"Die, then, but on the field of battle, brave Raoul," said de Grandville, "and since I have deprived you of your sword, take mine; I shall be honored by the exchange."

"Hold!" said a stern voice; and turning, Henri beheld with confusion the countenance of Marshal Saxe, who, attended by a file of musketeers, had entered the tent at the close of the duel. "You will give up your sword to this officer, Captain de Grandville," added he, pointing to a commissioned officer by whom he was accompanied. "Count de St. Prix, you will pick up your weapon, also, and surrender it.

Officers who forget themselves so far as to seek each other's lives upon the eve of battle, with the enemy before them, are unworthy of command. This is matter for the provost marshal."

And the old soldier seated himself at the table, and eyed the offenders angrily and sternly.

"May it please your excellency," said St. Prix, "I alone deserve to suffer. I insulted the gentleman, and forced him to fight."

"Forced him to fight?" said the marshal. "Hadn't he read the orders of the day?"

"I do not claim your clemency, marshal," said Henri. "I committed this fault with my eyes open. But a man cannot always command his pa.s.sions."

"That's true, my lad. But what were you fighting about?"

"A woman, your excellency," said St. Prix.

"A woman! fools! a woman that's not to be had without fighting for isn't worth having. Well, well--boys will be boys. I pardon you on two conditions. In the first place, you must shake hands." Henri and Raoul advanced and joined their hands. "And in the next place, that you give a good account of yourselves to-morrow. _Sacre nom de Dieu_! I can ill spare two lads of spirit from the guards. And now," said the marshal, rising, after restoring their swords to the officers, "good night, gentlemen; and plenty of hard knocks to-morrow."

The next day witnessed one of those terrible encounters, whose sanguinary prints make a more indelible impression on the page of history than the records of the more generous deeds of peaceful life.

The greatest gallantry was displayed on both sides, and on the part of the French no officers were more distinguished for their valor than the two guardsmen whose encounter on the previous evening we have just related. Raoul de St. Prix, in the early part of the engagement, fell sword in hand at the head of his company, thus meeting with honor a fate he had earnestly desired. Henri de Grandville, in the course of the day, found himself in command of the regiment, every officer of higher rank having fallen. When the carnage had ceased, he laid a stand of captured colors at the feet of the commander-in-chief, and was complimented by Marshal Saxe at the head of the army, receiving a.s.surance that his gallantry should be at once reported to the king.

Flushed with triumph, the young guardsman flew to the presence of his mother, to receive her embrace and recount in modest terms the story of his deeds. She rejoiced in his safety, and sympathized with his joy. But all at once, as he made her the confident of other hopes, and enlarged on the prospect of his speedy union with Heloise de Clairville, her countenance changed, and her eyes became suffused with tears.

"Dear Henri," said she, "I knew nothing of this. Why did you not sooner apprise me of this fatal pa.s.sion?"

"Fatal pa.s.sion, dear mother! Why do you thus characterize the love I bear to the purest, the most beautiful of her s.e.x?"

"She is, indeed, all that you paint her, Henri; but you must learn the hard task of renouncing your hopes. You can never marry her."

"And why so? Do you refuse your consent?"

"Alas! no. But the Baron de Clairville--"

"He regards me with a favorable eye. I have reason to think he knows of my attachment to his daughter, and approves of it. Even now, his congratulations had a marked meaning, which could hardly be ambiguous."

"But a fatal, an insurmountable barrier lies between you and the object of your hopes."

"Do not keep me in suspense," cried the young soldier, "Explain this mystery, I implore you."

"Have you fort.i.tude to listen to a dreadful secret, the possession of which has well nigh destroyed the life of your mother?"

"G.o.d will give me strength to bear any stroke," replied Henri. "Thanks to your instruction and example, I have schooled myself to suffer, unrepining, whatever Providence, in its infinite wisdom, sees fitting to inflict. If I have a soul for the dangers of the field, I have also, I think, the courage to confront those trials that pierce the heart with keener agonies than any the steel of a foeman can inflict.

Fear not to task me beyond my strength."

"I will be as brief as possible," said the lady. "Your father, Henri, was of n.o.ble birth and possessed of fortune. My own share of the world's goods was small, and yet it was on this pittance alone that we were sustained, till the exertions of a generous friend procured you, under the name of De Grandville, (my maiden name,) a commission in the guards."

"Then De Grandville was not the name of my father."

"No--he belonged to the n.o.ble house of Montmorenci. The early years of our married life were pa.s.sed in happiness that I always feared was too great to be enduring. It was brought to a bitter and miserable end.

Deadly enemies--for the best and n.o.blest have their foes--conspired against your father, and he was accused--falsely accused, mark me--of treason to his king and country. I will not tell you by what forgery and perjury he was made to appear guilty--but he was convicted--and sentenced--"

"Sentenced!"

"Ay, sentenced, and suffered. He died by the hands of _Monsieur de Paris_!"

"_Monsieur de Paris_!"

"The executioner!"

Henri uttered a piercing cry, and covered his face with his hands. He remained a long time in this att.i.tude, his frame convulsed by the agonies of grief, while his mother watched, with streaming eyes, the effect of her communication. At length he removed his hands, and raised his head. His countenance was deadly pale,--the only indication of the train of emotions which had just convulsed him,--but his look was firm and high.

"Mother," said he, pressing her hand, "I thank you. It was better to learn this dreadful secret from your lips than from the words of another. Henceforth we will live for each other--we shall have a common sorrow and a common fate. I pray you to excuse me for a few moments. I will soon rejoin you, but I have first a duty to perform."

The young guardsman pa.s.sed from his mother's presence to that of the Baron de Clairville.

"Welcome, welcome! my brave boy," said the old soldier. "You have fairly won your spurs."

"Sir, you flatter me," replied Henri, gravely.

"Not at all. Saxe himself says that more distinguished gallantry never fell beneath his notice."

"You think then, baron, I can claim a post of honor and danger in the next engagement?"

"You can lead the Forlorn Hope if you like."

"Enough, baron. I came to ask your forgiveness."

"My forgiveness!"

"Yes, sir, for having wronged you unconsciously so lately as last evening."

"Wronged me, and how, strange boy? you talk in riddles."

"Last evening, sir, on the eve of battle, which might well, considering what followed, have been my last of life, I sought your daughter. Her manner, some unguarded words she dropped, emboldened me to declare a secret which I had hitherto kept fast locked in my breast. I threw myself at her feet, and told her that I loved her."

"And she--"

"Confessed that she loved me in return."

"Henri! my boy--my son--my hero! this news makes me young again! it gladdens my old heart like the shout of victory upon a stricken field.

Is this your offence? I freely pardon it."

"You know not all, baron. You knew that I was a poor and obscure soldier of fortune."

"The man who has distinguished himself as you have done this day, might claim the hand of an emperor's daughter."

"Baron, between me and Heloise there lies a black shadow--a memory--a horror, which forbids our meeting. The very name I bear does not belong to me."