No pitying voice, no eye, affords
One tear to grace his obsequies.--GRAY
Golden sunshine made rubies and sapphires of the fragments of glass
in the windows of Notre-Dame de l'Esperance, and lighted up the
brown face and earnest eyes of the little dark figure, who, with
hands clasped round her knees, sat gazing as if she could never
gaze her fill, upon the sleeping warrior beside whom she sat, his
clear straight profile like a cameo, both in chiseling and in
colour, as it lay on the brown cloak where he slept the profound
sleep of content and of fatigue.
Neither she nor Philip would have spoken or stirred to break that
well-earned rest; but sounds from without were not long in opening
his eyes, and as they met her intent gaze, he smiled and said,
'Good morrow, sweet heart! What, learning how ugly a fellow is
come back to thee?'
'No, indeed! I was trying to trace thine old likeness, and then
wondering how I ever liked thy boyish face better than the noble
look thou bearest now!'
'Ah! when I set out to come to thee, I was a walking rainbow; yet I
was coxcomb enough to think thou wouldst overlook it.'
'Show me those cruel strokes,' she said; 'I see one'--and her
finger traced the seam as poor King Charles had done--'but where is
the one my wicked cousin called by that frightful name?'
'Nay, verily, that sweet name spared my life! A little less spite
at my peach cheek, and I had been sped, and had not lisped and
stammered all my days in honour of le baiser d'Eustacie!' and as
he pushed aside his long golden silk moustache to show the
ineffaceable red and purple scar, he added, smiling, 'It has waited
long for its right remedy.'
At that moment the door in the rood-screen opened. Captain
Falconnet's one eye stared in amazement, and from beneath his gray
moustache thundered forth the word 'Comment!' in accents fit to
wake the dead.
Was this Esperance, the most irreproachable of pastor's daughters
and widows? 'What, Madame, so soon as your good father is under
ground? At least I thought ONE woman could be trusted; but it
seems we must see to the wounded ourselves.'
She blushed, but stood her ground; and Berenger shouted, 'She is my
wife, sir!--my wife whom I have sought so long!'
'That must be as Madame la Duchesse chooses,' said the Captain.
'She is under her charge, and must be sent to her as soon as this
canaille is cleared off. To your rooms, Madame!'
'I am her husband!' again cried Berenger. 'We have been married
sixteen years.'
'You need not talk to me of dowry; Madame la Duchesse will settle
that, if you are fool enough to mean anything by it. No, no,
Mademoiselle, I've no time for folly. Come with me, sir, and see
if that be true which they say of the rogues outside.'
And putting his arm into Berenger's, he fairly carried him off,
discoursing by the way on feu M. l'Amiral's saying that 'over-
strictness in camp was perilous, since a young saint, an old
devil,' but warning him that this was prohibited gear, as he was
responsible for the young woman to Madame la Duchesse. Berenger,
who had never made the Captain hear anything that he did not know
before, looked about for some interpreter whose voice might be more
effectual, but found himself being conducted to the spiral stair of
the church steeple; and suddenly gathering that some new feature in
the case had arisen, followed the old man eagerly up the winding
steps to the little square of leaden roof where the Quinet banner
was planted. It commanded a wide and splendid view, to the Bay of
Biscay on the one hand, and the inland mountains on the other; but
the warder who already stood there pointed silently to the north,
where, on the road by which Berenger had come, was to be seen a
cloud of dust, gilded by the rays of the rising sun.
Who raised it was a matter of no doubt; and Berenger's morning
orisons were paid with folded hands, in silent thanks-giving, as he
watched the sparkling of pikes and gleaming of helmets--and the
white flag of Bourbon at length became visible.
Already the enemy below were sending out scouts--they rode to the
top of the hill--then a messenger swan his horse across the river.
In the camp before the bridge-tower men buzzed out of their tents,
like ants whose hill is disturbed; horses were fastened to the
cannon, tents were struck, and it was plain that the siege was to
be raised.
Captain Falconnet did his ally the honour to consult him on the
expedience of molesting the Guisards by a sally, and trying to take
some of their guns; but Berenger merely bowed to whatever he said,
while he debated aloud the PROS and CONS, and at last decided that
the garrison had been too much reduced for this, and that M. le Duc
would prefer finding them drawn up in good order to receive him, to
their going chasing and plundering disreputable among the enemy--
the Duke being here evidently a much greater personage than the
King of Navarre, hereditary Governor of Guyenne though he were.
Indeed, nothing was wanting to the confusion of Berenger's late
assailants. In the camp on the north side of the river, things
were done with some order; but that on the other side was
absolutely abandoned, and crowds were making in disorder for the
ford, leaving everything behind them, that they might not have
their retreat cut off. Would there be a battle? Falconnet, taking
in with his eye the numbers of the succouring party, thought the
Duke would allow the besiegers to depart unmolested, but remembered
with a sigh that young king had come to meddle in their affair!
However, it was needful to go down and marshal the men for the
reception of the new-comers, or to join in the fight, as the case
might be.
And it was a peaceful entrance that took place some hours later,
and was watched from the windows of the prior's rooms by Eustacie,
her child, and Philip, whom she had been able to install in her own
apartments, which had been vacated by the refugee women in haste to
return home, and where he now sat in Maitre Gardon's great straw
chair, wrapped in his loose gown, and looking out at the northern
gates, thrown open to receive the King and Duke, old Falconnet
presenting the keys to the Duke, the Duke bowing low as he offered
them to the King, and the King waving them back to the Duke and the
Captain. Then they saw Falconnet presenting the tall auxiliary who
had been so valuable to him, his gesture as he pointed up to the
window, and the King's upward look, as he doffed his hat and bowed
low, while Eustacie responded with the most graceful of reverences,
such as reminded Philip that his little sister-in-law and tender
nurse was in truth a great court lady.
Presently Berenger came up-stairs, bringing with him his faithful
foster-brother Osbert, who, though looking gaunt and lean, had
nearly recovered his strength, and had accompanied the army in
hopes of finding his master. The good fellow was full of delight
at the welcome of his lady, and at once bestirred himself in
assisting her in rectifying the confusion in which her guests had
left her apartment.
Matters had not long been set straight when steps were heard on the
stone stair, and, the door opening wide, Captain Falconnet's gruff
voice was heard, 'This way, Monseigneur; this way, Sire.'
This was Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont's first reception. She was
standing at the dark walnut table, fresh starching and crimping
Berenger's solitary ruff, while under her merry superintendence
those constant playfellows, Philip and Rayonette, were washing, or
pretending to wash, radishes in a large wooden bowl, and Berenger
was endeavouring to write his letter of good tidings, to be sent by
special messenger to his grand-father. Philip was in something
very like a Geneva gown; Eustacie wore her prim white cap and
frill, and coarse black serge kirtle; and there was but one chair
besides that one which Philip was desired to retain, only two
three-legged stools and a bench.
Nevertheless, Madame de Ribaumont was equal to the occasion;
nothing could have been more courtly, graceful, or unembarrassed
than her manner of receiving of King's gallant compliments, and of
performing all the courtesies suited to the hostess and queen of
the place: it was the air that would have befitted the stateliest
castle hall, yet that in its simplicity and brightness still more
embellished the old ruinous convent-cell. The King was delighted,
he sat down upon one of the three-legged stools, took Rayonette
upon his knee, undertook to finish washing the radishes, but ate
nearly all he washed, declaring that they put him in mind of his
old hardy days on the mountains of Bearn. He insisted on hearing
all Rayonette's adventure in detail; and on seeing the pearls and
the silver bullet, 'You could scarcely have needed the token, sir,'
said he with a smile to Berenger; 'Mademoiselle had already shown
herself of the true blood of the bravest of knights.'
The tidings of the attack on Pont de Dronne had caused the Duke to
make a forced march to its relief, in which the King had insisted
on joining him; and they now intended to wait at Pont de Dronne
till the rest of the troops came up, and to continue their march
through Guyenne to Nerac, the capital of Henry's county of Foix.
The Duke suggested that if Philip were well enough to move when the
army proceeded, the family might then take him to Quinet, where the
Duchess would be very desirous to see Madame; and therewith they
took leave with some good-humoured mirth as to whether M. le
Ribaumont would join them at supper, or remain in the bosom of his
family, and whether he were to be regarded as a gay bridegroom or a
husband of sixteen year's standing.
'Nay,' said the King, 'did his good Orpheus know how nearly his
Eurydice had slipped through his fingers again? how M. de Quinet
had caught the respectable Pluto yonder in the gray moustache
actually arranging an escort to send the lady safe back to Quinet
bon gre malgre--and truly a deaf Pluto was worse than even
Orpheus had encountered!'
So laughing, he bowed again his compliments; but Eustacie demanded,
so soon as he was gone, what he meant by calling her by such names.
If he thought it was her Christian name, it was over-familiar--if
not, she liked it less.
'It is only that he last saw you in the Infernal Region, ma mie,'
said Berenger; 'and I have sought you ever since, as Orpheus sought
Eurydice.'
But her learning did not extend so far; and when the explanation
was made, she pouted, and owned that she could not bear to be
reminded of the most foolish and uncomfortable scene in her life--
the cause of all her troubles; and as Berenger was telling her of
Diane's confession that her being involved in the pageant was part
of the plot for their detention at Paris, Osbert knocked at the
door, and entered with a bundle in his arms, and the air of having
done the right thing.
'There, sir,' he said with proud satisfaction, 'I have been to the
camp across the river. I heard there were good stuffs to be had
there for nothing, and thought I would see if I could find a coat
for Monsieur Philippe, for his own is a mere ruin.'
This was true, for Eustacie had been deciding that between blood
and rents it had become a hopeless case for renovation; and Osbert
joyfully displayed a beautifully-embroidered coat of soft leather,
which he had purchased for a very small sum of a plunderer who had
been there before him. The camp had been so hastily abandoned that
all the luggage had been left, and, like a true valet, Osbert had
not neglected the opportunity of replenishing his master's
wardrobe. 'And,' said he, 'I saw there on whom M. le Baron knows,
--M. de Nid de Merle.'
'Here!' cried Eustacie, startled for a moment, but her eyes resting
reassured on her husband.
'Madame need not be alarmed,' said Osbert; 'M. le Baron has well
repaid him. Ah! ah! there he lies, a spectacle for all good
Christians to delight in.'
'It was then he, le scelerat?' exclaimed Berenger; 'I have
already thought it possible.'
'And he fell by your hands!' cried Eustacie. 'That is as it should
be.'
'Yes, Madame,' said Osbert; 'it did my very heart good to see him
writhing there like a crushed viper. M. le Baron's bullet was
mortal, and his own people thought him not worth the moving, so
there he lies on the ground howling and cursing. I would have
given him the coup de grace myself, but that I thought M. le
Baron might have some family matters to settle with him; so I only
asked what he thought now of clapping guiltless folk into dungeons,
and shooting innocent children like sparrows; but he grinned and
cursed like a demon, and I left him.'
'In any one's charge?' asked Berenger.
'In the field's, who is coming for him,' said the descendant of the
Norseman. 'I only told Humfrey that if he saw any one likely to
meddle he should tell them he was reserved for you. Eh! M. le
Baron is not going now. Supper is about to be served, and if M. le
Baron would let me array him with this ruff of Spanish point, and
wax the ends of his belle moustache---'
'It is late,' added Eustacie, laying her hand on his arm; 'there
may be wild men about--he may be desperate! Oh, take care!'
'Ma mie, do you not think me capable of guarding myself from a
wild cat leap of a dying man? He must not be left thus. Remember
he is a Ribaumont.'
Vindictiveness and revenge had their part in the fire of Eustacie's
nature. Many a time had she longed to strangle Narcisse; and she
was on the point of saying, 'Think of his attempts on that little
one's life--think of your wounds and captivity;' but she had not
spent three years with Isaac Gardon without learning that there was
sin in giving way to her keen hatred; and she forced herself to
silence, while Berenger said, reading her face, 'Keep it back,
sweet heart! Make it not harder for me. I would as soon go near a
dying serpent, but it were barbarity to leave him as Osbert
describes.'
Berenger was too supremely and triumphantly happy not to be full of
mercy; and as Osbert guided him to the hut where the miserable man
lay, he felt little but compassion. The scene was worse than he
had expected; for not only had the attendants fled, but plunderers
had come in their room, rent away the coverings from the bed, and
torn the dying man from it. Livid, nearly naked, covered with
blood, his fingers hacked, and ears torn for the sake of the jewels
on them, lay the dainty and effeminate tiger-fop of former days,
moaning and scarcely sensible. But when the mattress had been
replaced, and Berenger had lifted him back to it, laid a cloak over
him, and moistened his lips, he opened his eyes, but only to
exclaim, 'You there! As if I had not enough to mock me! Away!' and
closed them sullenly.
'I would try to relieve you, cousin,' said Berenger.
The answer was a savage malediction on hypocrisy, and the words,
'And my sister?'
'Your sister is in all honour and purity at the nunnery of Lucon.'
He laughed a horrible, incredulous laugh. 'Safely disposed of ere
you cajoled la petite with the fable of your faithfulness!
Nothing like a Huguenot for lying to both sides;' and then ensued
another burst of imprecations on the delay that had prevented him
from seizing the fugitives--till be--till be felt as if the breath
of hell were upon him, and could not help vindicating himself, vain
though he knew it to be: 'Narcisse de Ribaumont,' he said gravely,
'my word has never been broken, and you know the keeping of it has
not been without cost. On that word believe that Madame de
Selinville is as spotless a matron as when she periled herself to
save my life. I never even knew her sex till I had drawn her half
drowned from the sea, and after that I only saw her in the presence
of Dom Colombeau of Nissard, in whose care I left her.'
Narcisse's features contorted themselves into a frightful sneer as
he muttered, 'The intolerable fool; and that he should have got the
better of me, that is if it be true--and I believe not a word of
it.'
'At least,' said Berenger, 'waste not these last hours on hating
and reviling me, but let this fellow of mine, who is a very fair
surgeon, bind your wound again.'
'Eh!' said Narcisse, spitefully, turning his head, 'your own rogue?
Let me see what work he made of le baiser d'Eustacie. Pray, how
does it please her?'
'She thanks Heaven that your chief care was to spoil my face.'
'I hear she is a prime doctress; but of course you brought her not
hither lest she should hear HOW you got out of our keeping.'
'She knows it.'
'Ah! she has been long enough at court to know one must overlook,
that one's own little matters may be overlooked.'
Berenger burst out at last, 'Her I will not hear blasphemed: the
next word against her I leave you to yourself.'
'That is all I want,' said Narcisse. 'These cares of yours are
only douceurs to your conceited heretical conscience, and a
lengthening out of this miserable affair. You would scoff at the
only real service you could render me.'
'And that is---'
'To fetch a priest. Ha! ha! one of your sort would sooner hang me.
You had rather see me perish body and soul in this Huguenot dog-
hole! What! do you stammer? Bring a psalm-singing heretic here,
and I'll teach him and you what you MAY call blasphemy.'
'A priest you shall have, cousin,' said Berenger, gravely; 'I will
do my utmost to bring you one. Meanwhile, strive to bring yourself
into a state in which he may benefit you.'
Berenger was resolved that the promise should be kept. He saw that
despair was hardening the wretched man's heart, and that the
possibility of fulfilling his Church's rites might lead him to
address himself to repentance; but the difficulties were great.
Osbert, the only Catholic at hand, was disposed to continue his
vengeance beyond the grave, and only at his master's express
command would even exercise his skill to endeavour to preserve life
till the confessor could be brought. Ordinary Huguenots would
regard the desire of Narcisse as a wicked superstition, and
Berenger could only hurry back to consult some of the gentlemen who
might be supposed more unprejudiced.
As he was crossing the quadrangle at full speed, he almost ran
against the King of Navarre, who was pacing up and down reading
letters, and who replied to his hasty apologies by saying he looked
as if the fair Eurydice had slipped through his hands again into
the Inferno.
'Not so, Sire, but there is one too near those gates. Nid de Merle
is lying at the point of death, calling for a priest.'
'Ventre Saint-Gris!' exclaimed the King, 'he is the very demon of
the piece, who carved your face, stole your wife, and had nearly
shot your daughter.'
'The more need of his repentance, Sire, and without a priest he
will not try to repent. I have promised him one.'
'A bold promise!' said Henry. 'Have you thought how our good
friends here are likely to receive a priest of Baal into the camp?'
'No, Sire, but my best must be done. I pray you counsel me.'
Henry laughed at the simple confidence of the request, but replied,
'The readiest way to obtain a priest will be to ride with a flag of
truce to the enemy's camp--they are at St. Esme--and say that M. de
Nid de Merle is a prisoner and dying, and that I offer safe-conduct
to any priest that will come to him--though whether a red-hot
Calvinist will respect my safe-conduct or your escort is another
matter.'
'At least, Sire, you sanction my making this request?'
'Have you men enough to take with you to guard you from marauders?'
'I have but two servants, Sire, and I have left them with the
wounded man.'
'Then I will send with you half a dozen Gascons, who have been long
enough at Paris with me to have no scruples.'
By the time Berenger had explained matters to his wife and brother,
and snatched a hasty meal, a party of gay, soldierly-looking
fellows were in the saddle, commanded by a bronzed sergeant who was
perfectly at home in conducting messages between contending
parties. After a dark ride of about five miles, the camp at the
village of St. Esme was reached, and this person recommended that
he himself should go forward with a trumpet, since M. de Ribaumont
was liable to be claimed as an escaped prisoner. There was then a
tedious delay, but at length the soldier returned, and another
horseman with him. A priest who had come to the camp in search of
M. de Nid de Merle was willing to trust himself to the King of
Navarre's safe-conduct.
'Thanks, sir,' cried Berenger; 'this is a work of true charity.'
'I think I know that voice,' said the priest.
'The priest of Nissard!'
'Even so, sir. I was seeking M. de Nid de Merle, and had but just
learnt that he had been left behind wounded.'
'You came to tell him of his sister?'
And as they rode together the priest related to Berenger that M. de
Solivet had remained in the same crushed, humiliated mood, not
exactly penitent, but too much disappointed and overpowered with
shame to heed what became of her provided she were not taken back
to her brother or her aunt. She knew that repentance alone was
left for her, and permitted herself to be taken to Lucon, where
Mere Monique was the only person whom she had ever respected.
There had no doubt been germs of good within her, but the crime and
intrigue of the siren court of Catherine de Medicis had choked
them; and the first sense of better things had been awakened by the
frank simplicity of the young cousin, while, nevertheless, jealousy
and family tactics had led her to aid in his destruction, only to
learn through her remorse how much she loved him. And when in his
captivity she thought him in her power, but found him beyond her
reach, unhallowed as was her passion, yet still the contemplation
of the virtues of one beloved could not fail to raise her standard.
It was for his truth and purity that she had loved him, even while
striving to degrade these quantities; and when he came forth from
her ordeal unscathed, her worship of him might for a time be more
intense, but when the idol was removed, the excellence she had
first learnt to adore in him might yet lead that adoration up to
the source of all excellence. All she sought NOW was shelter
wherein to weep and cower unseen; but the priest believed that her
tears would soon spring from profound depths of penitence such as
often concluded the lives of the gay ladies of France. Mere
Monique had received her tenderly, and the good priest had gone
from Lucon to announce her fate to her aunt and brother.
At Bellaise he had found the Abbess much scandalized. She had
connived at her niece's releasing the prisoner, for she had
acquired too much regard for him to let him perish under Narcisse's
hands, and she had allowed Veronique to personate Diane at the
funeral mass, and also purposely detained Narcisse to prevent the
detection of the escape; but the discovery that her niece had
accompanied his flight had filled her with shame and furry.
Pursuit had been made towards La Rochelle, but when the
neighbourhood of the King of Navarre became known, no doubt was
entertained that the fugitives had joined him, and Narcisse,
reserving his vengeance for the family honour till he should
encounter Berenger, had hotly resumed the intention of pouncing on
Eustacie at Pont de Dronne, which had been decided on upon the
report of the Italian spy, and only deferred by his father's death.
This once done, Berenger's own supposed infidelity would have
forced him to acquiesce in the annulment of the original marriage.
It had been a horrible gulf, and Berenger shuddered as one who had
barely struggled to the shore, and found his dear ones safe, and
his enemies shattered and helpless on the strand. They hurried on
so as to be in time. The priest, a brave and cautious man, who had
often before carried the rites of the Church to dying men in the
midst of the enemy, was in a secular dress, and when Berenger had
given the password, and obtained admittance they separated, and
only met again to cross the bridge. They found Osbert and Humfrey
on guard, saying that the sufferer still lingered, occasionally in
a terrible paroxysm of bodily anguish, but usually silent, except
when he upbraided Osbert with his master's breach of promise or
incapacity to bring a priest through his Huguenot friends.
Such a taunt was on his tongue when Pere Colombeau entered, and
checked the scoff by saying, 'See, my son, you have met with more
pardon and mercy even on earth than you had imagined possible.'
There was a strange spasm on Narcisse's ghastly face, as though he
almost regretted the obligation forced on him, but Berenger
scarcely saw him again. It was needful for the security of the
priest and the tranquillity of the religious rites that he should
keep watch outside, lest any of the more fanatical of the Huguenots
should deem it their duty to break in on what they had worked
themselves into believing offensive idolatry.
His watch did not prove uncalled for. At different times he had to
plead the King's safe-conduct, and his own honour, and even to
defend his own Protestantism by appealing to his wounds and
services. Hearts were not soft enough then for the cruelty of
disturbing a dying man to be any argument at all in that fierce
camp; but even there the name of Pere Colombeau met with respect.
The saintly priest had protected too many enemies for any one who
had heard of him to wish him ill.
Nearly all night was Berenger thus forced to remain on guard, that
the sole hope of Narcisse's repentance and salvation might not be
swept away by violence from without, renewing bitterness within.
Not till towards morning was he called back. The hard, lingering
death struggle had spent itself, and slow convulsive gasps showed
that life was nearly gone; but the satanic sneer had passed away,
and a hand held out, a breathing like the word 'pardon' seemed to
be half uttered, and was answered from the bottom of Berenger's
kind and pitying heart. Another quarter of an hour, and Narcisse
de Ribaumont Nid de Merle was dead. The priest looked pale,
exhausted, shocked, but would reveal nothing of the frame of mind
he had shown, only that if he had been touched by any saving
penitence, it was owing to his kinsman.
Berenger wished to send the corpse to rest in the family vault at
Bellaise, where the Chevalier had so lately been laid; and the
priest undertook to send persons with a flag of truce to provide
for the transport, as well as to announce the death to the sister
and the aunt. Wearied as he was, he would not accept Berenger's
earnest invitation to come and take rest and refreshment in the
prior's rooms, but took leave of him at the further side of the
fortress, with almost reverent blessings, as to one not far from
the kingdom of heaven; and Berenger, with infinite peacefulness in
his heart, went home in the silence of the Sunday morning, and lay
sleeping away his long fatigue through the chief part of the day,
while Pastor Merlin was preaching and eloquent sermon upon his good
brother Isaac Gardon, and Eustacie shed filial tears, more of
tenderness than sorrow.