The Ladies Leave Paris.

We could still hear the hoa.r.s.e shouts of the people, but the streets in the direction of St. Denis were quiet, and the darkness prevented us from being observed. As Marie had recovered her strength we walked quickly, and finally arrived at the gate, where the Duke of Orleans had stationed a double guard. The officer on duty regarded us with suspicion, but I showed him the order, which he dared not disobey.

"You may pa.s.s, monsieur," said he with mocking politeness, "it is not for me to disapprove of the Duke's friends."

The fellow's words roused my anger, and my face burned, but time was too precious for me to quarrel with him. We had saved our lives, it is true, but our plight was still miserable enough.

"We must find somewhere to sleep," said Madame Coutance, "and in the morning we can hire a carriage. Marie is too tired to walk farther."

This was the best plan, but I knew nothing of St. Denis, and it was only after a weary search that I secured accommodation for them in a small inn. The place was dirty, and the landlord ugly enough to frighten one, but Marie and her aunt behaved very bravely, making no complaint. They retired to their room at once, while I kept guard outside the door with loaded pistols and naked sword.

The next morning I learned the lesson that it is not always well to judge by appearances. Touched by the ladies' distress, the innkeeper did all he could to help me, and, through his a.s.sistance, I succeeded in hiring a wretched cart to carry us a stage on our journey.

"I am sorry it is such a poor affair," said the man, "but there is not a carriage in the place. It is strange how many people have left Paris during the last few days. One would think the plague had broken out."

"The plague would have been less harmful," said I, remembering the scene in the Rue Crillon.

In view of Le Tellier's note all this delay was extremely awkward, but there was no help for it; I could not leave Marie and her aunt stranded at St. Denis.

Madame Coutance laughed merrily at sight of the clumsy vehicle, and she joked on my taste in choosing such an elegant equipage. However, we made the inside fairly comfortable with rugs and cushions, and, having paid the inn-keeper, I a.s.sisted the ladies to their seats and clambered in after them. The driver, a stolid, thick-headed fellow, cracked his whip, and we started off at a brisk trot, which, however, the horses did not keep up long.

Hitherto there had been no opportunity to speak of my cousin's death, but now I informed my companions of what had happened. Both were deeply grieved at the news, Madame Coutance especially showing more feeling than I should have expected.

"Did he die of his wound?" she asked.

"In a measure; but chiefly from the hardships endured through hiding from Conde."

"The prince would have forgiven him!"

"On conditions; and Henri would have refused them. My cousin was not the best of men, but he was loyal to his friends."

"You are right," exclaimed Madame Coutance warmly; "in many ways Henri de Lalande was a gallant gentleman. And now, what are you going to do?"

"As soon as you reach Aunay I shall join the King's friends."

"Ah!" she exclaimed with a smile, "I know you are against the prince, but I wish you success for yourself, and if you fall, well, the battlefield is a fit resting-place for a gentleman of France."

"I shall pray for you, Albert," whispered Marie, "that you may come safely through every danger. I hate all this fighting and bloodshed, and wish the country could be at peace."

"It will be soon," I answered, and then for a while we journeyed in silence.

About four o'clock in the afternoon we reached a large village, and the driver pulled up at the princ.i.p.al inn. This was the end of his stage, and though we offered him a handsome sum of money he refused to go a yard farther. He declared that his horses required rest, which was true enough, and that his master had ordered him to return to St. Denis in the morning.

"We must make the best of it," exclaimed Madame Coutance; "I daresay we can obtain some sort of accommodation for the night."

Our reception was far from encouraging, but when the innkeeper discovered that we were not penniless, his manner changed. The ladies were shown into the best room, a chamber was made ready for them, and the servants received orders to prepare a good meal. All this was extremely pleasant, but there was a greater slice of luck to follow.

As soon as I had explained the situation he offered to solve our difficulty. A carriage? Certainly, he had the very thing, and a team of beautiful horses as well. Of course it would be expensive, but then, no doubt, monsieur would be willing to pay for the privilege.

Finally it was agreed that we should start at dawn, and I went to sleep that night with a feeling of relief. It was barely light when we sat down to breakfast, and the ladies shivered on going into the cold air, but the carriage was comfortable, and, when the leathern coverings were drawn down, warm.

"Decidedly an improvement on the open cart," exclaimed Madame Coutance, as she leaned back against the cushions. "We ought to reach Aunay before nightfall."

I earnestly hoped we should, as I was becoming uneasy concerning Le Tellier's note. However, as nothing could be done until the ladies were placed in safety, I endeavoured to dismiss the subject from my mind, and to appear as pleasant as possible. There is no need to linger over the details of the journey. We stopped two or three times for food and rest, and at one place to change the horses, but we met with no adventure of any kind, and arrived at the chateau about three o'clock, quite two hours sooner than I had dared to hope.

"Home again," said Marie softly, as we entered the hall, "and I hope it will be long before we leave it."

"Not until the prince rides triumphantly into Paris!" exclaimed her aunt. "Why do you smile, M. de Lalande? The prince has already beaten Mazarin, and he will make short work of the rest."

"Very likely, madame," I said, not wishing to be drawn into an argument, but, remembering the note in my pocket, I greatly doubted if the Cardinal were as completely overcome as his enemies believed.

It was a difficult matter to get away from Aunay that evening. The ladies declared I was tired, and begged me to stay until the next day, but this, though they were not aware of it, was out of the question.

Finding at last that I was resolved to depart, Madame Coutance insisted on my wearing a plumed hat which had belonged to her husband, and told me to choose the best saddle-horse in her stables.

"True," said she, with a charming smile, "you are an enemy to the prince, but I do not forget that you are also one of my best friends."

[Transcriber's note: ill.u.s.tration missing from book]

The scene of my departure from the chateau is still very vivid in my memory. It was evening, and the sky flushed red with the glories of the setting sun. From afar came the tinkling of bells, the lowing of kine, and the chatter of the serving-men. The ladies stood on the terrace overlooking the fine park, and as I rode off they waved their hands in farewell, and wished me G.o.d-speed on the journey.

I was half sorry to plunge again into the strife, but the beautiful evening and the brisk ride soon restored my spirits. I wished Pillot had been with me, not alone for the sake of his company, but for his help also. However, I was young and strong, and having a certain amount of confidence in myself rode on cheerily enough.

On the third evening after leaving the chateau I arrived at Rheims, pa.s.sing into the town just before the closing of the gates. The streets were filled with people who wore an air of excitement as if something was going forward. A number of soldiers loitered about in groups, but whether they were the King's friends or Conde's I could not determine, as they wore no distinguishing colours.

Riding slowly down one of the less frequented streets, I discovered an inn which had every appearance of being clean and comfortable.

"This is the place to suit me," I said half aloud, and was proceeding to dismount, when I caught sight of a man staring hard in my direction from the window of the opposite house, and while I was talking to the ostler the stranger had run down and clapped me on the back in the heartiest manner. He looked rather like a soldier of fortune who had fallen on evil times. His finery was distinctly faded, but he carried a good sword, and seemed capable of using it. His face was tanned by exposure to the weather, both cheeks bore the marks of sword-cuts, and there was a scar on his forehead just above the left eye. Altogether he appeared a far from desirable acquaintance.

"Henri, my boy," he cried, giving me another tremendous thwack, "how came you here? Ah, you are a sly rascal! Plotting more mischief, eh?

Well, well, you are safe for me, though I am for the King."

The speaker rattled on at such a rate that I could scarcely manage to put in, "Pardon me, monsieur, but you have made a mistake."

"A mistake?" he exclaimed. "_Peste!_ I must be growing old. My eyesight is failing. Aren't you Henri de Lalande? You are very much like him. Ah, no, I perceive now you are younger. He is an old friend, but we see little of each other. I am in the King's service and he is a Frondeur. But in private life, you know, eh?" and he gave me a vigorous dig in the ribs, following it up by saying, "Perhaps monsieur is a relative?"

I cannot say what my answer would have been, but just then I received another shock. A few yards farther along, standing well back against the wall, was a little man, evidently endeavouring to attract my attention. Directly his attempt succeeded he placed a finger on his closed lips, held it there a second or two, and vanished.

It was Pillot, and in my amazement I almost spoke the name aloud. How did he get there? What mystery was afoot now?

Presently the stranger, who had been trying to account for the new expression in my face, exclaimed, "Monsieur then is not a relative?"

"A relative," I answered vaguely, for the unexpected appearance of Pillot had put the soldier's remarks out of my head altogether; "I wish you would not pester me with your questions. I am tired and hungry, and do not understand what you mean."

"I am sorry, monsieur," he said humbly; "I have few friends, and seeing one of them, as I fancied, was carried away. Well, there, let it pa.s.s.

Time was when Captain Courcy could ruffle it with the best."

He really seemed so downhearted that I was ashamed of my brusque behaviour, and exclaimed, "It is I who should ask pardon, monsieur, but indeed, I am badly in want of food and rest: I have ridden far. Later, perhaps, we shall meet again, when I am in better condition for talking."

"It may be so, monsieur," and, saluting me with a courtly bow, he turned and re-crossed the street, while I entered the inn and was ushered into a private room.