The Huguenot Part 14

"I only formed it this morning," replied the Count. "But you have promised me a whole month, Louis, and you shall give it me when you find it most pleasant to yourself."

"Well, I shall linger on here for a few days," replied the Chevalier, "if the governor will feed and lodge me; and then, when I have seen all the bright things that are done by the states, I will come and join you at Morseiul."

Thus ended the discussion which followed the young Count's announcement. No further conversation took place between him and Clemence, who devoted her whole attention, during the rest of the evening, either to the Chevalier, the Duc de Melcourt, or the young Marquis de Hericourt. The hour for Albert de Morseiul's departure was announced as immediately after breakfast on the following day; but Clemence de Marly did not appear that morning at the table, for the first time since his arrival at Poitiers. When the hour was come, and his horses were prepared, he took leave of the rest of the party, and with many painful emotions at his heart quitted the saloon, the Duke and the Chevalier, with one or two others, accompanying him to the top of the stairs. At that moment, however, as he was about to descend, Clemence appeared as if going into the saloon. She was somewhat paler than usual; but her manner was the same as ever.

"So, Monsieur de Morseiul," she said, "you are going! I wish you a happy journey;" and thus treating him like a mere common acquaintance, she bowed her head and entered the saloon.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DISCOVERY.

Two days after the departure of the Count de Morseiul, the states of the province were opened in form; but neither with the states nor with their proceedings shall we have any thing to do, and will merely notice an event which occurred on the eve of their meeting.

On the day preceding, a vast number of gentlemen from all parts of the province had flocked into the city. The house of the governor was again filled to the very doors, and though the formal opening of the states was deferred till the succeeding day, they nominally commenced their a.s.sembly on the day after the Count's departure. The colleagues, Pelisson and St. Helie, had separated after their arrival in Poitiers, the former having gone to the bishop's palace, where he busied himself in his usual occupation at this time, namely, in diffusing large sums of money through the province by different channels, for the purpose of bribing all persons who might be found weak or wavering in the Protestant faith to abandon their religion, and profess themselves Catholics. St. Helie had remained at the house of the governor, following occupations more suited to his genius, that of watching every thing that was done, of gaining information concerning the views and feelings of all persons likely to be present at the a.s.sembly of the states, and of endeavouring to form a party for his own purposes amidst the more fierce, intolerant, and bigoted of the influential Catholics of the province.

The Duke de Rouvre could not avoid showing this personage every sort of civility, for, indeed, such was the King's command; but at the same time he could not conceal from himself that the Abbe was a spy upon his actions, and was intended to be a check upon his conduct, and, as may well be supposed under such circ.u.mstances, he was not particularly pleased with his guest.

On the day preceding the regular opening of the states, then, after some of the preliminary formalities had been gone through, the Duc de Rouvre, while conversing in his saloon with twelve or fourteen of the princ.i.p.al Roman Catholic gentry, who had come to visit him as if by accident, but in reality by a previous arrangement with others, was not agreeably surprised to see the Abbe de St. Helie, followed by Pelisson and the Cure of Guadrieul, enter the room in somewhat a formal manner, and advance towards him with a face of business. He bowed low, however, as it was the first time he had seen the Abbe that morning, greeted Pelisson somewhat more warmly, and suffered the third personage of the party to walk up in bull-like sullenness with nothing but a formal inclination of the head.

"It is time, my Lord," said the Abbe de St. Helie, "to fulfil the order of the King, and to open in your presence the commission with which he has entrusted us, of the nature of which we are ourselves in some sort ignorant up to this moment."

"I thought, gentlemen," said the Duke, "that you informed me the commission was not to be opened till after the opening of the states."

"No, my Lord," replied the Abbe, "I said, till after the meeting of the states, which were convened to meet to-day."

"Well then, gentlemen," said the Duke, "I will give you my attention in a few minutes. You see I am at present occupied with friends, but in half an hour I shall be prepared to receive you in my cabinet upon any business that may remain to be transacted between us."

"I see no reason, my Lord," replied the Abbe, "why the commission should not be opened before the gentlemen here present, all of whom are sincere Christians, and zealous supporters of the true faith."

"No earthly reason whatever," replied the Duke sharply, "except that I choose to do my own business in my own way, in my own house, and in my own government."

"I am sorry to suggest any alterations in your Lords.h.i.+p's plans,"

replied the Abbe with a cool sneer, "but I have authority for what I am doing. The King's express directions are to open the commission in presence of your Lords.h.i.+p, _and other competent witnesses_."

"Oh, if such be the case," said the Duke, much mortified, "there could be no witnesses more competent, and none perhaps better prepared than the present. Pray open your commission, gentlemen. My good sirs, take your seats round this table. Let us give the matter, if possible, some air of regularity. Without there! Send for my secretary. We will wait till he comes, if you please, Monsieur de St. Helie. What splendid weather this is, gentlemen. We have not had one wet day for nearly two months, and yet a gentle rain every morning."

The persons present ranged themselves round the table, the Cure de Guadrieul produced the leathern bag which contained the commission, and laid it down heavily before him, and as soon as the Duke's secretary appeared, a large knot upon the leathern strings of the bag was cut with a penknife, and the whole packet handed to the Abbe de St. Helie, who had placed himself at the governor's right hand.

Opening the mouth of the bag, then, the Abbe took forth a large parchment packet, sealed up at both ends with the royal arms of France. The governor asked to look at the superscription, and finding it addressed in the usual terms to the Abbe St. Helie and Pelisson, he gave it back to the former, who with an important countenance and slow formality began to break the seals.

Two or three paper covers were within in order to keep the precious doc.u.ment secure, and one by one the Abbe unfolded them, till he came to the last, which was also sealed, but which was much smaller than the size of the outer parcel had given reason to expect. He broke the seal himself, however, and produced the contents, when, to the astonishment of every body, and the merriment of the younger persons present, there appeared nothing but a pack of cards.

The Duc de Rouvre looked on dryly, not a smile curled his countenance, and he said, gazing at the Abbe de St. Helie, who sat in stupified silence,--

"I admire the sagacity and propriety with which it has been judged necessary to appoint witnesses for the opening of this commission,--or of this game, perhaps I ought to say, Monsieur de St. Helie.

Gentlemen, I trust that you are perfectly satisfied; but I must ask you whether it be necessary to direct my secretary to take a proces verbal of the contents, import, and extent of the Abbe's commission?"

In the mean time Pelisson had reached across, and taken up the papers which had surrounded the cards. He examined them minutely and long; but at length replied to the Duke's sneer by saying,--

"Perhaps it may be more necessary, my Lord, than you imagine. It seems to me from the appearance of these papers that the packet has been opened before. There is a slight tear in the parchment, which tear is evidently not new."

"You must look to that yourselves, gentlemen," said the Duc de Rouvre, seriously angry; "the commission has been in your charge and custody, and in that of no one else. You best know whether you have opened it before the time or not. Secretary, as these gentlemen demand it, make a note that we have this day seen opened by the Abbe de St. Helie in our presence a packet addressed to him and Monsieur de Pelisson, purporting to be a commission for certain purposes addressed to them by his Most Christian Majesty; and that on the said packet being so opened, there has been found in it nothing but a pack of cards, not in the most cleanly condition."

"Pray let him add," said Pelisson, "that I have declared my opinion, from the appearance of the papers, that the said packet had been previously opened."

"Let that also be noted," said the Duke; "but it must be noted also that Monsieur de Pelisson did not make that observation till after the packet had been opened, and the cards discovered, that the seals were unbroken, and the leathern bag entire; and now, gentlemen," he continued, "after having interrupted my conversation with these n.o.ble gentlemen here present to witness the opening of a pack of cards--which may indeed be the commencement of a game that I don't understand--perhaps you will excuse me for rising and resuming our more agreeable occupation."

Pelisson bowed his head, calm and undisturbed; the Abbe de St. Helie looked stupified, mortified, and angry beyond all measure; and the dull priest of Guadrieul, upon whom the eyes of both of his superiors were turned from time to time with an expression of no very doubtful import, looked swallowed up in stolid fear and astonishment. The governor and his guests in general had risen and scattered themselves about the room, and after speaking to the Abbe de St. Helie for a few moments, Pelisson advanced, and took his leave in a few words, saying, that of course it was their duty to inform the King of what had occurred, and that therefore they must proceed to write quickly before the ordinary set out.

The governor bowed stiffly, and merely replied that he himself could not think of troubling the King upon a trifle of such minor importance, and therefore left them to make their communication in their own terms. The three then retired, and the rest of the party soon after separated; but the worthy governor had not been left half an hour alone before he received a billet from the bishop, requesting an audience, which was immediately granted. He came, accompanied by Pelisson and the Cure de Guadrieul, who remained without while the archbishop and his companion held a previous conference with the governor. The Cure was then called in, and remained some time with them. He was then sent out again to the ante-chamber, then recalled, and nearly two hours pa.s.sed in what was apparently an unpleasant discussion, for at the end of that time when the governor returned to the saloon from his own cabinet, Clemence de Marly, the d.u.c.h.ess, and the Chevalier d'Evran, all remarked that he was very much agitated and heated.

In a minute or two afterwards his secretary followed him into the room with a note, apparently just written, in his hand, and asked if that would do.

The governor read the note, and replied, "Yes! Send it off directly,"

he said. "Bid the messenger give my very best regards to the Count de Morseiul! Lay the strictest injunctions upon him also not to stop this night till he has overtaken the Count. If the Count be in bed when he reaches the place where he is, he need not of course disturb him till the morning.--But bid him say every thing that is kind from me."

Clemence de Marly rose, and with a winning grace that was more natural to her than the capricious pride she sometimes a.s.sumed, walked up to the Duke, glided her arm through his, and drew the old n.o.bleman into one of the deep windows. She spoke with him for several minutes earnestly, and he replied as if endeavouring to parry by a jest some question he did not choose to answer.

"Nay, nay," she was heard to say at length, "my dear guardian, you _shall_ tell me, and you know that Clemence is more absolute than the King."

"We will talk about it to-morrow, Clemence," replied the Duke, "and perhaps I may tell you; but you shall make your confession in return, fair lady."

She blushed a little and turned away, and thus the conversation ended.

CHAPTER X.

THE RECALL.

Albert of Morseiul rode on his way with a heart ill at case. The excitement of the preceding night was gone, and the la.s.situde that succeeded it was like the weakness after a fever. It seemed to him that the last cheerful hours of life were over, and the rest was all to be strife and anguish; that the last of all the sweet dreams, with which hope and youth deck the future, were done and pa.s.sed away, and nothing but the stern grey reality was left. It is hard and sorrowful to make up the mind to any parting, and tenfold hard and sorrowful to make up the mind to our parting with the sweet promising fancies of our early days, to put ourselves under a harsher guide for ever, and follow with him a rugged and a cheerless path, when before we had been treading on sweet suns.h.i.+ny flowers. In general, it is true, the wise beneficence of Heaven has provided that we should not part with all at once, but that the visions and the dreams, like the many gay companions of our boyhood, should either be abandoned for others, or drop away from our side, one by one, till all are gone, and we hardly mark which is the last. But there are times when all are s.n.a.t.c.hed away together, or, as in the case of Albert of Morseiul, when the last that is taken is the brightest and the best, and the parting is clear, defined, and terrible.

Bitter, bitter, then, were his feelings as he rode away from Poitiers, and made up his mind that the last dream of youth was over, that the nourished vision of long years was dissipated, that the bubble was burst, and that all was gone; that she who, half ideal, half real, had been that object round which both memory and imagination had clung as the something splendid for the future, was not what he had dreamt of, and even if she were, could never, never be his; and that at length that theme of thought was gone from him for ever. That moment and that spot seemed to form the parting place, where youth, imagination, and happiness were left behind, and care, reality, and anxiety started forward with latter life.

Though, as we have endeavoured on more than one occasion to show, the Count de Morseiul was a man of strong imagination and of deep and intense feelings, yet he possessed qualities of other kinds, which served to counterbalance and to rule those dangerous gifts, not, indeed, preventing them from having their effect upon himself, paining, grieving, and wearing him, but sufficient to prevent imagination from clouding his judgment, or strong feeling from warping his conduct from the stern path which judgment dictated. He applied himself then to examine distinctly what were the probabilities of the future, and what was the line of conduct that it became him to pursue.

He doubted not, indeed he felt strongly convinced, that Clemence de Marly would ultimately give her hand to the Chevalier d'Evran, to his friend and companion. He believed that, for the time, some accidental circ.u.mstance might have alienated them from each other, and that, perhaps on both sides, any warmer and more eager pa.s.sion that they once had felt, might have been a little cooled; but still he doubted not, from all he saw, that Clemence would yet be his friend's bride, and the first part of his own task was to prepare his mind to bear that event with calmness, and firmness, and dignity, whenever it should happen. As his thoughts reverted, however, to the situation of his fellow Huguenots, and the probable fate that awaited them, he saw a prospect of relief from the agony of his own personal feelings in the strife that was likely to ensue from their persecution; and perhaps he drew a hope even from the prospect of an early grave.

With such thoughts struggling in his breast, and with all the varied emotions which the imagination of the reader may well supply, Albert of Morseiul rode on till he reached the house appointed for his second resting place. Every thing had been prepared for his reception, and all the external appliances were ready to insure comfort, so that there was not even any little bodily want or irritation to withdraw his attention from the gloomy pictures presented by his own thoughts.

With a tact in such matters which was peculiarly his own, Jerome Riquet took especial care that the dinner set before his master should be of the very simplest kind, and instead of crowding the room with servants, as he had done on a former occasion, he, who on the journey acted the part of major domo, waited upon the Count at table alone, only suffering another servant to carry in and remove the dishes. He had taken the precaution of bringing with him some wine from Poitiers, which he had induced the sommelier of the archbishop to pilfer from the best bin in his master's cellar, and he now endeavoured to seduce his master, whose deep depression he had seen and deplored during their journey, into taking more of the fragrant juice than usual, not, indeed, by saying one word upon the subject, but by filling his gla.s.s whenever he saw it empty.

Now Jerome Riquet would have given the tip of one of his ears to have been made quite sure of what was the chief cause of the Count's anxiety. That he was anxious about the state of the Protestant cause the valet well knew; that he was in some degree moved by feelings of love towards Clemence de Marly, Riquet very easily divined. But Jerome Riquet was, as we have before said on more than one occasion, shrewd and intelligent, and in nothing more so than in matters where the heart was concerned. It is true he had never been in the room five times when Clemence and his master were together, but there are such things in the world wherein we live as half open doors, c.h.i.n.ks, key-holes, and garret windows; and in the arts and mysteries of all these, Jerome Riquet was a most decided proficient. He had thus seen quite enough to make him feel very sure, that whatever might be Clemence de Marly's feelings towards others, her feelings towards his master were not by any means unfavourable; and after much speculation he had arranged in his own mind--from a knowledge of the somewhat chivalrous generosity in his master's character--that he and the Chevalier d'Evran were in love with the same person, and that the Count, even with the greater probability of success, had abandoned the pursuit of his pa.s.sion, rather than become the rival of his friend.

Riquet wished much to be a.s.sured of this fact, however; and to know whether it was really and truly the proximate cause of the melancholy he beheld, or whether there was some deeper and more powerful motive still, concealed from those eyes which he thought were privileged to pry into every secret of his master. Thus, after dinner was over, and the dessert was put upon the table--though he had wisely forborne up to that moment to do, to say, or to allow any thing that could disturb the train of the Count's thoughts--he could resist no longer, and again quickly filled up his young lord's gla.s.s as he saw it empty.