No pitying voice, no eye, affords

One tear to grace his obsequies.--GRAY

Golden sunshine made rubies and sapphires of the fragments of glass

in the windows of Notre-Dame de l'Esperance, and lighted up the

brown face and earnest eyes of the little dark figure, who, with

hands clasped round her knees, sat gazing as if she could never

gaze her fill, upon the sleeping warrior beside whom she sat, his

clear straight profile like a cameo, both in chiseling and in

colour, as it lay on the brown cloak where he slept the profound

sleep of content and of fatigue.

Neither she nor Philip would have spoken or stirred to break that

well-earned rest; but sounds from without were not long in opening

his eyes, and as they met her intent gaze, he smiled and said,

'Good morrow, sweet heart! What, learning how ugly a fellow is

come back to thee?'

'No, indeed! I was trying to trace thine old likeness, and then

wondering how I ever liked thy boyish face better than the noble

look thou bearest now!'

'Ah! when I set out to come to thee, I was a walking rainbow; yet I

was coxcomb enough to think thou wouldst overlook it.'

'Show me those cruel strokes,' she said; 'I see one'--and her

finger traced the seam as poor King Charles had done--'but where is

the one my wicked cousin called by that frightful name?'

'Nay, verily, that sweet name spared my life! A little less spite

at my peach cheek, and I had been sped, and had not lisped and

stammered all my days in honour of le baiser d'Eustacie!' and as

he pushed aside his long golden silk moustache to show the

ineffaceable red and purple scar, he added, smiling, 'It has waited

long for its right remedy.'

At that moment the door in the rood-screen opened. Captain

Falconnet's one eye stared in amazement, and from beneath his gray

moustache thundered forth the word 'Comment!' in accents fit to

wake the dead.

Was this Esperance, the most irreproachable of pastor's daughters

and widows? 'What, Madame, so soon as your good father is under

ground? At least I thought ONE woman could be trusted; but it

seems we must see to the wounded ourselves.'

She blushed, but stood her ground; and Berenger shouted, 'She is my

wife, sir!--my wife whom I have sought so long!'

'That must be as Madame la Duchesse chooses,' said the Captain.

'She is under her charge, and must be sent to her as soon as this

canaille is cleared off. To your rooms, Madame!'

'I am her husband!' again cried Berenger. 'We have been married

sixteen years.'

'You need not talk to me of dowry; Madame la Duchesse will settle

that, if you are fool enough to mean anything by it. No, no,

Mademoiselle, I've no time for folly. Come with me, sir, and see

if that be true which they say of the rogues outside.'

And putting his arm into Berenger's, he fairly carried him off,

discoursing by the way on feu M. l'Amiral's saying that 'over-

strictness in camp was perilous, since a young saint, an old

devil,' but warning him that this was prohibited gear, as he was

responsible for the young woman to Madame la Duchesse. Berenger,

who had never made the Captain hear anything that he did not know

before, looked about for some interpreter whose voice might be more

effectual, but found himself being conducted to the spiral stair of

the church steeple; and suddenly gathering that some new feature in

the case had arisen, followed the old man eagerly up the winding

steps to the little square of leaden roof where the Quinet banner

was planted. It commanded a wide and splendid view, to the Bay of

Biscay on the one hand, and the inland mountains on the other; but

the warder who already stood there pointed silently to the north,

where, on the road by which Berenger had come, was to be seen a

cloud of dust, gilded by the rays of the rising sun.

Who raised it was a matter of no doubt; and Berenger's morning

orisons were paid with folded hands, in silent thanks-giving, as he

watched the sparkling of pikes and gleaming of helmets--and the

white flag of Bourbon at length became visible.

Already the enemy below were sending out scouts--they rode to the

top of the hill--then a messenger swan his horse across the river.

In the camp before the bridge-tower men buzzed out of their tents,

like ants whose hill is disturbed; horses were fastened to the

cannon, tents were struck, and it was plain that the siege was to

be raised.

Captain Falconnet did his ally the honour to consult him on the

expedience of molesting the Guisards by a sally, and trying to take

some of their guns; but Berenger merely bowed to whatever he said,

while he debated aloud the PROS and CONS, and at last decided that

the garrison had been too much reduced for this, and that M. le Duc

would prefer finding them drawn up in good order to receive him, to

their going chasing and plundering disreputable among the enemy--

the Duke being here evidently a much greater personage than the

King of Navarre, hereditary Governor of Guyenne though he were.

Indeed, nothing was wanting to the confusion of Berenger's late

assailants. In the camp on the north side of the river, things

were done with some order; but that on the other side was

absolutely abandoned, and crowds were making in disorder for the

ford, leaving everything behind them, that they might not have

their retreat cut off. Would there be a battle? Falconnet, taking

in with his eye the numbers of the succouring party, thought the

Duke would allow the besiegers to depart unmolested, but remembered

with a sigh that young king had come to meddle in their affair!

However, it was needful to go down and marshal the men for the

reception of the new-comers, or to join in the fight, as the case

might be.

And it was a peaceful entrance that took place some hours later,

and was watched from the windows of the prior's rooms by Eustacie,

her child, and Philip, whom she had been able to install in her own

apartments, which had been vacated by the refugee women in haste to

return home, and where he now sat in Maitre Gardon's great straw

chair, wrapped in his loose gown, and looking out at the northern

gates, thrown open to receive the King and Duke, old Falconnet

presenting the keys to the Duke, the Duke bowing low as he offered

them to the King, and the King waving them back to the Duke and the

Captain. Then they saw Falconnet presenting the tall auxiliary who

had been so valuable to him, his gesture as he pointed up to the

window, and the King's upward look, as he doffed his hat and bowed

low, while Eustacie responded with the most graceful of reverences,

such as reminded Philip that his little sister-in-law and tender

nurse was in truth a great court lady.

Presently Berenger came up-stairs, bringing with him his faithful

foster-brother Osbert, who, though looking gaunt and lean, had

nearly recovered his strength, and had accompanied the army in

hopes of finding his master. The good fellow was full of delight

at the welcome of his lady, and at once bestirred himself in

assisting her in rectifying the confusion in which her guests had

left her apartment.

Matters had not long been set straight when steps were heard on the

stone stair, and, the door opening wide, Captain Falconnet's gruff

voice was heard, 'This way, Monseigneur; this way, Sire.'

This was Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont's first reception. She was

standing at the dark walnut table, fresh starching and crimping

Berenger's solitary ruff, while under her merry superintendence

those constant playfellows, Philip and Rayonette, were washing, or

pretending to wash, radishes in a large wooden bowl, and Berenger

was endeavouring to write his letter of good tidings, to be sent by

special messenger to his grand-father. Philip was in something

very like a Geneva gown; Eustacie wore her prim white cap and

frill, and coarse black serge kirtle; and there was but one chair

besides that one which Philip was desired to retain, only two

three-legged stools and a bench.

Nevertheless, Madame de Ribaumont was equal to the occasion;

nothing could have been more courtly, graceful, or unembarrassed

than her manner of receiving of King's gallant compliments, and of

performing all the courtesies suited to the hostess and queen of

the place: it was the air that would have befitted the stateliest

castle hall, yet that in its simplicity and brightness still more

embellished the old ruinous convent-cell. The King was delighted,

he sat down upon one of the three-legged stools, took Rayonette

upon his knee, undertook to finish washing the radishes, but ate

nearly all he washed, declaring that they put him in mind of his

old hardy days on the mountains of Bearn. He insisted on hearing

all Rayonette's adventure in detail; and on seeing the pearls and

the silver bullet, 'You could scarcely have needed the token, sir,'

said he with a smile to Berenger; 'Mademoiselle had already shown

herself of the true blood of the bravest of knights.'

The tidings of the attack on Pont de Dronne had caused the Duke to

make a forced march to its relief, in which the King had insisted

on joining him; and they now intended to wait at Pont de Dronne

till the rest of the troops came up, and to continue their march

through Guyenne to Nerac, the capital of Henry's county of Foix.

The Duke suggested that if Philip were well enough to move when the

army proceeded, the family might then take him to Quinet, where the

Duchess would be very desirous to see Madame; and therewith they

took leave with some good-humoured mirth as to whether M. le

Ribaumont would join them at supper, or remain in the bosom of his

family, and whether he were to be regarded as a gay bridegroom or a

husband of sixteen year's standing.

'Nay,' said the King, 'did his good Orpheus know how nearly his

Eurydice had slipped through his fingers again? how M. de Quinet

had caught the respectable Pluto yonder in the gray moustache

actually arranging an escort to send the lady safe back to Quinet

bon gre malgre--and truly a deaf Pluto was worse than even

Orpheus had encountered!'

So laughing, he bowed again his compliments; but Eustacie demanded,

so soon as he was gone, what he meant by calling her by such names.

If he thought it was her Christian name, it was over-familiar--if

not, she liked it less.

'It is only that he last saw you in the Infernal Region, ma mie,'

said Berenger; 'and I have sought you ever since, as Orpheus sought

Eurydice.'

But her learning did not extend so far; and when the explanation

was made, she pouted, and owned that she could not bear to be

reminded of the most foolish and uncomfortable scene in her life--

the cause of all her troubles; and as Berenger was telling her of

Diane's confession that her being involved in the pageant was part

of the plot for their detention at Paris, Osbert knocked at the

door, and entered with a bundle in his arms, and the air of having

done the right thing.

'There, sir,' he said with proud satisfaction, 'I have been to the

camp across the river. I heard there were good stuffs to be had

there for nothing, and thought I would see if I could find a coat

for Monsieur Philippe, for his own is a mere ruin.'

This was true, for Eustacie had been deciding that between blood

and rents it had become a hopeless case for renovation; and Osbert

joyfully displayed a beautifully-embroidered coat of soft leather,

which he had purchased for a very small sum of a plunderer who had

been there before him. The camp had been so hastily abandoned that

all the luggage had been left, and, like a true valet, Osbert had

not neglected the opportunity of replenishing his master's

wardrobe. 'And,' said he, 'I saw there on whom M. le Baron knows,

--M. de Nid de Merle.'

'Here!' cried Eustacie, startled for a moment, but her eyes resting

reassured on her husband.

'Madame need not be alarmed,' said Osbert; 'M. le Baron has well

repaid him. Ah! ah! there he lies, a spectacle for all good

Christians to delight in.'

'It was then he, le scelerat?' exclaimed Berenger; 'I have

already thought it possible.'

'And he fell by your hands!' cried Eustacie. 'That is as it should

be.'

'Yes, Madame,' said Osbert; 'it did my very heart good to see him

writhing there like a crushed viper. M. le Baron's bullet was

mortal, and his own people thought him not worth the moving, so

there he lies on the ground howling and cursing. I would have

given him the coup de grace myself, but that I thought M. le

Baron might have some family matters to settle with him; so I only

asked what he thought now of clapping guiltless folk into dungeons,

and shooting innocent children like sparrows; but he grinned and

cursed like a demon, and I left him.'

'In any one's charge?' asked Berenger.

'In the field's, who is coming for him,' said the descendant of the

Norseman. 'I only told Humfrey that if he saw any one likely to

meddle he should tell them he was reserved for you. Eh! M. le

Baron is not going now. Supper is about to be served, and if M. le

Baron would let me array him with this ruff of Spanish point, and

wax the ends of his belle moustache---'

'It is late,' added Eustacie, laying her hand on his arm; 'there

may be wild men about--he may be desperate! Oh, take care!'

'Ma mie, do you not think me capable of guarding myself from a

wild cat leap of a dying man? He must not be left thus. Remember

he is a Ribaumont.'

Vindictiveness and revenge had their part in the fire of Eustacie's

nature. Many a time had she longed to strangle Narcisse; and she

was on the point of saying, 'Think of his attempts on that little

one's life--think of your wounds and captivity;' but she had not

spent three years with Isaac Gardon without learning that there was

sin in giving way to her keen hatred; and she forced herself to

silence, while Berenger said, reading her face, 'Keep it back,

sweet heart! Make it not harder for me. I would as soon go near a

dying serpent, but it were barbarity to leave him as Osbert

describes.'

Berenger was too supremely and triumphantly happy not to be full of

mercy; and as Osbert guided him to the hut where the miserable man

lay, he felt little but compassion. The scene was worse than he

had expected; for not only had the attendants fled, but plunderers

had come in their room, rent away the coverings from the bed, and

torn the dying man from it. Livid, nearly naked, covered with

blood, his fingers hacked, and ears torn for the sake of the jewels

on them, lay the dainty and effeminate tiger-fop of former days,

moaning and scarcely sensible. But when the mattress had been

replaced, and Berenger had lifted him back to it, laid a cloak over

him, and moistened his lips, he opened his eyes, but only to

exclaim, 'You there! As if I had not enough to mock me! Away!' and

closed them sullenly.

'I would try to relieve you, cousin,' said Berenger.

The answer was a savage malediction on hypocrisy, and the words,

'And my sister?'

'Your sister is in all honour and purity at the nunnery of Lucon.'

He laughed a horrible, incredulous laugh. 'Safely disposed of ere

you cajoled la petite with the fable of your faithfulness!

Nothing like a Huguenot for lying to both sides;' and then ensued

another burst of imprecations on the delay that had prevented him

from seizing the fugitives--till be--till be felt as if the breath

of hell were upon him, and could not help vindicating himself, vain

though he knew it to be: 'Narcisse de Ribaumont,' he said gravely,

'my word has never been broken, and you know the keeping of it has

not been without cost. On that word believe that Madame de

Selinville is as spotless a matron as when she periled herself to

save my life. I never even knew her sex till I had drawn her half

drowned from the sea, and after that I only saw her in the presence

of Dom Colombeau of Nissard, in whose care I left her.'

Narcisse's features contorted themselves into a frightful sneer as

he muttered, 'The intolerable fool; and that he should have got the

better of me, that is if it be true--and I believe not a word of

it.'

'At least,' said Berenger, 'waste not these last hours on hating

and reviling me, but let this fellow of mine, who is a very fair

surgeon, bind your wound again.'

'Eh!' said Narcisse, spitefully, turning his head, 'your own rogue?

Let me see what work he made of le baiser d'Eustacie. Pray, how

does it please her?'

'She thanks Heaven that your chief care was to spoil my face.'

'I hear she is a prime doctress; but of course you brought her not

hither lest she should hear HOW you got out of our keeping.'

'She knows it.'

'Ah! she has been long enough at court to know one must overlook,

that one's own little matters may be overlooked.'

Berenger burst out at last, 'Her I will not hear blasphemed: the

next word against her I leave you to yourself.'

'That is all I want,' said Narcisse. 'These cares of yours are

only douceurs to your conceited heretical conscience, and a

lengthening out of this miserable affair. You would scoff at the

only real service you could render me.'

'And that is---'

'To fetch a priest. Ha! ha! one of your sort would sooner hang me.

You had rather see me perish body and soul in this Huguenot dog-

hole! What! do you stammer? Bring a psalm-singing heretic here,

and I'll teach him and you what you MAY call blasphemy.'

'A priest you shall have, cousin,' said Berenger, gravely; 'I will

do my utmost to bring you one. Meanwhile, strive to bring yourself

into a state in which he may benefit you.'

Berenger was resolved that the promise should be kept. He saw that

despair was hardening the wretched man's heart, and that the

possibility of fulfilling his Church's rites might lead him to

address himself to repentance; but the difficulties were great.

Osbert, the only Catholic at hand, was disposed to continue his

vengeance beyond the grave, and only at his master's express

command would even exercise his skill to endeavour to preserve life

till the confessor could be brought. Ordinary Huguenots would

regard the desire of Narcisse as a wicked superstition, and

Berenger could only hurry back to consult some of the gentlemen who

might be supposed more unprejudiced.

As he was crossing the quadrangle at full speed, he almost ran

against the King of Navarre, who was pacing up and down reading

letters, and who replied to his hasty apologies by saying he looked

as if the fair Eurydice had slipped through his hands again into

the Inferno.

'Not so, Sire, but there is one too near those gates. Nid de Merle

is lying at the point of death, calling for a priest.'

'Ventre Saint-Gris!' exclaimed the King, 'he is the very demon of

the piece, who carved your face, stole your wife, and had nearly

shot your daughter.'

'The more need of his repentance, Sire, and without a priest he

will not try to repent. I have promised him one.'

'A bold promise!' said Henry. 'Have you thought how our good

friends here are likely to receive a priest of Baal into the camp?'

'No, Sire, but my best must be done. I pray you counsel me.'

Henry laughed at the simple confidence of the request, but replied,

'The readiest way to obtain a priest will be to ride with a flag of

truce to the enemy's camp--they are at St. Esme--and say that M. de

Nid de Merle is a prisoner and dying, and that I offer safe-conduct

to any priest that will come to him--though whether a red-hot

Calvinist will respect my safe-conduct or your escort is another

matter.'

'At least, Sire, you sanction my making this request?'

'Have you men enough to take with you to guard you from marauders?'

'I have but two servants, Sire, and I have left them with the

wounded man.'

'Then I will send with you half a dozen Gascons, who have been long

enough at Paris with me to have no scruples.'

By the time Berenger had explained matters to his wife and brother,

and snatched a hasty meal, a party of gay, soldierly-looking

fellows were in the saddle, commanded by a bronzed sergeant who was

perfectly at home in conducting messages between contending

parties. After a dark ride of about five miles, the camp at the

village of St. Esme was reached, and this person recommended that

he himself should go forward with a trumpet, since M. de Ribaumont

was liable to be claimed as an escaped prisoner. There was then a

tedious delay, but at length the soldier returned, and another

horseman with him. A priest who had come to the camp in search of

M. de Nid de Merle was willing to trust himself to the King of

Navarre's safe-conduct.

'Thanks, sir,' cried Berenger; 'this is a work of true charity.'

'I think I know that voice,' said the priest.

'The priest of Nissard!'

'Even so, sir. I was seeking M. de Nid de Merle, and had but just

learnt that he had been left behind wounded.'

'You came to tell him of his sister?'

And as they rode together the priest related to Berenger that M. de

Solivet had remained in the same crushed, humiliated mood, not

exactly penitent, but too much disappointed and overpowered with

shame to heed what became of her provided she were not taken back

to her brother or her aunt. She knew that repentance alone was

left for her, and permitted herself to be taken to Lucon, where

Mere Monique was the only person whom she had ever respected.

There had no doubt been germs of good within her, but the crime and

intrigue of the siren court of Catherine de Medicis had choked

them; and the first sense of better things had been awakened by the

frank simplicity of the young cousin, while, nevertheless, jealousy

and family tactics had led her to aid in his destruction, only to

learn through her remorse how much she loved him. And when in his

captivity she thought him in her power, but found him beyond her

reach, unhallowed as was her passion, yet still the contemplation

of the virtues of one beloved could not fail to raise her standard.

It was for his truth and purity that she had loved him, even while

striving to degrade these quantities; and when he came forth from

her ordeal unscathed, her worship of him might for a time be more

intense, but when the idol was removed, the excellence she had

first learnt to adore in him might yet lead that adoration up to

the source of all excellence. All she sought NOW was shelter

wherein to weep and cower unseen; but the priest believed that her

tears would soon spring from profound depths of penitence such as

often concluded the lives of the gay ladies of France. Mere

Monique had received her tenderly, and the good priest had gone

from Lucon to announce her fate to her aunt and brother.

At Bellaise he had found the Abbess much scandalized. She had

connived at her niece's releasing the prisoner, for she had

acquired too much regard for him to let him perish under Narcisse's

hands, and she had allowed Veronique to personate Diane at the

funeral mass, and also purposely detained Narcisse to prevent the

detection of the escape; but the discovery that her niece had

accompanied his flight had filled her with shame and furry.

Pursuit had been made towards La Rochelle, but when the

neighbourhood of the King of Navarre became known, no doubt was

entertained that the fugitives had joined him, and Narcisse,

reserving his vengeance for the family honour till he should

encounter Berenger, had hotly resumed the intention of pouncing on

Eustacie at Pont de Dronne, which had been decided on upon the

report of the Italian spy, and only deferred by his father's death.

This once done, Berenger's own supposed infidelity would have

forced him to acquiesce in the annulment of the original marriage.

It had been a horrible gulf, and Berenger shuddered as one who had

barely struggled to the shore, and found his dear ones safe, and

his enemies shattered and helpless on the strand. They hurried on

so as to be in time. The priest, a brave and cautious man, who had

often before carried the rites of the Church to dying men in the

midst of the enemy, was in a secular dress, and when Berenger had

given the password, and obtained admittance they separated, and

only met again to cross the bridge. They found Osbert and Humfrey

on guard, saying that the sufferer still lingered, occasionally in

a terrible paroxysm of bodily anguish, but usually silent, except

when he upbraided Osbert with his master's breach of promise or

incapacity to bring a priest through his Huguenot friends.

Such a taunt was on his tongue when Pere Colombeau entered, and

checked the scoff by saying, 'See, my son, you have met with more

pardon and mercy even on earth than you had imagined possible.'

There was a strange spasm on Narcisse's ghastly face, as though he

almost regretted the obligation forced on him, but Berenger

scarcely saw him again. It was needful for the security of the

priest and the tranquillity of the religious rites that he should

keep watch outside, lest any of the more fanatical of the Huguenots

should deem it their duty to break in on what they had worked

themselves into believing offensive idolatry.

His watch did not prove uncalled for. At different times he had to

plead the King's safe-conduct, and his own honour, and even to

defend his own Protestantism by appealing to his wounds and

services. Hearts were not soft enough then for the cruelty of

disturbing a dying man to be any argument at all in that fierce

camp; but even there the name of Pere Colombeau met with respect.

The saintly priest had protected too many enemies for any one who

had heard of him to wish him ill.

Nearly all night was Berenger thus forced to remain on guard, that

the sole hope of Narcisse's repentance and salvation might not be

swept away by violence from without, renewing bitterness within.

Not till towards morning was he called back. The hard, lingering

death struggle had spent itself, and slow convulsive gasps showed

that life was nearly gone; but the satanic sneer had passed away,

and a hand held out, a breathing like the word 'pardon' seemed to

be half uttered, and was answered from the bottom of Berenger's

kind and pitying heart. Another quarter of an hour, and Narcisse

de Ribaumont Nid de Merle was dead. The priest looked pale,

exhausted, shocked, but would reveal nothing of the frame of mind

he had shown, only that if he had been touched by any saving

penitence, it was owing to his kinsman.

Berenger wished to send the corpse to rest in the family vault at

Bellaise, where the Chevalier had so lately been laid; and the

priest undertook to send persons with a flag of truce to provide

for the transport, as well as to announce the death to the sister

and the aunt. Wearied as he was, he would not accept Berenger's

earnest invitation to come and take rest and refreshment in the

prior's rooms, but took leave of him at the further side of the

fortress, with almost reverent blessings, as to one not far from

the kingdom of heaven; and Berenger, with infinite peacefulness in

his heart, went home in the silence of the Sunday morning, and lay

sleeping away his long fatigue through the chief part of the day,

while Pastor Merlin was preaching and eloquent sermon upon his good

brother Isaac Gardon, and Eustacie shed filial tears, more of

tenderness than sorrow.




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