Osbert alone was to go to the Louvre with him, after having seen

the five English grooms on board the little decked market-vessel on

the Seine, which was to await the fugitives. Berenger was to

present himself in the palace as in his ordinary court attendance,

and, contriving to elude notice among the throng who were there

lodged, was to take up his station at the foot of the stairs

leading to the apartments of ladies, whence Eustacie was to descend

at about eleven o'clock, with her maid Veronique. Landry Osbert

was to join them from the lackey's hall below, where he had a

friend, and the connivance of the porter at the postern opening

towards the Seine had been secured.

Sidney wished much to accompany him to the palace, if his presence

could be any aid or protection, but on consideration it was decided

that his being at the Louvre was likely to attract notice to

Ribaumont's delaying there. The two young men therefore shook

hands and parted, as youths who trusted that they had begun a

lifelong friendship, with mutual promises to write to one another--

the one, the adventures of his flight; the other, the astonishment

it would excite. And auguries were exchanged of merry meetings in

London, and of the admiration the lovely little wife would excite

at Queen Elizabeth's court.

Then, with an embrace such as English friends then gave, they

separated at the gate; and Sidney stood watching, as Berenger

walked free and bold down the street, his sword at his side, his

cloak over one shoulder, his feathered cap on one side, showing his

bright curling hair, a sunshiny picture of a victorious bridegroom-

-such a picture as sent Philip Sidney's wits back to Arcadia.

It was not a day of special state, but the palace was greatly

crowded. The Huguenots were in an excited mood, inclined to rally

round Henry of Navarre, whose royal title made him be looked on as

is a manner their monarch, though his kingdom had been swallowed by

Spain, and he was no more than a French duke distantly related to

royalty in the male line, and more nearly through his grandmother

and bride. The eight hundred gentlemen he had brought with him

swarmed about his apartments, making their lodging on staircases

and in passages; and to Berenger it seemed as if the King's guards

and Monsieur's gentlemen must have come in in equal numbers to

balance them. Narcisse was there, and Berenger kept cautiously

amid his Huguenot acquaintance, resolved not to have a quarrel

thrust on him which he could not honourably desert. It was late

before he could work his way to the young Queen's reception-room,

where he found Eustacie. She looked almost as white as at the

masque; but there was a graver, less childish expression in her

face than he had ever seen before, and her eyes glanced confidence

when they met his.

Behind the Queen's chair a few words could be spoken.

'Ma mie, art thou well again? Canst bear this journey now?'

'Quite well, now! quite ready. Oh that we may never have masques

in England!'

He smiled--'Never such as this!'

'Ah! thou knowest best. I am glad I am thine already; I am so

silly, thou wouldest never have chosen me! But thou wilt teach me,

and I will strive to be very good! And oh! let me but give one

farewell to Diane.'

'It is too hard to deny thee aught to-night, sweetheart, but judge

for thyself. Think of the perils, and decide.'

Before Eustacie could answer, a rough voice came near, the King

making noisy sport with the Count de Rochefoucauld and others. He

was louder and ruder than Berenger had ever yet seen him, almost

giving the notion of intoxication; but neither he nor his brother

Henry ever tasted wine, though both had a strange pleasure in being

present at the orgies of their companions: the King, it was

generally said, from love of the self-forgetfulness of excitement--

the Duke of Anjou, because his cool brain there collected men's

secrets to serve afterwards for his spiteful diversion.

Berenger would willingly have escaped notice, but his bright face

and sunny hair always made him conspicuous, and the King suddenly

strode up to him: 'You here, sir? I thought you would have managed

your affairs so as to be gone long ago!' then before Berenger could

reply, 'However, since here you are, come along with me to my

bedchamber! We are to have a carouse there to-night that will ring

through all Paris! Yes, and shake Rochefoucauld out of his bed at

midnight! You will be one of us, Ribaumont? I command it!'

And without waiting for reply he turned away with an arm round

Rochefoucauld's neck, and boisterously addressed another of the

company, almost as wildly as if he were in the mood that Scots call

'fey.'

'Royalty seems determined to frustrate our plans,' said Berenger,

as soon as the King was out of hearing.

'But you will not go! His comrades drink till--oh! two, three in

the morning. We should never get away.'

'No, I must risk his displeasure. We shall soon be beyond his

reach. But at least I may make his invitation a reason for

remaining in the Louvre. People are departing! Soon wilt thou be

my own.'

'As soon as the Queen's COUCHER is over! I have but to change to a

traveling dress.'

'At the foot of the winding stair. Sweetest be brave!'

'I fear nothing with thee to guard me. See, the Queen is rising.'

Elizabeth was in effect rising to make her respectful progress to

the rooms of the Queen-mother, to bid her good night; and Eustacie

must follow. Would Diane be there? Oh that the command to judge

between her heart and her caution had not been given! Cruel

kindness!

Diane was there, straight as a poplar, cold as marble, with fixed

eyes. Eustacie stole up to her, and touched her. She turned with

a start. 'Cousin, you have been very good to me!' Diane started

again, as if stung. You will love me still, whatever you hear?'

'Is this meant for farewell?' said Diane, grasping her wrist.

'Do not ask me, Diane. I may not.'

'Where there is no trust there is no treason,' said Diane,

dreamily. 'No, answer me not, little one, there will be time for

that another day. Where is he?'

'In the oeil-de-boeuf, between the King's and Queen's suites of

rooms. I must go. There is the Queen going. Diane, one loving

word.'

'Silly child, you shall have plenty another time,' said Diane,

breaking away. 'Follow thy Queen now!'

Catherine, who sat between her daughters Claude and Marguerite,

looked pre-occupied, and summarily dismissed her daughter-in-law,

Elizabeth, whom Eustacie was obliged to follow to her own state-

room. There all the forms of the COUCHER were tediously gone

through; every pin had its own ceremony, and even when her Majesty

was safely deposited under her blue satin coverlet the ladies still

stood round till she felt disposed to fall asleep. Elisabeth was

both a sleepy and a considerate person, so that this was not so

protracted a vigil as was sometimes exacted by the more wakeful

princesses; but Eustacie could not escape from it till it was

already almost midnight, the period for her tryst.

Her heart was very full. It was not the usual flutter and terror

of an eloping girl. Eustacie was a fearless little being, and her

conscience had no alarms; her affections were wholly with Berenger,

and her transient glimpses of him had been as of something come out

of a region higher, tenderer, stronger, purer, more trustworthy

than that where she had dwelt. She was proud of belonging to him.

She had felt upheld by the consciousness through years of waiting,

and now he more than realized her hopes, and she could have wept

for exulting joy. Yet it was a strange, stealthy break with all

she had to leave behind. The light to which he belonged seemed

strange, chill, dazzling light, and she shivered at the thought of

it, as if the new world, new ideas, and new requirements could only

be endured with him to shield her and help her on. And withal,

there seemed to her a shudder over the whole place on that night.

The King's eyes looked wild and startled, the Queen-mother's calm

was strained, the Duchess of Lorraine was evidently in a state of

strong nervous excitement; there were strange sounds, strange

people moving about, a weight on everything, as if they were under

the shadow of a thunder-cloud. 'Could it be only her own fancy?'

she said to herself, because this was to be the great event of her

life, for surely all these great people could not know or heed that

little Eustacie de Ribaumont was to make her escape that night!

The trains of royalty were not sumptuously lodged. France never

has cared so much for comfort as for display. The waiting-lady of

the bedchamber slept in the ante-room of her mistress; the others,

however high their rank, were closely herded together up a winding

stair leading to a small passage, with tiny, cell-like recesses,

wherein the demoiselles slept, often with their maids, and then

dressed themselves in the space afforded by the passage.

Eustacie's cell was nearly at the end of the gallery, and

exchanging 'good-nights' with her companions, she proceeded to her

recess, where she expected to find Veronique ready to adjust her

dress. Veronique, however, was missing; but anxious to lose no

time, she had taken off her delicate white satin farthingale to

change it for an unobtrusive dark woolen kirtle, when, to her

surprise and dismay, a loud creaking, growling sound made itself

heard outside the door at the other end. Half-a-dozen heads came

out of their cells; half-a-dozen voices asked and answered the

question, 'What is it?' 'They are bolting our door outside.' But

only Eustacie sped like lightning along the passage, pulled at the

door, and cried, 'Open! Open, I say!' No answer, but the other

bolt creaked.

'You mistake, CONCIERGE! We are never bolted in! My maid is shut

out.'

No answer, but the step retreated. Eustacie clasped her hands with

a cry that she could hardly have repressed, but which she regretted

the next moment.

Gabrielle de Limeuil laughed. 'What, Mademoiselle, are you afraid

they will not let us out to-morrow?'

'My maid!' murmured Eustacie, recollecting that she must give a

colour to her distress.

'Ah! perhaps she will summon old Pierre to open for us.'

This suggestion somewhat consoled Eustacie, and she stood intently

listening for Veronique's step, wishing that her companions would

hold their peace; but the adventure amused them, and they discussed

whether it were a blunder of the CONCIERGE, or a piece of prudery

of Madame la Comtesse, or, after all, a precaution. The palace so

full of strange people, who could say what might happen? And there

was a talk of a conspiracy of the Huguenots. At any rate, every

one was too much frightened to go to sleep, and, some sitting on

the floor, some on a chest, some on a bed, the girls huddled

together in Gabrielle de Limeuil's recess, the nearest to the door,

and one after another related horrible tales of blood, murder, and

vengeance--then, alas! Only too frequent occurrences in their

unhappy land--each bringing some frightful contribution from her

own province, each enhancing upon the last-told story, and ever and

anon pausing with bated breath at some fancied sound, or supposed

start of one of the others; then clinging close together, and

renewing the ghastly anecdote, at first in a hushed voice that grew

louder with the interest of the story. Eustacie alone would not

join the cluster. Her cloak round her shoulders, she stood with

her back against the door, ready to profit by the slightest

indication outside of a step that might lead to her release, or at

least enable her to communicate with Veronique; longing ardently

that her companions would go to bed, yet unable to avoid listening

with the like dreadful fascination to each of the terrible

histories, which added each moment to the nervous horror of the

whole party. Only one, a dull and composed girl, felt the

influence of weariness, and dozed with her head in her companion's

lap; but she was awakened by one general shudder and suppressed cry

when the hoarse clang of a bell struck on the ears of the already

terrified, excited maidens.

'The tocsin! The bell of St. Germain! Fire! No, a Huguenot

rising! Fire! Oh, let us out! Let us out! The window! Where is

the fire? Nowhere! See the lights! Hark, that was a shot! It

was in the palace! A heretic rising! Ah! there was to be a

slaughter of the heretics! I heard it whispered. Oh, let us out!

Open the door!'

But nobody heard: nobody opened. There was one who stood without

word or cry, close to the door--her eyes dilated, her cheek

colourless, her whole person, soul and body alike, concentrated in

that one impulse to spring forward the first moment the bolt should

be drawn. But still the door remained fast shut!




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