"What, you are one of those, Vieilleville, are you," said the king, with a slight smile, "who can believe that the death of a faithful subject may chase slumber from even a royal pillow? However, these despatches must be written. Leave me for an hour, and then bring hither this Lord of Ma.s.seran. Keep a good eye upon him, for he is as deceitful as a cat: but he shall find that I am not to be trifled with."

"I will venture to beseech you, sire," said the statesman, "in all that you do with this man, to recollect that he is himself a sovereign prince; for, were you to forget it, the example might be dangerous."

"If I make him an example, it shall be for good, not for evil, Vieilleville," replied the king. "Some of these petty princes need an example how they may be punished for treachery and double-dealing. I have heard more of him since he last set out for Savoy than I ever did before, and I much doubted that he would return to France again. But watch him well, good Vieilleville, and bring him hither in an hour. I shall have finished ere that."

The marechal withdrew; and, ere the hour was expired, a page sought him again from the king, requiring his presence, with that of the Lord of Ma.s.seran, whom Vieilleville, on quitting the cabinet, had informed that Henry could not yet receive him.

The angry spot was still upon the king's brow when they entered; but he spoke to the Lord of Ma.s.seran in a courteous tone, saying, "Well, my good lord, this is somewhat unexpected. I knew not that you could go to Savoy and return so quickly. How is it that you have shortened the way so well?"

"A melancholy interruption, sire," replied the Savoyard, "a melancholy interruption caused me to return ere half my journey was complete.

Somewhat on this side of Lyons, I met a messenger coming with all speed to seek me, and bearing this letter, which I beg to lay at your majesty's feet."

The king took it and read, examining every line as he did so, in order to see whether it bore about it the marks of truth and authenticity.

There was nothing, however, to make him doubt it. It seemed simply a letter from some seneschal or other officer, left behind by the Lord of Ma.s.seran to command during his absence, announcing to him that the prison tower of the castle had taken fire and fallen, crushing under its ruins the chamber in which the young Baron de Rohan had been confined.

It went on to state that works had been already Commenced to supply its place in the walls, and gave some account of the probable expense which those works would occasion.

"That would be dear," muttered Henry, in a low voice, and between his teeth. "That would be dear payment to get rid of a troublesome friend. I rather suspect it can be done cheaper in Savoy. Have you no news, Monsieur de Ma.s.seran," he said aloud, "of how this terrible catastrophe occurred?"

"I have shown your majesty all the information I have received," replied the Marquis of Ma.s.seran. "I returned to Paris with all speed after having met with the messenger, and, not finding you there, came hither."

"What say you, De Vieilleville?" said the king: "you had letters last night, methinks, from some one in that neighbourhood."

"They bear the same sad news, sire," replied the Marechal de Vieilleville. "But they add, that everybody in that country marvelled much how this event could have occurred in a tower detached from the castle, built almost entirely of stone, and doubtless intrusted to a faithful guard."

"It is, indeed, most strange," said the Marquis of Ma.s.seran, thoughtfully. "There must have been some base neglect."

"This must be inquired into," said the king, "this must be inquired into. My good Lord of Vieilleville, call the page for these despatches.

It behooves you, my Lord of Ma.s.seran, to make strict and immediate inquiry into the whole of this affair, in which you shall be aided and a.s.sisted by a commissary on our part. There are the despatches, boy. Why wait you? What is it now?"

"May it please your majesty," replied the page, "there is a lady without craving earnestly to see you. She calls herself the sister of the Count of Brienne, and I remember her well at the court some months ago. She seems in much grief, and--"

"Give her admission," said the king, "give her instant admission. She may throw some light upon all this affair, my good Lord of Ma.s.seran."

The marquis turned somewhat pale; for the appearance of Isabel of Brienne in the king's presence was not at all what he wished or calculated upon. He had hoped for an opportunity of telling his own tale, and causing his wife to tell hers so as to corroborate all he said, without the actual appearance of Isabel herself. He knew that the Count de Meyrand, though apparently taking no part in all that occurred since their arrival in Paris, had been continually and skilfully preparing the way for the development of his part in the transaction; had been labouring to make friends and gain supporters among those who possessed the king's ear, and had been apparently not a little successful, even with the fair d.u.c.h.ess of Valentinois herself.

It must not be supposed, however, that good Monsieur de Ma.s.seran was moved by any personal love or regard for the Count de Meyrand: there was but one tie between them, the tie of interest; and the moment that the Lord of Ma.s.seran saw that more was to be lost or risked by the Count de Meyrand than to be gained, that instant he was prepared to put an end to his affection for his n.o.ble friend. He was, however, as we have seen, in various respects, in the count's power; and he had trusted that their united operations would be sufficient to induce the king to act without listening to the fair girl herself. He had, moreover, believed, when he heard of the death of Bernard de Rohan, that one great obstacle being removed, the rest would be comparatively easy. The arrival of Isabel, however, was most inopportune; for he saw that, in the king's angry mood at the moment, the disclosure of all that had taken place within the last few weeks might be ruinous in another way, and not only overthrow his future schemes with regard to Mademoiselle de Brienne herself, but bring punishment on his head for what had occurred before.

As the interview, however, could be prevented by no means within his reach, he sought eagerly in his mind for excuses and defences for his conduct: but he had hardly time to arrange any plan ere Isabel herself entered, supported by the arm of one whom he felt far more inclined to fear than even herself. That person was good Father Willand; and his surprise and dismay were not a little increased by seeing the king receive the priest with a gracious smile as an old acquaintance, and, grasping his arm familiarly, ask him what had made him return from banishment.

"Why, to bring this poor lamb back to your majesty's fold," replied Father Willand, in his usual gay and unceremonious tone. "By my faith, sire, if all shepherds were like you, and mistook the wolf for the watch-dog, mutton would soon be dear in France."

"How so? how so, good father?" demanded Henry, laughing; and, at the same time, taking Isabel's hand in his own, he prevented her, with a kindly gesture, from throwing herself at his feet. "Cheer up, fair lady," he said, "cheer up. The king will protect you, and be a father to you. But how now, bold priest? How have I been so unwise a shepherd as to mistake the wolf for the watch-dog?"

"Why," answered Father Willand, boldly, and looking full in the face of the Lord of Ma.s.seran, "by giving one of the best of your flock"--and he pointed with his hand to Isabel--"into the care of a Savoyard wolf."

"Hush! hush! my good father," cried the king. "By Heavens! if you use such language, you will get yourself into a worse sc.r.a.pe, in your cure of Saint John of Bonvoisin, than that for which I was obliged to send you away from Paris, to keep your ears out of the way of knives. On my soul, we must find a bridle for that tongue of yours."

"Indeed, sire," exclaimed the Lord of Ma.s.seran, marking with pleasure a slight frown that had come upon the king's brow, "indeed, sire, such a bridle is most necessary; for that tongue is not only insolent, but mendacious."

"Hush, sir!" exclaimed the king, sternly; "you speak of one of the honestest men in France;" and he held out his hand to Father Willand, who kissed it respectfully. "Would that we had many such!" the king went on: "for the men who tell truth in the cabinet as well as in the pulpit, are those that are very needful here: albeit," he added, with a smile, "they may occasionally, in their hatred of hypocrites and knaves, give their tongue some license, and their conduct too. However, my good father, you will never be wise, so that I fear some day I shall have to make you a bishop, merely to keep you out of the way of strong fists and crabsticks. Now let us turn to the case of this young lady. The page told me, fair one, that you were anxious to see me immediately. What is it you would have?"

"Protection, sire," replied Isabel de Brienne, raising her fair face towards the king, filled with an expression of deep and hopeless grief, which touched the kind heart of the monarch, and made his tone even more kindly than it was before as he replied,

"And you shall have it, lady. But let me hear how it is that protection is needed: have you not a mother and a brother to protect and help you?"

"Alas! sire," replied Isabel of Brienne, "my mother is no more my father's wife nor my father's widow. She is now the wife of one to whose will she shows all dutiful obedience; but unto me the mother's care and tenderness are at an end."

"Fair lady," said the king, "the time that I can spare you is but short, and it may save you both trouble and grief, and, perhaps, from one cause or another, may likewise spare you a blush, if I tell you that I know the past. Lest you should suspect that my ears have been wronged and your conduct falsely told, the brief history of the facts is this: You have loved and been beloved by a very gallant gentleman, one who has served his king and country well and faithfully; and your mother, not holding him as dearly and highly as we may do or you have done, has opposed your marriage with the man of your choice, and endeavoured, as far as may be, to separate you from him. He, in the somewhat indiscreet eagerness of love, persuaded you, it would seem, to fly with him secretly, and unite your fate to his by a clandestine marriage, which, upon every principle of law and reason, must be null and void. However, at the very altar, I am told, your worthy stepfather here present surprised and separated you from this bold gentleman, took means to ensure that you should not meet again, and was bringing or sending you to Paris, when you contrived to escape. Thus far we know; what is there more? The tale that we have heard is very simple."

As the king ended, he looked round with a slight smile, which certainly might be interpreted either "This matter is very clear," or else "I know there is another version."

The person who answered it first, however, was the good priest. "That is the story, sire," he said. "'Tis a most excellent piece of goods, but smells somewhat of the manufacturer."

"How so, sir? But let the lady speak, and say if this be true or not."

"True, sire," replied Isabel de Brienne, much to the surprise of the Lord of Ma.s.seran. "It is all true; but there is much besides to be said, and some things which I must say, but which, perhaps, I cannot prove, especially now, when deep grief masters me. As your majesty has said--and no blush will stain my cheek while I do own it--I loved and was beloved by as n.o.ble a gentleman as ever graced this land; but I trust that I loved him wisely too, for to that love I have been plighted since my fifteenth year. My father--my good father, sire, who in times past has stricken in many a battle by your side, and also in many another well-fought field--joined my hand to his with promises which I, his daughter, was but too willing to fulfil. My mother, it is true, always looked somewhat coldly on him I loved, ever since he struck to the ground a base man, her intendant, for wronging an unprotected girl; but still my mother was present when we were plighted to each other; still she was present when my father, on his deathbed, made me promise that I would wed the man whom he had chosen. Oh, how willingly I promised! oh, how gladly I would have kept that promise! but they have rendered it vain;" and, unable to restrain herself, the tears burst forth, and she wept bitterly.

Henry had carried his eyes from her to the countenance of the Lord of Ma.s.seran from time to time while she spoke, and now, taking her hand kindly, he said, "Be comforted, dear lady, be comforted. This changes the matter greatly. What else have you to add?"

"Oh, much, much, sire," replied Isabel, wiping the tears from her eyes; "but I will be brief, sire; indeed I will be brief, and not waste your most precious time. Bernard de Rohan, my promised husband, went to serve his king in Italy--"

"And did serve him there right well," said the king. "But go on."

"He had been absent some time," she continued, "and I was longing for his return, when a n.o.bleman of your majesty's court sought my hand, to my great surprise, with my mother's countenance. Thinking that he had been deceived, I told him the whole truth, but still he pursued his suit. I wish, sire, that it were not needful for me to give his name, but I fear I must."

"The Count de Meyrand," said the king. "He has already urged his suit to us. What more of him, fair lady?"

"He urged it upon me, sire," she answered, "after he knew that my heart was given and my hand was promised to another, that other being his own friend. He sought me, sire, he persecuted me, he used words that I will not repeat, nay, menaces, all with the countenance of my mother, who acted, I believe--nay, I know--under the commands of her new husband. I was in hopes of some relief when my Lord of Ma.s.seran here took us so suddenly to Savoy, but we were soon followed by the gentleman you have named. I was now told to think no more of Bernard de Rohan. I was informed that my hand was destined for the man whom, by this time, I detested, and that means would be found to make me obey. Vague and terrible fears came over me; but I obtained an opportunity of writing one letter to him I loved. Would that I had never done so! for that letter has killed him."

"Methinks, sire, it would have been better," said the Lord of Ma.s.seran, in a sneering tone, "if the fair lady was so tyrannically used in my poor dwelling, to write to her brother in the capital."

"I did," replied Isabel of Brienne, "often and most sorrowfully."

"But did you ever ask him to come to you?" demanded the Lord of Ma.s.seran. "He says not."

"Never," replied Isabel of Brienne. "On the contrary, I besought him not to come. I concealed half my grief, the daily anguish of witnessing my mother's sorrow, the taunts, the sneers, the bitterness, which, like the Egyptian pestilence, made our very food swarm with reptiles; I concealed much, much that I might have told, and still besought him not to come."

"May I ask why, madam?" said the king, with evident surprise. "De Vieilleville, there is something under this. I must hear the whole," he added, seeing her hesitate. "Lady, it must be told."

"It was, sire," said Isabel de Brienne, in a low but distinct voice, "it was that I feared, if brother and sister should be in the same house beyond the pale of your majesty's realm--in a place where few questions are asked, and secret acts do not easily transpire--I feared, I say, I feared much for my brother's safety."

"I understand," said the king, "I understand. But there must be great objects for such doings."

"Everything reverts, sire," said Vieilleville, addressing the king in a low voice, "everything reverts to the mother in case of the death of the son and daughter without children."

"These, sire, however," said Isabel, "were but suspicions, and perhaps were unjust--"

"Oh, most unjust, I do a.s.sure your majesty," said the Lord of Ma.s.seran, who had more than once shown a disposition to break in, but had been restrained by a gesture from the king. "Such base designs never entered my mind."