For The Admiral Part 22

"I thank you, my lord, for your kind words," I stammered, blus.h.i.+ng crimson with pride, for to hear my father thus honoured was far sweeter than any praise of myself could have been.

And a day or two later Roch.e.l.le was ringing with his name. Men lauded his courage and prowess, speaking of him almost as if he were our beloved leader himself.

Heading a body of troops in the early morning, he had sallied forth, destroyed a big gun, and driven the besiegers pell-mell from the trenches. Anjou had scowled angrily, but King Charles was reported to have declared it a most brilliant feat of arms.

It was a proud day for all of us, but our joy was shortly changed to mourning. Coligny, with most of his attendants, had left Roch.e.l.le for Saintes; the rest of us, with two hundred troopers, were to depart the next day. I had spent the evening at home, and accompanied by Felix had returned to the hotel.

"Is that you, Le Blanc?" cried one of my comrades. "What means this treasonable correspondence with the enemy?" and he handed me a sealed packet.

"For me?" I exclaimed, taking it in surprise. "Where does it come from?"

"Ah," said he, laughing merrily, "that is a nice question to ask! One of Monseigneur's rascals brought it under a flag of truce to the officer at the gate, and he sent it here. I should have put you under arrest, and forwarded the correspondence to the Admiral."

I looked at the letter curiously, and with a vague feeling of uneasiness. It bore my name, but the handwriting was unfamiliar. "One of Anjou's troopers!" I muttered.

I walked slowly away, still accompanied by Felix and carrying the packet in my hand. I had no idea of the sender, nor of the contents, yet strangely enough, when we reached our room, my fingers trembled so much that I could hardly break the seal.

"What is it?" asked Felix anxiously. "What do you fear?"

"Nothing," I replied with a forced laugh; "I am foolish; that is all."

Yes, there was my name in crabbed letters; I glanced from it to the foot of the page: the letter was signed, "Renaud L'Estang."

"L'Estang!" I muttered, "L'Estang! Why, that is the name of my adventurer. Of course he is with Anjou; but why should he write to me?

Perhaps 'tis to thank me again, or to tell me something about Cordel!

Ah, yes, that would be it. He must have gathered some fresh information concerning the rascally lawyer!"

I gave a deep sigh of relief, yet studiously avoided what he had written. But this was childish folly! Courage! What had I to fear?

Cordel had already done his worst. We had lost our estates--it mattered little who gained them.

"Monsieur, you once did me a priceless service. I have never forgotten--shall never forget----"--"Just as I thought," I remarked aloud, "the poor fellow still feels under an obligation to me!"--"Believe me, monsieur, it is with poignant grief I write this brief note."--"Ah," I continued, "he has discovered some fresh villainy.

Well, well, it is of little consequence."--"I have been with Monseigneur at St. Jean d'Angely----"

"D'Angely!" I cried; "Felix, he has been at the siege. Read it, my friend, my eyes swim, I cannot see the letters, they all run into one another."--"Your father was the bravest."--"Oh, Felix, Felix, do you understand? How can I tell them? How can I comfort them? And I must ride away in the morning and leave them to their grief! Read it to me slowly, dear friend, while I try to think."

CHAPTER XIII

A Daring Enterprise

After the lapse of many years, I close my eyes, and leaning back in my chair listen again to my comrade as with tremulous voice he reads the fatal letter.--"Monsieur, you once did me a priceless service. I have never forgotten--shall never forget. Believe me, monsieur, it is with poignant grief I write this brief note. I have been with Monseigneur at St. Jean d'Angely throughout the siege. Your father was the bravest man among our enemies. His wonderful skill and courage have gained the admiration of friend and foe alike. The king spoke of his bravery with the highest praise: Monseigneur has declared openly that the Sieur Le Blanc alone stood between him and the capture of the town. He has indeed proved himself one of the finest soldiers in France; but, alas!

monsieur, the Sieur Le Blanc is no more. He fell not an hour ago at the head of his men, in a brilliant sortie. Remembering your kindness to me, my heart bleeds for you. I write this with the deepest sorrow, but it may be less painful for you to learn of your loss in this way than to be tortured by a rumour, the truth of which you cannot prove. Accept my heartfelt sympathy."

"My father is dead, Felix," I said in a dazed manner.

"He fought a good fight," replied my comrade. "His memory will live in the hearts of our people."

This might be true, but the knowledge did little to soften my grief. And I was thinking not of my father alone--after all he had died a hero's death--but of my mother and sister. How could I tell them this mournful news? How could I comfort them?

"Felix," I said, "we are going away to-morrow."

"You must stay here," he said firmly, "at least for a few days. I will inform our patron; he is not likely to leave Saintes for a week. Shall I come home with you, or do you prefer to be alone?"

"I will go alone, Felix; it will be better for them. I will join you at Saintes. Good-bye, dear friend."

"Tell your mother and sister how deeply I sympathize with them," he said. "I would come with you, but, as you say, perhaps it is better not."

"I think they will prefer to be alone," I answered, grasping his hand in farewell.

I went out into the deserted street, walking unsteadily, and hardly conscious of anything beyond my one absorbing sorrow. I reached the house at last, and in answer to my summons a servant opened the door.

No, the ladies had not retired; they were still downstairs.

Perhaps my face betrayed the miserable truth; perhaps some chord of sympathy pa.s.sed from me to them--I know not. They jumped up and came forward with a sudden fear in their eyes. I had already bidden them farewell, and they did not expect to see me again, until I rode from the city in the morning.

My mother gazed at me earnestly, but said nothing; Jeanne cried impulsively, "What is it, Edmond? There is bad news! Oh, Edmond, is it about our father?"

"You must be brave," I said gently, taking a hand of each, "very brave.

Yes, I have received bad news from St. Jean d'Angely. There has been a fierce fight; our father headed a sortie, and has been seriously hurt.

He was the bravest man there, every one says so from the king downwards.

Even his enemies praise him."

"Edmond," said my mother quietly, "we are strong enough to bear the truth--is your father dead?"

Words were not needed to answer that question; the answer was plain in my face, and those two dear ones understood. Oh, it was pitiful to see their white faces, and the misery in their eyes! And yet I could feel a pride, too, in their wonderful bravery. They wept silently in each; other's arms, and presently my mother said softly, "It is G.o.d's will; let us pray to Him for strength to bear our loss."

I stayed with them for four days, being I believe of some comfort in that sorrowful time, and then my mother herself suggested that I should return to my duty.

"You belong to the Cause, my son," she said, "and not to us. It is a heavy trial to let you go, but your father would have wished it. Perhaps the good G.o.d, in His mercy, may guard you through all dangers, and we may meet again. But, if not, we are in' His hands. Tell Felix we thank him for his kind message."

"Roger, too, will grieve for our loss," I said. "He admired my father greatly."

The Englishmen had accompanied the Admiral, so that Roger had left Roch.e.l.le when the news arrived.

Early on the morning fixed for my departure I wished my mother and sister good-bye, and returned to the hotel. Coligny was still at Saintes, and I waited for a letter that the commandant had requested me to deliver to him. I had gone into the courtyard to see about my horse when a man, riding in, exclaimed, "Oh, I am in time, monsieur; I feared you had gone."

"Jacques!" I cried with delight, "surely you have taken a long while to travel from Montcontour to Roch.e.l.le! And yet you have a good beast!"

"As good an animal as ever carried saddle!" said Jacques, eyeing his horse complacently; "but then I have not owned it long."

"Have you been to the house?"

"Yes, monsieur," and his face became grave, "it was madame who told me where to find you. She said you were about to rejoin the army."

He did not speak of my loss, though it was plain he had heard the news, and indeed several days pa.s.sed before the subject was mentioned between us. Jacques had been brought up in my father's service, and he was unwilling to talk about the death of his loved master.