The Chevalier d'Auriac Part 24

'But the Rue Varenne was too distant a land to journey to? Come,'

she added as I began to protest, 'give me your arm and take me there'--she indicated the upper end of the room--'the crush is not so great there. It is frightful here. M. d'Ayen will, I know, excuse me.'

Here d'Ayen, who stood glaring at me and biting at the red feathers in his hat which he held in his hand, interposed:

'I was in hopes that Madame would give me the pleasure,' he began.

'Another day, perhaps, baron,' I cut in rudely enough. 'I trust,' I added in a kinder tone, 'that your arm does not incommode you?'

'It will heal soon,' he said in a thick voice, and turned away abruptly.

'He is very angry,' Madame said, following him with her eyes.

'That will heal too, I hope. This way is easiest, I think,' and I moved onwards with my charge, still, however, keeping an eye on the door of the cabinet.

'Do you know,' I said a moment or so later, 'I am indebted to an unknown friend for finding out you were here?'

'Indeed!' she replied seriously enough, though her eyes were smiling; 'perhaps I ought not to tell you, but I saw you and told Coiffier to let you know I was here.'

'Coiffier, the astrologer!'

'Yes--do you not see him there? He is a brother of Pantin, and devoted to my house; a strange man though, and at times I almost fear him.'

I looked in the direction she indicated, and saw a tall man, dressed like any ordinary cavalier of the court, except for his cloak, which was of extreme length, and fell almost to his heels. He, however, wore no sword, but held in his hand a small rod of ebony, with a golden ball at the end. This was the celebrated astrologer Coiffier, who had foretold the death of Henry III., and who, it is said, never died, but was taken away bodily by the Evil One. How far this is true I know not, but it was common report when he disappeared for ever.

'He is much unlike Pantin,' I remarked; 'no one would take them for brothers.'

'And yet they are--and Pantin always says he is the younger, too.'

And now, as we made our way slowly towards the upper end of the room, I began to get tongue-tied, and Madame, too, said nothing. Finally, I blurted out, 'I am to see the King in a few minutes.'

She looked down and half-whispered, 'G.o.d give you success.'

'Amen!' I echoed to her prayer.

And then, in a way that people have when their hearts are full of grave things, we began to talk of matters light as air.

'The King is late to-day,' Madame said, glancing at the still closed door of the cabinet, near which a curious crowd had gathered; 'perhaps the cinque-pace will not come off,' she ran on, 'Monsieur de Guiche told me that the King was to open it with Mademoiselle d'Entragues. Do you not see her there? That lovely, black-eyed girl, talking to half-a-dozen people at once.'

'Is she so very beautiful?'

'What a question to ask! I do not see a woman in the room to compare with her.'

'To my mind her profile is too hard.'

'Indeed!' Madame's face, with its soft though clear outlines, was half turned from me as she spoke. 'I suppose, then, you do not care for her--a man never thinks with a woman in the matter of beauty. But I did think you would admire Mademoiselle.'

'Why should I, even supposing she was beautiful? To my mind there are two kinds of beauty.'

And here I was interrupted by the sound of cheering from the Pet.i.te Galerie, and the sudden hush that fell on the room. As we moved down to see for whom the crush was parting on either side, we discovered that it was the Marshal himself, and close at his heels were Lafin, with his sinister smile, and a dozen gentlemen, amongst whom I observed the grim figure of Adam de Gomeron. Madame saw the free-lance, too, and then turned her eyes to mine. She read the unspoken question in my look, her eyes met mine, and through her half-parted lips a low whisper came to me--'Never--never.'

'They are coming straight towards us,' I said, 'we will stand here and let them pa.s.s,' and with her fingers still resting on my arm we moved a pace or so aside. As Biron came up there was almost a shout of welcome, and he bowed to the right and left of him as though he were the King himself. He was then the foremost subject in France, and in the heyday of his strength and power. In person he was of middle height, but carried himself with unexampled grace and dignity of manner. His short beard was cut to a peak, and from beneath his straight eyebrows, his keen and deep-set eyes, those eyes which Marie de Medici said hall-marked him for a traitor, _avec ses yeux noirs enfonces_, seemed to turn their searchlights here, there, and everywhere at once. His dress, like all about the man, was full of display. He wore a suit of grey satin, a short black velvet cloak held by a splendid emerald and diamond clasp, and carried a hat plumed with white and black feathers. His sword hilt and the buckles on his shoes flashed with gems. As he came onwards, making straight for the door of the cabinet, Coiffier stepped out of the crowd and held him lightly by his cloak. The Marshal turned on him sharply: 'Let me go, I have no time for mummeries.' 'Very well, my lord, only I should advise Monseigneur never again to wear a suit such as he is attired in at present.'

Biron stopped, and we all gathered closer.

'Why, Coiffier?' he asked, in a tone of affected gaiety, but with a nervous manner.

'Because, monseigneur, I dreamed that I saw you early one morning standing, dressed as you are just now, by the block in the yard of the Bastille.'

One or two of the women almost shrieked, and a murmur went up from those who heard the words. As for the Marshal, his face grew pale and then flushed darkly.

'You are mad, my friend,' he said hoa.r.s.ely, and then, with his head down, went straight to the door of the cabinet. It seemed to open of its own accord as he came up to it, and, leaving his suite behind, he pa.s.sed in to the King.

Little did I think of the prophecy until that August dawn, when I stood by the side of the Lieutenant of Montigny and saw the head of Charles de Gontaut, Duc de Biron, and Marshal of France, held up to the shuddering spectators in the red hand of Monsieur of Paris.

'It almost seems as if I shall not have my interview,' I said to Madame a minute or so later, when the commotion caused by Coiffier had ceased.

'When were you to go in?' she asked.

'As soon as ever M. de Belin came out to summon me.'

'Then here he is,' and as she spoke I saw the door open, and Belin looked out. 'Go,' she said, and then our eyes met and I stepped up to the cabinet.

'Courage,' whispered Belin, and I was before the King. In the first two steps I took on entering the room, I perceived that there had been a scene; Sully was standing against the open window, his back to the light, and gravely stroking his beard. The Marshal was pacing backwards and forwards in an agitated manner, and the King himself was leaning against a high desk, beating a tattoo with his fingers on the veneer.

As de Belin presented me, I bent to my knee, and there was a dead silence, broken only by Henry renewing the quick, impatient tapping of his fingers on the woodwork of the desk. He was, what was unusual with him when in Paris, in half armour, and perhaps in compliment to the King of Spain, for it was the anniversary of the treaty of Vervins, wore the scarlet and ermine-lined mantle of the _Toison d'Or_. In the silence my eyes unconsciously caught the glitter of the collar, and I could almost read the device, '_Pretium non vile laborum_,' on the pendant fleece.

'You may rise, monsieur,' the King said at last coldly, and added, 'and you may speak. It is because I understand that you broke the laws unwittingly that I have for the moment excused you--now what have you to say?'

As he spoke his piercing eyes met me full in the face, and for the moment I could not find words.

'_Ventre St. Gris!_' and Henry picked up a melocotin from a salver that was by him and played with it between his fingers; 'you could not have been born under the two cows on a field _or_, else you would have found tongue ere this, M. d'Auriac. You are not of the south, are you?'

'No, sire, though my father was Governor of Provence, and married into the Foix Candale.'

'If so, you should be a perfect Chrysostom. What have you to say?'

I had regained my courage by this and took the matter in both hands.

'Your Majesty, I will speak--I charge the Marshal, Duc de Biron, with being a traitor to you and to France, I charge him with conspiring----'

'You liar!'

It was Biron's voice, furious and cracked with rage, that rang through the room; but Henry stopped him with a word, and then I went on repeating exactly what is known, and what I have described before.

When it was over the King turned to the Marshal, who burst out in a pa.s.sion of upbraiding, calling G.o.d and his own services to witness that his hands were clean, 'and is the word of this man to be believed?' he concluded, 'this man who was openly in arms against his King, who is known as a brawler in the streets, who is even now trying to win the hand of a royal ward with not a penny piece to line his doublet pockets, who is excluded from the King's Peace--is his oath to be taken before the word of a peer of France? Sire, my father died by your side--and I--I will say no more. Believe him if you will. Here is my sword! It has served you well,' and unbuckling his sword the Marshal flung himself on his knees before the King and presented him with the hilt of his blade.

Astonished and silenced by this audacious outburst, I could say nothing, but saw Sully and de Belin exchange a strange smile. The King, however, was much moved. Putting his hands on Biron's shoulders, he lifted him to his feet. 'Biron, my old friend,' he said, 'the oaths of this man and of a hundred such as he are but as a feather weight against your simple word. Messieurs, it is because I wished the Marshal to know that I would hear nothing behind a man's back that I would not repeat to his own face that I have allowed M. d'Auriac a free rein to his tongue. In fine, I believe no word of this incredible tale. M. d'Auriac,' and he turned to me, 'I give you twenty-four hours to quit France, and never cross my path again.' And here the reckless Biron interposed hotly, 'But I must have satisfaction, sire.'

'Is it not satisfaction enough to know that the King believes your word?' said Sully.

'That may do for the house of Bethune, but not for Biron.'