Nay, said Sir Francis; whoever called him too clownish for court spake with design.
The brief sentence added to Berengers confused sense of being in a mist of false play. Could his kinsman be bent on keeping him from court? Could Narcisse be jealous of him? Mademoiselle de Ribaumont was evidently inclined to seek him, and her cousin might easily think her lands safer in his absence. He would have been willing to hold aloof as much as his uncle and cousin could wish, save for an angry dislike to being duped and cajoled; and, moreover, a strong curiosity to hear and see more of that little passionate bird, fresh from the convent cage. Her gesture and her eyes irresistibly carried him back to old times, though whether to an angry blackbird in the yew-tree alleys at Leurre, or to the eager face that had warned him to save his father, he could not remember with any distinctness. At any rate, he was surprised to find himself thinking so little in comparison about the splendid beauty and winning manners of his discarded spouse, though he quite believed that, now her captive was beyond her grasp, she was disposed to catch at him again, and try to retain him, or, as his titillated vanity might whisper, his personal graces might make her regret the family resolution which she had obeyed.
CHAPTER VI. FOULLY COZENED
I was the more deceived.HAMLET
The unhappy Charles IX. had a disposition that in good hands might have achieved great nobleness; and though cruelly bound and trained to evil, was no sooner allowed to follow its natural bent than it reached out eagerly towards excellence. At this moment, it was his mothers policy to appear to leave the ascendancy to the Huguenot party, and he was therefore allowed to contract friendships which deceived the intended victims the more completely, because his admiration and attachment were spontaneous and sincere. Philip Sidneys varied accomplishment and pure lofty character greatly attracted the young King, who had leant on his arm conversing during great part of the ball, and the next morning sent a royal messenger to invite the two young gentlemen to a part at pall-mall in the Tuileries gardens.
Pall-mall was either croquet or its nearest relative, and was so much the fashion that games were given in order to keep up political influence, perhaps, because the freedom of a garden pastime among groves and bowers afforded opportunities for those seductive arts on which Queen Catherine placed so much dependence. The formal gardens, with their squares of level turf and clipped alleys, afforded excellent scope both for players and spectators, and numerous games had been set on foot, from all of which, however, Berenger contrived to exclude himself, in his restless determination to find out the little Demoiselle de Nid-de-Merle, or, at least, to discover whether any intercourse in early youth accounted for his undefined sense of remembrance.
He interrogated the first disengaged person he could find, but it was only the young Abbe de Mericour, who had been newly brought up from Dauphine by his elder brother to solicit a benefice, and who knew nobody. To him ladies were only bright phantoms such as his books had taught him to regard like the temptations of St. Anthony, but whom he actually saw treated with as free admiration by the ecclesiastic as by the layman.
Suddenly a clamour of voices arose on the other side of the closely-clipped wall of limes by which the two youths were walking. There were the clear tones of a young maiden expostulating in indignant distress, and the bantering, indolent determination of a male annoyer.
Hark! exclaimed Berenger; this must be seen to.
Have a care, returned Mericour; I have heard that a man needs look twice are meddling.
Scarcely hearing, Berenger strode on as he had done at the last village wake, when he had rescued Cis of the Down from the impertinence of a Dorchester scrivener. It was a like case, he saw, when breaking through the arch of clipped limed he beheld the little Demoiselle de Nid-de-Merle, driven into a corner and standing at bay, with glowing cheeks, flashing eyes, and hands clasped over her breast, while a young man, dressed in the extreme of foppery, was assuring her that she was the only lady who had not granted him a tokenthat he could not allow such pensionnaire airs, and that now he had caught her he would have his revenge, and win her rose-coloured break-knot. Another gentleman stood by, laughing, and keeping guard in the walk that led to the more frequented part of the gardens.
Hold! thundered Berenger.
The assailant had just mastered the poor girls hand, but she took advantage of his surprise to wrench it away and gather herself up as for a spring, but the Abbe in dismay, the attendant in anger, cried out, Stayit is Monsieur.
Monsieur; be he who he may, exclaimed Berenger, no honest man can see a lady insulted.
Are you mad? It is Monsieur the Duke of Anjou, said Mericour, pouncing on his arm.
Shall we have him to the guardhouse? added the attendant, coming up on the other side; but Henri de Valois waved them both back, and burst into a derisive laugh. No, no; do you not see who it is? Monsieur the English Baron still holds the end of the halter. His sale is not yet made. Come away, DO, he will soon have enough on his hands without us. Farewell, fair lady, another time you will be free of your jealous giant.
So saying, the Duke of Anjou strolled off, feigning indifference and contempt, and scarcely heeding that he had been traversed in one of the malicious adventures which he delighted to recount in public before the discomfited victim herself, often with shameful exaggeration.
The girl clasped her hands over her brow with a gesture of dismay, and cried, Oh! if you have only not touched your sword.
Let me have the honour of reconducting you, Mademoiselle, said Berenger, offering his hand; but after the first sigh of relief, a tempestuous access seized her. She seemed about to dash away his hand, her bosom swelled with resentment, and with a voice striving for dignity, though choked with strangled tears, she exclaimed, No, indeed! Had not M. le Baron forsaken me, I had never been thus treated! and her eyes flashed through their moisture.
Eustacie! You are Eutacie!
Whom would you have me to be otherwise? I have the honour to wish M. le Baron a good morning.
Eustacie! Stay! Hear me! It concerns my honour. I see it is youbut whom have I seen? Who was she? he cried, half wild with dismay and confusion. Was it Diane?
You have seen and danced with Diane de Ribaumont, answered Eustacie, still coldly; but what of that? Let me go, Monsieur; you have cast me off already.
I! when all this has been of your own seeking?
Mine? cried Eustacie, panting with the struggle between her dignity and her passionate tears. I meddled not. I heard that M. le Baron was gone to a strange land, and had written to break off old ties. Her face was in a flame, and her efforts for composure absolute pain.
I! again exclaimed Berenger. The first letter came from your uncle, declaring that it was your wish! And as her face changed rapidly, Then it was not true! He has not had your consent?
What! would I hold to one who despised mewho came here and never even asked to see this hated spouse!
I did! I entreated to see you. I would not sign the application tillOh, there has been treachery! And have they made you too sign it!
When they showed me your name they were welcome to mine.
Berenger struck his forehead with wrath and perplexity, then cried, joyfully, It will not stand for moment. So foul a cheat can be at once exposed. Eutacie, you knowyou understand, that it was not you but Diane whom I saw and detested; and no wonder, when she was acting such a cruel treason!
I did! I entreated to see you. I would not sign the application tillOh, there has been treachery! And have they made you too sign it!
When they showed me your name they were welcome to mine.
Berenger struck his forehead with wrath and perplexity, then cried, joyfully, It will not stand for moment. So foul a cheat can be at once exposed. Eutacie, you knowyou understand, that it was not you but Diane whom I saw and detested; and no wonder, when she was acting such a cruel treason!
Oh no, Diane would never so treat me, cried Eustacie. I see how it was! You did not know that my father was latterly called Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, and when they brought me here, they WOULD call me after him: they said a maid of honour must be Demoiselle, and my uncle said there was only one way in which I could remain Madame de Ribaumont! And the name must have deceived you. Thou wast always a great dull boy, she added, with a sudden assumption of childish intimacy that annihilated the nine years since their parting.
Had I seen thee, I had not mistaken for an instant. This little face stirred my heart; hers repelled me. And she deceived me wittingly, Eustacie, for I asked after her by name.
Ah, she wished to spare my embarrassment. And then her brother must have dealt with her.
I see, exclaimed Berenger, I am to be palmed off thus that thou mayest be reserved for Narcisse. Tell me, Eustacie, wast thou willing?
I hate Narcisse! she cried. But oh, I am lingering too long. Monsieur will make some hateful tale! I never fell into his way before, my Queen and Madame la Comtesse are so careful. Only to-day, as I was attending her alone, the King came and gave her his arm, and I had to drop behind. I must find her; I shall be missed, she added, in sudden alarm. Oh, what will they say?
No blame for being with thy husband, he answered, clasping her hand. Thou art mine henceforth. I will soon cut our way out of the web thy treacherous kindred have woven. Meantime
Hush! There are voices, cried Eustacie in terror, and, guided by something he could not discern, she fled with the swiftness of a bird down the alley. Following, with the utmost speed that might not bear the appearance of pursuit, he found that on coming to the turn she had moderated her pace, and was more tranquilly advancing to a bevy of ladies, who sat perched on the stone steps like great butterflies sunning themselves, watching the game, and receiving the attentions of their cavaliers. He saw her absorbed into the group, and then began to prowl round it, in the alleys, in a tumult of amazement and indignation. He had been shamefully deceived and cheated, and justice he would have! He had been deprived of a thing of his own, and he would assert his right. He had been made to injure and disown the creature he was bound to protect, and he must console her and compensate to her, were it only to redeem his honour. He never even thought whether he loved her; he merely felt furious at the wrong he had suffered and been made to commit, and hotly bent on recovering what belonged to him. He might even have plunged down among the ladies and claimed her as his wife, if the young Abbe de Mericour, who was two years older than he, and far less of a boy for his years, had not joined him in his agitated walk. He then learnt that all the court knew that the daughter of the late Marquis de Nid-de-Merle, Comte de Ribaumont, was called by his chief title, but that her marriage to himself had been forgotten by some and unknown to others, and thus that the first error between the cousins had not been wonderful in a stranger, since the Chevaliers daughter had always been Mdlle. de Ribaumont. The error once made, Berengers distaste to Diane had been so convenient that it had been carefully encouraged, and the desire to keep him at a distance from court and throw him into the background was accounted for. The Abbe was almost as indignant as Berenger, and assured him both of his sympathy and his discretion.
I see no need for discretion, said Berenger. I shall claim my wife in the face of the sun.
Take counsel first, I entreat, exclaimed Mericour. The Ribaumonts have much influence with the Guise family, and now you have offended Monsieur.
Ah! Where are those traitorous kinsmen? cried Berenger.
Fortunately all are gone on an expedition with the Queen-mother. You will have time to think. I have heard my brother say no one ever prospered who offended the meanest follower of the house of Lorraine.
I do not want prosperity, I only want my wife. I hope I shall never see Paris and its deceivers again.
Ah! But is it true that you have applied to have the marriage annulled at Rome?
We were both shamefully deceivers. That can be nothing.
A decree of his Holiness: you a Huguenot; she an heiress. All is against you. My friend, be cautions, exclaimed the young ecclesiastic, alarmed by his passionate gestures. To break forth now and be accused of brawling in the palace precincts would be fatalfatalmost fatal!
I am as calm as possible, returned Berenger. I mean to act most reasonably. I shall stand before the King and tell him openly how I have been tamperes with, demanding my wife before the whole court.
Long before you could get so far the ushers would have dragged you away for brawling, or for maligning an honour-able gentlemen. You would have to finish your speech in the Bastille, and it would be well if even your English friends could get you out alive.
Why, what a place is this! began Berenger; but again Mericour entreated him to curb himself; and his English education had taught him to credit the house of Guide with so much mysterious power and wickedness, that he allowed himself to be silenced, and promised to take no open measures till he had consulted the Ambassador.
He could not obtain another glimpse of Eustacie, and the hours passed tardily till the break up of the party. Charles could scarcely release Sidney from his side, and only let him go on condition that he should join the next day in an expedition to the hunting chateau of Montpipeau, to which the King seemed to look forward as a great holiday and breathing time.
When at length the two youths did return, Sir Francis Walsingham was completely surprised by the usually tractable, well-behaved stripling, whose praises he had been writing to his old friend, bursting in on him with the outcry, Sir, sir, I entreat your counsel! I have been foully cozened.
Of how much? said Sir Francis, in a tone of reprobation.
Of my wife. Of mine honour. Sir, your Excellency, I crave pardon, if I spoke too hotly, said Berenger, collecting himself; but it is enough to drive a man to frenzy.
Sit down, my Lord de Ribaumont. Take breath, and let me know what is this coil. What hath thus moved him, Mr. Sidney?
It is as he says, sir, replied Sidney, who had beard all as they returned; he has been greatly wronged. The Chevalier de Ribaumont not only writ to propose the separation without the ladys knowledge, but imposed his own daughter on our friend as the wife he had not seen since infancy.
There, sir, broke forth Berenger; surely if I claim mine own in the face of day, no man can withhold her from me!
Hold! said Sir Francis. What mean this passion, young sir? Methought you came hither convinced that both the religion and the habits in which the young lady had been bred up rendered your infantine contract most unsuitable. What hath fallen out to make this change in your mind?
That I was cheated, sir. The lady who palmed herself off on me as my wife was a mere impostor, the Chevaliers own daughter!