But if ne'er so close you wall him,
Do the best that you may;
Blind Love, if so you call him,
Will find out his way.--OLD SONG
'Too late,' muttered Berenger to himself, as he stood by the fire
in his prison-chamber. Humfrey and Philip were busy in the vaults,
and he was taking his turn in waiting in the sitting-room to disarm
suspicion. 'It is too late now, and I thank God that so it is.'
'Do you indeed, M. le Baron?' said a low voice close beside him;
and, as he turned in haste, he beheld, at the foot of the turret-
stair, the youth Aime de Selinville, holding a dark lantern in his
hand, and veiling its light.
'Ha!' and he started to his feet. 'Whence come you?'
'From my Lady,' was the youth's answer. 'She has sent me to ask
whether you persist in what you replied to her the other day. For
if not, she bids me say that it is not too late.'
'And if I do persevere?'
'Then--ah! what do I know? Who can tell how far malice can go?
And there are towers and bastilles where hope never enters.
Moreover, your researches underground are known.'
'Sir,' said Berenger, the heart-sinking quelled by the effort of
resistance, 'Madame de Selinville has my answer--I must take the
consequences. Tell her, if she truly wishes me well, the
honourable way of saving us would be to let our English friends
know what has befallen us.'
'You forget, M. le Baron, even if she could proclaim the dishonour
of her family, interference from a foreign power might only lead to
a surer mode of removing you,' said Aime, lowering his voice and
shuddering.
'Even so, I should thank her. Then would the bitterest pang be
taken away. Those at our home would not deem us faithless
recreants.'
'Thank her!' murmured the lad in an inward voice. 'Very well, sir,
I will carry her your decision. It is your final one. Disgrace,
prison, death--rather than freedom, love, wealth!'
'The semblance of dishonour rather than the reality!' said
Berenger, firmly.
The light-footed page disappeared, and in a few moments a very
different tread came up from below, and Philip appeared.
'What is it, Berry? Methought I heard a voice.'
'Forgive me, brother,' said Berenger, holding out his hand; 'I have
thrown away another offer.'
'Tush, the thing to pardon would be having accepted one. I only
wish they would leave us in peace! What was it this time?'
'A messenger through young Selinville. Strange, to trust her
secrets to that lad. But hush, here he is again, much sooner than
I thought. What, sir, have you been with your lady again?'
'Yes, sir,' the young said, with a tembling voice, and Berenger saw
that his eyes were red with weeping; 'she bids me tell you that she
yields. She will save you eve while you have and despite her!
There is only one thing---'
'And what is that?'
'You must encumber yourself with the poor Aime. You must let me
serve you instead of her. Listen, sir, it cannot be otherwise.'
Then with a brisher, more eager voice, he continued: 'Monsieur
knows that the family burial-place is Bellaise? Well, to-morrow,
at ten o'clock, all the household, all the neighbourhood, will come
and sprinkle holy water on the bier. The first requiem will be
sung, and then will all repair to the convent. There will be the
funeral mass, the banquet, the dole. Every creature in the castle
--nay, in all the neighbourhood for twenty miles round--will be at
the convent, for the Abbess has given out that the alms are to be
double, and the bread of wheat. Not a soul will remain here, save
the two gendarmes on guard at that door, and the poor Aime, whom no
one will miss, even if any person could be distinguished in their
black cloaks. Madame la Comtesse has given him this key, which
opens a door on the upper floor of the keep, unknown to the guards,
who, for that matter, shall have a good tankard of spiced wine to
console and occupy them. Then is the way clear to the castle
court, which is not over looked by their window, the horses are in
the stables, and we are off,--that is if M. le Baron will save a
poor youth from the wrath of M. de Nid-de-Merle.'
'You are and honest fellow!' cried Philip, shaking him vehemently
by the hand. 'You shall go with us to England, and we will make a
brave man of you.'
'We shall owe you our lives,' said Berenger, warmly, 'and be ever
bound to you. Tell your lady that THIS is magnanimity; that now I
truly thank her as our preserver, and shall bless her all the days
of the life she gives us. But my servants?'
'Guibert is a traitor,' said Aime; 'he has been so ever since you
were at Paris. Breathe no word to him; but he, as a Catholic, shall
be invited to the funeral. Your stout Englishman should by all
means be with us.'
'My Norman also,' added Berenger,--'my dear foster-brother, who has
languished in the dungeon for three years;' and when the
explanation had been made, Aime assented, though half-unwillingly,
to the necessity, and presently quitted them to bear back their
answer to his lady. Philip shook his hand violently again, patted
him on the back, so as almost to take away his breath, and bade him
never fear, they would be sworn brothers to him for ever; and then
threw up his hat into the air, and was so near astonishing the
donjon walls with a British hurrah, that Berenger had to put his
hand over his mouth and strangle the shout in his very throat.
The chief of that night was spent in enlarging the hole in Osbert's
wall, so as to admit of his creeping through it; and they also
prepared their small baggage for departure. Their stock of money,
though some had been spent on renewing their clothes, and some in
needful gratuities to the servants and gendarmes, was sufficient
for present needs, and they intended to wear their ordinary dress.
They were unlikely to meet any of the peasants in the
neighbourhood; and, indeed, Berenger had so constantly ridden out
in his black mask, that its absence, now that his scars were gone,
was as complete a change as could be effected in one whose height
was of unusual.
'There begins the kneel,' said Philip, standing at the window.
'It's our joy-bell, Berry! Every clang seems to me to say, "Home!
home! home!"
'For you, Phil,' said Berenger; 'but I must be satisfied of
Eutacie's fate first. I shall go first to Nissard--whither we were
bound when we were seized--then to La Rochelle, whence you may---'
'No more of that,' burst out Philip. 'What! would you have me
leave you now, after all we have gone through together? Not that
you will find her. I don't want to vex you, brother, on such a day
as this, but you conjurer's words are coming true in the other
matter.'
'How? What mean you, Phil?'
'What's the meaning of Aime?' asked Philip. 'Even I am French
scholar enough for that. And who sends him?'
Meantime the court was already filling with swarms of persons of
every rank and degree, but several anxious hours had passed before
the procession was marshaled; and friars and monks, black, white,
and gray,--priests in rich robes and tall caps,--black-cloaked
gentlemen and men-at-arms,--all bearing huge wax tapers,--and
peasants and beggars of every conceivable aspect,--filed out of the
court, bearing with them the richly-emblazoned bier of the noble
and puissant knight, the Beausire Charles Eutache de Ribaumont Nid-
de-Merle, his son walking behind in a long black mantle, and all
who counted kindred of friendship following two and two; then all
the servants, every one who properly belonged to the castle, were
counted out by the brothers from their windows, and Guibert among
them.
'Messieurs,' a low, anxious voice sounded in the room.
'We will only fetch Osbert.'
It was a terrible only, as precious moments slipped away before
there appeared in the lower chamber Berenger and Humfrey, dragging
between them a squalid wretch, with a skin like stained parchment
over a skeleton, tangled hair and beard, staring bewildered eyes,
and fragments of garments, all dust, dirt, and rags.
'Leave me, leave me, dear master,' said the object, stretching his
whole person towards the fire as they let him sink down before it.
'You would but ruin yourself.'
'It is madness to take him,' said Aime, impatiently.
'I go not without him,' said Berenger. 'Give me the soup, Philip.'
Some soup and wine had been placed by the fire, and likewise a
shirt and a suit of Humfrey's clothes were spread before it. Aime
burst out into the yard, absolutely weeping with impatience, when,
unheeding all his remonstrances, his three companions applied
themselves to feeding, rubbing, and warming Osbert, and assuring
him that the pains in his limbs would pass away with warmth and
exercise. He had been valiant of heart in his dungeon; but his
sudden plunge into upper air was like rising from the grave, and
brought on all the effects of his dreary captivity, of which he had
hardly been sensible when he had first listened to the voice of
hope.
Dazzled, crippled, helpless, it seemed almost impossible that he
should share the flight, but Berenger remained resolute; and when
Aime returned from his fourth frantic promenade, he was told that
all was ready.
But for the strength of Berenger and Humfrey the poor fellow could
never have been carried up and up, nearly to the top of the keep,
then along a narrow gallery, then down again even to the castle
hall, now empty, though with the candle-sticks still around where
the bier had been. Aime knelt for a moment where the head had
been, hiding his face; Osbert rested in a chair; and Philip looked
wistfully up at his own sword hung over the chimney.
'Resume your swords, Messieurs,' said Aime, observing him; 'Madame
desires it; and take pistols also.'
They gladly obeyed; and when, after this short delay, they
proceeded, Osbert moved somewhat less painfully, but when they
arrived at the stable only four horses stood there.
'Ah! this miserable!' cried Aime, passionately, 'he ruins all my
arrangements.'
'Leave me,' again entreated Landry. 'Once outside, I can act the
beggar and cripple, and get back to Normandy.'
'Better leave me,' said Humfrey; 'they cannot keep me when you are
out of their clutches.'
'Help me, Humfrey,' said Berenger, beginning to lift his
foster-brother to the saddle, but there the poor man wavered, cried
out that his head swam, and he could not keep his seat, entreating
almost in agony to be taken down.
'Lean on me,' said Berenger, putting his arms round him. 'There!
you will be able to get to the Grange du Temple, where you will be
in safe shelter.'
'Sir, sir,' cried Aime, ready to tear his hair, 'this is ruin! My
lady meant you to make all speed to La Rochelle and there embark,
and this is the contrary way!'
'That cannot be helped,' said Berenger; 'it is the only safe place
for my foster-brother.'
Aime, with childish petulance, muttered something about ingratitude
in crossing his lady's plans; but, as no one attended to him, he
proceeded to unfasten his horse, and then exclaimed, half crying,
'Will no one help me?'
'Not able to saddle a horse! a pretty fellow for a cavalier!'
exclaimed Philip, assisting, however, and in a few minutes they
were all issuing from a low side gate, and looking back with
bounding hearts at the drooping banner on the keep of Nid-de-Merle.
Only young Aime went with bowed head and drooping look, as though
pouting, and Berenger, putting Osbert's bridle into Humfrey's hand,
stepped up to him, saying, 'Hark you, M. de Selinville, I am sorry
if we seemed to neglect you. We owe you and your lady all
gratitude, but I must be the judge of my own duty, and you can only
be with me if you conform.'
The young seemed to be devouring his tears, but only said, 'I was
vexed to see my lady's plan marred, and your chance thrown away.'
'Of that I must judge,' said Berenger.
They were in a by-lane, perfectly solitary. The whole country was
at the funeral. Through the frosty air there came an occasional
hum or murmur from Berenger, or the tinkle of a cow-bell in the
fields, but no human being was visible. It was certain, however,
that the Rotrous, being Huguenots, and no vassals of Nid-de-Merle,
would not be at the obsequies; and Berenger, walking with swift
strides, supporting Osbert on his horse, continued to cheer him
with promises of rest and relief there, and listened to no
entreaties from Philip or Humfrey to take one of their horses. Had
not Osbert borne him on his shoulders through the butchery at
Paris, and endured three years of dungeon for his sake?
As for Philip, the slow pace of their ride was all insufficient for
his glee. He made his horse caracole at every level space, till
Berenger reminded him that they might have far to ride that night,
and even then he was constantly breaking into attempts at shouting
and whistling as often repressed, and springing up in his stirrups
to look over the high hedges.
The Grange was so well concealed in its wooded ravine, that only
when close upon the gate the party became aware that this farm-
yard, usually so solitary, formed an exception to the general
desertion of the country. There was a jingle and a stamp of horses
in the court, which could hardly be daylight echoes of the
Templars. Berenger feared that the Guisards might have descended
Rotrou, and was stepping forward to reconnoiter, while young De
Selinville, trembling, besought him not to run into danger, but to
turn and hasten to La Rochelle. By this time, however, the party
had been espied by two soldiers stationed at the gate, but not
before Berenger had had time to remark that they did not wear
either the gold fleur-de-lys like his late guards, or the white
cross of Lorraine; nor had they the strange air of gay ferocity
usual with the King's mercenaries. And almost by instincts, at a
venture, he made the old Huguenot sign he had learnt form his
father, and answered, 'For God and the Religion.'
The countersign was returned. 'Bearn and Bourbon is the word to-
day, comrade,' replied the sentinel. 'Eh quoi! have you had an
encounter, that you bring a wounded man?'
'Not wounded, but nearly dead in a Guisard prison,' said Berenger,
with an unspeakable sense of relief and security, as the sentries
admitted them into the large walled court, where horses were eating
hay, being watered and rubbed down; soldiers snatching a hasty meal
in corners; gentlemen in clanking breastplates coming in and out of
the house, evidently taking orders from a young man in a gray and
silver suit, whose brown eagle face, thin cheeks, arched nose, and
black eyes of keenest fire, struck Berenger at once with a sense of
recognition as well as of being under a glance that seemed to
search out everybody and everything at once.
'More friends!' and the tone again recalled a flood of
recollections. 'I thank and welcome you. What! You have met the
enemy--where is he?'
'My servant is not wounded. Sire,' said Berenger, removing his hat
and bending low. 'This is the effect of long captivity. We have
but just escaped.'
'Then we are the same case! Pardon me, sir, I have seen you
before, but for once I am at fault.'
'When I call myself De Ribaumont, your Grace will not wonder.'
'The dead alive! If I mistake not, it was in the Inferno itself
that we last met! But we have broken through the gates at last!
I remember poor King Charles was delighted to hear that you lived!
But where have you been a captive?'
'At Nid-de-Merle, Sire; my kinsmen accused me of treason in order
to hinder my search for my wife. We escaped even now during the
funeral of the Chevalier.'
'By favour of which we are making our way to Parthenay unsuspected,
though, by my faith, we gather so like a snowball, that we could be
a match for a few hundreds of Guisards. Who is with you, M. de
Ribaumont?'
'Let me present to your Majesty my English brother, Philip
Thistlewood,' said Berenger, drawing the lad forward, making due
obeisance, though entirely ignorant who was the plainly-dressed,
travel-soiled stranger, so evidently a born lord of men.
'An Englishman is ever welcome,' was his gracious reception.
'And,' added Berenger, 'let me also present the young De
Selinville, to whom I owe my escape. Where is he, Philip?'
He seemed to be busy with the horses, and Berenger could not catch
his eye.
'Selinville! I thought that good Huguenot house was extinct.'
'This is a relation of the late Count de Selinville, my cousin's
husband, Sire. He arranged my evasion, and would be in danger at
Nid-de-Merle. Call him, Philip.'
Before this was done, however, the King's attention was otherwise
claimed, and turning to one of his gentlemen he said, 'Here,
d'Augigne, I present to you an acquaintance made in Tartarus. See
to his entertainment ere we start for Parthenay.'
Agrippa d'Aubigne, still young, but grave and serious-looking
greeted M. de Ribaumont as men meet in hours when common interests
make rapid friendships; and from him Berenger learnt, in a few
words, that the King of Navarre's eyes had been opened at last to
the treachery of the court, and his own dishonourable bondage.
During a feverish attack, one night when D'Aubigne and D'Armagnac
were sitting up with him, his resolution was taken; and on the
first hunting day after his recovery, he, with these two, the Baron
de Rosny and about thirty more of his suite, had galloped away, and
had joined the Monsieur and the Prince of Conde at Alencon. He had
abjured the Catholic faith, declared that nothing except ropes
should bring him back to Paris, and that he left there the mass and
his wife--the first he could dispense with, the last he meant to
have; and he was now on his way to Parthenay to meet his sister,
whom he had sent Rosny to demand. By the time Berenger had heard
this, he had succeeded in finding honest Rotrou, who was in a state
of great triumph, and readily undertook to give Osbert shelter, and
as soon as he should have recovered to send him to head-quarters
with some young men who he knew would take the field as soon as
they learnt that the King of Navarre had set up his standard. Even
the inroads made into the good farmer's stores did not abate his
satisfaction in entertaining the prime hope of the Huguenot cause;
but Berenger advanced as large a sum as he durst out of his purse,
under pretext of the maintenance of Osbert during his stay at the
Grange. He examined Rotrou upon his subsequent knowledge of Isaac
Gardon and Eutacie, but nothing had been heard of them since their
departure, now nearly three years back, except a dim rumour that
they had been seen at the Synod of Montauban.
'Well, my friend,' said Philip, when about to remount, 'this will
do rather better than a headlong gallop to Rochelle with Nid-de-
Merle at our heels.'
'If M. le Baron is safe, it is well,' said Aime shortly.
'Is Selinville there?' said Berenger, coming up. 'Here, let me
take you to the King of Navarre: he knew your family in Lauguedoc.'
'No, no,' petulantly returned the boy. 'What am I that he should
notice me? It is M. de Ribaumont whom I follow, not him or his
cause.'
'Boy,' said Berenger, dismayed, 'remember, I have answered for
you.'
'I am no traitor,' proudly answered the strange boy, and Berenger
was forced to be thus satisfied, though intending to watch him
closely.