Orrain Part 26

"And as the Chevalier here ran him through the ribs he may not unnaturally desire to repay the account," put in De Lorgnac.

"It is not that," I said; "she warned me of danger in Le Jaquemart."

"Precisely. It is of that I was thinking," said Le Brusquet. "No, Chevalier--for to us you are the Chevalier d'Orrain and not Bertrand Broussel--no, La Marmotte means you no harm, and I would stake a thousand pistoles against an obolus that you will hear something of interest concerning mademoiselle. She is not going to warn you about yourself, I fancy," and he laughed; "she knows that the Chevalier d'Orrain can look to his skin."

"But what can be the cause of Diane de Poitiers' enmity of mademoiselle?" I asked. "So far as I know, they have only but once seen each other, and that but three hours ago."

"The greatest of all causes, monsieur--money. Diane loves gold as a swallow loves a fly. When a woman is avaricious she will let nothing stand between her and her desire. Again, it is no disrespect to the Vidame, your n.o.ble brother, to say he would sell his soul for a hundred crowns, and Dom Antony de Mouchy is worse than either he or Diane.

Why, man, they have shared between them the wretched estate of a journeyman tailor! The property of a street-hawker, burnt in the Place Maubert, was granted to them, and they took it."

"It is almost incredible!" I exclaimed.

"But it is true," said De Lorgnac.

"It appears to me," I said, "that my departure for Italy will be a little delayed."

"If you were as superst.i.tious as I am," and Le Brusquet smiled as he spoke, "you would say that departure is a dream of the past."

"Why?"

"_Eh bien_, a month ago, you left Paris from this very house never to return, and here you are back again! It is my belief that your fate is against your leaving Paris, and your game will have to be played here.

That slice of the Romagna you intended for your own helping will go to fill another's plate."

I laughed, and De Lorgnac rose. "There is Quinte with Cartouche at the door," he said, "and I must be off. Be at the door of the Queen's apartments a little before compline, and so, _au revoir_!"

"We have almost an hour and a half still," said Le Brusquet, "and if it were not safer for you to be indoors as much as possible I would suggest spending a half-hour at the Bourgogne."

"I think it would be better to stay here; but tell me, do you know anything definite about this design of the d.u.c.h.ess?"

"No. All that I know is that there is something afoot. Vieilleville was approached; but, to his honour, refused to have anything to do with it. I know, however, no details."

"Then all we can do at present is to wait and watch."

He nodded, and poured himself out some wine. Leaving him to sip his Joue I retired to change my dress, and shortly after we rode out to the Louvre. On arrival there we proceeded at once to Le Brusquet's apartments, where he received a joyous welcome from his ape.

"Here," he said, as he put the little beast down and took a sword from the wall, "here is the sword you lent me that night. You see it is clean and sharp as ever."

"Let it remain, then, in your hands, monsieur, as a trifling remembrance of Bertrand d'Orrain."

"I thank you! I shall guard it as it should be guarded. _Corbleu_!

but it was a narrow affair that night; but for you Vendome might be wearing wings now, and the house of Besme extinct as the Sphinga."

"It was a lucky chance. I suppose that old fox Camus still has his lair in the same place? I wonder what made him turn against me as he did----"

"Oh, Camus is like a dog that loves biting, a dog that would bite his own master in default of anyone else. Yes; he is there still. As for his turning on you, that is part of his duty; he has been for years a paid servant of Diane."

"How long is this woman to last?"

"As long as her roses. But they say those are fadeless; and Saint Gelais has had to leave the Court in fear of his life for swearing that she keeps them ever fresh by daily bathing her face in sow's milk."

And he laughed as he added: "But come, now, it is time to be moving."

We were soon in the long gallery leading to the Queen's apartments; but, instead of the darkness and gloom that pervaded it on the occasion of my last visit, all was in light. Cressets burned everywhere, and at every few yards stood a flambeau-bearer, his torch alight. The vaulted roof above us was dim with the smoke that rose from the torches, and there was everywhere the subdued murmur of voices, as people pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed, or stood in small knots conversing. So great was the change that I could not avoid noticing it; and Le Brusquet explained that it was always so when any of the royal children, who lived at St.

Germain-en-Laye, visited the Queen. He had just said this when we rounded the abrupt curve the gallery made, and came face to face with two men walking arm-in-arm in the direction opposite to that we were taking. They were Simon and De Ganache, and recognition was mutual and instant. Monsieur de Ganache saw the surprised look on my face, which he no doubt read, as I glanced from him to my brother; and lifting his hat in a half-defiant, half-shamefaced manner, would have pa.s.sed on, but Simon held him by the arm, and planting himself right in our path said, with an insolent stare:

"This gentleman must have mistaken the Louvre for the Gloriette."

Le Brusquet plucked my sleeve in warning; but I was cool enough, and had no intention of again laying myself open to the law. I gave Simon stare for stare. "Yes; it is I," I answered coldly; and then, turning to De Ganache: "Monsieur, it was from the Vidame d'Orrain that I had the good fortune to rescue Mademoiselle de Paradis. I thought you knew of this. If not, you know now with whom your arm is linked."

"By G.o.d!" Simon burst out, "if I did not remember where I was----"

"Tus.h.!.+" I broke in, "there are a hundred other places where we can settle our differences. I have no time to be brawling here."

With this I pushed past, and left them looking at each other as, followed by Le Brusquet, I gained the door to the Queen's apartment.

As we came up De Lorgnac himself appeared, and pa.s.sed us into the anteroom. I well remembered that cheerless tomb through which I had pa.s.sed a month ago; but now it was all glittering bright. The door of the Queen's cabinet was closed; but to the right folding doors--that I had not observed before--were open, giving a glimpse, through the half-drawn curtains, of a crowded salon beyond. In the ante-room itself there were about a dozen or so of ladies-in-waiting and pages, all talking and laughing; and as we followed De Lorgnac I felt a light touch at my elbow, and turning met a merry face that smiled up at me.

It was little Mademoiselle Davila, the same who with Madame de Montal had met us at Longpont.

"_Eh bien_! So you have come, monsieur. I can tell you that you have been expected. Oh! we have heard about you at last--heard twice over--and we are all thinking of playing truant and running away to the forest of Vincennes or Monceaux. That last is better, for it is nearer Paris----" But here her breathless chatter was cut short by a "Hus.h.!.+"

from the salon, and then we heard the strings of a harp being touched.

"'Tis _belle_ Marie, the little Queen of Scotland!" And moving forward a couple of steps we were able to see into the next room. I looked round in vain for mademoiselle, and then my glance was arrested by a tall, fair-haired girl who was before a harp; and even I, who should have had no eyes but for one face, stood as if spellbound. As her fingers ran over the harp strings a low, wailing melody filled the room, and then with a voice of strange sweetness she sang a sad little song--a bergerelle of my own country. Harp and voice together died away in inexpressible sorrow at the last words, and a strange stillness filled the room, but was broken at last by a half-suppressed sob. Then in a moment all was changed. There came a bright little flourish, and she sang, joyous and blithe as a lark:

"Si le roi m'avait honne Paris sa grand'ville, Et qu'il m'eut fallu quitter L'Amour de m'amie; J'aurais dit au Roi Henri Reprenez votre Paris, J'aime mieux m'amie O gai!

J'aime mieux m'amie O gai!"

"_O gai!_" burst the chorus, almost unconsciously, from those around her, and with a flush on her face and a smile on her lips Mary of Scotland moved from the harp, and was immediately lost to view in the circle of those who crowded around her. I looked for my companions.

Mademoiselle Davila had found a lanky page to flirt with; Le Brusquet seemed to have vanished; but De Lorgnac was at hand.

"Come now!" he said, and I followed him across the crowded room to where the Queen sat, amidst a group of her ladies, with the Dauphin--a small, ill-formed boy of thirteen or fourteen--at her knees. She received me graciously; and on my delivering my packet she broke the seals, glanced at the contents with apparent carelessness, and then handed it--all open as it was--to a lady who stood behind her.

"La Beauce, put this on my table." And then turning to me, said, with a laugh:

"Your ears should be tingling, monsieur, for the last hour or so there has been nothing but you talked of by my maids-of-honour. It seems that the c.o.c.k of Orrain has not forgotten the use of his spurs."

My tongue had long since forgotten such courtier tricks as it had learned. In truth, it was never good at these; and whilst I was casting about for something to say, and wis.h.i.+ng myself well away from the ring of faces that circled me in, a gay, laughing voice broke in:

"But where is the heroine, madame? Where is Diane of the Forest? She should thank her preserver before your Majesty." And Mary of Scotland, heedless and blithe of heart, made me a mock little courtesy as she moved to the Queen's side.

"Here she is," cried twenty voices; "she has been hiding here." And, before I knew how it was, I found myself face to face with mademoiselle.

"Thank him! thank him!" the reckless voices around us began to shout; and, as I stood fumbling about, mademoiselle, with a face like fire, made me a stiff bow, and was about to step back, when our chief tormentor called out:

"Oh, how poor a thanksgiving! Surely this is a fit case for a Court of Love!--how and in what way a fair lady should greet her knight after a parlous quest?"

"Madame"--and Mary of Scotland knelt before the Queen--"you will hold a Court now, will you not?"

"_O gai_! _O gai_!" And there was a chorus of laughter and cheers.

Where all this foolery might have ended Heaven knows. The Queen herself seemed to be enjoying it, and was about to make some reply to Mary, when there was a bustle at the door, and an usher called out: