CHAPTER XVI.
Neither St. Real nor his companion spoke much as they advanced towardsMeudon. The rapid pace at which they proceeded, and the still morerapid thoughts that were passing in the mind of each, left little roomfor conversation. Each, however, seemed so instinctively to appreciatethe character of the other, that the few words which did occasionallypass between them conveyed far more than much longer communicationmight have accomplished between persons whose ideas flowed in a lessdirect and straightforward channel. So rapidly did their horses bearthem forward indeed, that but a few minutes elapsed ere they beheldthe pleasant little upland supporting the village in which the wittybut licentious Rabelais poured forth the biting and sarcastic torrentof satire that, however ill understood by after ages, has rendered hisname immortal; and in which also he exercised all those clericalfunctions that were far less adapted to the character of his mind.
Coming from the side of St. Cloud, and bearing about his person thoseconventional signs which were understood to indicate an officer of theroyalist party, Monsieur de Sancy, accompanied by his young companion,was permitted to go forward, with scarcely any interruption almost tothe gates of the old chateau in which Henry of Navarre had fixed hishead-quarters. Here, however, they were challenged by the sentinels;but, giving the word, they passed on, and meeting with an inferiorofficer attached to the prince, inquired if he had yet gone forth.
"More than an hour," was the reply; "but he may certainly be foundwith the advance guard at the _Pr? aux Clercs_."
Without farther question, and somewhat mortified at the loss of time,De Sancy and St. Real turned their horses' heads, and at some riskgalloped down the steep descent; nor pulled a bridle rein till theyreached the large open plain called the _Pr? aux Clercs_, which atthis time offered a singular and not unpicturesque exhibition. Fromthe spot where the road which they followed entered the plain, thecountry lay flat and unvaried to the very suburbs of the city ofParis, which rose behind, forming a dense back-ground of greybuildings, towering up one beyond another in the misty light of asummer's day. The open ground between was not exactly covered withmultitudes, but was living with a hundred groups of gay and glitteringcavaliers; while two strong bodies of infantry, and a squadron ofhorse, covered the several roads which led from that part of Paris toMeudon and St. Cloud. The groups of horsemen of which we have spoken,armed at all points, and, in general, bearing the old knightlylance--some decorated with the colours of the League, some displayingthose of the Catholic Royalists, and some carrying the white scarfsand sword-knots of the Huguenots--were seen, now wheeling about theplain, endeavouring to gain the vantage ground of a party ofopponents; now standing still, waiting in firm ranks the attack of abody of the enemy; now hurled in impetuous charge against the foe, andmingling in brief but desperate struggle; with the armour, and thepennons, and the scarfs, and the rich caparisons, glancing in and outof the clouds of dust that covered them. Every now and then, also,when any of the Leaguers advanced too near, the arquebusiers, whocovered the roads, would keep up upon them a rolling fire from theirlevelled pieces; and occasionally some of the batteries erected forthe defence of the suburbs would pour forth flame and thunder upon theposition of the Huguenot infantry, though with but little effect.
About a hundred yards in advance of the foot, upon one of the fewslight rises which the plain afforded, appeared a group, consisting ofabout twenty horsemen, principally distinguished by the Huguenotscarf, who took no further part in the skirmishes which were going onthan by every now and then detaching a messenger from their body,apparently to bear directions or commands to other parts of the field.At the head of this group, armed at all points except the head,appeared Henry, King of Navarre, with his fine, but strong-markedfeatures, full of animation and excitement from the scene before him.St. Real was the first who remarked his position; and, pointing it outto Monsieur de Sancy, paused only till they had ordered theirattendants to remain near the body of infantry, and then spurred onwith his companion to the spot where the monarch was watching theprogress of the morning's skirmish--an amusement of which he rarelydeprived his soldiery. Turning round as they came up, he welcomed St.Real with a look of surprise and satisfaction, and greeted De Sancywith a smile.
"This is unexpected and gladsome, my good young friend," he said,grasping St. Real's hand. "I heard you were in Paris; and, though yourcousin declared you would certainly visit us ere you decided, yet,good faith! I thought the cunning of the League would be too much foryou."
"It was, I believe, too much for themselves, your Majesty," repliedSt. Real; "for I am not only here, but purpose to remain. We have,however, something of more importance to tell your Majesty, if youwill give us your ear for one moment."
"Instantly," replied the king; and then turning to some of thosebehind him, he pointed with his leading-staff to one of the groups ofskirmishers, exclaiming, "Some one ride in there, and bring out Rosny!The lad is mad with sorrow for the loss of his wife. Ventre SaintGris! 'Tis a strange thing that what would make one man mad for joy,should make another man mad for grief! He will get himself killed now,in order to go to heaven after his wife; while there are many men whowould almost to the other place, to get out of the way of theirs. Butride in, ride in, and bring him out--tell him I want him! Now, St.Real! now, Monsieur de Sancy! I am for you!"
Thus speaking, he rode on twenty or thirty paces in advance of hisattendants, and looked first to St. Real, and then to De Sancy, as ifrequiring them to give him their tidings. The latter then spoke: "Wehave to communicate to your Majesty," he said, "an event that hasoccurred at St. Cloud, and which may be productive of great andsorrowful results--which pray God avert!"
"Amen!" cried Henry; "but what is it, what is it?"
"This, my lord," replied de Sancy. "About an hour ago, while Monsieurde St. Real and myself were both in the audience-chamber of hisMajesty, the king was wounded severely by a Dominican friar, and Ihave many fears that the result will be fatal."
Henry made no reply, but gazed upon Monsieur de Sancy's face with alook of anxiety and horror. "This is ruin indeed!" he exclaimed--"tobe killed at the very moment that our united arms had so nearly seatedhim securely on the throne! This is ruin indeed!"
"I trust not, your Majesty," replied St. Real. "First, the king is notyet dead, and may recover; and next, even should he die, you, my lord,have not only a righteous cause to support you, but a more fairrenown. You would then be as much king of France as he is now, andmany a subject who serves him unwillingly will draw his sword with joyfor you."
"At all events, my lord," said De Sancy, "whatever may be the conductof others, and whatever may be the result of this most lamentableaffair, your Majesty will find that two at least of the French nobles,without consulting or considering any other interest but that of theircountry, will be ready, should fate place the crown of France uponyour head, to serve your Majesty with their whole heart and soul. I,for my part, engage at once to bring over the Swiss to your Majesty'sservice; and, if I have understood him right, Monsieur de St. Realhere present will immediately move his troops from Senlis to yoursupport."
"Without a moment's hesitation," added St. Real; "and if I havehitherto even entertained a scruple in regard to joining the royalforces, that scruple would not exist after your Majesty's accession tothe throne."
"Thank you, thank you, my friends!" exclaimed Henry, "this is noble!This is generous! But still let us hope that the calamity will beaverted, which, by the death of the king, would cast amongst us afresh ball of discord, when so many already exist. Still it isnecessary for me to be prepared; but while I speed to St. Cloud, inorder to learn, as far as possible, what is proceeding there, let mebeg you, my friends, to converse over the matter with those you cantrust, and ascertain upon whom I may rely--who are likely to bedoubtful friends, and who will prove open enemies."
St. Real and his companion promised obedience; and the king, afterspeaking a few moments with some of the gentlemen of his train, turnedhis horse's head towards St. Cloud
, and galloped off. De Sancy and St.Real returned more leisurely, conversing over the event that hadoccurred, and its probable results.
"You, Monsieur de Sancy, and the King of Navarre also, seem toapprehend much more danger from the death of the king," said St. Real,"than I can conceive likely to accrue. Far be it from me to speak evilof a man who, even now, may be dying; yet who can doubt that invirtues as a man, and in high qualities as a sovereign, the monarchwho has just left us is as superior to him who now reigns in France aslight is to darkness? As a military leader, too, his renown is justlyamong the first in Europe; and with the sole command of the army,which is now divided, the affection of all that is noble and good inthe land, and the warm co-operation of many of those who have heldaloof from the present sovereign, he would surely be able toaccomplish far more towards reducing the land to a state oftranquillity and subordination, than a king who is not only hated butdespised."
De Sancy shook his head, with a somewhat melancholy smile, atcalculations made upon grounds so very different from the motiveswhich actuated the generality of men in the disorganized land whereinthey lived.
"If every one were Monsieur de St. Real," he answered, "if everyone--I do not mean in France, but even in this camp and army--wereactuated by the same pure and patriotic feelings as yourself, yourcalculations would be undoubtedly right, and the extinction of theline of Valois would be the signal for tranquillity and happiness toresume their place in our distracted land. But the men that we seearound us are divided into many classes, and actuated by many motives.The Huguenots have among them one principle of action--I meanreligious fanaticism. But, taking all the rest of the united armies, Isuppose there are not ten men of rank amongst us who have any generalprinciple whatsover."
"You give a sad picture of our countrymen, Monsieur de Sancy," repliedSt. Real; "but if your view be correct, how happen such discordantelements to have adhered so long?"
"From causes as numerous," replied De Sancy, "as the men themselves.Some have adhered to the king out of gratitude for favours conferred,and from a knowledge that their fortune, almost their very existenceitself, depended upon that monarch. Such are the minions, thefavourites, the priests. Others again, of a nobler nature, haveremained attached to the same party equally from gratitude for favoursconferred, but without entertaining any further hopes from, or beingbound by any tie of interest to, the king. Such is the Duke ofEpernon, and several more. Others, again, serve the monarch becausetheir own dignity and power are connected by various ties to his. Suchare the princes of the blood. An immense number follow him onlybecause, seeing the country split into factions, and knowing that theymust attach themselves to some party, they judge that they can obtainmost from the court; and, at all events, can sell themselves to theLeague hereafter, in case they find their first expectationsdisappointed. Many, too, have some individual object in view, whichthey may obtain from the king, but could not obtain from the League;and many serve the monarch from personal hatred to some one in theopposite camp. Monsieur de St. Real, I could go on for an hour, andyet leave half the motives unreckoned by which men of differentparties are actuated in every civil strife. All these motives are atwork amongst us; and patriotism, depend upon it, comes in for but avery small share, when there are so many other greedy passions todivide with her the hearts of the multitude."
St. Real was silent for a few moments, and thoughtful too; for in thepicture of the manifold hues and shades of human baseness thuspresented to his sight, there was something very painful to a mindaccustomed to view the world in a brighter light. After havingconsidered for a short time, however, letting his mind roam to moregeneral thoughts, he returned to the immediate matter of theirconversation. "I am sorry to hear," he said, "that such is thecomposition of an army from which I had hoped better things. But tellme, Monsieur de Sancy, will not the same motives which have hithertobound them to the present king bind them also to his successor?"
"By no means," replied De Sancy. "In the first place, the differenceof religion will be a great objection to many, and an excellentpretext to more. A thousand to one all the zealous Catholics willabandon the heretic monarch at once. Those who personally love himwill seek to make him change his religion; those who love him not willleave him without any question. All who are already doubtful willseize this favourable opportunity of going over to the League. All whoare serving upon interested motives will demand place, preferment, orpromise, as the price of their future assistance. Of these--and I amsorry to say that at least one half of the royal camp is composed ofsuch--of these there will be a general market--a buying and selling,as in the halls of Paris; and if the king cannot outbid the League,they will go over together."
"Well, let them go," cried St. Real. "By Heaven! Monsieur de Sancy, Ihold that we shall be better without such false and doubtful allies.Our swords will strike more firmly, our confidence in ourselves and ineach other will be redoubled, when the army is purified from such anest of mercenary villains."
"Ah! my young friend," replied De Sancy, "you may make a good soldier;but you are not yet fit for a politician in this bad world of ours.Call them by some softer name, too, than mercenary villains," headded, with a laugh; "for, till you see the event, you do not knowwhom you may find amongst them."
St. Real was silent; for his mind was not without some shade of doubtas to what would be the conduct of his own cousin in the event of theking's death breaking asunder all those ties which, for the time,united the incoherent parts of the royalist army together. Howevermuch St. Real might love the Count d'Aubin, and however much he mightstrive to conceal from himself the faults and failings whichdisfigured his character, he could not help experiencing a vagueinternal conviction that his actions were more the effect of impulsethan of principle, and that there was not sufficient firmness in hischaracter to restrain him from following where his passions or hisinterests led him, if to the path which he thus chose no very signaldisgrace was attached in the eyes of the world.
He was silent then, and a few minutes more brought them back to St.Cloud, which exhibited all the usual marks of a small place in whichsome great event has happened. The eager faces; the gliding up anddown of important-looking persons; the whispering groups at everycorner, and at every house-door; the loud-tongued politicians,demonstrating to their little assemblage of hearers the events thatwere to follow, or the events that were past; and here and there themercenary soldier, sauntering indifferently through the streets, andcaring not who died, or who survived, provided that his pay was sure,and that the blessed trade of war was not brought to an untimely end.
Monsieur de Sancy and St. Real drew up their horses at the first groupof respectable persons they met with, and demanded news of the king.The reply was favourable: "the monarch was better," the people said;"the surgeons apprehended no evil; and the consequences of the crimehad fallen upon the head of him who perpetrated it."
After receiving this answer, St. Real and De Sancy separated, eachwell pleased with the other, and promising mutually to meet againbefore night, whatever might be the result of the events which hadbrought them first together.
St. Real then directed his course up the road towards the small_auberge_, in which he had hired the only apartments that on his firstarrival were to be found vacant in the village, and at which he hadleft a part of his attendants to prepare for his return. The door ofthe inn, like that of every other house in the place, was surroundedby its own little group, discussing the events of the time; and as St.Real approached, he distinguished amongst the crowd his dwarf pageBartholo, together with the handsome Italian boy, who had been left inhis service by Henry of Navarre. The young marquis--whose mind was notof that indifferent cast which looks with philosophical coolness uponthe dangers or discomforts of every person except its own particularproprietor--had been not a little anxious for the fate of the fairdelicate youth amidst the troubles and perils of the capital and itsenvirons, and was in no slight degree rejoiced to see him in safety ina spot where he could afford him protection.
Leonard de Monte sprang forward as soon as he beheld his lord, andwelcomed him on his arrival, with all that peculiar grace which wehave before had occasion to notice in his demeanour. There wassomething in his manner that expressed a willingness to serve and toobey; but, at the same time, it appeared to be the willingness of afree and generous mind to perform that which depended solely upon itsown volition. There was a dignity withal in his tone and demeanour,that made his obedience seem a condescension rather than a duty; andyet, as we have said, it was all so cheerfully done, that St. Real,although he felt more as if he were speaking to a friend or a youngerbrother, than to one who was bound to obey, nevertheless did not feelthe difference disagreeable, but rather looked with more interest upona person whose demeanour was so superior to that of others in hisstation.
"I have had some fears for you, my good boy," said St. Real, "since Iheard that you had come hither to seek me."
"Oh, never fear for me, sir!" replied the youth, speaking with thatconfidence in his own fortune, which is one of the many happy deceitswhereby the human heart beguiles itself to forget the weariness, andthe difficulties, and the dangers of the long and perilous path oflife; "oh, never fear for me, sir! In my short day, I have passedthrough so many scenes, where others have found every sort of dangerand tribulation, without receiving so much as a scratch of my hand,that I begin to believe myself enchanted against peril: besides, I hadthe two stout fellows you gave me to accompany me from Maine; and if Ihad met with any danger, I should have left them to fight it out, andhave slipped away, finding safety under cover of my littleness."
"Well, well, we must not try your fortune too far, my good Leonard,"replied the young noble. "But come hither with me, Bartholo, seek mewherewithal to write; and bid Martin and Paul hold themselves ready toset out in half an hour to Senlis. Have you seen the Count d'Aubin?"
"I saw him not half an hour ago," replied Leonard de Monte, ere thedwarf could answer. "He was riding forth with a gay company to the_Pr? aux Clercs_."
"That is unfortunate!" observed St. Real; "I would fain have spokenwith him. But hark! there is the drum beating to arms, and theclarions sounding a march! See what that may mean, Leonard."
The boy sped away quickly; and during his absence St. Real proceededto his own apartments, and wrote to the officer whom he had left incommand of his troops near Senlis, directing him, in as few words aspossible, to advance without loss of time to the distance of half amarch from the royal army. Ere he had concluded, Leonard de Montereturned, and, in reply to St. Real's eager question of what news,informed him, that an order had just been given out to put the royalforces under arms, as it was supposed that those who had instigatedthe attempt at assassination, not knowing that it had failed, wouldendeavour to take advantage of the confusion they expected to followits success amongst the royalists.
"A wise precaution!" said St. Real--"a wise precaution, marking thatHenry of Navarre is in the camp, even if one did not know it fromother circumstances. Now, tell me, Leonard," he continued, afterhaving sealed and despatched his letter, "how long have you beenhere?"
"I reached Paris some five days since," replied the boy, "and waitedtwo days there, in hopes of your coming; but, finding that you did notarrive, I grew anxious, knowing that there are wily men andunscrupulous of all parties in these places. Then, when you did notappear the third day, I set off hither to see whether you had beendelayed against your will at the king's quarters; and ever since thenI have been coming and going between the camp and the city of Paris,till I learned this morning that you were here."
"But were you never stopped at the outposts?" demanded St. Real; "yourpass extended only to the capital?"
"Oh, no!" replied the boy, in a gay tone; "I passed and repassed asoften as I liked, and will do it again whensoever it pleases me. Ihave the secret of making myself invisible; and they must be sharpereyes than either those of the League or of the Huguenots that will spyme out to stop me as I go."
"Indeed!" said St. Real: "that were a secret worth knowing."
"Easy to learn, but not so easy to practise," answered the boy. "I hadfirst to consider the sentry as I came up to him; then, if I found hima Huguenot Gascon, to stop a quarter of an hour to listen to all thegreat exploits he had performed at Montcontour, Jarnac, or any otherplace; then--seeming to believe the whole--to tell him as great a lieas any that he told me, vowing that I was the truant son of someHuguenot lord, going back to hear Du Plessis Mornay preach against thePope of Rome; and thus might I pass by without farther question. If,on the contrary, it were a royalist, I vowed I was King Henry's newpage, and talked about Monsieur de Biron, and the good Duke ofEpernon. If it were a Swiss, I boldly said, 'What is your price?' putthe crowns in his hands, and walked on. And when I came back to thesentinels of the League, I had but to throw this toy over myshoulders," he continued, drawing a black-and-green scarf from thebosom of his vest, which, according to the custom of those days,was made very large and full, and often served the purpose of apocket--"I had only to throw this toy over my shoulders, and swear bythe holy mass that I had gone out to kill the king, and would havedone it, too, if I had not, by mischance, trod on the toes of one ofhis Polish puppies, and been turned out of the ante-room for thatgrave offence."
St. Real laughed. "You are a brave boy," he said, "and seem to knowthese people thoroughly--perhaps better than I do."
"Perhaps I may," replied the youth: "but still, call me not a braveboy, for I am not; on the contrary, I am as arrant a coward as everlived; so, if you intend to take me with you into a pitched battle, oreven a skirmish, or so much as the siege of a town, you are very muchmistaken, for I shall certainly lag behind."
"You jest," said St. Real, smiling; "for, though you are too young tobe led into battles, or to sieges either, yet you are one of thosewhereof, some day, men may make good soldiers."
"Not I," answered the boy, seriously, and with a sigh; "not I, mylord!--I have a vow against it. Faith, I think that heretic Du PlessisMornay has converted even me; and I hold, that for hundreds of honestmen to shed each other's blood, for the sake of making their favouritesit in a great ivory chair, wear a gilt cap with a tassel, and callhimself king, is not only a folly, but a madness, and not only amadness, but a crime. Be not offended, my lord," he added, seeing aslight cloud come over St. Real's brow, as he listened to doctrinesvery different from those which his own bold and chivalrous heartentertained; "be not offended, nor doubt me either; for you may wellrest sure that, should danger threaten you, or misfortune overtakeyou, when I am your follower, this heart--though not so bold as afalcon's--would find courage for the time; this hand--though not sostrong as a giant's--should do its best to defend or aid you."
"I believe you in that, at least, my good Leonard," replied St. Real;"yet, nevertheless, I have always held that life is valueless withouthonour, and that the drops of our heart's best blood can never beweighed against the service of our country, our king, or our friend.However, you are not my sworn soldier, so I shall not try you; and, tospeak of matters whereon we shall better agree, tell me--for, amongstall your wanderings, you must have heard--how go men's opinions uponthe events that are taking place here?"
"Opinions!" cried the youth. "They go, my lord, as the waves of thesea. Looked at from a distance, and at first sight, they seeminnumerable, and all distinct one from the other; but when oneexamines a little more closely, they are found to be nothing but onegreat flow of the same things, following the first that comes forwardand dashes upon the shore. I know not well what the word _opinion_used to mean in the days of old, but now, I know it means the portraitof every man's selfishness, painted as he likes it to appear. One manhas a strong desire to be governor of Dijon, and he represents itunder the form of a sincere admiration of the Catholic faith; anotherwishes to be made marechal of France, and he displays his wish under afull approbation of the murder of the Guises."
"It is wonderful," said St. Real, with a smile, "how soon, in the campand in the court, the wisdom of th
e brow of sixty years finds its waydown to the curly head of sixteen! Do you know, Leonard, I have justheard this morning from Monsieur de Sancy the same fine sarcasticcharacter of the good folks around me that you have given me now?"
"Then you have heard the truth from two people in one day," repliedthe boy gravely. "It is worth marking with white chalk! and, thoughyou think that I ape the sententiousness of wiser persons than myself,you will find, that one who has lived amongst these scenes from hisearliest years knows the characters that appear in the mystery as wellas one of themselves. At all events, my lord, hope not to find Spartanvirtues even in your dearest friend; or, if he do possess such jewelsas patriotism, and firmness, and integrity, happy--thrice and fullyhappy, is he in this place; for nothing is so saleable here as virtueand a tolerably good reputation."
"Spartan virtue in my dearest friend!" said St. Real, repeating thewords on which the youth had laid the strongest emphasis. "What meanyou by that, Leonard? Tell me, are you frank and honest? If so, youhave some meaning! Now, make it a plain one!"
The boy coloured a good deal, and, for a moment, seemed strugglingbetween two emotions; but at length he replied, "I am frank andhonest, sir, and I will make my meaning plain, feeling sure that youwill not let my candour hurt me. When I spoke as I did speak, Ithought of your noble cousin; for it is the common report of camp andcity, that a large dower, and a lady's unwilling hand, will soonconvert the Count d'Aubin from a bold Royalist to a zealous Leaguer."
It was now St. Real's turn to feel troubled, and the bloodirrepressibly mounted to his cheek. "I trust that the camp and thecity are both mistaken," he replied, at length; "and that Philipd'Aubin, if he do change his party, which may, perchance, happen, willhave nobler motives to assign than any selfish advantages. One thing,however, is certain, no lady's _unwilling_ hand can be the object, forno man will or can force her inclination."
The boy shrugged his shoulders. "These are times, sir," he replied,"when men can do anything; but, nevertheless----"
Ere he could finish his sentence, the door of the little saloon inwhich he stood was thrown quickly open; and, as so often occurs, thevery object of the conversation which had just passed appeared, andput an end to any farther observations. The boy, indeed, coloureddeeply, and glided out of the room; but St. Real, whose consciousnessof upright purpose and integrity of heart had restored his calmnessand confidence in himself, turned to greet his cousin kindly, andprepared to speak with him upon the great events of the day, avoiding,as far as possible, those subjects which might renew any painfulfeelings between them. "I heard that you had gone to the _Pr?s auxClercs_," he said, looking at his cousin's dusty garb; "but you arenot armed, I see."
"Oh, that matters not!" answered D'Aubin; "it is as well sometimes toshow these gentlemen of the League that, in a velvet pourpoint andsilken hose, we can overthrow their best cavaliers, clothed from headto heel in good hard iron. I had not time to arm, and therefore rantwo lances in my jerkin, having promised to give a course to Duverneand Maubeuge. So the king is wounded, they say! You have heard of it,of course. Should he die now, Huon--should he die, 'twould make agreat difference in men's fates."
"I do not see why or how," replied St. Real; and then--not remarkingthat his cousin, whose very speech had been rambling and unconnected,suffered his mind to wander inattentive to what any one elsesaid--went on to give all his reasons for thinking that the death ofHenry III. should make no earthly change in the conduct of anyhonourable man hitherto attached to the royal cause.
"Huon!" interrupted D'Aubin, at length, "I have been thinking overwhat passed between us this morning, and I have come to crave a boonof you. Your safe-conduct from Mayenne is not yet near its end; and Iwould fain have you make one more journey to Paris. As I said before,I would trust you with aught on earth, such is my confidence in yourhonour; and you have great influence with Eugenie de Menancourt. Sheesteems and respects you, which is a very different thing from love,you know; no woman loves a man that she respects----"
"Nay, nay, nay, Philip!" said St. Real, somewhat sickened with hiscousin's conduct, and yet pained to remark the evident anxiety anddistress which D'Aubin strove in vain to cover under a tone, halfjest, half earnest. "Nay, nay, Philip! speak not thus of those whoform more than one half of man's happiness or misery--speak not thusif you would ever win the love of those whose love is worthpossessing."
"Pshaw, Huon! you know them not!" replied the Count. "Respect andesteem may be the foundation of man's love for woman, but not ofwoman's love for man. Fear, jealousy, revenge, scorn, even hateitself, are nearer roads to woman's love than respect and esteem. Youmay disappoint her wishes, contradict her opinions, insult herunderstanding, pain her heart, ay, even cross her caprices! and yetwin her love, if you will but pique her vanity. But a truce to suchdissertations. Mark me, Huon! I think you love me, and wish me well;and I tell you sincerely, it imports much and deeply to my peace andcomfort, that Eugenie de Menancourt should yield me a willingconsent."
"Not, I trust, from any pecuniary consideration," said St. Real, whoentertained some vague suspicions that his cousin had outstepped evenhis princely revenues in the gay and thoughtless course he had pursuedfor many a year. "If so, speak at once, Philip, for you know theextent of my resources; and you likewise know, I trust, that thoseresources are your own, when you choose to command them."
"No, no, Huon!" replied the Count, while his brow and cheek grew asred as fire. "No, no! I thank you for your kindness, good cousin; butthere are many causes which make it as necessary to me as life, thatEugenie de Menancourt should become my wife. Why, think," hecontinued, raising his tone, "I should become the talk and the pity ofall Paris!--the laughing-stock of every friend I have!"
St. Real bent down his eyes without reply, merely muttering to himselfthe word, "Friend!" while his cousin went on. "What I wish then, Huon,is this, that you would return to Paris, and seeing Eugenie, representto her that my claim to her hand in consequence of her father'spromise is indubitable; that I would sooner part with life than resignthat claim; and that, in order to atone for aught I may have done tooffend her, and to remove whatever objections she may have, I willchange my course of living, cast from me those faults that appear somuch blacker in her eyes than in those of our fair dames in thecapital, and live a life as pure and holy as any nun was ever reputedto do, if she will promise at the end of a certain period to fulfilher father's engagement towards me. Will you do this for me, Huon, andexert all your eloquence?"
"Philip, it would be in vain," replied St. Real; "last night, I saidall that I could say in your behalf--I promised even more for you thanI well knew that you would perform--on my life, on my honour, Philip,I urged all that could be urged in your exculpation and in yourfavour; but she remained firm; and nothing I could say made any changein her replies. Your conduct, she said, had produced its naturaleffect; that effect was not to be effaced. Her father's promise wasconditional; and, free from any engagement herself, she was resolved,she said, never to give her hand to one who had not sought heraffection, and did not----"
St. Real hesitated, but his cousin finished the sentence boldly forhim. "And did not possess her esteem, or deserve her love, orsomething of that kind," he said; "all that she told me before! It isbut the ringing of the same chime! But by Heavens! it shall go hard ifI do not find means to ring that chime backwards! Yet, listen, St.Real; yesterday, you were not empowered by me to say anything, andtherefore she might doubt. I now empower you on my part to vowconstancy, and promise amendment, and so forth. Will you undertakeit?--will you go?"
"No, Philip, no," replied St. Real, in a tone of firm determination,"I will not; I love Eugenie de Menancourt too well myself, to cheather with promises made in so light a tone as that. Nay, frown not onme, Philip d'Aubin, for you shall hear more, that you may never sayyour cousin deceived you. I refuse to go back to Eugenie to plead yourcause, not alone because I believe it to be both a bad and a hopelessone, but, because I feel that it would be dangerous to my own peace;and migh
t make me unhappy without serving you."
"Ho, ho!" cried D'Aubin, his brow darkening, "is such the case? Then Isee somewhat more clearly how all this may end!"
"I trust you do," replied St. Real; "I trust from my conduct throughlife, and from my conduct now, that you may plainly see what will bethat conduct still."
D'Aubin's lip curled into a cold, unpleasant smile; but his brow didnot relax, and he answered, "What your conduct may be, like all futurethings, must be left to fate; but I shall certainly take means toensure myself against what it seems it might be. I give you goodevening, Huon, for I find it time to bestir myself! Farewell!"
So saying, he turned upon his heel, and left the apartment. At thefoot of the stairs he paused for a moment to speak a few eager wordswith the dwarf Bartholo, and then springing on his horse galloped backto his own abode.