Various - "The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 14,"

Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson - "The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1834 1872, Vol II."

Paul Marieton - "Une histoire d'Amour, George Sand and A. de Musset,"

Various - "Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 99., December 13, 1890"

Books: Book review: 'The Mercy Papers' and 'Downtown Owl'
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"Yes, my sister."

"But Henri; where is Henri? Do you know that every one expects him
here?"

"Henri has nothing to do here, and plenty to do in Flanders and
Picardy. We have work to do there, and why should we leave it to come
here, where our work is done?"

"But where it will be quickly undone, if you do not hasten."

"Bah!"

"Bah! if you like. I tell you the citizens will be put off no longer;
they insist upon seeing their Duke Henri."

"They shall see him at the right time. And Salcede--?"

"Is dead."

"Without speaking?"

"Without uttering a word."

"Good! and the arming?"

"Finished."

"And Paris?"

"Is divided into sixteen quarters."

"And each quarter has the chief pointed out?"

"Yes."

"Then let us live in peace, and so I shall say to our good bourgeoisie."

"They will not listen to you."

"Bah!"

"I tell you they are furious."

"My sister, you judge others by your own impatience. What Henri says
must be done; and he says we are to remain quiet."

"What is to be done, then?" asked the duchess impatiently.

"What do you wish to do?"

"Firstly, to take the king."

"That is your fixed idea; I do not say it is bad, if it could be done,
but think how often we have failed already."

"Times are changed, the king has no longer defenders."

"No; except the Swiss, Scotch, and French guards."

"My brother, when you wish it, I will show you the king on the road with
only two lackeys."

"I have heard that a hundred times, and never seen it once."

"You will see it if you stay here only three days."

"Another project: tell me what it is."

"You will laugh at a woman's idea."

At this moment, M. de Mayneville was announced. "My accomplice," said
she: "let him enter."

"One word, monseigneur," said he to M. de Mayenne as he entered; "they
suspect your arrival at the Louvre."

"How so?"

"I was conversing with the captain of the guards at St. Germain
l'Auxerrois, when two Gascons passed--"

"Do you know them?"

"No; they were quite newly dressed. 'Cap de Bious!' said one, 'you have
a magnificent doublet, but it will not render you so much service as
your cuirass of yesterday.' 'Bah!' said the other; 'however heavy the
sword of M. de Mayenne may be, it will do no more harm to this satin
than to my cuirass,' and then he went on in a series of bravadoes, which
showed that they knew you were near."

"And to whom did these men belong?"

"I do not know; they talked so loudly that some passers-by approached,
and asked if you were really coming. They were about to reply, when a
man approached, whom I think was De Loignac, and touched them on the
shoulder. He said some words in a low voice, and they looked submissive,
and accompanied him, so that I know no more; but be on your guard."

"You did not follow them?"

"Yes, but from afar. They went toward the Louvre, and disappeared behind
the Hotel des Meubles."

"I have a very simple method of reply," said the duke.

"What?"

"To go and pay my respects to the king to-night."

"To the king?"

"Certainly; I have come to Paris--he can have nothing to say against
that."

"The idea is good," said Mayneville.

"It is imprudent," said the duchess.

"It is indispensable, sister, if they indeed suspect my arrival.
Besides, it was the advice of Henri to go at once and present to the
king the respects of the family; that once done, I am free, and can
receive whom I please."

"The members of the committee, for example, who expect you."

"I will receive them at the Hotel St. Denis on my return from the
Louvre. You will wait for us, if you please, my sister."--"Here?"

"No; at the Hotel St. Denis, where I have left my equipages. I shall be
there in two hours."




CHAPTER XXVI.

THE LOUVRE.


That same day, about noon, the king came out of his cabinet and called
for M. d'Epernon. The duke, when he came, found the king attentively
examining a young monk.

The king took D'Epernon aside, "Look, what an odd-looking monk," said
he.

"Does your majesty think so?--I think him very ordinary."

"Really!" Then to the monk, the king said, "What is your name?"

"Brother Jacques, sire."

"Your family name?"

"Clement."

"Good. You have performed your commission very well."

"What commission, sire?" said the duke, with his wonted familiarity.

"Nothing!" said Henri. "It is a little secret between me and some one
you do not know."

"How strangely you look at the lad, sire! you embarrass him."

"It is true; I know not why, but it seems to me that I have seen him
before; perhaps it was in a dream. Go, my child; I will send the letter
to him who asks for it; be easy. D'Epernon, give him ten crowns."

"Thanks, sire," said the monk.

"You did not say that as if you meant it," said D'Epernon, who did not
understand a monk despising ten crowns.

"I would rather have one of those beautiful Spanish knives on the wall,"
said Jacques.

"What! you do not prefer money?"

"I have made a vow of poverty."

"Give him a knife, then, and let him go, Lavalette," said the king.

The duke chose one of the least rich and gave it to him. Jacques took
it, quite joyful to possess such a beautiful weapon. When he was gone,
the king said to D'Epernon, "Duke, have you among your Forty-five two or
three men who can ride?"

"Twelve, at least, sire; and in a month all will be good horsemen."

"Then choose two, and let them come to me at once."

The duke went out, and calling De Loignac, said to him, "Choose me two
good horsemen, to execute a commission for his majesty."

De Loignac went to the gallery where they were lodged, and called M. de
Carmainges and M. de St. Maline. They soon appeared, and were conducted
to the duke, who presented them to the king, who dismissed the duke.

"You are of my Forty-five, then?" said he to the young men.

"I have that honor, sire," said St. Maline.

"And you, monsieur?"

"And I, also, sire," replied Carmainges; "and I am devoted to your
majesty's service, as much as any one in the world."

"Good! Then mount your horses, and take the road to Tours--do you know
it?"

"We will inquire."

"Go by Charenton."

"Yes, sire."

"And proceed till you overtake a man traveling alone."

"Will your majesty describe him?" said St. Maline.

"He has long arms and legs, and has a large sword by his side."

"May we know his name, sire?" asked Carmainges.

"He is called 'the Shade.'"

"We will ask the name of every traveler we see, sire."

"And we will search the hotels."

"When you find him, give him this letter."

Both the young men held out their hands.

The king was embarrassed. "What is your name?" said he.

"Ernanton de Carmainges, sire."

"And yours?"

"Rene de St. Maline."

"M. de Carmainges, you shall carry the letter, and you, M. de St.
Maline, shall deliver it."

Ernanton took the precious deposit, and was going to place it in his
doublet, when St. Maline stopped him, kissed the letter, and then
returned it to Ernanton.

This made Henri smile. "Come, gentlemen," said he, "I see I shall be
well served."--"Is this all, sire?"

"Yes, gentlemen; only our last recommendation. This letter is more
precious than the life of a man--for your heads, do not lose it; give it
secretly to the Shade, who will give you a receipt for it, which you
will bring back to me; and, above all, travel as though it were on your
own affairs. Go."

The two young men went out--Ernanton full of joy, and St. Maline filled
with jealousy. M. d'Epernon waited for them, and wished to question
them, but Ernanton replied: "M. le Duc, the king did not authorize us to
speak."

They went to the stables, when the king's huntsman gave them two strong
horses. M. d'Epernon would have followed them, but at that moment he was
told that a man much wished to speak to him at once. "Who is he?" he
asked.

"The lieutenant of the provost of the Ile de France."

"Parfandious! am I sheriff or provost?"

"No, monsieur; but you are a friend of the king, and, as such, I beg you
to hear me," said a humble voice at his side.

The duke turned. Near him was a man, bowing perpetually.

"Who are you?" asked the duke.

"Nicholas Poulain, monsieur."

"And you wish to speak to me?"

"I beg for that favor."

"I have no time."

"Not even to hear a secret?"

"I hear a hundred every day."

"But this concerns the life of his majesty," said Poulain, in a low
voice.

"Oh! oh! then come into my cabinet."




CHAPTER XXVII.

THE REVELATION.


M. D'Epernon, in traversing the antechamber, addressed himself to one of
the gentlemen who stood there.

"What is your name, monsieur?" said he.

"Pertinax de Montcrabeau, monsieur."

"Well, M. de Montcrabeau, place yourself at that door, and let no one
enter."

"Yes, M. le Duc;" and M. Pertinax, who was sumptuously dressed, with a
blue satin doublet and orange stockings, obeyed. Nicholas Poulain
followed the duke into his cabinet.

"Now let us hear your conspiracy," said the duke.

"Oh! M. le Duc, it concerns the most frightful crimes."

"They wish to kill me, I suppose."

"It does not concern you, monsieur; it is the king. They wish to carry
him off."

"Oh! again that old story," replied the duke, disdainfully.

"This time the thing is serious, M. le Duc."

"On what day do they intend to do it?"

"The first time that his majesty goes to Vincennes in his litter."

"How will they do it?"

"By killing his two attendants."

"And who will do it?"

"Madame de Montpensier."

D'Epernon began to laugh. "That poor duchess; what things are attributed
to her!"

"Less than she projects, monsieur."

"And she occupies herself with that at Soissons?"

"No; she is in Paris."

"In Paris!"

"I can answer for it."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes."

"You thought you did?"

"I have had the honor of speaking to her."

"The honor."

"I am wrong; the misfortune."

"But, my dear lieutenant, the duchess cannot carry off the king."

"With her associates, of course."

"And where will she be when this takes place?"

"At a window of the Jacobin Priory, which is, as you know, on the road
to Vincennes."

"What the devil do you tell me?"

"The truth, monsieur: all is prepared to stop the litter at the gate of
the priory."

"And who made the preparations?"

"Alas!--"

"Finish quickly."

"I did, monsieur."

D'Epernon started back. "You, who denounce them!"

"Monsieur, a good servant should risk all in the service of the king."

"Mordieu! you risk hanging."

"I prefer death to infamy, or to the death of the king, therefore I
came; and I thought, M. le Duc, that you, the friend of the king, would
not betray me, and would turn my news to good account."

The duke looked fixedly at Poulain. "There must be more in it," said he;
"resolute as the duchess is, she would not attempt such an enterprise
alone."

"She expects her brother."

"The Duke Henri?"

"No, monsieur; only the Duc de Mayenne."

"Ah! good," said d'Epernon; "now I must set to work to counteract these
fine projects."

"Doubtless, monsieur; it was for that I came."

"If you have spoken the truth you shall be rewarded."

"Why should I lie, monsieur; where is my interest--I, who eat the king's
bread? If you do not believe me, I will go to the king himself."

"No, parfandious, you shall not go to the king: you shall have to deal
with me, alone."

"I only said it because you seemed to hesitate."

"No, I do not hesitate; and, first, here are a thousand crowns for you,
and you shall keep this secret between you and me."

"I have a family, monsieur."

"Well! a thousand crowns, parfandious."

"If they knew in Lorraine that I had spoken, each word would cost me a
pint of blood; and in case of any misfortune, my family must be able to
live, therefore I accept the thousand crowns."

The duke approached a coffer. Poulain thought it was for the money, and
held out his hand, but he only drew out a little book and wrote, "Three
thousand livres to M. Nicholas Poulain."

"It is as if you had them," said he.

Nicholas bowed, and looked puzzled.

"Then it is agreed?" said the duke.

"What, monsieur?"

"That you will continue to instruct me?"

Nicholas hesitated.

"What! has your noble devotion vanished already?"

"No, monsieur."

"Then I may count on you?"

"You may."

"And I alone know this?"

"You alone."

"Now you may go, my friend; and, parfandious, let M. de Mayenne look to
himself."

When D'Epernon returned to the king he found him playing at cup and
ball. D'Epernon assumed a thoughtful air, but the king did not remark
it. However, as the duke remained perfectly silent, the king raised his
head and said, "Well, Lavalette, what is the matter, are you dead?"

"I wish I were," replied D'Epernon, "and I should not see what I do
see."

"What, my cup and ball?"

"Sire, in a time of great peril the subject may be alarmed for the
safety of his master."

"What! again perils; devil take you, duke."

"Then you are ignorant of what is passing?"

"Ma foi, perhaps."

"Your most cruel enemies surround you at this moment."

"Bah! who are they?"

"First, the Duchesse de Montpensier."

"Yes, that is true; she came to see Salcede; but what is that to me?"

"You knew it, then?"

"You see I did."

"But that M. de Mayenne was here?"

"Yes, since yesterday evening."

"What! this secret?" cried D'Epernon, with a disagreeable surprise.

"Are there, then, any secrets from the king? You are zealous, dear
Lavalette, but you are slow. This news would have been good at four
o'clock yesterday, but to-day--"

"Well, sire, to-day?"

"It comes too late, you will agree?"

"Still too soon, sire, it seems, since you will not listen to me."

"I have been listening for half-an-hour."

"You are menaced--they lay ambushes for you."

"Well, yesterday you gave me a guard, and assured me that my immortality
was secured. Are your Forty-five no longer worth anything?"

"Your majesty shall see."

"I should not be sorry, duke; when shall I see?"

"Sooner perhaps than you think."

"Ah! you want to frighten me."

"You shall see, sire. Apropos, when do you go to Vincennes?"

"On Saturday."

"That is enough, sire." D'Epernon bowed and withdrew.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

TWO FRIENDS.


We will now follow the two young men sent by the king. Scarcely on
horseback, Ernanton and St. Maline, determined that one should not get
before the other, nearly crushed each other in the gateway. The face of
St. Maline became purple, and that of Ernanton pale.

"You hurt me, monsieur," cried the former; "do you wish to crush me?"

"You also hurt me, only I did not complain."

"You wish to give me a lesson, I believe?"

"I wish to give you nothing."

"Ah!" cried St. Maline, "pray repeat that."

"You are seeking a quarrel, are you not?" replied Ernanton, quietly; "so
much the worse for you."

"And why should I wish to quarrel? I do not know you," replied St.
Maline, disdainfully.

"You know me perfectly, monsieur, because at home my house is but two
leagues from yours, and I am well known there, being of an old family;
but you are furious at seeing me in Paris, when you thought that you
alone were sent for; also, because the king gave me the letter to
carry."

"Well," said St. Maline, "it may be true, but there is one result."

"What is it?"

"That I do not like to be near you."

"Go away, then; pardieu, I do not want to keep you. On the contrary, I
understand perfectly; you would like to take the letter from me and
carry it yourself; but unfortunately you must kill me first."

"And who tells you that I do not wish to do that?"

"To desire and to do are two different things."

"Descend with me to the banks of the water, and you will see that with
me they are the same."

"My dear monsieur, when the king gives me a letter to carry, I carry
it."

"I will tear it from you by force."

"You will not force me, I hope, to shoot you like a dog."

"You!"

"Yes; I have a pistol, and you have not."

"You shall pay for this."

"I trust so, after my commission is over; but, meanwhile, I beg you to
observe that as we belong to the king, it is setting a bad example to
quarrel."

St. Maline was furious, he bit his fingers with rage. As they crossed
the Rue St. Antoine, Ernanton saw a litter with a lady in it. "My page!"
cried he, and he rode toward it; but she did not seem to recognize him,
and passed on.

The young men now rode on without speaking. St. Maline soon discovered,
to his chagrin, that his horse was not as good as Ernanton's, and could
hardly keep pace with him. This annoyed him so much that he began to
quarrel with his horse, and to fret him so perpetually with the spur,
that at last the animal started off and made for the river Bievre, where
he got rid of his rider by throwing him in. One might have heard half a
mile off the imprecations of St. Maline, although he was half stifled by
the water. By the time he scrambled out his horse had got some little
way off. He himself was wet and muddy, and his face bleeding with
scratches, and he felt sure that it was useless to try and catch it; and
to complete his vexation, he saw Ernanton going down a cross-road which
he judged to be a short cut.

He climbed up the banks of the river, but now could see neither Ernanton
nor his own horse. But while he stood there, full of sinister thoughts
toward Ernanton, he saw him reappear from the cross-road, leading the
runaway horse, which he had made a detour to catch. At this sight St.
Maline was full of joy and even of gratitude; but gradually his face
clouded again as he thought of the superiority of Ernanton over himself,
for he knew that in the same situation he should not even have thought
of acting in a similar manner.

He stammered out thanks, to which Ernanton paid no attention, then
furiously seized the reins of his horse and mounted again. They rode on
silently till about half-past two, when they saw a man walking with a
dog by his side. Ernanton passed him; but St. Maline, hoping to be more
clever, rode up to him and said, "Traveler, do you expect something?"

The man looked at him. Certainly his aspect was not agreeable. His face
still bore marks of anger, and the mud half dried on his clothes and the
blood on his cheeks, and his hand extended more in menace than
interrogation, all seemed very sinister to the traveler.

"If I expect something," said he, "it is not some one; and if I expect
some one, it is not you."

"You are impolite," said St. Maline, giving way to the anger that he had
restrained so long; and as he spoke he raised his hand armed with a cane
to strike the traveler, but he, with his stick, struck St. Maline on the
shoulder, while the dog rushed at him, tearing his clothes, as well as
his horse's legs.

The horse, irritated by the pain, rushed furiously on. St. Maline could
not stop him for some time, but he kept his seat. They passed thus
before Ernanton, who took no notice. At last St. Maline succeeded in
quieting his horse, and they rode on again in silence till Ernanton
said: "There is he whom we seek waiting for us."




CHAPTER XXIX.

ST. MALINE.


Ernanton was not deceived; the man he saw was really Chicot. He on his
side had seen the cavaliers coming, and suspecting that it was for him
that they came, waited for them.

Ernanton and St. Maline looked at each other.

"Speak, monsieur, if you wish," said Ernanton to his adversary.

St. Maline was suffocated by this courtesy, he could not speak, he could
only bend his head; then Ernanton, advancing said, to Chicot--

"Monsieur, would it be indiscreet to inquire your name?"

"I am called 'the Shade.'"

"Do you expect anything?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Will you be good enough to tell us what?"

"A letter."

"From where?"

"From the Louvre."

"Sealed with what seal?"

"The royal seal."

Ernanton put his hand into the breast of his doublet and drew out a
letter.

"That is it," said Chicot, "and for greater certainty, I was to give you
something in exchange, was I not?"

"A receipt."--"Yes."

"Monsieur," continued Ernanton, "I was told to carry it, but this
gentleman was to deliver it." And he handed the letter to St. Maline,
who gave it to Chicot.

"You see," said Ernanton, "that we have faithfully fulfilled our
mission. There is no one here, and no one has seen us give you the
letter."

"It is true, gentlemen; but to whom am I to give the receipt?"

"The king did not say," said St. Maline, with a meaning air.

"Write two, monsieur, and give one to each of us. It is far from this
to the Louvre, and some misfortune may happen to one of us on the road,"
and as he spoke, Ernanton's eyes flashed in their turn.

"You are wise," said Chicot, drawing his tablets from his pocket, from
which he tore out two pages and wrote on each, "Received from the hands
of St. Maline the letter brought by M. Ernanton de Carmainges.--THE
SHADE."

"Adieu, monsieur," said St. Maline, taking his.

"Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant journey to you," added Ernanton. "Have
you anything else to send to the Louvre?"

"Nothing, I thank you."

Then the young men set off toward Paris, and Chicot in the opposite
direction. When he was out of sight--

"Now, monsieur," said Ernanton to St. Maline, "dismount, if you please."

"And why so?"

"Our task is accomplished; we have now to converse, and this place
appears excellent for an explanation of this sort."

"As you please, monsieur;" and they got off their horses.

Then Ernanton said, "You know, monsieur, that without any cause on my
part, you have during the whole journey insulted me grievously. You
wished to make me fight at an inopportune time, and I refused; but now
the time is good and I am your man."

But St. Maline was angry no longer, and did not wish to fight.

"Monsieur," replied he, "when I insulted you, you responded by rendering
me a service. I can no longer hold the language I did just now."

"No; but you think the same."

"How do you know?"

"Because your words were dictated by hatred and envy, and they cannot
already be extinct in your heart."

St. Maline colored, but did not reply.

Ernanton continued, "If the king preferred me to you, it was because I
pleased him best. If I was not thrown into the Bievre like you, it was
because I ride better; if I did not accept your challenge before, it
was because I was wiser than you; if I was not bitten by the dog, it was
because I had more sagacity; if I now summon you to draw your sword, it
is because I have more honor; and if you hesitate, I shall say more
courage."

St. Maline looked like a demon, and drew his sword furiously.

"I have fought eleven times," said he, "and two of my adversaries are
dead. Are you aware of that, monsieur?"

"And I, monsieur, have never fought, for I have never had occasion, and
I did not seek it now. I wait your pleasure, monsieur."

"Oh!" said St. Maline, "we are compatriots, and we are both in the
king's service; do not let us quarrel. You are a brave man, and I would
give you my hand if I could. What would you have? I am envious--it is my
nature. M. de Chalabre, or M. de Montcrabeau, would not have made me
angry; it was your superior merit. Console yourself, therefore, for I
can do nothing against you, and unluckily your merit remains. I should
not like any one to know the cause of our quarrel."

"No one will know it, monsieur."

"No one?"

"No; for if we fight I should kill you, or you would kill me. I do not
despise life; on the contrary, I cling to it, for I am only twenty-three
years of age, have a good name and am not poor, and I shall defend
myself like a lion."

"Well, I, on the contrary, am thirty, and am disgusted with life; but
still I would rather not fight with you."

"Then you will apologize?"

"No, I have said enough. If you are not content, so much the better, for
you are not superior to me."

"But, monsieur, one cannot end a quarrel thus, without the risk of being
laughed at."--"I know it."

"Then you refuse to fight?"

"With you."

"After having provoked me?"

"I confess it."

"But if my patience fail, and I attack you?"

"I will throw my sword away; but I shall then have reason to hate you,
and the first time I find you in the wrong, I will kill you."

Ernanton sheathed his sword. "You are a strange man," said he, "and I
pity you."

"You pity me!"

"Yes, for you must suffer."

"Horribly."

"Do you never love?"

"Never."

"Have you no passions?"

"One alone, jealousy; but that includes all others to a frightful
degree. I adore a woman, as soon as she loves another; I love gold, when
another possesses it;--yes, you are right, I am unhappy."

"Have you never tried to become good?"

"Yes, and failed. What does the venomous plant? What do the bear and
bird of prey? They destroy, but certain people use them for the chase.
So shall I be in the hands of MM. d'Epernon and Loignac, till the day
when they shall say, 'This plant is hurtful, let us tear it up; this
beast is furious, let us kill him.'"

Ernanton was calmed; St. Maline was no longer an object of anger but of
pity.

"Good fortune should cure you," said he; "when you succeed, you should
hate less."

"However high I should rise, others would be higher."

They rode on silently for some time. At last Ernanton held out his hand
to St. Maline, and said, "Shall I try to cure you?"

"No, do not try that; you would fail. Hate me, on the contrary, and I
shall admire you."