"Well, my friend, so you have returned," exclaimed the jovial Englishman. "You look tired and troubled. Is anything wrong?"

"I have seen Raoul."

"That should not have depressed you! So he is back with the army? I thought he would not stay quiet long."

"It is on Raoul's account I am uneasy," I replied, and without more ado, described the change that had come over him, and repeated his mysterious words.

"A bagatelle!" declared Humphreys, "a mere trifle! He has been moping, and has got queer fancies into his head; sick people often do. Think no more of it, that is my advice; in a week he will be laughing at his dreams. The jingle of spurs and the blare of trumpets will soon drive away those notions."

"I am not so certain of that, my friend. Besides, he is not suffering from his wound now; he has recovered his strength."

"Of body, I grant you; and when his mind becomes clearer, these whimseys will vanish like ghosts at c.o.c.k-crow."

The Englishman seemed so sure, and spoke so confidently, that while in his company I felt half inclined to smile at my childish ideas; but later, in the solitude of my own room, they did not appear so childish.

The notion that Raoul was in some danger had disturbed my brain, and several times during the night I awoke with a start, fancying I heard him call my name.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"Remember the Porte St. Antoine."

It was, perhaps, fortunate that about this time Mazarin kept me very busy. Events moved quickly; the situation changed every day; no one knew at one hour what would happen the next. The Cardinal remained with the Court, but I spent most of my time on horseback, galloping with hastily written letters from one leader to another.

One day I was sent to Villeneuve St. Georges, where Turenne, having made a daring march, had just arrived. The Marshal was in a position of extreme danger. Lorraine was in front of him with a large army; Conde's troops were approaching swiftly from Etampes. There was an even greater peril, of which, however, I had no idea, till the famous soldier had read Mazarin's note.

"Here is news," said he, speaking to an officer of high rank; "Conde has left Paris and has joined his troops. We must settle this affair soon, or the prince will be too quick for us."

He possessed the highest respect for Conde as a soldier, and the prince on his part regarded Turenne as the only enemy to be feared. These two were, in fact, the most celebrated generals in Europe, and it was a thousand pities for France that their swords were not pointed against a common enemy.

"Let us see what the Cardinal offers," he continued, proceeding to read Mazarin's note. "Hum! Lorraine won't accept those terms, unless I back them up by a show of bayonets. Yet he must be got rid of! We can't fight both him and Conde at the same time."

Presently turning to me he said, "Ride back to St. Germain, De Lalande, and inform the Cardinal that I will send a messenger within twenty-four hours. By then Lorraine will be in full retreat or His Majesty will be minus an army."

Before leaving the camp I endeavoured to find Raoul, but without success. Several officers informed me that he was rarely with the main body, his troopers being chiefly used for scouting purposes. This was disappointing; so, as there was clearly no chance of meeting him, I returned to St. Germain and delivered my message.

How he managed it I cannot explain--some people hinted that Mazarin's craft had most to do with it--but Turenne was as good as his word, and the next evening an officer from his army galloped into St. Germain with the information that, without striking a blow, Lorraine had broken up his camp and was retreating to Flanders. Mazarin rubbed his hands at the news, and purred softly, as he usually did when well pleased.

"We are getting on, gentlemen!" said he. "Before long His Majesty will be in his capital again."

In this the Cardinal was mistaken, but every day still further improved our position. The Court removed to St. Denis; Conde, who had posted his troops on the bank of the Seine, near St. Cloud, was being pressed day and night by Turenne, and was at length forced to retreat in the direction of Charenton.

As soon as this became known in St. Denis the utmost excitement prevailed, and every one began asking what the people of Paris would do. Unless the gates of the city were opened the prince must either win a brilliant victory or be crushed. On this point Mazarin spoke very sensibly.

"Everything depends on the result of the first stroke," said he. "The Duke of Orleans is in command of the town. He will blow hot and cold after his manner: Conde will ask for shelter, and Gaston will hesitate.

There lies our chance. If we can catch and beat the prince meanwhile, all will go well; Gaston ever leans to the strongest side."

Turenne, who had come to consult with the Cardinal, smiled grimly.

"Take His Majesty to Charonne," he advised, "and bid him write a letter with his own hand to the Council, forbidding the gates to be opened.

It may do good: it cannot do harm."

"And meanwhile?" asked Mazarin.

"My cavaliers are hot on the prince's track. I have ordered La Ferte to cross the river with his artillery, and Conde must either surrender or accept battle at St. Antoine."

"Remember the Porte St. Antoine!" The words sounded in my ears so clearly that it almost seemed as if I heard Raoul speaking.

"The Court will be in no danger," Turenne continued, "but I shall require every man who can use a sword or fire a musket. Have you ever seen a wild boar at bay? That is how Conde fights. I shall beat him, but the pack will be badly mauled. Gentlemen, who will ride with Turenne, and die with Turenne, if needs be, for the honour of France?"

There were a dozen of us, all belonging to Mazarin's body-guard, at the lower end of the room, and instantly every sword leaped from its scabbard and flashed in the air.

"I! I! I!" we shouted like a number of enthusiastic boys, and the famous general laughed genially.

No one, I fear, waited for the Cardinal's consent, and when, a few minutes later, Turenne mounted his horse, fifty headstrong cavaliers fell in joyously behind him.

"For the King! gentlemen," cried he. "For the King!" we echoed loyally, and the royal boy, with flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes, came in person to bid us farewell.

"I thank you, gentlemen, all," said he, and there was a curious catch in his voice. "I would I were riding in your ranks, but while the King has such loyal servants France need fear no rebels. I wish you success, gentlemen, you and your gallant leader."

At this, waving our plumed hats high, we cheered again and swept forward with a rush. From the Faubourg St. Denis came the sounds of musketry, of wild battle shouts, and cries of triumph and despair.

"Forward!" cried Turenne. "Forward!"

Riding with loose reins we spurred hard to the scene of conflict, just in time to see the backs of Conde's rearguard. The gallant fellows had fought stubbornly, contesting every foot of ground, and sacrificing themselves in order to delay our advance. Now, however, they were in retreat, and Turenne, leaving his victorious infantry to re-form, collected his hors.e.m.e.n and pressed on in pursuit.

Among the foremost rode my old comrade, and my heart beat fast at sight of him. His head was bare, his long fair curls fell about his shoulders, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes fiercely bright. I had never seen him in such a state of intense excitement. As I joined him he greeted me with a forced smile, but there was no time for speech.

Side by side we dashed through the streets into the Faubourg St.

Martin. Here several squadrons of Conde's cavalry barred our way, but Raoul halted not.

"For the King!" he cried, waving his sword. "For the King!" as we leaped at the hors.e.m.e.n, while our comrades, answering with a l.u.s.ty shout, galloped madly behind us.

Crash! We were in the midst of the throng, cutting, thrusting, parrying, pressing the rebels back slowly. They fought well, as became Frenchmen, but we were too many, and at last they broke.

"Forward!" cried Raoul, who was still in front, but Turenne called us back.

"Softly, softly," exclaimed our leader; "a few hundred hors.e.m.e.n cannot defeat an army in position. We must go slowly for a while. The enemy are entrenched behind barricades in the Faubourg St. Antoine."

Raoul looked at me meaningly, and I became unnerved by the odd coincidence. Was it chance or fate?

"Together till the end," he whispered. "Do not grieve for me, dear friend, it is written in the stars, and I am content."

I tried to reply, but my lips were dumb; I could only press his hand in silence.

Like a wise general Conde was meanwhile seizing and strengthening every defensible post. His men pierced the houses for musketry, raised new obstacles everywhere, heightened the barricades, and dragged the big guns into the open s.p.a.ce. Every moment's delay on our part rendered the position more formidable, and we listened anxiously for the tramp, tramp, of our brave infantry.

"Can't we take the place at a rush?" asked one man impetuously, and Raoul looked at him with a smile.