CHAPTER XCVII.
THE END.
The king, pale with anxiety, and shuddering at the slightestnoise, employed himself in conjecturing, with the experience ofa practised man, the time that it would take for the antagoniststo meet and that the combat would last.
"Now," he murmured first, "they are crossing the Rue St. Antoine--nowthey are entering the field--now they have begun." And at thesewords, the poor king, trembling, began to pray.
Rising again in a few minutes, he cried:
"If Quelus only remembers the thrust I taught him! As for Schomberg,he is so cool that he ought to kill Ribeirac; Maugiron, also,should be more than a match for Livarot. But D'Epernon, he islost; fortunately he is the one of the four whom I love least.But if Bussy, the terrible Bussy, after killing him, falls onthe others! Ah, my poor friends!"
"Sire!" said Crillon, at the door.
"What! already?"
"Sire, I have no news but that the Duc d'Anjou begs to speak toyour majesty."
"What for?"
"He says that the moment has come for him to tell you what servicehe rendered your majesty, and that what he has to tell you willcalm a part of your fears."
"Well, let him come."
At this moment they heard a voice crying, "I must speak to theking at once!"
The king recognized the voice, and opened the door.
"Here, St. Luc!" cried he. "What is it? But, mon Dieu! what isthe matter? Are they dead?"
Indeed, St. Luc, pale, without hat or sword, and spotted withblood, rushed into the king's room.
"Sire!" cried he, "vengeance! I ask for vengeance!"
"My poor St. Luc, what is it? You seem in despair."
"Sire, one of your subjects, the bravest, noblest, has been murderedthis night--traitorously murdered!"
"Of whom do you speak?"
"Sire, you do not love him, I know; but he was faithful, and,if need were, would have shed all his blood for your majesty,else he would not have been my friend."
"Ah!" said the king, who began to understand; and something likea gleam of joy passed over his face.
"Vengeance, sire, for M. de Bussy!"
"M. de Bussy?"
"Yes, M. de Bussy, whom twenty assassins poniarded last night.He killed fourteen of them."
"M. de Bussy dead?"
"Yes, sire."
"Then he does not fight this morning?"
St. Luc cast a reproachful glance on the king, who turned awayhis head, and, in doing so, saw Crillon still standing at thedoor. He signed to him to bring in the duke.
"No, sire, he will not fight," said St. Luc; "and that is whyI ask, not for vengeance--I was wrong to call it so--but forjustice. I love my king, and am, above all things, jealous ofhis honor, and I think that it is a deplorable service whichthey have rendered to your majesty by killing M. de Bussy."
The Duc d'Anjou had just entered, and St. Luc's words had enlightenedthe king as to the service his brother had boasted of havingrendered him.
"Do you know what they will say?" continued St. Luc. "They willsay, if your friends conquer, that it is because they first murderedBussy."
"And who will dare to say that?"
"Pardieu! everyone," said Crillon.
"No, monsieur, they shall not say that," replied the king, "foryou shall point out the assassin."
"I will name him, sire, to clear your majesty from so heinousan accusation," said St. Luc.
"Well! do it."
The Duc d'Anjou stood quietly by.
"Sire," continued St. Luc, "last night they laid a snare forBussy, while he visited a woman who loved him; the husband, warnedby a traitor, came to his house with a troop of assassins; theywere everywhere--in the street--in the courtyard, even in thegarden."
In spite of his power over himself, the duke grew pale at theselast words.
"Bussy fought like a lion, sire, but numbers overwhelmed him,and--"
"And he was killed," interrupted the king, "and justly; I willcertainly not revenge an adulterer."
"Sire, I have not finished my tale. The unhappy man, after havingdefended himself for more than half an hour in the room, afterhaving triumphed over his enemies, escaped, bleeding, wounded,and mutilated: he only wanted some one to lend him a saving hand,which I would have done had I not been seized by his assassins,and bound, and gagged. Unfortunately, they forgot to take awaymy sight as well as my speech, for I saw two men approach theunlucky Bussy, who was hanging on the iron railings. I heard himentreat them for help, for in these two men he had the right toreckon on two friends. Well, sire, it is horrible to relate--itwas still more horrible to see and hear--one ordered him to beshot, and the other obeyed."
"And you know the assassins?" cried the king, moved in spite ofhimself.
"Yes," said St. Luc, and turning to the prince, with an expressionof intense hatred, he cried, "the assassin, sire, was the prince,his friend."
The duke stood perfectly quiet and answered, "Yes, M. de St. Lucis right; it was I, and your majesty will appreciate my action,for M. de Bussy was my servant; but this morning he was to fightagainst your majesty."
"You lie, assassin!" cried St. Luc. "Bussy, full of wounds, hishands cut to pieces, a ball through his shoulder, and hangingsuspended on the iron trellis-work, might have inspired pityin his most cruel enemies; they would have succored him. Butyou, the murderer of La Mole and of Coconnas, you killed Bussy,as you have killed, one after another, all your friends. Youkilled Bussy, not because he was the king's enemy, but becausehe was the confidant of your secrets. Ah! Monsoreau knew wellyour reason for this crime."
"Cordieu!" cried Crillon, "why am I not king?"
"They insult me before you, brother," said the duke, pale withterror.
"Leave us, Crillon," said the king. The officer obeyed.
"Justice, sire, justice!" cried St. Luc again.
"Sire," said the duke, "will you punish me for having served yourmajesty's friends this morning?"
"And I," cried St. Luc, "I say that the cause which you espouseis accursed, and will be pursued by the anger of God. Sire, whenyour brother protects our friends, woe to them." The king shuddered.
Then they heard hasty steps and voices, followed by a deep silence;and then, as if a voice from heaven came to confirm St. Luc'swords, three blows were struck slowly and solemnly on the doorby the vigorous arm of Crillon. Henri turned deadly pale.
"Conquered," cried he; "my poor friends!"
"What did I tell you, sire?" cried St. Luc. "See how murder succeeds."
But the king saw nothing, heard nothing; he buried his face inhis hands, and murmured. "Oh! my poor friends; who will tellme about them?"
"I, sire," said Chicot.--"Well!" cried Henri.
"Two are dead, and the third is dying."
"Which is the third?"--"Quelus."
"Where is he?"--"At the Hotel Boissy."
The king said no more, but rushed from the room.
St. Luc had taken Diana home to his wife, and this had kept himfrom appearing sooner at the Louvre. Jeanne passed three daysand nights watching her through the most frightful delirium.On the fourth day, Jeaune, overcome by fatigue, went to take alittle rest: two hours after, when she returned, Diana was gone.
Quelus died at the Hotel Boissy, in the king's arms, after lingeringfor thirty days.
Henri was inconsolable. He raised three magnificent tombs forhis friends, on which their effigies were sculptured, life-size,in marble. He had innumerable masses said for them, and prayedfor their souls himself night and morning. For three months Chicotnever left his master. In September, Chicot received the followingletter, dated from the Priory of Beaume:
"DEAR M. CHICOT--The air is soft in this place, and the vintagepromises to be good this year. They say that the king, whoselife I saved, still grieves much. Bring him to the priory, dearM. Chicot; we will give him wine of 1550, which I have discoveredin my cellar, and which is enough to make one forget the greatestgrief; for I find in the Holy Writ these words, 'Good wine
rejoicesthe heart of man.' It is in Latin. I will show it you. Come,then, dear M. Chicot; come, with the king, M. d'Epernon, and M.de St. Luc, and we will fatten them all.
"The reverend prior,
"DOM GORENFLOT,
"Your humble servant and friend.
"P.S.--Tell the king that I have not yet had time to pray forthe souls of his friends; but when the vintage is over; I shallnot fail to do so."
"Amen," said Chicot; "here are poor devils well recommended toHeaven."
THE END
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