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"'Those whom as brother and king I denounce to you, generally meet
at a little chateau called Loignac, the pretext being generally the
chase. This chateau is, besides, the focus for intrigues to which
the Guises are not strangers, and you know the strange love with
which my sister pursued Henri de Guise. I embrace you, and am ever
ready to aid you in all, and for all; meanwhile aid yourself by
the advice of Chicot, whom I send to you. Your affectionate,' etc.

"_Age auctore Chicot_," said Chicot, "here am I, installed counselor of
the king of Navarre! This seems to me a bad commission, and in flying
one ill, I have fallen into a worse one. Really, I should almost prefer
Mayenne. But the letter is clever, and if Henriot be like other
husbands, it will embroil him at once with his wife, Turenne, the
Guises, and even with Spain. But if Henri de Valois is so well informed
of all that passes in Navarre, he must have some spy there.

"Then, again," continued he, "this letter will lead me into mischief if
I meet a Spaniard, a Lorraine, a Bearnais, or a Fleming curious enough
to wish to know what brings me here, and I should be very foolish not to
remember that there is a chance of that. M. Borromee, above all, I
suspect may play me some trick. Besides, what did I seek in asking the
king for this mission? Tranquillity. And now I am going to embroil the
king of Navarre with his wife. However, that is not my affair, except
that I shall make mortal enemies, who will prevent me from ever reaching
the happy age of eighty.

"Ma foi! but that is not much, for it is only worth living when you are
young. But then I might as well have waited for the knife of M. de
Mayenne. However, I will take precautions, and will translate this fine
letter into Latin, and engrave it on my memory; then I will buy a horse,
because from Juvisy to Pau I should have too often to put the right foot
before the left if I walked--but first I will destroy this letter."

This he proceeded to do; tearing it into an infinite number of little
pieces, sending some into the river, others into the air, and burying
the rest in holes in the ground.

"Now let me think of my Latin theme," said he; and this study occupied
him until he arrived at Corbeil, where he bestowed a glance at the
cathedral, but fixed an earnest look at a traiteur's, whence came an
appetizing smell of dinner. We will not describe either the dinner he
made or the horse he bought; suffice it to say that the dinner was long
and the horse was bad.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE FOUR WINDS.


Chicot, with his little horse, which ought to have been a big one to
have carried him, after having slept at Fontainebleau, made a detour to
the right, and proceeded toward the little village of Orgeval. He would
have gone further that day, but his horse failed him. He put up,
therefore, at a good hotel, and went through the rooms to select one
where the doors closed well, and chose an apartment which had just been
repaired, and the door of which was furnished with a formidable lock.

Before going to bed, although the hotel had appeared almost empty, he
locked the door and placed a heavy table and a chest of drawers against
it. He then put his purse under his pillow, and repeated to himself
three times over the translation of the king's letter. There was an
extremely high wind blowing, and as it howled in the neighboring trees,
it was with a feeling of great satisfaction that Chicot plunged into a
very comfortable bed.

He had a lamp by his bedside, and he occupied himself for some time in
reading a book which he had brought with him; but, although he liked the
book, in reading the third chapter he fell asleep. The wind moaned about
the house, sometimes like a child crying, and sometimes like a husband
scolding his wife; and as Chicot slept, it seemed to him, in his dreams,
that the tempest came nearer and nearer. All at once a sudden squall of
invincible force broke locks and bolts--pushed the chest of drawers,
which fell on the lamp, which it extinguished, and on the table, which
it smashed.

Chicot had the faculty of waking quickly, and with all his senses about
him, so he jumped out of bed and got hold in an instant of his purse and
his sword. It was quite dark, but it seemed to him that the whole room
was being torn to pieces by the four winds of heaven; for the chairs
were falling, and the table breaking more and more under the weight of
the drawers. As he could do nothing against the gods of Olympus, he
contented himself with standing in one corner, with his sword held out
before him, so that if any of these mythological personages approached,
they would spit themselves upon it.

At last he profited by a momentary cessation in the uproar to cry
loudly, "Help! help!"

He made so much noise that it seemed to quiet the elements, as if
Neptune had pronounced the famous _Quos ego_, and, after six or seven
minutes, during which Eurus, Notus, Boreas and Aquilo seemed to beat a
retreat, the host appeared with a lantern and enlightened the scene,
which looked deplorably like a field of battle. The great chest of
drawers was overturned on the broken table; the door was held only by
one of its hinges, and the bolts were broken; three or four chairs were
on the floor with their legs in the air, and, to crown all, the
crockery, which had been on the table, lay in bits on the floor.

"This is a regular pandemonium," cried Chicot, recognizing his host.

"Oh! monsieur," cried the host, clasping his hands, "what has happened?"

"Are there demons lodging here?" asked Chicot.

"Oh! what weather," replied the host pathetically.

"But the bolts do not hold; this house must be made of card-board. I
would rather go away;--I prefer the road."

"Oh! my poor furniture," sighed the host.

"But my clothes! where are they? They were on this chair."

"If they were there, they ought to be there still," replied the host.

"What! 'if they were there.' Do you think I came here yesterday in this
costume?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur," answered the host, with embarrassment, "I know you
were clothed."

"It is lucky you confess it."

"But--"

"But what?"

"The wind has dispersed everything."

"Ah! that is a reason."

"You see."

"But, my friend, when the wind comes in it comes from outside, and it
must have come in here if it made this destruction."

"Certainly, monsieur."

"Well, the wind in coming in here should have brought with it the
clothes of others, instead of carrying mine out."

"So it should, and yet the contrary seems to have happened."

"But what is this? The wind must have walked in the mud, for here are
footmarks on the floor." And Chicot pointed out the traces left by a
muddy boot, on seeing which the host turned pale.

"Now, my friend," said Chicot, "I advise you to keep a watch over these
winds which enter hotels, penetrate rooms by breaking doors, and retire,
carrying away the clothes of the guests."

The host drew back toward the door. "You call me thief!" said he.

"You are responsible for my clothes, and they are gone--you will not
deny that?"

"You insult me."

Chicot made a menacing gesture.

"Hola!" cried the host; "hola! help!"

Four men armed with sticks immediately appeared.

"Ah! here are the four winds," cried Chicot, making a thrust with his
sword at one of them; but they all rapidly disappeared, not, however,
before one of them had whispered something to the host.

"Your clothes shall be found," growled he.

"Well! that is all I ask."

They soon made their appearance, but visibly deteriorated.

"Ah! there are nails in your staircase; what a devil of a wind it was,"
said Chicot.

"Now you will go to bed again?" said the host.

"No, I thank you, I have slept enough; leave me your lantern and I will
read."

Chicot replaced the chest of drawers against the door, dressed himself,
got into bed again, and read till daybreak, when he asked for his
horse, paid his bill, and went away, saying to himself--

"We shall see, to-night."




CHAPTER XXXV.

HOW CHICOT CONTINUED HIS JOURNEY, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.


Chicot passed his morning in congratulating himself on the sang-froid
and patience he had displayed through his night of trials.

"But," thought he, "they never take an old wolf twice in the same snare;
therefore, it is nearly certain that they will invent some new devilry
to practice on me to-day, so I must be on my guard."

The result of this reasoning was, that Chicot made a march that day
worthy of being immortalized by Xenophon. Every tree, rising ground, or
wall, served him for a point of observation. He also concluded on the
road alliances, if not offensive, at least defensive. Four grocers from
Paris, who were going to Orleans to order preserves, and to Limoges for
dried fruits, allowed Chicot, who called himself a hosier from Bordeaux,
returning home, to join their company, which was rendered more
formidable by four clerks, who were following their masters. It was
quite a little army, and scarcely less formidable in mind than in
number, so warlike a spirit had the League introduced among the Parisian
shopkeepers. At all events, three cowards together have less fear than
one brave man alone. At last they reached Etampes, the town fixed on for
supper and sleeping. They supped, and then each went to his room.

Chicot, who had not been sparing during the repast, either of his fun,
which amused his companions, or of the Muscat and Burgundy, went to bed,
after having settled to travel again with the grocers on the morrow.
Chicot, therefore, thought himself guarded like a prince by the four
travelers, whose rooms were in the same corridor and close to his own.
Indeed, at this epoch, the roads being far from safe, travelers were in
the habit of promising each other mutual aid in case of need. Chicot
then, after bolting his door and striking the walls, which returned
everywhere a satisfactory sound, went to bed and to sleep.

But there arrived, during his first sleep, an event which the Sphynx
himself, the diviner par excellence, could not have foreseen; but the
devil was mixing himself up with Chicot's affairs, and he is more
cunning than all the Sphynxes in the world.

About half-past nine a blow was struck on the door of the room where the
clerks all slept. One of them opened in a very bad humor, and found
himself face to face with the host.

"Gentlemen," said he, "I see with pleasure that you are sleeping all
ready dressed, for I wish to render you a great service. Your masters
grew very warm over politics at supper-time, and it seems that a sheriff
of the town heard them and reported it. Now, as we are very loyal here,
the mayor sent down the watch, and they have arrested your masters and
carried them off. The prison is near the Hotel de Ville; go, my lads,
your mules are ready for you, your masters will join you on the road."

The four clerks shook like hares, ran downstairs, jumped on their mules,
and took the road back to Paris, telling the host to let their masters
know, if they should return to the hotel.

Having seen them disappear, the host went to knock very gently at one of
the doors in the corridor.

One of the merchants cried out in a loud voice, "Who is there?"

"Silence!" replied the host, "and come quietly to the door."

The merchant obeyed, but before opening, he said again--"Who are you?"

"Your host; do you not recognize my voice?"

"Mon Dieu! what is the matter?"

"Why, it seems you talked rather too freely at table, and the mayor has
been informed by some spy, and has sent to arrest you. Luckily, I
thought of showing them your clerks' room instead of yours, so that they
are busy upstairs arresting them."

"Can this be true?"

"Pure and simple truth. Make haste, and escape while you can."

"But my companions?"

"Oh! I will tell them."

And while the merchant dressed, the host awakened the others, and very
soon they all disappeared, walking on the points of their toes, that
they might not be heard.

"That poor hosier!" said they; "it will all fall on him; but it is true
he said the most."

Of course Chicot had received no warning. While the merchants were
flying, he was sleeping peacefully.

The host now descended into the hall, where stood six armed men, one of
whom seemed to command the others.

"Well?" said this one.

"I have obeyed your orders, monsieur."

"Your inn is deserted?"

"Absolutely."

"The person is not awakened?"

"No."

"You know in whose name we act, and what cause we serve: for you serve
the same."

"Yes, certainly; therefore, I have sacrificed, to keep my oath, the
money that these men would have spent at my house; for it is said in the
oath, 'I will sacrifice my goods to the defense of the Catholic
religion.'"

"'And my life,' you forget that," replied the officer.

"Oh! I have a wife and children."

"You must obey blindly what is ordered you."

"Oh! I will obey."

"Then go to bed, shut the doors, and whatever you see or hear, do not
come out, even if your house is burning."

"Oh! I am ruined!"

"I am instructed to indemnify you; here are thirty crowns."

"My house estimated at thirty crowns!" cried the inn-keeper, piteously.

"We shall not break even a window; complainer that you are."

"Oh! what a champion of the Holy League."

The host went away and did as he was told. Then the officer ordered two
men to place themselves under Chicot's window, while he himself, with
the three others, mounted to his room.

"You know the order," said the officer. "If he opens and lets us search,
and we find what we seek, we will not do him the least harm; but if the
contrary happens, a good blow with a dagger; no pistol, you
understand--besides, it is useless, being four against one."

The officer knocked.

"Who is there?" cried Chicot.

"Your friends the grocers, who have something important to tell you."

"Oh!" cried Chicot; "how last night's wine has strengthened your voice."

The officer lowered his voice, and said in an insinuating tone, "Open
quickly, dear companion."

"Ventre de biche! I do not smell the grocery."

"Ah! you will not open?" cried the officer, impatiently. "Break open the
door."

Chicot ran to the window, but saw below two naked swords shining.

"I am caught," said he.

"Ah! ah!" cried the officer, who had heard the noise of the window
opening; "you fear the perilous leap, and you are right. Come, open!"

"Ma foi! no; the door is solid, and I shall get help when you make a
noise." And he began to call for the merchants.

The officer laughed. "Fool!" cried he. "Do you think we have left you
their help? Undeceive yourself; you are alone, so make up your mind to
it. Go on, soldiers."

Chicot heard three blows struck on the door.

"They have three muskets," said he; "and below there are only two
swords, and only fifteen feet to jump; I prefer the swords to the
muskets."

And tying his bag to his belt, he got on the window-sill with his drawn
sword. The two men below stood ready with their drawn swords, but, as
Chicot guessed, on seeing him jump sword in hand, they drew back,
intending to strike him as he came to the ground. Chicot alighted on his
feet, and one of the men gave him a thrust immediately. Thanks,
however, to Gorenflot's coat of mail, the blade broke like glass.

"He has armor!" cried the soldier.

"Pardieu!" said Chicot, cutting open his head with a blow of his sword.

The other began to cry out, thinking now only of defending himself, but,
at the second pass, Chicot laid him by his comrade; so that when the
door was burst open, the officer saw through the window his two
sentinels lying in their blood, and Chicot running quietly away.

"He is a demon; he is steel proof!" cried he.

"Yes; but not ball-proof!" cried the soldiers.

"No firing; no noise; you will wake the city. We shall catch him
to-morrow."




CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE THIRD DAY OF THE JOURNEY.


Chicot knew he was safe in the city of Etampes, where he was under the
protection of magistrates who would have arrested the officer
immediately on his complaint. It was the knowledge of this which had
induced the officer to stop his men from firing, and to abstain from
pursuit. Therefore he retired with his soldiers, leaving the two dead
men on the ground after laying their swords by them, that it might seem
as though they had killed each other.

Chicot vainly searched for his former companions, and then determined to
stay for a time in the city; and even, after watching the officer and
his men leave the town, had the audacity to return to the inn. There he
found the host, who had not recovered from his terror, and who watched
him saddling his horse as though he had been a phantom, and never even
asked him for his money.

Then he went and finished his night in the public room at another inn,
among all the drinkers, who were far from thinking that this tall
unknown, who looked so smiling and gracious, had just killed two men.

At break of day he started again, but a prey to anxiety, for although
two attempts had failed, the third might be successful. He determined
when he reached Orleans to send to the king to ask for an escort.

But as the road to Orleans was passed without accident, Chicot began to
think again that it was needless, and that the king would lose his good
opinion of him, and also that an escort would be a great trouble. He
went on, therefore, but his fears began to return as evening advanced.
All at once he heard behind him the galloping of horses, and turning
round he counted seven cavaliers, of whom four had muskets on their
shoulders. They gained rapidly on Chicot, who, seeing flight was
hopeless, contented himself with making his horse move in zig-zags, so
as to escape the balls which he expected every moment. He was right, for
when they came about fifty feet from him, they fired, but thanks to his
maneuver, all the balls missed him. He immediately abandoned the reins
and let himself slip to the ground, taking the precaution to have his
sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

He came to the ground in such a position that his head was protected by
the breast of his horse.

A cry of joy came from the troop, who, seeing him fall, believed him
dead.

"I told you so," said a man, riding up, with a mask on his face; "you
failed because you did not follow my orders. This time, here he is;
search him, and if he moves, finish him."

Chicot was not a pious man, but at such a moment he remembered his God
and murmured a fervent prayer.

Two men approached him sword in hand, and as he did not stir, came
fearlessly forward; but instantly Chicot's dagger was in the throat of
one, and his sword half buried in the side of the other.

"Ah! treason!" cried the chief, "he is not dead; charge your muskets."

"No, I am not dead," cried Chicot, attacking the speaker.

But two soldiers came to the rescue; Chicot turned and wounded one in
the thigh.

"The muskets!" cried the chief.

"Before they are ready, you will be pierced through the heart," cried
Chicot.

"Be firm, and I will aid you," cried a voice, which seemed to Chicot to
come from heaven.

It was that of a fine young man, on a black horse. He had a pistol in
each hand, and cried again to Chicot, "Stoop! morbleu, stoop!"

Chicot obeyed.

One pistol was fired, and a man rolled at Chicot's feet; then the
second, and another man fell.

"Now we are two to two," cried Chicot; "generous young man, you take
one, here is mine," and he rushed on the masked man, who defended
himself as if used to arms.

The young man seized his opponent by the body, threw him down, and bound
him with his belt. Chicot soon wounded his adversary, who was very
corpulent, between the ribs; he fell, and Chicot, putting his foot on
his sword to prevent him from using it, cut the strings of his mask.

"M. de Mayenne! ventre de biche, I thought so," said he.

The duke did not reply; he had fainted from the loss of blood and the
weight of his fall. Chicot drew his dagger, and was about coolly to cut
off his head, when his arm was seized by a grasp of iron, and a voice
said:

"Stay! monsieur; one does not kill a fallen enemy."

"Young man," replied Chicot, "you have saved my life, and I thank you
with all my heart; but accept a little lesson very useful in the time of
moral degradation in which we live. When a man has been attacked three
times in three days--when he has been each time in danger of death--when
his enemies have, without provocation, fired four musket balls at him
from behind--as they might have done to a mad dog--then, young man, he
may do what I am about to do." And Chicot returned to his work.

But the young man stopped him again.

"You shall not do it, while I am here. You shall not shed more of that
blood which is now issuing from the wound you hare already inflicted."

"Bah! do you know this wretch?"

"That wretch is M. le Duc de Mayenne, a prince equal in rank to many
kings."

"All the more reason. And who are you?"

"He who has saved your life, monsieur."

"And who, if I do not deceive myself, brought me a letter from the king
three days ago."

"Precisely."

"Then you are in the king's service?"

"I have that honor."

"And yet you save M. de Mayenne? Permit me to tell you, monsieur, that
that is not being a good servant."

"I think differently."

"Well, perhaps you are right. What is your name?"

"Ernanton de Carmainges."

"Well, M. Ernanton, what are we to do with this great carcase?"

"I will watch over M. de Mayenne, monsieur."

"And his follower, who is listening there?"

"The poor devil hears nothing; I have bound him too tightly, and he has
fainted."

"M. de Carmainges, you have saved my life to-day, but you endanger it
furiously for the future."

"I do my duty to-day; God will provide for the future."

"As you please, then, and I confess I dislike killing a defenseless man.
Adieu, monsieur. But first, I will choose one of these horses."

"Take mine; I know what it can do."

"Oh! that is too generous."

"I have not so much need as you have to go quickly."

Chicot made no more compliments, but got on Ernanton's horse and
disappeared.




CHAPTER XXXVII.

ERNANTON DE CARMAINGES.


Ernanton remained on the field of battle, much embarrassed what to do
with the two men, who would shortly open their eyes. As he deliberated,
he saw a wagon coming along, drawn by two oxen, and driven by a peasant.
Ernanton went to the man and told him that a combat had taken place
between the Huguenots and Catholics, that four had been killed, but that
two were still living. The peasant, although desperately frightened,
aided Ernanton to place first M. de Mayenne and then the soldier in the
wagon. The four bodies remained.

"Monsieur," said the peasant, "were they Catholics or Huguenots?"

"Huguenots," said Ernanton, who had seen the peasant cross himself in
his first terror.

"In that case there will be no harm in my searching them, will there?"

"None," replied Ernanton, who thought it as well that the peasant should
do it, as the first passer-by. The man did not wait to be told twice,
but turned out their pockets. It seemed that he was far from
disappointed, for his face looked smiling when he had finished the
operation, and he drove on his oxen at their quickest pace, in order to
reach his home with his treasure.

It was in the stable of this excellent Catholic, on a bed of straw, that
M. de Mayenne recovered his consciousness. He opened his eyes, and
looked at the men and the things surrounding him with a surprise easy to
imagine. Ernanton immediately dismissed the peasant.

"Who are you, monsieur?" asked Mayenne.

Ernanton smiled.

"Do you not recognize me?" said he.

"Yes, I do now; you are he who came to the assistance of my enemy."

"Yes, but I am he who prevented your enemy from killing you."

"That must be true, since I live; unless, indeed, he thought me dead."

"He went away knowing you to be alive."

"Then he thought my wound mortal."

"I do not know; but had I not opposed him, he would have given you one
which certainly would have been so."

"But then, monsieur, why did you aid him in killing my men?"

"Nothing more simple, monsieur; and I am astonished that a gentleman, as
you seem to be, does not understand my conduct. Chance brought me on
your road, and I saw several men attacking one; I defended the one, but
when this brave man--for whoever he may be, he is brave--when he
remained alone with you, and would have decided the victory by your
death, then I interfered to save you."

"You know me, then?" said Mayenne, with a scrutinizing glance.

"I had no need to know you, monsieur; you were a wounded man, that was
enough."

"Be frank; you knew me?"

"It is strange, monsieur, that you will not understand me. It seems to
me that it is equally ignoble to kill a defenseless man, as six men to
attack one."

"There may be reasons for all things."

Ernanton bowed, but did not reply.

"Did you not see," continued Mayenne, "that I fought sword to sword with
that man?"

"It is true."

"Besides, he is my most mortal enemy."

"I believe it, for he said the same thing of you."