The two Savoyards, or whatever they might be, had adhered to Edward and his two companions with the tenacity of a bramble-shoot, and Edward had no objection to their accompanying him a stage or two farther; but, as he was now coming to one of the dangerous pa.s.ses of his expedition, he determined to cut them loose at the end of the first thirty miles. Those thirty miles, however, were destined to be performed slowly and with difficulty.

The morning, when they quitted Chartres, was bright and beautiful; a pale pink tint was in the sky, varied by brown clouds with golden edges; but ere they had half crossed the rich plain which lies between Chartres and Maintenon the rain began to fall, and a deluge poured down from the sky, rendering the roads wellnigh impa.s.sable. Still Edward rode on, pa.s.sed Maintenon without stopping, and first drew bridle at Rambouillet.

It was then beginning to grow dark, for the progress made had been very slow, and every man in the party was drenched to the skin. To go farther immediately was out of the question and not exactly suited to Edward's plans. Indeed, what between fatigue and a sudden change in the weather, the face of Pierrot la Grange had become very blue, his limbs shivered, and his teeth chattered. Dinner--or rather, as they called it, supper--was soon served, and the young gentleman so far relaxed his stern rule as to order some bottles of good wine for his drenched companions, bidding Pierrot himself partake. The long man looked somewhat doubtfully at his master, but the temptation was too strong, and the fatal cup approached his lips. Edward soon left the party and went out to make some inquiries. No one attempted to follow him, for the room was warm and comfortable, and mirth and conviviality reigned.

Pierrot's first cup was the Rubicon. It was but wine, it is true; but he had drunk nothing but water for wellnigh two months, and the first draught made him feel so comfortable that the second, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth were added in rapid succession. His tongue, which had been marvellously still for many weeks, was unloosed, and the unruly member did its part in setting free every thing that was a secret, or which he thought was one. In five minutes he was in full career, and by the time that Edward returned--he had not been absent half an hour--the two Savoyards were made aware that the young gentleman had probably gone to inquire his way minutely to Dampierre, the place of retreat of the d.u.c.h.esse de Chevreuse. "For," said Pierrot, "he was asking about it at Chartres; and the people there could not give him half the information he seemed to want."

On their part, too, the Savoyards were wonderfully free and confidential; and the only one who retained his full discretion was Jacques Beaupre, who was remarkably taciturn, and kicked Pierrot's shins under the table,--a hint which he did not choose to take.

The entrance of Edward Langdale instantly silenced Master Pierrot, however, for he was not in the least drunk. In the ladder of inebriety there are many rounds, and he had only reached the first, which with him was always talkativeness. But Edward looked grave, for he had heard much speaking, with Pierrot's voice predominant; and, when the host entered to inquire whether the guests would take some more wine, the young gentleman's "No" was uttered in a tone that went home to his follower's consciousness.

"What a fool I am!" thought Pierrot. "If it had been brandy, now, instead of wine, I should have been drunk again to a certainty."

The following morning at an early hour the whole party were once more in the saddle, and the two Savoyards were ready as soon as the rest, seeming to think that they had fixed themselves upon the young gentleman's party. Edward examined the priming of his pistols before he set out, and ordered his followers to do so likewise; but, as the day before had been rainy, the precaution excited no remark, and the day's journey was begun.

Four or five miles only had pa.s.sed, however, when, at a spot where a road branched off through the forest to the left, the young Englishman suddenly drew in his rein and turned to the Savoyards, saying, "Here, my good friends, we have to part. That is your road, and this is mine."

The two men seemed much surprised, and even ventured to remonstrate, commending highly the safety and sociability of travelling in company, and magnifying the great advantage it would be to him to have two such skilful smiths and horse-doctors in his train. They offered even to wait for him, if he had business on the road, and to attend to his horses without pay.

But Edward Langdale was peremptory. "You said you were going to Savoy,"

he remarked. "The only way to get there is to follow the road before you. Moreover, it will be safer for you to go in other company than mine; for I am subject to fits of choler, and apt to shoot people if they offend me, as that good gentleman, Monsieur Pierrot la Grange, can inform you."

"Ay, that he is!" exclaimed Pierrot. "I have got the bullet in my leg now."

The two men looked at each other in astonishment, and made some exclamation in a language which Edward did not understand, but which did not sound like any species of Italian.

"Ah!" said Jacques Beaupre, solemnly, "it is a sad infirmity he has. I always ride on the right side of him, for he does not aim so well on that side as on the left."

The two men smiled; but a slight movement of Edward's hand toward his pistols soon restored their gravity, and he added, "Take my advice. Go on your way, and let me see you go, for I do not choose to be followed."

A shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the rein was their only answer, and they rode away along the highroad before them.

Edward watched them for some distance, and then turned into the smaller path on the left. "I do not like those men," he said, speaking to his followers. "Both their countenances are bad; and, as for the taller one of the two, I am certain I have seen him at Nantes. I think it was in the court of the chateau, the day we set out for Deux Rivieres."

"I think so too," said Jacques Beaupre. "He is too ugly to be forgotten easily; and, as for their tongue, I think it is Basque. I once heard that language spoken; and theirs is much more like it than Savoyard."

Poor Pierrot was conscience-stricken, and heartily wished his tongue had been cut out before it had run away from his discretion on the preceding evening; but he kept his own counsel, and Jacques Beaupre had too much of the laquais' spirit about him to tell of a companion before he was found out.

The day was dull and gray, but not actually raining, and the road was muddy and heavy to travel; but the forest was soon pa.s.sed, and at the end of two hours Edward judged, by the descriptions he had received, that he was entering the vale of Chevreuse. Hidden in a dense shroud of mist, it did not indeed look beautiful to his eyes, as he had been led to believe; and, in some doubt, he stopped to ask a peasant, whom they overtook driving an ox-cart, if the Chateau of Dampierre was near.

"Why, there it is, seigneur," said the man. "Dame! don't you see it?"

And, looking forward, Edward caught a faint sight of some towers and pinnacles rising over the distant trees.

CHAPTER XXV.

Two large gates of that fine hammered iron which is now rarely seen, twisted into leaves and flowers and coronets, with gilding here and there, and the arms of Chevreuse and Montbazon let into the centre, shut the small park of Dampierre from the road. They seemed indeed to offer no ingress to any one, for Edward rang the great bell at least half a dozen times before any one appeared; but then a man walked slowly down the road from the chateau itself, and examined the strangers through the filagree-work of the gate as he came. At neither of the two lodges at the sides of the gate was there the least sign of life.

The man, who seemed an old servant, however, and who carried a large key in his hand, applied it to the lock without asking any questions, and Edward, before entering, inquired if Madame de Chevreuse was at the chateau.

"I do not know," replied the servant, in an indifferent tone. "A good many people rode away the day before yesterday, and I have not seen her since; but, if you ride up, they will tell you there."

Edward accordingly rode on, and, though the distance was not more than three hundred yards, he perceived that his coming had created more sensation at the chateau than at the gates. There were heads at several of the windows, and two or three men came forth upon the terrace and watched the approaching party. Edward rode slowly to give time for a full examination; for, from all he had heard at Nantes, he could very well conceive that the fair d.u.c.h.ess might be inclined to stand somewhat upon her guard before she admitted strangers. Dismounting before the chateau, he gave his horse to Jacques Beaupre to hold, and advanced toward one of the servants at the door, who showed no disposition to advance toward him, inquiring if the d.u.c.h.ess was at Dampierre and would receive him. "Come in, sir," said another servant, who had just come down the steps. "Go up that staircase and turn to your right through the first door. You will soon find somebody who will inform you."

Edward obeyed, thinking the manners of the Chateau of Dampierre somewhat strange, it must be confessed, but being perfectly prepared to follow the old adage of doing at Rome &c. The stairs were wide and low-stepped, of dark polished oak, with richly-ornamented bal.u.s.ters; and the walls of the staircase were covered with rich pictures both of Italian and Flemish schools. At the top was a broad landing-place or vestibule, with doors all round; but, following the directions he had received, the young Englishman opened the first on the right and entered a splendid saloon, where, seated in a great arm-chair, was a lady of gorgeous and dazzling beauty, with a little girl of some seven or eight years old at her knee, nearly as beautiful as herself. The eyes of both were fixed upon the opening door with a gay look of expectation; and the moment that Edward was fairly in the room the little girl ran forward, sprung up, and kissed him. The beautiful lady followed and kissed him likewise, laughing gayly as she did so.

It was certainly a surprise, though not a very disagreeable one, and Edward would not have objected to go over the same scene again; but, fancying there must be some mistake, he said, "I beg pardon for my intrusion. I imagine, madame, that you have--happily for me--taken me for some one else, by the honor you show me. I am merely a page to Lord Montagu, whom I hope to find here."

"No mistake at all, monsieur," said the gay lady. "It is a vow, sir,--altogether a vow,--which I and my daughter made, to kiss the first gentleman that came to relieve our solitude; for my magnificent lord has chosen to take himself away with all his people, and we have seen no faces but those of the old servants for two whole days. It was a vow, sir, we accomplished; but, even had it not been, I suppose I am not the first d.u.c.h.ess who has kissed a page, and probably I shall not be the last."

"Heaven forbid!" said Edward, entering into the humor of the hour, "if all d.u.c.h.esses' kisses are as sweet. But I presume I am in the presence of Madame de Chevreuse, for whom I have a letter."

"Well, well," said the bright, reckless woman, "sit down here beside me and tell me more. So you are my friend Lord Montagu's page. He has expected you long, and told me all about you. How happened you to linger on the road? Now, I warrant you met with some pretty little maiden, and could not tear yourself away till you had beguiled the poor thing."

Edward took the seat to which she pointed beside her own chair, and proceeded to tell her all he thought necessary to account for his long delay, but without alluding in any way to Lucette. The explanation was somewhat long, and the d.u.c.h.ess listened listlessly, sometimes gazing at his face, sometimes looking down at her own beautiful hands and shifting the rings about in an absent manner. Edward, as was customary at that period, nourished two locks of dark silky hair, twisted into those long pendent curls which brought forth at an after-period the famous puritanical tirade upon "the unloveliness of love-locks;" and, a little to his surprise, as he went on he felt the fair d.u.c.h.ess's hands busy with the curls and twisting them round her fingers. Suddenly, however, she started, exclaiming, "What am I about?" and Edward innocently thought she was shocked at the familiarity into which a fit of absence had betrayed her. Not a bit of it; and he was soon undeceived.

"Surely I saw two attendants with you as I was looking from the window,"

she continued; "and I have totally forgotten the poor men and the poor horses. Run, my child, and tell Paton, the Savoyard, to have the men and horses monsieur brought here taken care of; and bid somebody carry his baggage to the chamber Lord Montagu had, next to mine. It is strange, you will think," she continued, as her daughter tripped away: "I have not a soubrette in the house, nor any woman but the old housekeeper and my own girl; but I came away from Britanny in such haste, not knowing whether I should be suffered to come away at all, that the fewer people I brought with me the better. Now let me hear the rest, and give me the letter you mentioned,--after which you shall have some food."

Edward had little more to tell, except the execution of poor Chalais, and the permission given him by Richelieu to pursue his journey. The first he touched but slightly, as the common rumor of something more than the mere relations of friendship between the unhappy count and Madame de Chevreuse had reached him; but the d.u.c.h.ess would hear all, and for a time she seemed greatly moved, although her love was so very minutely divided that there could be no great portion for any individual lover. At his account of his last interview with Richelieu,--which was somewhat lame, from there being various circ.u.mstances which he felt bound to keep back,--Madame de Chevreuse mused.

"The cardinal has some object," she said: "in fact, he always has. It was not for your good mien he let you go on, depend upon it,--though you are a handsome boy, I do not deny, and if the fox had been a woman I could have understood his favor for you better,--though probably he would then have kept you with him, as I intend to do."

"Indeed, madame," replied Edward, "I fear my duty requires me to go on immediately, if, as I gather from your conversation, Lord Montagu is not here. I need not tell you how much I should like to stay."

"Why do you not add something about bright eyes and beautiful lips, &c.

&c. &c., in true page style?" said Madame de Chevreuse; and then, giving him a playful box on the ear, she added, "Were not you told to take my orders and follow my directions, sir? It was so explained to me; but I see I have a great deal to teach you yet. You will have to wait till the day after to-morrow. Here; listen; put down your head." And as Edward obeyed she brought her rosy lips so near his ear that the perfumed breath fanned his cheek. "To-morrow night," she whispered, "I shall have news of Montagu, and the day after, perhaps, I shall find it convenient to take flight for Lorraine myself. The neighborhood of the court is somewhat dangerous for me; and my head looks prettier upon my own shoulders than in the hands of the executioner. In the mean time, you have to stay here and console my daughter and myself. We live the life of two nuns just now: you know how nuns live, I dare say,--young nuns, of course, I mean. And now, let us talk of any thing but business: you have to amuse me, and I have to be amused. I do not much care how."

I think it may be as well to drop for the present the further conversation of the gay young d.u.c.h.ess and her still younger companion.

She had all her life been famous for free speaking, and a little celebrated for free acting; and, had it not been necessary to show something of the life and manners of the times, I might have been tempted not to bring her on the stage at all,--although, in writing the adventures of Lord Montagu's page, Edward's visit to Dampierre could hardly be left out. It must be remembered, however, that, though somewhat more beautiful, more gay and witty, than most of her courtly compeers, Marie de Rohan was but a type of French society at that time.

Few of the high dames of that day were at all more virtuous than herself, although she had the candour--or the impudence, as it may be--to make very few pretensions.

She had said that she had many things to teach Edward, and certainly hers was not a very good school for a young lad; but he learned there more perhaps than she imagined, and in the midst of her light coquetries the sweet pure image of his Lucette came up to his mind, like the odor of a fresh flower in the midst of some scene of revel. He thanked G.o.d with all his heart that she whom he loved had never been subjected to the guardianship of such a woman; and he even felt pained that the poor young child her daughter should be witness to the reckless levity which the mother displayed. There is a holiness about childhood; and the heart of every man not impious revolts at the very thought of any thing which can profane that shrine of innocence.

Edward dined well; for the Duc de Chevreuse was one of the most luxurious--the French writers call it splendid--of the n.o.bility of the day. He is reported at one time to have ordered six magnificent coaches merely to try which was the easiest; and he was not a man to have any of his many houses at any time unprovided with a good cook.

After dinner is the time for sober but not heavy chat: the most persistent of appet.i.tes is satisfied; the blood has something to do in the process of digestion, and frolics less freely than at other times; and the brain itself turns hard work over to the stomach, and neither sports like a young horse set free from harness, nor lies down to sleep like an a.s.s upon a common. The d.u.c.h.esse de Chevreuse went to lie down upon her bed and rest after dinner, as was then common; but, as was fully as common, she asked the young Englishman to come and sit beside her. There were no triclinia in those days, nor _chaises longues_, nor sofas; and, although piles of cushions had been introduced into a few houses by those who had served against or with the Turks, they had not found their way into the Chateau de Dampierre. Her conversation was much more sober, however, than it had been in the earlier part of the day; and from it Edward learned that Lord Montagu had talked to her much about him, had told her his whole history, and had even left with her a purse of five hundred crowns for his use, expressing a conviction that some unforeseen accident had delayed him on his journey and might have exhausted his finances.

"He seemed to take a vast deal of interest in you," said the d.u.c.h.ess, "and made me long to see you. But, Monsieur Langdale, this conduct of his Eminence of Richelieu toward you puzzles me, and to my mind augurs little good. Tell me: did any thing particular happen to you on the road? Did you meet with any of the cardinal's people? Are these two men you have brought with you sure and faithful?"

The remembrance of the two strangers who had endeavored to force themselves upon him, instantly recurred to Edward's mind, and he related the whole adventure.

"Spies! spies, on my life!" cried the d.u.c.h.ess. "I trust they did not discover you were coming here?"

"Not from me," answered Edward Langdale; "for I suspected them from the first."

"Ah! then you have learned to suspect betimes," said the d.u.c.h.ess; "and I dare say you suspect women as much as men,--though we are more sincere by half. I say not we are more faithful, for men are so unfaithful that we should lose at that game; but we show more openly what we feel, and therefore are more true. Now, tell me: were you ever in love, Monsieur Langdale?"