"Softly, softly, sir. The Captain has good cause. Give me heed, my friends. To you, M. de Serigny, I will say upon my honor, which until this day was never stained by thought or deed, I will say,--this day I would have betrayed you. Nay, do not look so pained and unbelieving; all men are mortal, and pa.s.sions stronger even than duty, stronger than loyalty, yea, stronger than honor itself, may tyrannize over the best of us. I repeat, this day would I gladly have betrayed you, betrayed my friends to save--well it boots not whom, but a woman. For the woman I love may lose her liberty if not her life when those accursed papers reach the hands of the King. I was mad, and at this moment doubt and fear myself. It is better not to trust me with your plans; the Captain is right. Jerome de Greville never yet deceived a friend, but for the love of G.o.d, Messires, do not tempt him now," and he faced about with unsteady step and started toward the door. Before we could detain him he was gone, leaving Serigny staring in the most unbelieving and bewildered fashion at me.

"In G.o.d's name, Captain, what piece of folly is this? Tell me all, for ofttimes the success of the most careful plans is governed by just such undercurrents as this, of man's love or woman's spite. Go on, I listen."

I explained briefly Madame's position, Serigny nodding his acquiescence; it was an old tale to him, except he did not know Jerome's relations with Madame. Of her domination over the Duke of Maine he was well aware. When my story was fully done he pondered for a long while in silence. His sorrow was deep and sincere.

"Poor fellow; poor fellow; as n.o.ble a lad as ever drew a sword, but in his present frame of mind it is safer not to trust him; he is capable of any act of desperation. We will do our best to protect his lady, though. Where was I? This matter has disturbed me-- Oh, yes, about to give your orders. You see I am all ready to leave. I have but waited your return. The war has been decided on and the news needs only to be given out. The King hesitates and wavers; Chamillard is a mere reflection of the royal whim. If we do not attack the Spaniard he will attack us; it is simply a question of whether we want the war at Biloxi or Havana. For my part I would rather see Havana in siege than Biloxi. This matter can not be long delayed, a few days more at most.

These dispatches may decide. With these before the King he will no longer doubt my brother, but will place the blame where it most properly belongs--for in the main, Louis is just. I would not desire any greater pleasure than to see the gibbet whereon these traitors of the itching palms, these thieves who sell their King for Spanish gold, will take their last dance. Do you remain here for as many as six days, this room is at your disposal. Be quiet and discreet; learn all and tell nothing. A still tongue is the safest in these times. The moment war is declared make all speed for Dieppe and we will up anchor and away."

Serigny was as happy as a boy at the prospect of action; the atmosphere of court ill agreed with his fiery temper. This was the gist of our plan of operations, and it was so arranged in detail.

In a few moments Serigny left me, taking the packet with him, and I in excess of caution followed him at a little distance, locking the door behind me and keeping the key in my pocket. I bore his tall figure well in sight until he pa.s.sed out of the unfrequented halls into that portion of the palace where the many shuttlec.o.c.ks of fortune congregated to laugh and talk and plot and lie. Not long after he came back, sorely nettled and disappointed.

"It is done; the King has them in his own hands; yet he does not talk; promises nothing; is closeted with his ministers; they must be of considerable importance. It is all secure for us, for I told him of my departure in the morning to the colonies, and he a.s.sented. I judge, then, it is something of a very delicate nature, touching the royal honor of the King's own blood. Besides much is in cipher which it will take time to read. Louis, you know, would not admit, save to those nearest his throne, the possession of the secret Spanish cipher."

The night pa.s.sed by dismal and uncertain enough. I must confess to a great sinking of the heart when I saw Serigny's carriage roll away in the gray of the early morning, leaving me absolutely alone in my father's land of France, where in the short s.p.a.ce of two weeks so much had transpired; much to be ever remembered, much I would have given worlds to forget.

It must have been a most forlorn and dejected looking creature that stood in the great square that sunless morning, peering into the mists which had absorbed the carriage. The solitude of vast untrodden forests breeds not that vacant sense of desolation which we children of nature feel in the crowded haunts of men. Face after face, form after form, voice after voice, yet not one familiar countenance, not one remembered tone, not the glance of a kindly eye; all is new, all is strange, all at seeming enmity. The defection of Jerome, my only comrade, was indeed a cup of bitterness. I dreaded to meet him, not knowing what tack he might cut away on. Yet I could not blame him; it was more of pity I felt.

I recall with great delight some of the minor occurrences of the next three or four days. After Serigny's departure, every afternoon at imminent risk I would take horse to Sceaux, and pursuing a by-way through the forests and fields, through which a wood-cutter first led me, ride hard to catch a glimpse of her who now occupied all my thoughts. I wonder at this time how I then held so firm by the duty of returning to the colonies, when the very thought of war and turmoil was so distasteful to me. When I rode to Paris and clothed myself once more in my own proper garments, their friendly folds gave me a new courage to meet whatever Fate might send.

It may be pertinent to chronicle here, what history has already recorded, the result of placing those dispatches in the King's hands.

The Duke of Maine, as all the world knows, disavowed his wife's act in treating with Spain, and thus saved his own dainty carca.s.s from sharing her captivity in the Bastille. But both he and Madame were imprisoned until he made most abject submission and apology to Orleans.

Madame de Chartrain was sent to a provincial fortress, and bore her incarceration with great fort.i.tude, winning even from her enemies the admiration always accorded to firmness and virtue.

Philip of Orleans being once firmly established in the Regency, changed his usual course, and pardoned many of those who had conspired against him. Their prison doors were opened, and the Duke of Maine, becoming reconciled to his haughty lady, forgave her and gained great credit thereby in the vulgar mind. They spent their lives quietly at Sceaux during the Regency, and naught else of them concerns this history.

Philip of Orleans possessed some of the virtues of a great man, and many of a good man, but these he kept ever locked within his own bosom.

His mother, the rigid and austere Madame, said once of him:

"Though good fairies have gifted my son at his birth with numerous n.o.ble qualities, one envious member of the sisterhood spitefully decreed that he should never know how to use any of these gifts." Such was the character of the Regent.

Of Jerome and Madame de Chartrain I would fain tell more, but during the troubled times in America I completely lost sight of them, and my inquiries developed nothing of sufficient verity to give credence to here.

All Frenchmen know of Jerome's gallant death at Malplaquet. It is a fireside legend now, and young French lads turn their moistened eyes away at the hearing. Marshal Villars being sorely hurt and in peril of capture, there fought beside his litter an unknown gentleman who, without name or rank, yet bore himself so commandingly, the discouraged guard rallied again and gave him willing obedience. Arrived at a narrow bridge he urged the litter-bearers safely across, and fighting at the rear to be himself the last to reach a place of safety, he was struck and fell. Prince Eugene, the courteous enemy, who had himself witnessed the incident, sent a guard of honor to the Marshal at Valenciennes the next day with the body, deeming it that of a man of consequence. His letter congratulated the defeated Villars upon having such chivalric friends.

It was poor Jerome, and no one knew him then. He rests now with his fathers.

I loved the lad truly. As knightly a gentleman as ever died for his King, or lied for his lady.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CASTLE OF CARTILLON

Two days, four, pa.s.sed. Serigny had departed for Dieppe to arm and equip le Dauphin, yet still there was no official declaration of war.

I was waiting, as he had ordered, for the formal declaration, on the publication of which I was to join him on board at once and we would set sail instantly for Biloxi.

Another anxious day, during which I vacillated between an ign.o.ble love and a n.o.ble duty. Then, late in the evening, the whole court was fanned into a blaze destined to spread throughout Europe and America, by the announcement that the war had been formally decided upon.

Men may long look forward to a crushing calamity, and when it comes be surprised and unprepared. So, though I well knew I must leave France with all speed, and possibly never see her sh.o.r.es again, I put it from me as persistently as men do the certainty of death. Every day did I ride to Sceaux, by the old wall, and catch a glimpse of her I loved.

When war was at last declared there was no time for parleying with duty. My path lay straight and clear before me; yet for once a soldier's duty and a soldier's adventure gave me no pleasure. All my thoughts were otherwhere.

Hot-foot to Sceaux again I rode on my way to Dieppe, and from the same embrasure at the wall where my horses had trampled down the foliage many times, I watched her coming. It was not for long. More hurriedly than was her custom she glided, a glorified young creature, in and out amongst the shrubbery, until the envious chapel door hid her from my sight. No living thing was in view. The sound of no discordant voice broke the holy peace of G.o.d. Temptation came never to our first erring mother in more insidious guise than this.

Where was the harm, I reasoned, it was but for an instant's speech with her, ere the bounding seas would roll between us. So with nervous haste I tumbled from my horse and tethered him stoutly to a tree. Over the wall and to the chapel door took another instant, and there, inside, at the rail, she knelt. I paused, as a sinner might, hesitating to mar with heart profane the devotions of a saint. My foot struck a cracking board in the entry, and drew her glance toward me.

She sprang up as I entered, with a swift cry of surprise, and, as I fancied, some whit of gladness in the tone.

"You, Monsieur? You here? I thought you away from Sceaux."

"Yes, Madame, true; but I returned to speak with you before I leave France forever. I came here to--to--" I could not tell her why; my heart, so full, clogged my utterance. But women ever understand.

As I cast about me for a word, we had drawn closer, and taking the hand which half-hid in the folds of her dress, gleamed more white and pure, I would have raised it to my lips. Even at such a time I noted the device upon a ring she wore, a device grown so familiar: A wolf's head, sable.

"An old thing of my mother's," she explained, "Charles has one, and I."

I eagerly seized upon a subject which might so naturally prolong our interview.

"Aye, I know the device well; are you of the d'Artins?"

"Yes, my mother was; there are now none of the race. The last is a wanderer; I know not if he lives."

"I know, perchance, of such a man, Madame; would you tell me more of him, of yourself?"

"I never saw him, my mother's father. Her marriage displeased him greatly. When her first child was born, a girl, she sent it to him for his blessing. He denied it, saying he wanted no more of women. The child died in infancy. Of my sister's birth and mine he was never told. Then he went away, where, none know."

It thrilled me with a new hope. Who could guess but my relations with Colonel d'Ortez might throw me again in her way. I took her hand again, making pretence to examine the ring more curiously. She made slight demur, and I pressed my first fervent kiss upon the hand of woman. Man's fort.i.tude could stand no more. Tossing honor, discretion, duty to the winds, I folded her close, closer yet, and kissed her brow, her hair, her eyes--her lips, she struggling like a frightened nestling all the while. It was done.

Ashamed but impenitent--it was too new, too sweet to wish undone--I loosed her gently, and kissed her hand but once again, then left her standing where the light from the mullioned window in halos wreathed my saint. It was thus I ever afterward remembered her.

She made no other sign; I withdrew swiftly as I came. From across the wall, un.o.bserved, I watched her leave the place, downcast of eye and slow of step. In rebellious and uncertain mood I rode away.

Though the relish in my task was done, I made all haste toward Dieppe.

Scarcely stopping for food, changing horses as often as I could, I pushed on without adventure until I reached the Chateau Cartillon, then a formless ruin.

Here my saddle girth broke and I was nearly thrown to the ground. I scrambled off, walked to the little inn where I inquired how far I had yet to go.

"Three leagues yet to Dieppe," the host replied, "but Monsieur can not go on to-night; he must wait the morrow; he can go with comfort in the morning."

I sent my groom for a new girth and found it would take quite an hour to procure one from the village.

"Probably Monsieur would visit the castle upon the hill there,"

persisted the landlord, pointing across the way, "it is worth his while. It is said to have been destroyed by the Great Henry in his wars with the Duke of Mayenne. True it is that sounds of battle and screams are yet heard there on stormy nights. Probably Monsieur would rest here several days----."