But at that moment De Loignac, at the head of the first body of guards, cried, brandishing his large sword, "Vive le Roi!"
"Vive le Roi!" replied enthusiastically all the Forty-five, with their Gascon accent. The d.u.c.h.ess grew pale and sank down almost fainting.
Mayneville, somber, but resolute, drew his sword, not knowing but what the house was to be attacked. The cortege advanced, and had reached Bel-Esbat. Borromee came a little forward, and as De Loignac rode straight up to him, he immediately saw that all was lost, and determined on his part.
"Room for the king!" cried De Loignac. Gorenflot, delighted with the scene, extended his powerful arm and blessed the king from his balcony.
Henri saw him, and bowed smilingly, and at this mark of favor Gorenflot gave out a "Vive le Roi!" with his stentorian voice. The rest, however, remained mute: they expected a different result from their two months"
training. But Borromee, feeling certain from the absence of the d.u.c.h.ess"s troops of the fate of the enterprise, knew that to hesitate a moment was to be ruined, and he answered with a "Vive le Roi!" almost as sonorous as Gorenflot"s. Then all the rest took it up.
"Thanks, reverend father, thanks," cried Henri; and then he pa.s.sed the convent, where his course was to have terminated, like a whirlwind of fire, noise, and glory, leaving behind him Bel-Esbat in obscurity.
From her balcony, hidden by the golden scutcheon, behind which she was kneeling, the d.u.c.h.ess saw and examined each face on which the light of the torches fell.
"Oh!" cried she, "look, Mayneville! That young man, my brother"s messenger, is in the king"s service! We are lost!"
"We must fly immediately, madame, now the Valois is conqueror."
"We have been betrayed; it must have been by that young man, he must have known all."
The king had already, with all his escort, entered the Porte St.
Antoine, which had opened before him and shut behind him.
CHAPTER XLIII.
HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS II. FOR HAVING INVENTED POSTING, AND RESOLVED TO PROFIT BY IT.
Chicot, to whom our readers will now permit us to return, after his last adventure, went on as rapidly as possible. Between the duke and him would now exist a mortal struggle, which would end only with life.
Mayenne, wounded in his body, and still more grievously in his self-love, would never forgive him. Skillful in all mimicry, Chicot now pretended to be a great lord, as he had before imitated a good bourgeois, and thus never prince was served with more zeal than M.
Chicot, when he had sold Ernanton"s horse and had talked for a quarter of an hour with the postmaster. Chicot, once in the saddle, was determined not to stop until he reached a place of safety, and he went as quickly as constant fresh relays of horses could manage. He himself seemed made of iron, and, at the end of sixty leagues, accomplished in twenty hours, to feel no fatigue. When, thanks to this rapidity, in three days he reached Bordeaux, he thought he might take breath. A man can think while he gallops, and Chicot thought much. What kind of prince was he about to find in that strange Henri, whom some thought a fool, others a coward, and all a renegade without firmness. But Chicot"s opinion was rather different to that of the rest of the world; and he was clever at divining what lay below the surface. Henri of Navarre was to him an enigma, although an unsolved one. But to know that he was an enigma was to have found out much. Chicot knew more than others, by knowing, like the old Grecian sage, that he knew nothing. Therefore, where most people would have gone to speak freely, and with their hearts on their lips, Chicot felt that he must proceed cautiously and with carefully-guarded words. All this was impressed on his mind by his natural penetration, and also by the aspect of the country through which he was pa.s.sing. Once within the limits of the little princ.i.p.ality of Navarre, a country whose poverty was proverbial in France, Chicot, to his great astonishment, ceased to see the impress of that misery which showed itself in every house and on every face in the finest provinces of that fertile France which he had just left. The woodcutter who pa.s.sed along, with his arm leaning on the yoke of his favorite ox, the girl with short petticoats and quiet steps, carrying water on her head, the old man humming a song of his youthful days, the tame bird who warbled in his cage, or pecked at his plentiful supply of food, the brown, thin, but healthy children playing about the roads, all said in a language clear and intelligible to Chicot, "See, we are happy here."
Often he heard the sound of heavy wheels, and then saw coming along the wagon of the vintages, full of casks and of children with red faces.
Sometimes an arquebuse from behind a hedge, or vines, or fig-trees, made him tremble for fear of an ambush, but it always turned out to be a hunter, followed by his great dogs, traversing the plain, plentiful in hares, to reach the mountain, equally full of partridges and heathc.o.c.ks.
Although the season was advanced, and Chicot had left Paris full of fog and h.o.a.r-frost, it was here warm and fine. The great trees, which had not yet entirely lost their leaves, which, indeed, in the south they never lose entirely, threw deep shadows from their reddening tops.
The Bearnais peasants, their caps over one ear, rode about on the little cheap horses of the country, which seem indefatigable, go twenty leagues at a stretch, and, never combed, never covered, give themselves a shake at the end of their journey, and go to graze on the first tuft of heath, their only and sufficing repast.
"Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "I have never seen Gascony so rich. I confess the letter weighs on my mind, although I have translated it into Latin. However, I have never heard that Henriot, as Charles IX. called him, knew Latin; so I will give him a free French translation."
Chicot inquired, and was told that the king was at Nerac. He turned to the left to reach this place, and found the road full of people returning from the market at Condom. He learned, for Chicot, careful in answering the questions of others, was a great questioner himself, that the king of Navarre led a very joyous life, and was always changing from one love to another.
He formed the acquaintance of a young Catholic priest, a sheep-owner, and an officer, who had joined company on the road, and were traveling together. This chance a.s.sociation seemed to him to represent Navarre, learned, commercial, and military.
The officer recounted to him several sonnets which had been made on the loves of the king and the beautiful La Fosseuse, daughter of Rene de Montmorency, baron de Fosseux.
"Oh!" said Chicot; "in Paris, we believe that the king is mad about Mlle. de Rebours."
"Oh! that is at Pau."
"What! has the king a mistress in every town?"
"Very likely; I know that he was the lover of Mlle. de Dayelle, while I was in garrison at Castelnaudry."
"Oh! Mlle. Dayelle, a Greek, was she not?"
"Yes," said the priest; "a Cyprian."
"I am from Agen," said the merchant; "and I know that when the king was there he made love to Mlle. de Tignonville."
"Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "he is a universal lover. But to return to Mlle. Dayelle; I knew her family."
"She was jealous and was always threatening; she had a pretty little poniard, which she used to keep on her work-table, and one day, the king went away and carried the poniard with him, saying that he did not wish any misfortune to happen to his successor."
"And Mlle. de Rebours?"
"Oh! they quarreled."
"Then La Fosseuse is the last?"
"Oh! mon Dieu! yes; the king is mad about her."
"But what does the queen say?"
"She carries her griefs to the foot of the crucifix," said the priest.
"Besides," said the officer, "she is ignorant of all these things."
"That is not possible," said Chicot.
"Why so?"
"Because Nerac is not so large that it is easy to hide things there."
"As for that, there is a park there containing avenues more than 3,000 feet long of cypresses, plane trees, and magnificent sycamores, and the shade is so thick it is almost dark in broad daylight. Think what it must be at night."
"And then the queen is much occupied."
"Occupied?"
"Yes."
"With whom, pray?"
"With G.o.d, monsieur," said the priest.
"With G.o.d?"