CHAPTER XXV.
The night was dull and rainy; a thick shroud of clouds was drawn overthe sky, so that the summer moon could not look down with any of hersweet smiles upon her wandering companion through the blue fields ofspace; and the air was loaded with a foggy dampness, through whichfell a few drops, increased every now and then to a momentary shower,heavy, but brief. The valley of the Seine was dark and gloomy, and thenight was so obscure, that nothing met the eye of the coachman whodrove the carriage containing Beatrice of Ferrara and her fair friend,except the glistening of the river as it wound along not far from theroad, and the dull and somewhat indistinct line of the highway itself,which, bad and sandy at all times, was now, as we have already said,channelled and cut up by the passage of heavy carts and still heavierartillery.
The second day after their flight from Paris was now drawing to itsclose. Beatrice, from hearing that some of the troops of the Leaguehad been hovering about in the neighbourhood of the Pont de l'Arche,had kept quiet during the latter part of the day, in a farm-house,where they had sought refreshment at noon, for themselves and horses,and was now proceeding as rapidly as possible on the high road,believing that the parties of the Union would not expose themselves tothe sudden and brilliant strokes of so active a commander as HenriQuatre, by following his march too closely during the night. Eugenie,on her part, though habit and distance from her immediate persecutorshad removed part of the load from her mind, was still agitated by manya fear; and her terrors were not a little increased by proceeding inthe darkness over a road, the roughness of which, and the joltsthereby occasioned, precluded all possibility of conversation.Beatrice could but speak a word of comfort every now and then, whichEugenie could scarcely hear, as the carriage ground its way throughthe sand, or rattled over the large uneven stones. Thus had the twofair girls proceeded for nearly two hours, in the darkness, when a cryof, "Who goes there? Stand! Give the word!" brought the carriage to asudden stop, and roused all Eugenie's fears again to the highestpitch. The lackey, who sat beside the coachman, jumped down, and wenton to speak with the soldier who had challenged him; and old Joachim,who sat in the leathern projection at the side not unaptly called theboot, got out, and went on also.
"Oh! Beatrice, what is this?" cried Eugenie, drawing nearer to herfriend in her increasing terror.
"Call me Leonard," replied Beatrice, in a gay tone; "call me Leonard!till I have got off my boy's clothes at least. What is this, do youask, little timid fawn. Why nothing but the outpost of King Henry.They will let us pass in a minute."
At that moment Joachim returned, and approached the side of thecarriage next to Beatrice, saying, "This is his Majesty's outpost,sir, commanded by the Marquis of St. Real; and they demand to examinewho are in the carriage before they let it pass."
"Oh, he will know me directly!" whispered Eugenie to her faircompanion; "I would not have him see me in this garb, Beatrice, forthe world!"
"He will not examine the carriage himself, sweet girl," replied hercompanion in the same low tone; "he will know nothing about it. Someof his ancients or lieutenants have their orders for the night, ofcourse."
"But we cannot go much farther to-night," rejoined Eugenie; "and weshall be to-morrow in the midst of his troops. Oh, Beatrice, do not!If I should be found there, the people would say I had followed him."
"What can we do?" asked her companion with a smile, which the darknessconcealed from the eyes of Eugenie. "Joachim, show the sentry theking's pass; but ask if there be not a road somewhere hereabout whichleads to the little town of Heudbouville. If there be, direct thecoachman thither; for we love not to sleep within the outposts of anarmy, lest the enemy should treat us to an _alerte_. Gain us the goodsentinel's bitter contempt, Joachim, by telling him that we are twocowardly boys, who hold the fire-eating soldiers of the League ingreat terror."
"We have passed the road to Heudbouville some hundred yards or so,"replied the attendant: "but we can easily turn the carriage here, forthere is more room than ordinary;" and having satisfied the outpostthat no evil was intended by the denizens of the carriage, Joachim,the coachman, and the lackey, performed the difficult feat of makingthe ill-constructed vehicle revolve upon its axis, and brought thehorses' heads back again on the way to Paris. The road to the littlevillage which Beatrice had mentioned was soon found, and for about anhour the carriage rolled on, without any further obstruction than wasgiven by stones and ruts, which threatened to scatter the wheels ofthe luckless _chaise-roulante_ to the four winds of heaven, in some ofthe manifold jolts to which it was subjected; but at length thecoachman came to a halt, and seemed consulting with the lackey besidehim, who in turn put back his head to speak to Joachim in the boot.
"What is the matter, Joachim?" demanded Beatrice, perceiving that someimpediment had occurred, and trusting more to her own skill andpresence of mind than to the readiness of her attendants, althoughthey were selected expressly for their shrewdness and promptitude."What is the matter? Why does the coachman stop?"
Ere Joachim could reply, however, there was the sound of gallopinghorse, and the next moment the carriage was surrounded by a number ofcavaliers, whose polished arms, as they rode up with a loud "_Quivive?_" caught and reflected the little light that still existed inthe air.
"_Vive le diable!_" replied Joachim, who was a great deal too wise toanswer seriously till he had ascertained to what party theinterrogators belonged; "_Vive le diable!_ why do you stop two younggentlemen, going to the schools, on the highway? We are neithersoldiers nor robbers, nor anything else that you have aught to dowith."
"Well answered, Joachim!" muttered Beatrice, as she leaned forward toexamine the persons of the horsemen nearest her; but the darkness wastoo complete to suffer the faces of any of them to be distinguishable,or to allow the colours which they wore t? be seen. Beatrice, however,caught a glance of the peculiar cross of the house of Lorraine uponone of the cuirasses, as the fiery horse of the rider pranced by theside of the carriage; and she instantly interposed, exclaiming, "Speakto me a moment, Monseigneur! I am the young Baron de Bigny, son of theMarquis de Bigny at Amiens, and am going with my brother here, theAbb? de Bigny, to La Fleche. I do not know whether you are of theparty of the king or of the Holy League and Union; but I am sure youwill not stop two youths like us, but let us pass quietly."
"But this is not the right way from Amiens to La Fleche, my goodyouth," replied the officer. "How came you thus thirty miles out ofyour road?"
"We came here to get out of the way of the Huguenots," repliedBeatrice; who had now gained a better sight of the cross of Lorraine,which was to be found alone on the side of the League. "We had nearlyfallen into their hands an hour ago; and--but perhaps you are one ofthat party too, Monseigneur; if so, I beg your pardon with all--"
"No, no, I am no _maheutre_," replied the officer; "but, do you know,my good youth, it would not surprise me if you were. Methinks I shouldknow the voice of Auguste de Bigny, seeing I am his first cousin; andso, without more ado, I shall march you up to the village, to see whoyou really are, for I am very sure you are not the person for whom yougive yourself out. Come, coachman, drive on, and we will give you anescort which you did not expect, I rather fancy."
"I went a step too far," whispered Beatrice to Eugenie; "but do notfear, dear Eugenie, I will manage matters yet.--Many thanks, manythanks, Sir Cavalier," she continued aloud. "Drive on as he bids you,Jean Baptiste. I shall soon amuse all the companions of MonsieurFrancois de Bigny by the history of his adventures in the well atHoudlaincourt. How he went to make love to the miller's daughter; andthe miller and his men caught him, and put him in a sack, and let himthree times down into the well, maugre his high rank and gallantbearing, and brought him up, all white and dripping, like a dumplingout of the pot. Ha, ha! Monsieur Francois de Bigny, how will you likethat story told to the _gens d'armes_ over their wine?--I never takethe name of any one I do not know," she said in a low voice toEugenie, while the officer paused irresolute, and spoke a few words toJoachim and the coachman.
"There is many a good tale to be toldagainst that noble cavalier, which I had from Adela de Bigny, hiscousin, and which he will not much relish; and I doubt not he willsend us on to escape laughter; for though he may have found out that Iam not his young cousin Auguste, he must see that I know all hishistory."
What would have been the result of Beatrice's expedient cannot betold; for at the very moment that Monsieur de Bigny was speaking tothe coachman, and inquiring apparently whether the person who knew somuch of his adventure was or was not really his young cousin, thereappeared, upon what seemed--as far as the darkness suffered it to bediscovered,--a sloping field upon the right of the road, a multitudeof small lights in a line of about two hundred yards long.
"Down, down, in the bottom of the carriage!" cried Beatrice, whoappeared to comprehend at once what those small sparks of fire meant;and she instantly crouched down below the seats, dragging Eugenieafter her: "the king's troops are upon them."
As she spoke, a bright flash ran along in the same direction as thelights, and then the loud rattle of musketry, while three or fourballs passed through the upper part of the carriage. Eugenie felt asif she were about to faint; but the moment after there was the soundof charging horse, and the whole space round the carriage became fullof strife and confusion. Little could be seen, except when every nowand then the flash of a pistol showed, for an instant apart of thatstrange and exciting scene, a night skirmish; and it was only by thesounds of blows and shots growing fainter and more faint around, thatBeatrice perceived the Leaguers had been beaten and driven up the roadby the royal forces. "Is any one of our people hurt?" she cried atlength, raising herself, and looking out. "Eugenie, you have notsuffered? Take courage, dear friend. Joachim, Joachim, where areyou--where are the men?"
"Here, madam!" replied Joachim, creeping out from below the carriage."We ensconced ourselves here as soon as we saw the matches blown onthe hill--but what we shall do now, I do not know, for one of thehorses is killed."
"That is unfortunate, indeed!" replied Beatrice; "but see, they arefighting in the village;" and she pointed on to a spot where repeatedflashes of musketry might be seen gleaming between the dark masses ofthe houses and other buildings in what seemed a small town. "HenryQuatre is there himself," she said. "This is one of his daringenterprises--to dislodge the League from his flank as he advances uponRouen, I dare say; but at all events we must wait till the matter issettled one way or another. If he be forced to retreat, we mustretreat with him, Eugenie. If he drive out the Leaguers, the road willbe clear before us. Take heart! take heart, Eugenie!--why I thought Iwas a terrible coward till I saw you."
For about ten minutes possession of the village seemed to be severelycontested; but at the end of that time the firing ceased; the trumpetsmight then be heard blowing a recall; and at the end of half an hourthe sound of a body of horse coming at an easy pace down the road wasdistinguished at the spot where Beatrice and her trembling friend hadremained.
"Ask the commander of the party to stop and speak with me, Joachim,"cried Beatrice; "run on and meet them. Tell them how we were stoppedby the League, and save me explanations."
The man did as he was directed, and the moment after, a cavalier rodeup to the side of the carriage, saying, "your servant says you wish tospeak with me, young gentleman. I command this party. What want youwith me? One of your horses is shot, I see; but, good faith, I cangive you no other; for Ventre Saint Gris! I want more than I have gotof my own."
"On my word, your Majesty must find me one, nevertheless!" answeredBeatrice, boldly. "If you have not forgot Beaumont en Maine, you willunderstand that though an ass served my turn then, I must have a horsenow!"
"Pardie, my friend the page!" cried Henry. "Then you have accomplishedyour bold undertaking."
"True, sire, I have," replied Beatrice, "as far as getting away fromParis; but I had nearly lost all, by my own fault, this very moment,and fallen into the hands of the League. I attempted what I thought a_coup de ma?tre_, and was well nigh taken in my own trap."
"The same misfortune has just befallen the League," replied Henry;"they thought to get upon my flank, and take possession of Louviers,but we have taught them that we do not slumber on such occasions.However, my brave page, you run great risks in going forward on theroad where you now are. We have driven them out of the village, butthey will rally not far behind, for it was too dark to pursue themfar."
"Then we will turn round," replied Beatrice; "and, escorted by kingsand princes, make the best of our way through your Majesty's host,till we can sleep in peace a couple of leagues beyond your outposts."
"The best plan you can follow," replied the king; "we will not ask youeven to pause and refresh yourselves, lest the morals of two suchsimple boys should get corrupted by the license of our camp. Thoughhere is the Marquis of St. Real, within a hundred yards of us, woulddoubtless be willing to receive one or both of you into his quarters."
Eugenie instinctively shrunk back farther into the corner of thecarriage, and the king proceeded; "But we must get you a horse, at allevents. Colonel James, send up some of your arquebusiers to thatfarm-house upon the hill, and see whether in the stables thereof youcan find a horse. As your fire has killed one of the beasts which weredragging these two young gentlemen, it is but fit you should take thetrouble of providing them with another."
The king waited to know if his embassy were successful; and afterhaving seen the soldiers return with a strong cart horse, which wasinstantly harnessed to the carriage, in the place of the dead one, hegave orders for a party of troopers to escort the young wanderers asfar as the Pont de l'Arche; and then, taking his leave, rode ontowards his camp.
When the carriage was once more in motion, Eugenie breathed again; butstill, at every place where it stopped her terrors were renewed, andshe gazed out, with alarm and anxiety, upon the dark figures of thesoldiery, who watched with unsleeping vigilance in the camp of thewarrior monarch, till, at the Pont de l'Arche, which was the advancedpost of the king's army, the horse they had obtained was exchanged foranother, and they rolled on more smoothly towards the little hamlet ofSt. Ouen. The fears of Eugenie de Menancourt were during those momentsof a very varied kind; for with her terrors so strongly roused as theyhad been, she found it impossible to submit them entirely to theinfluence of reason; and yet, strange to say, the thing she dreadedmost, after immediate personal danger was over, was to meet and beknown by the man whom she now felt, she loved more than any otherbeing upon earth. She shrunk from the thought of seeing St. Real inthe garb that she had assumed to escape from the persecution of hiscousin,--she shrunk even from the thought of seeing him, now that aceremony, however vain, illegal, and compulsory, had taken placebetween her and any other; and though she felt, even to pain, how muchshe detested the Count d'Aubin, and how much she loved St. Real, yetit seemed to her as if she had wronged her love for him in not dyingsooner than suffering even the shadow of an engagement to pass betweenherself and another. Thus, it was not till they had passed the extremeoutpost of the royal camp, and were rolling along in the quietdarkness of the night, that she breathed at ease, free from theconstant expectation of seeing the Marquis of St. Real gallop up tothe side of the carriage, and recognise her under her disguise.
At the little village of St. Ouen all the world was sound asleep; andmanifold were the strokes of sword hilts upon the door of the_auberge_, many the shouts up to the unlistening windows, before theinmates could be roused to comprehend that there were strangers on theroad demanding admission. At length, the hostess, half dressed, andscarcely half awake, came scolding down the stairs, extremely angrythat anyone should travel at such unseemly hours; and on her stepssoon followed her husband, a big burly Norman, but shrewd withal, andsufficiently sensible of his own interests to smother all expressionof annoyance, and give his guests the best welcome that he could.
Early the next morning, the carriage was again in motion, but notbefore some of the light troops of the matutinal monarch of Francewere upon the road, and Eugenie was m
ore than once alarmed by theirgazing boldly into the vehicle when the curtains were undrawn, and bytalking to the driver and the servants when the carriage was closed.These parties, however, as they marched but slowly, and the carriagewent fast, were soon passed, and the rest of the journey proceeded aspeaceably as any journey could do in those disturbed and unhappy days.Beatrice of Ferrara, after the experiment at Heudbouville, did notsuffer herself again to be drawn from the route which she had laid outat first for her fair friend, but advanced as rapidly as possibletowards the sea-side, seeing security only in the hope of Henry's armystill interposing between them and the League, and thus preventing allsearch for Eugenie de Menancourt in the direction which she had reallyfollowed.
"At all events, dear Eugenie," she said, as they approached Dieppe,"here, upon the sea-coast, you will always have an opportunity ofescape to England, should need be; and I will take care that ourfriend King Henry shall furnish you with such letters to the queen ofthose bold islanders, as to ensure you protection and assistance. Formy part, you know, Eugenie, after a week or fortnight's rest, I mustleave you, if you can do without me. My destiny, dear girl, has to befulfilled, and I must back to Paris by a different road, both to hidemy having aught to do with your successful flight, and to watch theprogress of all on which my ultimate fate depends."
"Would to Heaven," said Eugenie de Menancourt, "that I could have sucha happy and saving influence on your fate, Beatrice, as you have hadon mine! But I am destined only to be a burden to you, and to relyupon you for everything, without knowing or comprehending the past orthe present, as far as it regards you, without understanding yourmeans, your wishes, or your purposes."
"I will tell you all, dear Eugenie, I will tell you all," repliedBeatrice of Ferrara; "and then, as my daring rashness was necessary togive vigour to your timid nature, your gentle counsel may now perhapstend to moderate and restrain my bold, wild schemes. But wait till wecome to a resting-place, and then in some sweet quiet cottage in greenNormandy, with the soft autumn sun shining upon our door, I will restbeside you for a short time, and drawing you a picture of my waywardfate, will see whether we cannot find means to give it a brightercolouring and a happier hue."
So spake Beatrice of Ferrara; but ere we go on to look into thepicture to which she alluded, we must beg the reader to pause for afew minutes, upon some of those dull details, which in books callingthemselves historical romances serve the mind as bad post-houses on amuch-travelled road--places where, after scampering on for many aleague in pursuit of pleasure, the little traveller is obliged tostop, kicking his heels in impatient irritation till the horses arebrought out, the harness prepared, the postilion has got into hisboots, the lash is put on his whip, and, in short, all is made readyfor carrying on that same little eager traveller, the human mind, oncemore upon his way.
Giving up, then, heroes and heroines, knights and ladies, we musteven follow the progress of that lumbering and uninteresting machinecalled an army, and pause for a while to consider its clumsy andcrocodile-like movements. We have already seen that on the daypreceding Eugenie de Menancourt's escape from Paris, the camp of thebesieging Royalists had broken up; and that the gay and chivalrousHenry Quatre led his meagre and somewhat ill-furnished host down thebright and laughing banks of the Seine, in such a direction that,should need be, he could either march across Normandy, and fall backupon Touraine, or advance at once to the sea-coast, and cover thedisembarkation of his English allies.
We have followed him some way on his march; but it would appear, thatinasmuch as the Royalists had been rather improvident of theirsupplies, and had been found, during the life of Henry III. somewhatunwilling to pay for the good things of this life, with which, atfirst, the peasantry had been very willing to furnish them, a want ofprovisions, both eatable and potable, had made its appearance in thecamps of St. Cloud and Meudon. The jaws of the Royalists had gotunaccustomed to maceration, and their lips to the taste of sweetthings; so that as they took their way through the pleasant littletowns and villages of Poissy, Triel, Meulan, Mantes, and sweetFontenay, they lived very nearly at free quarters amongst theinhabitants, taking care to make the fat of the land through whichthey now passed, compensate for the meagreness of the diet they had solong endured. Nevertheless, as the king and his followers paid wherethey could, promised where they could not pay, and never took toll ofrosy lips, except where there was a smile upon them, the people of thecountry in general gave them a better character when they were gonethan might have been expected; and declared, that, after all, theHuguenots were not so bad as they were called.
In the meantime, as we have already shown, to diversify theseemployments, a little interlude of fighting did now and then takeplace; a town was now and then besieged and taken; and Henry IV. madearrangements for giving the inhabitants of the loyal city of Rouen anentertainment, which brings down the walls of a city more by thedouble-bass of the cannon than by the shrill sound of the trumpet.Pausing a sufficient time before the walls of that town to give andreceive various proofs of amity, which left his own host diminished byseveral hundred men, and the garrison of the town less by perhapsdouble that number, the king received news, which made him judge thatthe situation of his army might be improved by a very rapid change ofair; and consequently without longer hesitation or delay, he struckhis tents, left success to follow, and at once led his troops to thesea-side.
Divining, however, that his enemies would anticipate with greatsatisfaction the moment for driving his scanty forces into the sea, heseemed resolved to disappoint them, if admirable dispositions couldeffect that purpose; and choosing for his troops the strongestposition which he could discover, with their backs to the element andtheir faces inland, he ranged them along the side of a fair andbeautiful hill, on the ridge of which still stands all which Time hasleft of the old and interesting castle of Arques.
Leaving the king and his men, however, thus posted for that battlewhich covered with immortal renown the monarch and his little host, wemust turn for a moment to Paris, in order to investigate whatproceedings had taken place in the capital, and what were the tidingswhich caused the monarch so suddenly to strike the tents he hadpitched before Rouen.