ladies and two men,
and all, with the exception of one, who wore a monk's gray gown, were
covered from head to foot in white. When they had descended to the
bottom of the stairs, the empress turned to the monk, demanding,
"Through the vaults, say you? How came you to discover the way?"

"I discovered it," replied the monk, "when I was mere boy, and studied
sciences under a clerk of this place." The empress looked down as if
apprehensive and doubtful, but still followed on; and, leading the
way, the monk opened the door which led into some vaults below the
castle, and thence down another narrow flight of steps, which made the
way seem to Matilda as if they were descending into a well. "Lord
Brian," she said, in a low voice to her other male attendant, "if you
find that he deceives us, cleave him down with your battle-axe."

"Fear not, lady," replied the gentleman to whom she spoke; "I know
him, although he does not know me, and you may trust to him in all
faith."

Again they proceeded in silence; and at the bottom of the steps they
found another door, which led them into a long vaulted passage. At
first it was cased with masonry, and a pavement was beneath their
feet; but at the end of twenty or thirty yards the masonry ceased, and
the torch carried by Lord Brian Fitzwalter showed that they were
passing under the arch of a sort of rude cave, occasionally supported
by brickwork, but not sufficiently so to prevent large masses of the
earth and stones from falling down and obstructing the way. At the end
of near two hundred yards more the monk turned towards the baron,
saying, "Here you must put out the light, but lead her majesty gently
forward, for the road is rough and dangerous." Lord Brian obeyed at
once, and extinguished the torch against the wall of the vault, if
wall it could indeed be called. He then led on the empress by the
hand, while the monk went before, directing them upon their way; and
presently after the faint blue light of the moonbeams were seen
glimmering at some distance before them.

"Now be silent as death," said the monk; "for, when we issue forth
from this place, we are within a hundred yards of the tent of William
of Ipres. When we are among the bushes at the mouth, stop, and let me
go on first. You will see exactly the course that I take, and, if I am
not seen in this gray gown, you, covered entirely in white, may well
escape."

A few steps more brought the whole party to a spot where a number of
dry hawthorn bushes had gathered themselves into a hollow in the
ground, completely concealing the mouth of the cavern or vault by
which they had issued forth from the Castle of Oxford. That hollow had
been part of some ancient Saxon, or, perhaps, Roman camp; and it
extended some way in the form of a narrow ravine. The depth, indeed,
except where the hawthorn bushes were, was very little; but it still
afforded some shelter from the eyes of any of the enemy's soldiers who
might have been near; nor was some shelter unnecessary; for at that
moment the empress and her attendants had already passed the outer
guards of Stephen's army, and were, in fact, half way through his
camp.

Gliding through the hawthorns, the monk advanced calmly on his way;
and, too impatient to wait long, the empress, with the hand of Eva St.
Clair clasped in hers, followed the distance of some twenty or thirty
paces. After a few minutes of ascent the whole scene around burst upon
them, and fearful it must have been to persons in their situation. The
camp of Stephen was before and around them; not indeed close, for that
was a spot of open ground which served as a sort of division between
the quarters of the different leaders, and the space of about two
hundred yards lay between tent and tent. That space, indeed, was
usually well watched by sentinels; but the night was intensely cold,
the wind was high, and the men gladly got behind the shelter of the
tents, or warmed themselves by the blazing watch-fires. On the right,
as the empress and her party then stood, was a large pavilion, with
torches burning before it, while a light could be seen through the
canvass walls, and the voice of merriment and revelry made itself
heard upon the calm ear of night. Between that tent and those on the
left the monk took his straightforward course, and the rest followed
with silent but beating hearts. There was no one opposed them,
however; they passed that tent, and another, and another; they crossed
over some slight defences which had been cast up in the rear of the
army, and they saw before them a long row of osiers, forming a sort of
hedge, and looking black amid the white of the wintry scene around
them. Towards these the monk bent his steps, but paused when he
reached them; and the rest of the party found him waiting for them at
the angle of a little lane.

"We are safe, lady, we are safe," said Lord Brian Fitzwalter; "This
lane leads down to the Thames; it is firmly frozen over, and you can
pass across direct to Wallingford."

"We are safe; thank God, we are safe," cried Eva; but at that moment
there was a blast of a trumpet behind them, and galloping horse were
seen coming down with furious speed.

"Look to the lady, Brian," cried the monk, in a voice of command;
"lead them quick across the stream; once on the other side, you are
safe, for the horses dare not follow you. Give me your battle-axe; on
my life I will detain these horsemen here till you are safe; they
cannot pass me here; fly, lady, fly, for they are coming fast;" and,
snatching the battle-axe from Lord Brian's hand, he cast himself into
the middle of the road.

Matilda would have spoken, but all voices cried, "Fly, lady, fly;" and
she was hurried onward, while the horsemen came down like lightning
There was one considerably ahead of the rest, the captain of the guard
for the night; and, seeing himself opposed in the middle of the lane,
he couched his lance at the monk, and spurred eagerly upon him. One
stroke of the battle-axe, however, parried the lance and shivered it
to atoms; and, rushing on the monk caught the rein of the horse, and
prepared to dash the rider from his seat. But the captain of the
guard, an experienced soldier, wheeled his horse with his heel to keep
himself from the foe while he drew his heavy sword, and with a thrust
which it was difficult for an axe to parry, he lunged straight at the
breast of his opponent. At the same time that he did so, he shouted
his old accustomed battle-cry, "A Lacy! A Lacy! Reginald to the
rescue! A Lacy! A Lacy!"

The axe dropped from the monk's hand; the thrust of old Reginald de
Lacy was true and strong; his adversary fell, dying the snow with his
gore; and the baron, spurring his horse on over the body, led his
followers fiercely forward in pursuit of Matilda. When he reached the
bank of the Thames, however, he could see nothing but some moving
objects on the other side; and, eager in the cause he had undertaken,
he urged his horse vehemently upon the ice. The animal felt it shake
beneath him, trembled, resisted, fell. The whole mass gave way, and
man and horse, with their heavy armour, were plunged to the bottom of
the stream. It was in vain that the followers of old Reginald de Lacy
endeavoured to extricate him from the water before life was extinct.
Near two hours elapsed before they could recover his body, and then
they bore it by another path to his tent. They spent the rest of the
night in lamenting their lord; and it was not till the morning that
one of them thought to tell a priest, whom Stephen had sent to offer
prayers for the soul of De Lacy, that a few minutes before his death,
old Reginald with the red hand had killed some one like a monk, who
had attempted to stop his progress.

The priest took others with him, and instantly set out for the place
they described; but there they found a sight that made even the hearts
of men accustomed to seek voluntarily every scene of human suffering,
ache for the fate that was now past recall. There, indeed, lay the
fair and powerful form of one in the earliest years of manhood, with
the gray gown of a monk, indeed, cast over his shoulders, but beneath
it the rich garments of a Norman noble, dyed with the flood of gore
which had streamed from the death-wound in his breast. There, indeed,
lay Richard de Lacy, slain by the hand of his own father; but he was
not alone in death; for, cast upon his bosom, with her rich brown hair
all dishevelled and unbound--with her garments, too, drenched in the
blood that flowed from the heart of him she loved, lay the still,
cold, but yet beautiful form of Eva de St. Clair. None could tell how
she died; whether the intense cold of the night had aided, or whether
grief had been alone enough to extinguish the warm spark of life
within her bosom. All that was ever learned was the fact that, when
the empress reached the bank of the river, Eva was not with her; and
the fierceness of the pursuit compelled the rest of the party to go on
without seeking the unhappy daughter of St. Clair.



ANNIE DEER.



ANNIE DEER.
----------


There is a little town on the coast of England, which at the present
day is not exactly a seaport, though in former times, when the
chivalrous race of Plantagenet held sway within these realms, it was
not only reckoned as such, but sent its ships to the fleet under the
command of a Mohun, a Grey, a De Lisle, or a Clinton. There is as
little connexion, however, between the former state of the town and
the present, as there is between those days and the time at which the
events which I am about to relate took place. All that remains of its
former splendour, indeed, is the ruin of an old castle, picturesquely
perched on the extremity of a little slope, which, like the ambitious
aspirations of youth that have no result, runs out, promontory
fashion, into the sea, towering up as it goes, till, cut short in its
career, it ends in a chalky cliff of no very great height.

Upon the brow of that cliff is the castle we have mentioned, standing
like the scull and cross-bones upon a nun's table, a memento of the
transitory nature of all things, though the eyes once familiar with it
seldom draw any moral from that memorial of the dead.

Along the slope of the hill, towards the west, is built the little
modern town, or, rather, the village, a congregation of small white
houses looking over the ever-changing sea. Manifold are the gardens.
Though Flora loves not to be fanned with the wings of Zephyr when his
pen-feathers are dipped in brine, yet we are obliged to confess that
the flowers there grown are sweet and beautiful; the shrubs, though
rather diminutive in size, green and luxuriant.

There are one or two pretty houses in the place, the best being the
rectory, which stands near the church, and which, though large, is not
very convenient. The neatest, the most commodious, is one which,
situated just below the castle, takes in part of the ancient vallum as
a portion of the garden, and is built in the purest style of cottage
architecture, as if to contrast the more strongly in its trim and
flourishing youngness with the old walls which, in the pride of
decayed nobility, tower up above it, raising battlement and
watch-tower high in air, as if turning up the nose at the little
upstart at their feet.

In this house dwelt a personage by no means uncommon in England, and
combining in his own nature a great many of the faults and good
qualities of our national character. But we must give a sketch of his
history, which, though as brief as possible, will explain his
character without any long details. The son of a well-doing man in the
neighbouring county town, he had early been put apprentice to a large
dealer in various commodities; gradually made his way in the world;
entered into partnership with his old master; rendered the business
doubly flourishing by care, activity, and exactness; increased in
wealth and honour; married, at forty-five, the daughter of a poor
clergyman--the only thing he ever did in his life without the
cash-book in his hand; and was duly presented with one fair daughter,
whom he loved passing well.

Through life he was the most exact of men, prompt, punctual,
authoritative: and, having really considerable talents in a particular
line, very good taste in many things, an easy and increasing fortune,
and a very comfortable notion of his own value, he became one of the
most important men of the town, gave law to the common council, and
tone to a considerable class in society. He was a little dogmatic,
somewhat pompous, and loved not contradiction; and his wife, who was
as meek as a lamb, took care that he should experience none in his own
dwelling. But, with all these little faults, he had contrived to make
himself loved as well as respected. For though, in putting two and two
together, he was as accurate as our great mathematician's calculating
machine, yet, in reality and in truth, there was not a more liberal
man upon the face of the earth. If anybody applied to him for
pecuniary assistance, he would sit down, and, gathering together all
the facts, calculate, with the most clear-headed precision, whether a
loan would be really useful to the person who asked it. If that were
made clear, he had no hesitation whatever; and, even if it were not
made clear, and there was something like an even chance that his
assistance might be serviceable or might not, he only hesitated for a
minute and a half; and the good spirit unloosed the purse-strings ere
the bad spirit could get them into a run knot.

As, however, he was upon extremely good terms with a lady who is one
of the pleasantest companions that we can have in life, and whose name
is Dame Fortune, those instances in which the chances were equally
balanced generally turned out as he could have wished, and he both
served his friend and regained his money, with the proper addition of
interest, both in bank-notes and friendship.

He never met with but one great misfortune in his life up to the time
of our commencing his history; but that misfortune drove him from the
county town, and caused him to settle underneath the old castle by the
seaside. He lost neither his wife nor his daughter, his health, his
spirits, nor his fortune. No! it was an addition, not a loss, that cut
him to the heart.

One of the members of the common council, it seems, had a brother who
was a silversmith in London, and who, having made a comfortable
competence, wisely retired from trade, came down to the town of which
he was a native and a freeman, and was soon admitted into the
municipal body. Now, whether he had frequented a debating society or
the reporters' gallery of St. Stephen's, whether he had studied under
Cobbett or Hunt, Burdett or Hume, or any of those gentlemen--we do not
mean either to be personal or political--any of those gentlemen, we
say, famed for opposition, it would seem as if, from the moment he
came down, he had determined to overthrow the supremacy of our worthy
friend, and to worry him as though he had been a bishop, a baited
bull, or a prime-minister. Moreover, he was oratorical; he would speak
you a speech by the hour, in which he would confound all that the
straightforward good sense of our friend had made clear; he would pour
upon the simplest point a torrent of fine words, not always pronounced
with the utmost purity; he would render the most pellucid position
opaque by the turbid stream of eloquence, and would add a few words of
Latin, with very little reverence for the terminations of the nouns or
the tenses of the verbs, but still with sufficient volubility to
astound and overawe the ignorant ears around him.

Our friend was resolved not to die without a struggle; and, at the
close of any of these triumphant orations, he would rise, feeling
morally convinced--seeing, knowing, believing--that all his adversary
said was idle, absurd, and stupid, but yet labouring under a
consciousness of his own incapability to disentangle the subject which
had been twisted up into a Gordian knot, or even to find out the thin,
feeble, and insignificant thread of his foe's argumentation amid the
crystals of sugar candy with which his eloquence had invested it. He
would rise, as we have said, and gasp, and struggle, and sit down
again, impotent of reply.

There was no help for it; he felt himself worsted; and, after the
agony of a couple of months, he retreated from a field which he no
longer could maintain. He resigned his post in the town council; made
the necessary arrangements with his partner in business to give up his
active share, and retired, a man well to do, to spend the rest of his
days in peace at the little coast-town, about ten miles from his
former dwelling, the localities of which we have already described.
There, then, he settled with his wife and only daughter; there he
embellished, improved, did good, and enjoyed his doings, and passed
his time in that busy and important usefulness which was so well
suited to his disposition.

But we forgot all this time to make the reader acquainted with his
name. It was one which, though not uncommon, was in some degree
remarkable, being neither more nor less than John Deer. Now he
certainly was not so lightfooted as a roe, nor so timid as a stag, nor
possessed of any of the distinctive qualities of the cervine creation.
He was much too consequential a person also for any one--not even
excepting his own wife--to venture to play upon his name, and turn
John Deer into Dear John: so that the name of Deer could come to no
harm in his hands. But, alack and well-a-day! he had, as we have
before said, one fair daughter, whom he loved passing well; and she
was beautiful as a rose, gentle as a dove, timid as a young fawn, and
her name was Ann; so that it very naturally happened that when anybody
spoke of her as Annie Deer, there was an expression about the lips and
a meaning in the eyes which gave the last _e_ in her name very much
the effect of an _a_; and Annie Deer from her father's and her
mother's lips--and one other pair besides--was Annie dear whenever she
was mentioned.

Now it was natural for her father to call her so, and very natural for
her mother to call her so, and still more natural than all for one
other person in the village to call her so also; but who that person
was remains to be shown. We will not keep the reader a moment in
suspense. Suspense is wrong, unjust, wicked: persons who have been
condemned by a competent jury, and judged by a competent judge, are
the only ones to whom suspense should be applied; and very seldom, if
ever, even then. The person who pronounced the name of Annie Deer with
such a tone shall be disclosed to the reader immediately.

There was a poor widow in the village, who had seen better days, but
whose whole remaining fortune was a hundred and fifty pounds per
annum, and more than one half of that was on annuity. Yet out of this
sum she had contrived both to live with great respectability, and to
give her son, whom she loved far better than herself, an education
equal to the station in which his father had moved. When Mr. Deer and
his family had first come to live at the little town of Saltham, as we
shall call the place, William Stanhope was absent with his ship, for
he had by this time become a mate in an East Indiaman, and Mr. and
Mrs. Deer did everything they could to be kind and civil to Mrs.
Stanhope, and make her time pass cheerfully till her son's return.

When at length he did come back, they welcomed him as an old friend,
pouring upon him all those civilities and festivities with which we
greet the long-absent and long-expected. He was a very handsome young
man; brave, gay, and happy in his disposition; gentlemanly and well
educated, but, withal, touched with the frank straightforwardness of a
sailor; but the quality which, joined with others, pleased Mr. Deer
the most, was a prudent and economical calculation of expenses, which
taught him what was just to others and what was just to himself. Mr.
Deer liked him very much; and, though Annie Deer was at that time only
fourteen, and no great chance existed of her falling in love with
anybody, yet Mr. Deer, being famed for foresight, resolved that he
would examine young Stanhope's character thoroughly, and watch him
well.

That year William Stanhope had brought home no great wealth, having
scarcely any capital to trade upon; but he brought some very pretty
presents for his mother, which showed him to be a very kind and
dutiful young man. The next year, having increased his capital, his
gains were increased; and, besides bringing home more money, he
brought home not only presents for his mother, but presents for Annie
Deer, which he gave straightforwardly to her father, expressing his
gratitude for all the kindness which had been shown to his mother
during his absence.

Mr. Deer took the presents, and inquired, with looks of much personal
interest, into the speculations of the young sailor and their success.
William Stanhope was frank and candid; and though the sum that he had
made was not very brilliant, yet, compared with his means of making
it, it promised so well, that Mr. Doer began to calculate, and found
that liberal assistance might without risk enable young Stanhope to
advance his fortune rapidly, and he made the offer at once. It was
embraced with thanks, and the next voyage ensured to William Stanhope
competence as a single man.

He had a higher ambition, however. He was now competent to take the
command of a ship. He was respected and esteemed by all who knew him;
and a favourable offer was made to him, but the sum of ready money
required was very large; and, though he mentioned the offer to his
mother, with all its advantages, and all the difficulties that
interposed, he spoke of it to no one else. His mother went that
evening to drink tea with the family under the castle, but William
Stanhope remained at home musing, alleging that he had letters of
business to write; and the next morning, instead of taking his way to
the house of Mr. Deer, as was his common practice, he wandered along
solitary upon the sands round the bay, seeming to count every pebble
that studded the shore. He had not gone very far, however, before a
friendly hand was laid upon his arm, and Mr. Deer, joining him in his
walk, entered at once upon business. He told him that Mrs. Stanhope
had related to them the evening before the offer which had been made
concerning the command of a ship, and then went on to ask his young
friend why he had not applied to him, John Deer, for the money.

"I did not know, my dear sir," replied the youth, "that you would be
willing to lend so large a sum."

"Not willing to everybody," replied Mr. Deer, "but quite willing to
you, who in all your transactions are as correct as my cash-book."

Still William Stanhope paused; and then, after letting two sailors,
who were loitering along the shore, pass them by, he turned directly
towards his companion, and, raising his head, he said, "There is
another reason, Mr. Deer, why I have not asked you: I am in love with
your daughter Annie, and, if I get on in the world, I am determined to
seek her hand. I did not wish to mention this at present, because I
have but little to offer her, except in hopes and expectations, and I
could not think of asking you to lend me so large a sum of money
without telling you what were my feelings towards your daughter."

"Sir, you are an honest man," replied Mr. Deer, "and keep, I see, both
sides of the account clear. But I will strike a balance with you, and
begin a new account. Thus, then, we stand, William: I will lend you
ten thousand pounds to buy your ship, and, when you think you have
made enough to afford a wife, I will give you the ten thousand pounds
as my daughter's fortune, and be glad to receive you as my son-in-law."

"This is beginning a new account, indeed, my dear sir, for it leaves
me your debtor in every way."

"Pay it off in kindness to my child," replied Mr. Deer; and the matter
was thus finally settled with the father. As to the daughter, William
Stanhope sat with her for an hour and a half before dinner; and at a
little party which was given that night at the clergyman's house,
everybody declared that the beautiful eyes of Annie Deer looked like
two stars.

The two months that followed were filled up with that thrilling joy in
which present pleasure is mingled with and heightened by the
expectation of something not exactly sorrowful, nor painful, nor
melancholy, but perhaps we should call it sad. Thus Annie Deer
enjoyed, to the full, the society of him she loved, though the
expectation of his departure, upon his first voyage as captain of a
China vessel, sometimes brought a cloud over the bright sky of their
happiness. Time, that rapid old postillion, who goes jogging on in the
saddle faster and faster every day, without at all minding the six
thousand years that have elapsed since first he began to beat the
road--Time, we say, whipped his horses into the full gallop, and
carried William Stanhope and Annie Deer with wonderful rapidity to the
point of parting. Annie Deer cried very bitterly; and, as they were
among the first tears she had ever shed in her life, they were, of
course, the more painful. William Stanhope would not suffer himself to
weep, but he felt little less than she did. They parted, however. He
took the command of his vessel; and, shortly afterward, she, within
one hour, saw in the newspaper, and read in his own handwriting, that
the Honourable Company's ship the Earl Spencer, Captain Stanhope,
commander, had cleared out and dropped down the river.

It was the month of March, and the weather somewhat boisterous; and
Mr. Deer, when he heard the wind whistle and roar down the chimney,
thanked God that some man had been struck with the very provident idea
of ensuring vessels risking themselves upon that treacherous ocean.
Annie Deer's mind ran in the same  way, but it went no farther than
wishing that there was really some meaning in the name by which Life
Assurance Societies designate themselves. But she felt too bitterly,
poor girl, that there is no ensuring that fragile thing, human life,
especially when trusted to the mercy of the winds and waves. Her daily
walk was upon the edge of the little promontory looking over the vast,
melancholy sea: and at length, a few days after the ship had dropped
down the river, she beheld a gallant vessel coming on with a furious
and not very favourable gale; and, watching it with deep interest, saw
it take refuge in their little bay, and come to anchor to let pass the
storm. About four in the afternoon, the wind lulled, but shifted more
to the southwest, so that no ship was likely to get out of the
Channel. About half past four, as she was looking out of the
drawing-room windows of her father's house, she saw something like a
boat tossed up from time to time by the bounding waves, which the
tempest had left behind it. In half an hour after, she was pressed in
the arms of William Stanhope, and two or three hours more of pure
happiness were added to the few which they had known through life. At
ten o'clock he took his departure; but, at that hour, the moon, though
she was shining was red and dim, announcing that the presence of the
commander might soon be wanted on board his vessel.

Annie Deer retired to her chamber immediately afterward. She retired
not to repose, however, but, on the contrary, to pay for the happiness
which she had that night experienced by many a tear. She prayed, too,
and prayed fervently, not without hope in the efficacy of prayer, but
with that trembling timidity, that doubt of our own worthiness, under
the weight of which the footsteps of the apostle, though miraculously
upheld, sunk through the surface of the yielding waters. All remained
calm; and, towards eleven o'clock, she remarked the clouds passing
over the moon, taking a different direction from that which they had
done in the morning: and she thought, with mixed hope and
apprehension, that, ere the morning, perhaps, he whom she loved might
be far away upon that voyage, which was destined either to give them
comfort and independence, or to separate them for ever. She lay down
to rest; but, towards twelve o'clock, the wind began to rise,
increased in violence every moment, and swelled at length into a
hurricane. The casements rattled; the wainscot shook and creaked; the
house itself seemed shaken. Loudly roaring round and round, the spirit
of the storm appeared clamouring at the gates for admittance. It could
be heard as it whistled through the branches of the trees. It could be
distinguished as it rushed and raved amid the ruins of the castle up
above. It could be felt as it swept, with sighing and a melancholy
sound, over the level sands of the bay, interrupted only by the sudden
plunge of the waves, as they poured headlong upon the resounding
shore. Annie Deer rose from her bed, and listened, and wept, and
prayed through the livelong night.

But what boots it to tell a long and a sad story, when a very few
words will serve our purpose! With the morning light Annie Deer gazed
from her window, but the ship was gone, and the storm continued; and,
as she looked, without making any particular effort to hear, the sound
of a few distant guns caught her ear, and made her heart sink low. The
tempest lasted the whole day. During the night it decreased, and the
next morning there were found on various points of the coast the spars
and timbers of a gallant vessel, on some of which were painted "The
Earl Spencer!" The gentlemen of Lloyd's announced the loss of an
outward-bound Chinaman. The owners of the Earl Spencer cursed the luck
which had lost them a good voyage, and applied to the underwriters.
The underwriters cursed their luck still more furiously, but paid the
money. Mr. Deer thanked God that he had ensured to the full amount of
his loan, and Annie Deer sat down, with widowed heart, to pass the
rest of her life with very little interest in the things thereof. Her
mother marked the varying colour of her cheek, the langour of her
look, and the frequent tearfulness of her eye; and, kissing her
tenderly, let fall a drop on the pale forehead of her only child.
Annie Deer met with sympathy from one kindred being in her melancholy
path, and it was all she hoped for, all she asked in life.

Such was the first part of the story of Annie Deer. Now all stories,
into whatsoever imaginary divisions they may be separated by the
brains of the teller, have at least two parts; there is no getting rid
of the beginning and the end. Having told the former, we must now turn
to the latter, which is destined to be shorter still. Mr. Deer went to
London, and was indemnified by the underwriters for the money he had
advanced; and he returned to his dwelling, looking really sad for the
loss of poor William Stanhope. He called upon the childless widow, and
tried to comfort her; but she was not to be comforted. He spoke some
soothing words to Annie, but Annie only wept the more; and Mr. Deer
himself had a kind of perception that they had all suffered a loss
which money could never repair. As the house was dull, and the village
was dull, and everything about the place looked more or less gloomy
since the loss of the Earl Spencer and poor William Stanhope, Mr. Deer
betook himself one day, merely for the sake of relaxation, to the
county town, purposing, as the pleasantest and most habitual way of
amusing his thoughts, to look into all the accounts and proceedings of
the very respectable firm in which the greater part of his fortune was
still embarked. His partner was out, however, when he arrived; and Mr.
Deer, strolling out into the town, was met by Mr. Pocock, the
silversmith, and Mr. Pocock's retired brother John, the common
councilman and orator.

Now Mr. Deer and Mr. John Pocock were severally sixty-three years of
age and upward, and the enmities of sixty-three years are pertinacious
things. Mr. Deer, therefore, would willingly have avoided Mr. John
Pocock; but that gentleman, on the contrary, put his arm through his,
talked to him very civilly, and, leading the conversation to the
affairs of Mr. Deer's house, gave him a hint, with perfect kindness of
intent and manner, that his partner might be getting on too fast. Mr.
Deer was agitated, alarmed, and irritated; and, if he had done what
his heart bade him, he would have told his companion to mind his own
business, and to meddle with nobody else's affairs, for that he, John
Deer, was rich enough to buy out him, John Pocock, and all his
relations. He refrained, however, and answered as civilly as the
nature of the case would allow; but returned to his partner's house,
and instantly set to work to investigate the matter thoroughly.

Sad and alarming was the result of his inquiries. He found that,
during the five or six years of his absence, his partner, although he
had contrived to make a fair show in their half-yearly accounts, had,
in fact, addicted himself to banking, farming, and such vices. Immense
sums were risked at that moment in hazardous speculations, and Mr.
Deer saw himself inextricably implicated in transactions which he
would not have meddled with for the world of his own free-will.

The matter went on as simply as it is possible to conceive. His
partner, seeing that Mr. Deer was now convinced that he had trusted
once too far, grew angry, resisted the interference which might have
saved him, hurried recklessly on in the wrong course, and, ere four
months were out, the house of Deer and Co. were bankrupts to the
amount of more than a hundred thousand pounds. By the wise and
strenuous efforts which Mr. Deer had made during those unhappy four
months to retrieve the affairs of his firm, they were enabled to pay
very nearly twenty shillings in the pound. But the beautiful house
under the castle was advertised for sale; the rich furniture and plate
were disposed of by auction; and Mr. Deer retired to a small cottage
next to that of the widow Stanhope.

Amid all this distress, no one was so kind as Mr. John Pocock, Though
at his period of life much locomotion was not agreeable, he drove over
two or three times a week to console, advise, and expostulate with Mr.
Deer, whose mind had fallen into a painful state of despair, and who
in body had sunk at once into an old man. He wished Mr. Deer to rouse
his spirits, and to resume business at once upon his own account, and
he offered most liberally to advance him any sum of money for that
purpose; but Mr. Deer felt, and Mr. John Pocock was soon convinced,
that such a course was impracticable. The bankrupt's health gave way
more and more each day. He became fretful and impatient. A very small
pittance, which belonged to his wife, supported him and his family in
penury for some months, but he saw it drawing to a close with agony of
heart. Pity pained him, consolation seemed an insult; and he would
gaze upon his daughter by the hour together, as she sat painting
little screens, working little purses, or busying herself in any of
those employments which she fancied and hoped might prove the means of
supporting her father and mother in their old age. At length the money
came to an end, and on that very night Mr. Deer was struck with palsy,
which fixed him to the marble seat of impotent age all the rest of his
days.

Annie Deer then found how little could be procured by those means to
which she had trusted for support. Mrs. Deer bore all patiently, and
she and her daughter consulted and deliberated long with Mr. John
Pocock as to what they could do in the terrible strait to which they
were reduced. His kindness was unfailing. He looked at the afflicted
wife, he looked at the beautiful but destitute girl till the tears
rose in his eyes; and, insisting upon their taking a small sum as a
loan till he could devise some plan for their future life, he left
them, promising to return on the following day, and declaring that he
would not come back without some feasible scheme for their support. It
was night on the promised day before he made his appearance; but then
he came in his own chariot, and then there was a briskness in his look
and a smartness in his whole aspect, which led Mrs. Deer and her
daughter to believe that his meditations on their behalf had not been
without result. His hair was nicely powdered and adjusted to a line,
his pigtail was tied up with a new piece of riband, and his best blue
coat and white waistcoat shone without a speck. Mr. Deer was somewhat
better, and sitting in a chair by the fire. Poor Mrs. Stanhope had
come in to cheer them as far as her sad heart would allow; and the
sight of Mr. John Pocock with a gayer air, blew up the last spark of
hope that lingered in their hearts. Mr. Pocock looked at Mrs. Stanhope
as if he could have wished her away; but he was full of what he had to
say, and would not delay it.

"My dear Mr. Deer," he said, advancing into their little circle, "and
you, Mrs. Deer, and _you_, my dear young lady, must give me your
attention more than all. Misfortunes may happen to every one, and very
sharp misfortunes have happened to you. Now I see but one way on earth
of remedying them, and making us all again happy and comfortable. I am
an old man, Miss Annie, sixty-four years of age in April, which will
be next month; but, if you will accept the hand of an honest man, who
loves you dearly and respects you much, he will do all he can to make
you and yours happy. His fortune is of his own making, and he may well
do with it what he likes; he will be not only proud to have you for
his wife, but proud to have a wife who will devote herself to make her
_parents_ as well as her _husband_ comfortable."

Annie Deer had turned as pale as death; Mrs. Deer threw her arms
around her child's neck and wept bitterly; her father said not a word,
but, like the parent in the most beautiful song we possess, he looked
in her face till her heart was like to break. Her eyes did not
overflow, but they turned towards Mrs. Stanhope, and her lips
muttered, "Oh, William, William! Sir," she continued, turning to Mr.
Pocock, "I have loved, deeply loved another, and I love his memory
still, and ever must love it."

"I will not be jealous of that, my dear young lady," he replied; "your
love for the dead will never interfere with your duty towards the
living. Nor do I expect you to love me otherwise than as a young woman
may love an old man who is kind to her. Believe me, Miss Annie," he
continued, taking her hand, "I am not a selfish man; and I do not make
this proposal altogether for my own gratification."

"I know it is not, I know it is not," replied Annie Deer, and she
wept.

"Oh, Annie," cried Mrs. Stanhope, "do not let the thoughts of our lost
William prevent you from doing your duty towards your parents in such
a terrible situation as this!"

The tears streamed from Mr. Deer's eyes, and he cried in a feeble
voice, "Annie! Annie, my child, do not make yourself miserable for
me!" That tone and that look were worth all the persuasions in the
world; and the fatal consent hung upon the lips of Annie Deer, when
the door behind her opened, and Mrs. Stanhope, who sat with her face
towards it, started from her seat, and with one loud scream fell
senseless on the floor. Annie turned to see what was the matter, and
she, too, would have fallen, had she not been caught in the arms and
held to the heart of William Stanhope.

"Good God! what is the cause of all this?" he exclaimed: "everybody
seems frightened at me; the servants run away; my mother faints! Have
you not received my letter?"

The scene of confusion that ensued, explanations, histories,
inquiries, replies, fresh mistakes, and fresh _eclaircissements_,
though they were all comprised in the space of about an hour, would
occupy a great many hours in the detail. At the end of that time,
there were only two things which wanted explanation; the first of
which was, what had become of two letters, one of which William
Stanhope had sent from St. Helena on his way to India, telling that he
had been shipwrecked; that when his vessel went down he had been saved
in the last boat, and had been picked up by an outward-bound Indiaman;
that he had preserved the bills in which all his little capital was
invested; and that he intended to employ them in India, in the hope of
recovering, in some degree, the terrible loss he had sustained. The
second letter had been written from London three days before his
reappearance; and went to inform Mr. Deer that the loss of his vessel
had proved, as far as he was concerned, the most fortunate chance that
could have befallen him; that he had arrived in India at a happy
moment; had made one of those successful speculations which were then
not uncommon, and which the good name he had acquired while a mate in
the service had now enabled him to extend far more than his own
limited capital would have permitted; that, contented with one happy
chance and a moderate fortune, he had returned to England, and was
coming down to claim the hand of his fair bride, a far richer man than
his most sanguine hopes had ever led him to anticipate. The loss of
the first of these letters William himself easily accounted for, by
acknowledging that he had intrusted it to a private hand; and every
one who has had anything to do with private hands must be well aware
that they are in general furnished with very slippery fingers. The
loss of the second was justly accounted for by a surmise of Mr. John
Pocock's, who suggested that, as postmasters--whether legally or not
we do not know--take upon themselves the infamous task of handing over
the letters of bankrupts, public and private alike, to the assignees;
exposing to the cold eyes of mercantile inquisitors all the secrets of
domestic life; the anguish of the child's heart for the parent's
misfortune; the agony of the parent for the downfall of his child; the
sweet communings and consolings of kindred affection; the counsel and
the comfort, the care and the apprehension--as this evil and
iniquitous practice, we say, is or was tolerated in the land, Mr.
Pocock suggested that the letter of William Stanhope had very likely
been sent to the assignees. And so it was. The letter had been so
sent. The assignees were absent. And thus, for three long days, the
letter was withheld from the only eye that should have seen it.

All that remained was the explanation between Mr. Pocock and William
Stanhope, and that might have been very well omitted if the former
gentleman had pleased; for William had remarked nothing farther than
that he was a good-looking old gentleman, and seemed to take a great
interest in Mr. Deer's affairs. But Mr. Pocock, who had at first felt
a little uneasy at the reappearance of the young sailor, had soon made
up his mind, like a sensible man as he really was, to make the best of
what he could not avoid, and rejoice in the renewed happiness of
others, though it brought a little disappointment to himself. He was
resolved, however, to extract the satisfaction of a speech from the
matter, and therefore, as soon as everything else was settled, he got
upon his legs, and proceeded: "Captain Stanhope," he said, "you have
come just in time to prevent the completion of what, perhaps, might
have been a very bad bargain on all parts. The fact is, that I saw no
earthly way of arranging the affairs of our good friend Mr. Deer but
by marrying his daughter. I had just made a bargain with her not to
oppose her thinking of you with regret when we all believed you dead;
and, God knows, I shall as little oppose her thinking of you with
affection now that we see you are living. As you deprive me of the
title of a husband, Captain Stanhope, I shall only demand that you
grant me the name of a friend; and, though I am a tolerably spruce old
gentleman," he added, twitching his pigtail, "Yet, as you have not
found me a dangerous rival, you will doubtless not fear me as a
dangerous acquaintance."

Captain Stanhope shook him by the hand, and willingly ratified the
treaty he proposed. The days of Mr. Deer passed happily thenceforward
to their close, and his daughter became the wife of Captain William
Stanhope. Restored to affluence and comfort, she was the same gentle,
unassuming, affectionate being she had ever been; and--though the good
people of the little town where she continued to live called her, with
great reverence, Mrs. Captain Stanhope--to her husband and her family
she never changed her name, but remained _Annie dear_ to the last day
of her life.



THE END.



FOOTNOTES


(HENRY DE CERONS)

[Footnote 1: It was, in fact, exorbitant; for we find that the Duke of
Montpensier, himself holding the government of all these provinces,
only gave a hundred crowns to each captain for raising a company of
foot, and three hundred crowns only to the Maître de Camp of eight or
ten companies thus raised.]

[Footnote 2: He was also called the Prince Dauphin and the Prince
d'Auvergne.]

[Footnote 3: This curious trait of the famous D'Andelot is recorded by
all the other persons present as well as by Monsieur de Cerons. The
person who was thus killed, is said to have been the Marquis de
Monsalez, but there is every reason to think that this is a mistake.]

[Footnote 4: He was called the Prince Dauphin on account of his being
the Dauphin of Auvergne; but we have given him the title of prince
only for fear of confusion. It has been attempted in these pages to
display his character as it really was, we give a few traits and
anecdotes of his conduct in situations in which he was actually
placed.]


(EVA ST. CLAIRE)

[Footnote 1: This was an effeminate custom, against which the good
Archbishop Anselm preached in vain. Some, indeed, of the Norman nobles
cut off the long ringlets which were the objects of his aversion, but
many retained them, and few gave up the vices that accompanied them.]





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