Then came and looked him in the face,
An angel beautiful and bright,
And then he knew it was a fiend,
That miserable knight.--COLERIDGE
'Father, dear father, what is it? What makes you look so ill, so
haggard?' cried Diane de Selinville, when summoned the next morning
to meet her father in the parlour of the convent.
'Ah, child! see here. Your brother will have us make an end of it.
He has found her.'
'Eustacie! Ah, and where?'
'That he will not say, but see here. This is all billet tells me:
"The hare who has doubled so long is traced to her form. My dogs
are on her, and in a week's time she will be ours. I request you,
sir, to send me a good purse of crowns to reward my huntsmen; and
in the meantime--one way or the other--that pet of my sister's must
be disposed of. Kept too long, these beasts always become savage.
Either let him be presented to the royal menagerie, or there is a
still surer way."'
'And that is all he says!' exclaimed Diane.
'All! He was always cautions. He mentions no names. And now,
child, what is to be done? To give him up to the King is, at the
best, life-long imprisonment, yet, if he were still here when my
son returns-- Alas! alas! child, I have been ruined body and soul
between you! How could you make me send after and imprison him?
It was a mere assassination!' and the old man beat his head with
grief and perplexity.
'Father!' cried Diane, tearfully, 'I cannot see you thus. We meant
it for the best. We shall yet save him.'
'Save him! Ah, daughter, I tossed all night long thinking how to
save him, so strong, so noble, so firm, so patient, so good even to
the old man who has destroyed his hope--his life! Ah! I have
thought till my brain whirls.'
'Poor father! I knew you would love him,' said Diane, tenderly.
'Ah! we will save him yet. He shall be the best of sons to you.
Look, it is only to tell him that she whom he calls his wife is
already in my brother's hands, wedded to him.'
'Daughter,'--and he pushed back his gray hair with a weary
distressed gesture,--'I am tired of wiles; I am old; I can carry
them out no longer.'
'But this is very simple; it may already be true--at least it will
soon be true. Only tell him that she is my brother's wife. Then
will his generosity awaken, then will he see that to persist in the
validity of his marriage would be misery, dishonour to her, then---
-'
'Child, you know not how hard he is in his sense of right. Even
for his brother's sake he would not give way an inch, and the boy
was as obstinate as he!'
'Ah! but this comes nearer. He will be stung; his generosity will
be piqued. He will see that the kindest thing he can do will be to
nullify his claim, and the child----'
The Chevalier groaned, struck his brow with his fist, and muttered,
'That will concern no one--that has been provided for. Ah! ah!
children, if I lose my own soul for you, you----'
'Father, my sweet father, say not these cruel things. Did not the
Queen's confessor tell us that all means were lawful that brought a
soul to the Church? and here are two.'
'Two! Why, the youth's heresy is part of his point of honour.
Child, child, the two will be murdered in my very house, and the
guilt will be on my soul.'
'No, father! We will--we will save him. See, only tell him this.'
'This--what? My brain is confused. I have thought long--long.'
'Only this, father, dear father. You shall not be tormented any
more, if only you will tell him that my brother has made Eustacie
his wife, then will I do all the rest.'
Diane coaxed, soothed, and encouraged her father by her caresses,
till he mounted his mule to return to the castle at dinner-time,
and she promised to come early in the afternoon to follow up the
stroke he was to give. She had never seen him falter before,--he
had followed out his policy with a clear head and unsparing hand,--
but now that Berenger's character was better known to him, and the
crisis long delayed had come so suddenly before his eyes, his whole
powers seemed to reel under the alternative.
The dinner-bell clanged as he arrived at the castle, and the
prisoners were marched into the hall, both intent upon making their
request on Osbert's behalf, and therefore as impatient for the
conclusion of the meal, and the absence of the servants, as was
their host. His hands trembled so much that Berenger was obliged
to carve for him; he made the merest feint of eating; and now and
then raised his hand to his head as if to bring back scattered
ideas.
The last servant quitted the room, when Berenger perceived that the
old man was hardly in a state to attend to his request, and yet the
miserable frost-bitten state of poor Landry seemed to compel him to
speak.
'Sir,' he began, 'you could do me a great kindness.'
The Chevalier looked up at him with glassy eyes.
'My son,' he said, with an effort, 'I also had something to say.
Ah! let me think. I have had enough. Call my daughter,' he added,
feeling helplessly with his hands, so that Berenger started up in
alarm, and received him in his arms just in time to prevent his
sinking to the floor senseless.
'It is a stroke,' exclaimed Berenger. 'Call, Phil! Send the
gendarmes.'
The gendarmes might be used to the sight of death of their own
causing, but they had a horror of that which came by Nature's hand.
The purple face and loud gasps of the stricken man terrified them
out of their senses. 'C'est un coup,' was the cry, and they went
clattering off to the servants. These, all men but one old crone,
came in a mass to the door, looked in, beheld their master rigid
and prostrate on the floor, supported by the prisoner, and with
fresh shrieks about 'Mesdames! a priest! a doctor!' away they
rushed. The two brothers were not in much less consternation, only
they retained their senses. Berenger loosened the ruff and
doublet, and bade Philip practice that art of letting blood which
he had learnt for his benefit. When Madame de Selinville and her
aunt, with their escort, having been met half-way from Bellaise,
arrived sooner than could have been expected, they found every door
open from hall to entrance gateway, not a person keeping watch, and
the old man lying deathlike upon cushions in the hall, Philip
bandaging his arm, and Berenger rubbing his temples with wine and
the hottest spices on the table. 'He is better--he is alive,' said
Berenger, as they entered; and as both ladies would have fallen on
him with shrieks and sobs, he bade them listen, assured them that
the only chance of life was in immediate care, and entreated that
bedding might be brought down, and strong essences fetched to apply
to the nose and temples. They obeyed, and the sister infirmarer
had arrived from the convent, he had opened his eyes, and, as he
saw Berenger, tried to murmur something that sounded like 'Mon
fils.'
'He lives!--he speaks!--he can receive the sacraments!' was the
immediate exclamation; and as preparations began to be made, the
brothers saw that their presence was no longer needed, and returned
to their own tower.
'So, sir,' said the gendarme sergeant, as they walked down the
passage, 'you did not seize the moment for escape.'
'I never thought of it,' said Berenger.
'I hope, sir, you will not be the worse for it,' said the sergeant.
'An honourable gentleman you have ever proved yourself to me, and I
will bear testimony that you did the poor old gentleman no hurt;
but nobles will have it their own way, and pay little heed to a
poor soldier.'
'What do you mean, friend?'
'Why, you see, sir, it is unlucky that you two happened to be alone
with M. le Chevalier. No one can tell what may be said when they
seek an occasion against a person.'
To the brothers, however, this suggestion sounded so horrible and
unnatural, that they threw it from them. They applied themselves
at every moment possible to enlarging Osbert' hole, and seeking an
outlet from the dungeon; but this they had not been able to
discover, and it was necessary to be constantly on their guard in
visiting the vaults, lest their absence from their apartment should
be detected. They believed that if Narcisse arrived at the castle,
they should find in him a far less gentle jailer than the poor old
man, for whose state their kindly young hearts could not but
grieve.
They heard that he had recovered consciousness enough to have made
a sort of confession; and Pere Bonami brought them his formal
request, as a dying man, for their pardon for all the injuries he
had done them; but his speech was too much affected for any
specification of what these were. The first thing they heard in
early morning was that, in the course of the night, he had breathed
his last; and all day the bells of all the churches round were
answering one another with the slow, swinging, melancholy notes of
the knell.
In the early twilight, Pere Bonami brought a message that Madame de
Selinville requested M. le Baron to come and speak with her, and he
was accordingly conducted, with the gendarme behind him, to a small
chamber opening into the hall--the same where the incantations of
the Italian pedlar had been played off before Philip and Diane.
The gendarme remained outside the door by which they entered the
little dark room, only lighted by one little lamp.
'Here, daughter,' said the priest, 'is your cousin. He can answer
the question you have so much at heart;' and with these words Pere
Bonami passed beneath the black curtain that covered the entrance
into the hall, admitting as he raised it for a moment a floor of
pure light from the wax tapers, and allowing the cadence of the
chanting of the priests to fall on the ear. At first Berenger was
scarcely able to discern the pale face that looked as if tears were
all dried up, and even before his eyes had clearly perceived her in
the gloom, she was standing before him with clasped hands,
demanding, in a hoarse, breathless whisper, 'Had he said anything
to you?'
'Anything? No, cousin,' said Berenger, in a kind tone. 'He had
seemed suffering and oppressed all dinner-time, and when the
servants left us, he murmured a few confused words, then sank.'
'Ah, ah, he spoke it not! Thank Heaven! Ah! it is a load gone.
Then neither will I speak it,' sighed Diane, half aloud. 'Ah!
cousin, he loved you.'
'He often was kind to us,' said Berenger, impelled to speak as
tenderly as he could of the enemy, who had certainly tortured him,
but as if he loved him.
'He bade us save you,' said Diane, her eyes shining with strange
wild light in the gloom. 'He laid it on my aunt and me to save
you; you must let us. It must be done before my brother comes,' she
added, in hurried accents. 'The messengers are gone; he may be here
any moment. He must find you in the chapel--as--as my betrothed!'
'And you sent for me here to tempt me--close to such a chamber as
that?' demanded Berenger, his gentleness becoming sternness, as
much with his own worse self as with her.
'Listen. Ah! it is the only way. Listen, cousin. Do you know what
killed my father? It was my brother's letter saying things must be
brought to an end: either you must be given up to the King, or
worse--worse. And now, without him to stand between you and my
brother, you are lost. Oh! take pity on his poor soul that has
left his body, and bring not you blood on his head.'
'Nay,' said Berenger, 'if he repented, the after consequences to me
will have no effect on him now.'
'Have pity then on yourself--on your brother.'
'I have,' said Berenger. 'He had rather die with me than see me a
traitor.'
'And least of all,' she exclaimed, with choking grief, 'have you
compassion on me!--on me who have lost the only one who felt for
me--on me who have loved you with every fibre of my heart--on me
who have lived on the music of your hardest, coldest word--on me
who would lay my life, my honour, in the dust for one grateful
glance from you--and whom you condemn to the anguish of--your
death! Aye, and for what? For the mere shadow of a little girl,
who had no force to love you, or whom you know nothing--nothing!
Oh! are you a crystal rock or are you a man? See, I kneel to you
to save yourself and me.'
There were hot tears dropping from Berenger's eyes as he caught
Diane's hand, and held it forcibly to prevent her thus abasing
herself. Her wild words and gestures thrilled him in every pulse
and wrung his heart, and it was with a stifled, agitated voice that
he said--
'God help you and me both, Diane! To do what you ask would--would
be no saving of either. Nay, if you will kneel,' as she struggled
with him, 'let it be to Him who alone can bring us through;' and
releasing her hand, he dropped on his knees by her side, and
covered his face with his hands, in an earnest supplication that
the spirit of resistance which he almost felt slipping from him
might be renewed. The action hushed and silenced her, and as he
rose he spoke no other word, but silently drew back so much of the
curtain that he could see into the hall, where the dead man still
lay uncoffined upon the bed where his own hands had laid him, and
the low, sweet requiem of kneeling priests floated round him.
Rest, rest, and calm they breathed into one sorely tried living
soul, and the perturbed heart was quelled by the sense how short
the passage was to the world where captivity and longing would be
ended. He beckoned to Pere Bonami to return to Diane, and then,
protected by his presence from any further demonstrations, kissed
her hand and left her.
He told Philip as little as possible of this interview, but his
brother remarked how much time he spent over the Psalms that
evening.
The next day the brothers saw from their upper winder the arrival
of Narcisse, or, as he had called himself for the last three years,
the Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, with many attendant gentlemen, and a
band of fifty or sixty gendarmes. The court was filled with their
horses, and rang with their calls for refreshment. And the
captives judged it wise to remain in their upper room incase they
should be called for.
They were proved to have been wise in so doing; for about an hour
after their arrival there was a great clanging of steel boots, and
Narcisse de Ribaumont, followed by a portly, heavily-armed
gentleman, wearing a scarf of office, by two of the servants, and
by two gendarmes, entered the room. It was the first time the
cousins had met since le baiser d'Eutacie had been hissed into
Berenger's ear. Narcisse looked older, sallower, and more worn
than at that time; and Philip, seeing his enemy for the first time,
contrasted him with the stately presence of Berenger, and felt as
if a rat were strangling a noble steed.
Each young man punctiliously removed his hat, and Nid-de-Merle,
without deigning further salutation, addressed his companion.
'Sir, you are here on the part of the King, and to you I deliver up
these prisoners, who, having been detained here on a charge of
carrying on a treasonable correspondence, and protected by my
father out of consideration for the family, have requited his
goodness by an attempt to strangle him, which has caused his
death.'
Philip actually made a leap of indignation; Berenger, better
prepared, said to the officer, 'Sir, I am happy to be placed in
charged of a King's servant, who will no doubt see justice done,
and shelter us from the private malice that could alone devise so
monstrous an accusation. We are ready to clear ourselves upon oath
over the corpse, and all the household and our own guards can bear
witness.'
'The witnesses are here,' said Narcisse, pointing to the servants,
ill-looking men, who immediately began to depose to having found
their master purple-faced and struggling in the hands of the two
young men, who had been left alone with him after dinner.
Berenger felt that there was little use in self-defence. It was a
fabrication the more easily to secure his cousin's purpose of
destroying him, and his best hope lay in passing into the hands of
persons who were less directly interested in his ruin. He drew
himself up to his full height, saying, 'If there be justice in
France, our innocence will be proved. I demand, sir, that you
examine the abbess, the priest, the steward, the sergeant of
gendarmes: they are impartial witnesses, and will serve the King's
justice, if justice be his purpose. Or, if this be but M. de Nid-
de-Merle's way of completing the work he left unfinished four years
ago, I am ready. Only let my brother go free. He is heir to
nothing here.'
'Enough, sir. Words against the King's justice will be reckoned
against you,' said the officer. 'I shall do myself the honour of
attending the funeral the day after to-morrow, and then I shall
convey you to Tours, to answer for this deed at your leisure.
Monsieur le Marquis, are the prisoners secure here, or would you
have them garde a vue.'
'No need for that,' said Narcisse, lightly; 'had there been any
exit they would have found it long ago. Your good fellows outside
the door keep them safe enough. M. le Baron de Ribaumont, I have
the honour to wish you a good morning.'
Berenger returned his bow with one full of defiance, and the door
was again locked upon the prisoners; while Philip exclaimed, 'The
cowardly villain, Berry; is it a hanging matter?'
'Not for noble blood,' said Berenger. 'We are more likely to be
brought to no trial, but to lie prisoners for life;' then, as
Philip grew white and shivered with a sick horror, he added
bravely, 'But they shall not have us, Philip. We know the vaults
well enough to play at hide and seek with them there, and even if
we find no egress we may hold out till they think us fled and leave
open the doors!'
Philip's face lighted up again, and they did their best by way of
preparation, collecting wood for torches, and putting aside food at
their meals. It was a very forlorn hope, but the occupation it
caused was effectual in keeping up Philip's spirits, and saving him
from despondency.